It was just after Thanksgiving, in 1982, and my wife, my daughter, and I had just packed up our van for an extended trip. We were moving from Arizona to Georgia so that I could attend Officer Candidate School (OCS). When we left Sierra Vista, Arizona a thunderstorm had just passed through that part of Arizona. As a result, a spectacular site appeared in the sky. Not one, not two, but three rainbows appeared in the sky. These weren’t your average run-of-the-mill ordinary rainbows. These rainbows were full 180-degree arches that extended from the ground on one side to the ground on the other side. It was a magnificent sight to behold. I took this as a positive omen of things to come. I had never before, and I have never since seen a triple rainbow. It was as if God was sending me a sign. And I accepted that sign. We were headed to the Grand Canyon before we made our way east. Yeah. I know what you’re thinking. Why would I waste my time? Well, we wanted to see the Grand Canyon before we left the state Arizona because we didn’t know if we would ever be back. We drove as far as Flagstaff, Arizona before we stopped for the day. Now you may be asking, why did we stop so soon? Well, it wasn’t actually all that soon. We had actually departed Sierra Vista late in the afternoon. And Sierra Vista is in the southeast corner of Arizona. It Is way the hell and gone out in the middle of nowhere. It’s right up against the Mexican border. There ain’t nothing out there but cactus, mountains, rattlesnakes, coyotes, jackrabbits, scrub brush, and dust. Miles and miles and miles of dust. Lots of dust. Oh, there are a few antelope and deer as well. But they stay pretty well hidden. The next morning, we headed out bright and early toward the South rim of the Grand Canyon. When we arrived at the South rim of the Grand Canyon, we pulled into the visitor center and got out of the van. In terms of your standard Arizona resident, I fit right in. I was dressed in blue jeans, Western boots, a bandanna around my neck, a tan windbreaker jacket, and a black Stetson hat. My wife and daughter were both dressed similarly except for the hats. My daughter had on boots and blue jeans as did my wife. We were standing at the rim of the canyon taking some scenic photos with my Minolta SLR camera. Then, I noticed one of these big airplane looking RVs pull into the parking lot by the visitor center. That RV had license plates from New York which immediately made me think of my old roommate from Fort Benning, Tony Di Anzo. I thought for a half a second about asking them if they knew him. It was a stupid thought of course. New York City alone has millions upon millions of people living in it. Then there is the state of New York with even more people. How in the hell could someone expect two old-timers to know somebody out of the blue like that? Yeah. It was just wishful thinking. My wife thinks I take too long to take pictures, so I had to focus on the task at hand. That was to take pictures. I couldn’t be worried about two old-timers and whether they knew somebody or not. My wife took a picture of me posing with my hand on the wood fence next to the rim. You may recognize that picture. Anyway, the couple from New York walked over to where we were standing. The lady walked up to me and said, “Excuse me.” I looked around, and then I looked at her. And then I asked, “Are you talking to me?” “Yes.” “Well, all right then. What can I do for you?” Could you take our picture?” “I would be happy to.” The lady started to explain how her camera worked. But I looked at her and said, “I got this lady. Just tell me how you want it. Do you want a vertical or horizontal shot?” Then she replied, “Could you snap one of each?” “Sure. No problem.” So, I snapped the pictures for her, and then I handed her camera back to her. She looked at her husband and then she looked at me and asked, “Are you a cowboy?” I really didn’t know how to take that question. So, I looked at her and said, “If you mean by cowboy, did I live on a farm and chase cattle and brand them and that sort of thing. Then, yes, I guess I’m a cowboy. But if you mean did I ride a horse and fight ‘Indians’ and shoot them and drink beer in a saloon and shoot other cowboys in the street? Then, no, I guess I’m not a cowboy. It really depends upon your definition of cowboy.” Then she went running over to her husband and started shouting excitedly, “Johnny, honey! We gotta get a picture with him. He’s a real live cowboy. An honest to God cowboy.” Then, her husband came back over toward me with her and shook my hand. He asked if he could take my picture with him and his wife. I said, “Sure. Why not.” Then, my wife came over and asked what was going on. So, I told her. The lady from New York asked me who my wife and daughter were, and I told her. Then, they wanted to know what tribe my wife was from. I told them she wasn’t from any tribe. But I could never make them understand that she didn’t come from a reservation and that she wasn’t from a specific tribe of Native Americans. In fact, I told them she wasn’t an Native (in any sense, since she is from Korea) at all. I don’t think they really understood. They believed what they wanted to believe. They believed I was a cowboy and my wife was an ‘Indian’. I don’t know why these two tourists from New York believed shit like that despite me saying otherwise. Anyway, I said we had to leave and said goodbye. Sometimes tourists can have misconceptions, causing explanations of futility.
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