Family photographs reveal generations of wannabe cowboys in my family.
I have to admit my little brother Mark was an exception, as for many years this blue eyed blond wished to be a Native American. My grandmother assured him we had “Indian blood” in us, despite the fact that our ancestry showed we had landed in Maryland before the American Revolution and never left. She assured him somewhere in the family history a “relative of Pocahontas” came into the family.
Anything is possible, and new DNA studies could prove her stories true.
So here are some cowboys of the Eastern Coast of the United States. Which proves all little boys are Westerners in their hearts.
That’s not a purse, it’s a “saddle bag”. He’ll shoot you if you disagree. My little brother before his Native American phase.
This was once my Halloween costume, now taken over by younger brother assured of his native ancestry.
The greatest cowboy of all, my step father. Cowboy Lamont kept law and order in Kinderhook New York. He’s still a great cowboy.
My Uncle John, with my grandmother Evelyn. She believed we had some “native” blood, but cowboy John knows you wear your six shooter even when fishing.
I realize once again, days of little boys and girls toting fake guns around are probably long gone. Still, it was more a reflection of cowboy TV shows and movies than any real urge to kill anyone. My own children were more likely to carry laser blasters and play Star Wars and Star Trek than “Cowboys”.
Darth is really her father! What weapons my daughters grew up playing with!
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Categories: Family, Maryland, Photography
Two Different Girls 
Back in the 50s, until 1961, after school on WTOP, Pick Temple was probably more popular than Mickey Mouse Club. My three younger siblings all got to participate in the live audience on their birthdays. It’s too bad your brother was born too late.
At my recent visit home my step father (Cowboy Lamont Thomas) introduced my younger daughter to the joys of the Lone Ranger. He has his office filled with memorabilia, and I even found a vintage book written by Lash LaRue (a cowboy with a whip, it’s not as kinky as it sounds) about ALL the old seriel cowboys. We had a great time, but my step dad grew up to be a banker, not a cowboy. My mother, who was stuck taking her little brother (cowboy John) to those same movies every Saturday does not enjoy the Lone Ranger marathons!