Thus begins Chapter 6 of Hal Upchurch’s little book of memoirs entitled 301 Tales from 29,220 Days and Nights (With Apologies to Scheherezade)
Introduction
1. Each summer, for more than 20 years, it was my privilege to preach in the Cowboy Camp Meetings in Valentine, Nebraska; Black Hills, South Dakota; Encampment, Wyoming; Kiowa, Colorado; Sealy Lake, Montana; Nogal Mesa, New Mexico; Sierra Grande, New Mexico; Montosa, New Mexico; and Chiricahua, Arizona.
2. The meetings were sponsored, staffed, financially underwritten, and physically equipped by the National Presbyterian Sunday School board.
3. The physical equipment included a large preaching tent, chairs, cooking and serving utensils, and various tools; plus a truck in which to haul everything from state to state and camp to camp.
4. Each meeting was operated by a local committee which included ranchers, farmers, business-related people, and men and women of various occupations.
5. The camps were nondenominational, with pastors from main line affiliations alternately preaching in each meeting, and no mention of different churches was ever made.
6. The staff, preachers, and large number of attenders camped in trailers, vans, pickups, tents, and the open air.
7. Money was never mentioned, offering plates were never passed, and no charges for meals were ever made.
8. Each camp was paid for by the attenders privately handing to a committee member whatever amount of money they wished to contribute, and no meeting ever ended without sufficient funds to pay all expenses.
(Full size image opens in new window.)
Next Page
Tags: 1950's · Cowboy Camp Meetings
Hal’s Cowboy Camp Meeting memories … Introduction | Slide Show
The Daily Schedule
1. 7:00 A.M.: Breakfast, consisting of ham and bacon and sausage and eggs and toast and pancakes and syrup and jelly, and stewed apricots or apples or peaches or prunes; and coffee, coffee, coffee!
2. 8:00 to 10:00 A.M.: Free time for personal grooming, tidying camp, visiting, playing checkers, pitching washers, whittling, telling tall tales, and so forth. (Lots and lots of so forth.)
3. 10:00 to 11:30 A.M.: Morning service, with an abundance of congregational singing, and special music which ranged from gospel to classical to cowboy to country and western to folk to bluegrass to hillbilly; and the classicalists loved the hillbillies, and the hillbillies loved the classicalists.
4. High Noon: Dinner (not lunch), which consisted of steak (T-bone, sirloin, Porterhouse, filet mignon, round, square, cubic, oblong, hexagonal, octagonal, and any other shape, form or fashion that your palate preferred) plus mashed potatoes, cream gravy, red beans, salad, and stewed apricots or apples or peaches or prunes; and coffee, coffee, coffee!
5. 1:00 to 4:00 P.M.: Free time, as per 8:00 to 10:00 A.M.
6. 4:00 P.M.: Prayer time, with the women and girls under the big tent and the men and boys under the prayer tree. (At each campsite a tree was selected as the “prayer tree” and branded with the year the camp began.)
7. 5:30 P.M.: Supper (not dinner), which was a sumptuous repeat of dinner, and which ended with stewed apricots or apples or peaches or prunes; and coffee, coffee, coffee!
8. 7:00 P.M.: The night service, which was a joyful repeat of the morning service.
9. 9:00 P.M.: The campfire hour, with guitars and fiddles and banjos and accordions and French harps and singing and tall, tall, tall tales.
10. 10:00 P.M.: Bedtime. (Whew!)
(Full size image opens in new window.)
Next Page
Tags: 1950's · Cowboy Camp Meetings
Introduction | Slide Show
1. One summer I preached for the camps in Nebraska, South Dakota, and Wyoming.
2. A few days after I returned home, I attended the Monday noon meeting of the Amarillo pastors and was asked to give a report of the month I had spent traveling to and from, and preaching in, the three camp meetings.
3. I briefly described the daily schedule, and concluded by saying, “If you multiply that by 15 and add 3000 miles of trailer pulling, you’ll have a pretty good picture of how I spent my summer.”
4. One of the pastors facetiously said, “It sounds to me like you didn’t even have time to wet a hook.”
5. Cordell Bales, a fellow pastor and long-time friend, said, “It sounds to me like you didn’t even have time to wet.”
6. I have always regarded Cordell’s remarks as the definitive description of a summer spent in Cowboy Camp Meetings, for truly, one sometimes had difficulty in finding enough time to wet.
