AMonger
Veteran Expediter
The address, for those who'd rather read it there: http://lewrockwell.com/grigg/grigg-w229.html
Where Have You Gone,
Conn Conagher?
by William Norman Grigg
Recently by William Norman
Grigg: The Persecution of
Jeremy Hill
"Hey mister, who gave you
that shiner?"
"Nobody gave it to me, son –
I fought for it."
To get the full effect of that
exchange between young
Laban Teale and the rangy,
rough-hewn cowhand Conn
Conagher, it's best to
imagine the wry reply being
delivered in Sam Elliott's
sandpaper-on-leather drawl.
Like nearly all the heroes
brought to life by the pen
of the incomparable Louis
L'Amour,
Conagher was an
unpretentious man who
fought when he had to, but
only to defend the innocent
and vindicate the claims of
honor – never to gratify his
ego or in search of illicit
gain. He had better things to
do with his time than
fighting, particularly when
killing was involved.
The man who "gave"
Conagher that shiner – and
got much worse in the
transaction – was a
turbulent criminal named
Kiowa Staples. (The fight,
not seen in the film, is
described in the novel in
detail and involves a whip.)
Asked by a prospective
employer about his "bust-
up" with Staples, Conagher
offers the most subtle of
grins and explains: "We had
a difficulty."
He displays similar laconic
restraint when asked at a
trading post about two rifles
he obtained while fighting
off a Comanche ambush.
After Conagher explained
that one of the assailants
had escaped, one of the
cowhands at the post – who
had listened to Conn's
account with envious
skepticism – sarcastically
asked why he hadn't
pursued the Indian and
killed him.
"Mister, nobody but a fool
goes into the rocks after a
wounded Comanche,"
Conagher replies, his voice
quietly contemptuous.
Conagher signs on to work
with rancher Seaborn Tay,
and discovers that the
owner of the rival Ladder
Five ranch has paid off
several of the other hands –
including a combustible
bully named Chris Mahler –
have been stealing Tay's
livestock.
After Conagher thwarts a
group of rustlers working
for the Ladder Five, he is
confronted at dinnertime in
the bunkhouse by Mahler,
who is angry and frustrated
by the stalwart cowhand's
stubborn honesty. Mahler
knows that it's pointless to
invite Conagher to join in
the larceny, but he tries to
browbeat him into "doing
his job" – meaning look the
other way. Neither
impressed nor intimidated
by Mahler, Conagher drives
him out of the outfit.
Thrust into a conflict with
the rustlers, Conagher deals
out his share of lead, and
eventually takes a couple of
rounds himself. "A man
who kills when he doesn't
have to is a ****ed fool, "
he explains to a younger
hand during a lull in one
battle.
L'Amour's heroes could be
described as fictional only in
biographical details. A self-
educated man who lived a
life much more interesting
than any of the stories he
told, L'Amour knew scores
of men like Conagher, Chick
Bowdrie, and the others
who populate his writing:
Stoic, honorable men with
great capacity for violence
but the character to avoid it
unless it was justified and
necessary.
Authentic cowboys aren't
braggarts or blatherskites.
This is one of countless
reasons I'm nauseated every
time someone refers to some
soft-handed specimen of the
political class as a "cowboy ."
"My heroes have always
been cowboys," proclaims a
bumpersticker popular with
the GOP's Kool-Aid drinkers;
the phrase was used as
caption to photos of Ronald
Reagan and George W. Bush,
neither of whom is a
legitimate specimen of the
breed. (It should be pointed
out that Reagan – his other
shortcomings
notwithstanding – actually
worked for a living before
going into politics and
climbed from poverty to
success on the strength of
his own talents and labor.)
The image-manipulators
responsible for wreathing
Reagan and Bush in a
cowboy mystique are
attempting to do the same
thing for the artfully coiffed
cheerleader named Rick
Perry. In terms of Cowboy
archetypes, Perry isn't Conn
Conagher, the lonely paladin
of principle; he's Chris
Mahler – the viscous sell-
out.
