The Old Gringo (who for too many years committed journalism and spewed opinion under the byline of Robert E. Cox in Colorado, California and some other places he’d rather not mention) mostly sits around these days amid the arroyos, cacti and cattle pastures of northern New Mexico.
Occasionally he drags something he wrote Back Then out of a dusty old box and, to keep his fingers flexible, pounds it into digital submission and posts it here. You may have read his stuff, way back when, as it clacked off the teletypes of United Press International, or in the pages of Colorado and Colorado Business Magazine, or the San Diego Union or the Rocky Mountain News — all of which were owned by other people who told him what to do — or in the pages of the Glenwood Springs (Colorado) Weekly Newspaper, or the Sentinel newspapers of Lakewood, Wheat Ridge and Arvada, Colorado, all of which he thought he owned, until he learned that it’s the readers who own a newspaper; its publisher simply, and only temporarily, holds the franchise.
Occasionally he has a new thought, usually prompted by yet another lunacy-of-the-21st Century, which he also digitizes and inflicts on loyal readers of this blog. Occasionally he does neither. Nobody seems to mind, and the earth still seems to spin contentedly on its appointed axis. And that’s good, because it gives him a chance to go ride his horse. Which is what’s really important.
& I’m outta here.