Mahler mistakenly believed
that his bullying bluster
would make Conagher back
down. Instead, Conagher
rose from his chair, kicked
the table aside, and told
Mahler he could either clear
out immediately – or go for
his gun. Mahler chose the
first option.
In the September 7
Republican presidential
"debate ," Rick Perry
suffered a Chris Mahler
moment.
During a commercial break
following a relatively blunt
exchange with Ron Paul,
Perry strode over to Paul,
seized his wrist, jabbed a
finger in his face, and did
his pitiful best to appear
terrifying.
Neither candidate has
disclosed the substance of
the argument, but photos of
the moment make it clear
that Dr. Paul, a skinny
septuagenarian, was neither
impressed nor intimidated
by the preening poseur.
Perry, it should be noted,
didn't jab a digit into the
face of Mitt Romney, with
whom he also had a few
testy exchanges. This may
have something to do with
the fact that Romney is a
larger and younger man. I
suspect, however, that Perry
focused his ire on Ron Paul
for the same reason Mahler
singled out Conn Conagher:
He is an independent man
of principle whose character
is a silent but eloquent
rebuke to the thieves who
surround him.
Chris
Mahler re-appeared toward
the end of Louis L'Amour's
story, seeking to avenge the
death of a rustler who had
finished second in a
gunfight with Conagher.
Angry over the death of his
saddle partner, and
infuriated by Conagher's
success in winning the
coveted affections of the
widow Eve Teale, Mahler
finally succeeded in goading
Conagher into short but
brutal fist-fight that left both
men battered and bloody –
and Mahler taking an
unexpected nap.
"I think he's hurt,"
exclaimed Eve Teale as
Conagher stumbled away
from the fracas.
"Him? You couldn't hurt him
with an ax," snorted stage
driver Charlie McCloud.
Rick Perry isn't the first self-
adoring bully who has tried,
and failed, to intimidate
Ron Paul, who possesses the
imperturbable security that
comes with moral
consistency. Besides, Dr.
Paul – despite having two
artificial knees and a mortal
coil that has made 76 solar
circuits – is a wiry and
athletic man who could
probably put Perry on his
back if things got real.
Where Have You Gone,
Conn Conagher?
by William Norman Grigg
Recently by William Norman
Grigg: The Persecution of
Jeremy Hill
"Hey mister, who gave you
that shiner?"
"Nobody gave it to me, son –
I fought for it."
To get the full effect of that
exchange between young
Laban Teale and the rangy,
rough-hewn cowhand Conn
Conagher, it's best to
imagine the wry reply being
delivered in Sam Elliott's
sandpaper-on-leather drawl.
Like nearly all the heroes
brought to life by the pen
of the incomparable Louis
L'Amour,
Conagher was an
unpretentious man who
fought when he had to, but
only to defend the innocent
and vindicate the claims of
honor – never to gratify his
ego or in search of illicit
gain. He had better things to
do with his time than
fighting, particularly when
killing was involved.
The man who "gave"
Conagher that shiner – and
got much worse in the
transaction – was a
turbulent criminal named
Kiowa Staples. (The fight,
not seen in the film, is
described in the novel in
detail and involves a whip.)
Asked by a prospective
employer about his "bust-
up" with Staples, Conagher
offers the most subtle of
grins and explains: "We had
a difficulty."
He displays similar laconic
restraint when asked at a
trading post about two rifles
he obtained while fighting
off a Comanche ambush.
After Conagher explained
that one of the assailants
had escaped, one of the
cowhands at the post – who
had listened to Conn's
account with envious
skepticism – sarcastically
asked why he hadn't
pursued the Indian and
killed him.
"Mister, nobody but a fool
goes into the rocks after a
wounded Comanche,"
Conagher replies, his voice
quietly contemptuous.
Conagher signs on to work
with rancher Seaborn Tay,
and discovers that the
owner of the rival Ladder
Five ranch has paid off
several of the other hands –
including a combustible
bully named Chris Mahler –
have been stealing Tay's
livestock.
After Conagher thwarts a
group of rustlers working
for the Ladder Five, he is
confronted at dinnertime in
the bunkhouse by Mahler,
who is angry and frustrated
by the stalwart cowhand's
stubborn honesty. Mahler
knows that it's pointless to
invite Conagher to join in
the larceny, but he tries to
browbeat him into "doing
his job" – meaning look the
other way. Neither
impressed nor intimidated
by Mahler, Conagher drives
him out of the outfit.
Thrust into a conflict with
the rustlers, Conagher deals
out his share of lead, and
eventually takes a couple of
rounds himself. "A man
who kills when he doesn't
have to is a ****ed fool, "
he explains to a younger
hand during a lull in one
battle.
L'Amour's heroes could be
described as fictional only in
biographical details. A self-
educated man who lived a
life much more interesting
than any of the stories he
told, L'Amour knew scores
of men like Conagher, Chick
Bowdrie, and the others
who populate his writing:
Stoic, honorable men with
great capacity for violence
but the character to avoid it
unless it was justified and
necessary.
Authentic cowboys aren't
braggarts or blatherskites.
This is one of countless
reasons I'm nauseated every
time someone refers to some
soft-handed specimen of the
political class as a "cowboy ."
"My heroes have always
been cowboys," proclaims a
bumpersticker popular with
the GOP's Kool-Aid drinkers;
the phrase was used as
caption to photos of Ronald
Reagan and George W. Bush,
neither of whom is a
legitimate specimen of the
breed. (It should be pointed
out that Reagan – his other
shortcomings
notwithstanding – actually
worked for a living before
going into politics and
climbed from poverty to
success on the strength of
his own talents and labor.)
The image-manipulators
responsible for wreathing
Reagan and Bush in a
cowboy mystique are
attempting to do the same
thing for the artfully coiffed
cheerleader named Rick
Perry. In terms of Cowboy
archetypes, Perry isn't Conn
Conagher, the lonely paladin
of principle; he's Chris
Mahler – the viscous sell-
out.
Mahler mistakenly believed
that his bullying bluster
would make Conagher back
down. Instead, Conagher
rose from his chair, kicked
the table aside, and told
Mahler he could either clear
out immediately – or go for
his gun. Mahler chose the
first option.
In the September 7
Republican presidential
"debate ," Rick Perry
suffered a Chris Mahler
moment.
During a commercial break
following a relatively blunt
exchange with Ron Paul,
Perry strode over to Paul,
seized his wrist, jabbed a
finger in his face, and did
his pitiful best to appear
terrifying.
Neither candidate has
disclosed the substance of
the argument, but photos of
the moment make it clear
that Dr. Paul, a skinny
septuagenarian, was neither
impressed nor intimidated
by the preening poseur.
Perry, it should be noted,
didn't jab a digit into the
face of Mitt Romney, with
whom he also had a few
testy exchanges. This may
have something to do with
the fact that Romney is a
larger and younger man. I
suspect, however, that Perry
focused his ire on Ron Paul
for the same reason Mahler
singled out Conn Conagher:
He is an independent man
of principle whose character
is a silent but eloquent
rebuke to the thieves who
surround him.
Chris
Mahler re-appeared toward
the end of Louis L'Amour's
story, seeking to avenge the
death of a rustler who had
finished second in a
gunfight with Conagher.
Angry over the death of his
saddle partner, and
infuriated by Conagher's
success in winning the
coveted affections of the
widow Eve Teale, Mahler
finally succeeded in goading
Conagher into short but
brutal fist-fight that left both
men battered and bloody –
and Mahler taking an
unexpected nap.
"I think he's hurt,"
exclaimed Eve Teale as
Conagher stumbled away
from the fracas.
"Him? You couldn't hurt him
with an ax," snorted stage
driver Charlie McCloud.
Rick Perry isn't the first self-
adoring bully who has tried,
and failed, to intimidate
Ron Paul, who possesses the
imperturbable security that
comes with moral
consistency. Besides, Dr.
Paul – despite having two
artificial knees and a mortal
coil that has made 76 solar
circuits – is a wiry and
athletic man who could
probably put Perry on his
back if things got real.