(Full size image opens in new window.)
Next Page
Tags: 1950's · Cowboy Camp Meetings
Hal’s Cowboy Camp Meeting memories. . . . Introduction | Slide Show
Joe Evans
1. Joe was one of the most remarkable men I have ever known.
2. He was born on a ranch in New Mexico in the mid-1870’s, became a Christian at an early age, operated his own New Mexico ranch until retirement, moved to El Paso, became a renowned Christian layman, humorist, and after-dinner speaker, and spent his last 30 years in that capacity.
3. For more than 60 years, he was a mainstay in the Cowboy Camp Meeting program.
4. Joe and Mace were often in our home and churches, and are forever in our hearts and memories.
5. From my reservoir of “Joe-Evans” tales, I record the somewhat lengthy one that follows:
6. The tale:
(1) A few months before Joe’s death, I was in El Paso for a week of revival, and visited with him almost every day.
(2) Toward the end of the week he told me that when I went home on Monday he wanted to go with me, and wanted me to take him on to Midland for some sort of business he needed to take care of.
(3) On Monday morning we began our drive toward Kermit, which was about 275 miles away. Somewhere between Van Horn and Pecos, he told me to turn off onto a narrow and rocky road over which we bounced and floundered for about ten miles to a massive tree that had grown from a green stick that his father had stuck in the ground when Joe was five years old.
(4) An hour or so later, after having gotten back on the highway, and after almost arriving at Pecos, he decided that he wanted to go out to the Bell ranch, which was several miles from the highway, for a “short visit.” After we had been at the ranch for about 30 minutes, he decided to spend the night with “old man Bell,” and that I would come back the next morning and take him to Midland.
(5) From Pecos to Kermit was 50 miles, and another 65 miles on to Midland.
(6) I went back for him the next morning, took him to Midland, parked outside a bank, into which he entered, was gone about 5 minutes, returned, crawled into my car, and said, “The man I wanted to see is out of town and won’t be back until next Friday’ which means that you’re going to take me back to El Paso today.” (El Paso was about 330 miles from Midland.)
(7) I said, “I’m going to take you out to the airport, purchase you a ticket, put you on a plane, and hope I won’t have to again look at your ugly mug for about another month of Sundays.” (And that’s what I did.)
(8) Three days later, I received a note from him which said, “Dear Hal, I spent almost two days of my valuable time in your car, listening very carefully and courteously to every word you said, and when those two days had passed, I hadn’t learned a single thing that I didn’t know before they began. I’m going back to college and learn a new language that I can use when I need to cuss you.”
(9) During the last 32 years, my mind and heart and soul have ofttimes whispered, “Lord, bless his noble and loving spirit.”
(Full size image opens in new window.)
Next Page
Tags: 1950's · Cowboy Camp Meetings
Hal’s Cowboy Camp Meeting memories. . . . Introduction | Slide Show
Pecos Higgins
1. Pecos was a genuine cowboy who was born in the Arizona territory in the mid-1870’s, who had ridden for Queen Victoria in London (as a member of Buffalo Bill Cody’s troop of performers) and who, according to his own testimony, “had drunk enough whiskey to float 13 battleships,” and had been in prison in the United States and Mexico for more than half of his 78 years of life.
2. He made his profession of faith in the Arizona camp meeting when he was 78 years old, and spent the remaining summers of his life attending the camp meetings scattered across the various states.
3. At the campfires, he always lyrically entertained us with productions of his “Pecos Pidgin,” an example of which follows:
4. “The b-y-oy went d-y-oun in thu me-y-edder one d-y-ay. He we-y-ent to thuh me-y-edder fur to see what he could c-y-e.”
5. Interpretation: “The boy went down in the meadow one day. He went to the meadow for to see what he could see.”
6. He had scads of such “Pecos Pidgin” lyrics, and could endlessly rattle them off without missing a word.
7. At the prayer tree, he always got down on his hands and knees and began his prayer with the same words, “Lord, I ain’ta askin’ ya fur nutthin’, I’m jis uh thankin’ ya fur ever’thang!”
8. And I always felt that I could almost hear the flutter of angelic wings as they carried his prayers up to the throne of God.
(Full size image opens in new window.)
Next Page
Tags: 1950's · Cowboy Camp Meetings
Hal’s Cowboy Camp Meeting memories. . . . Introduction | Slide Show
1. Jim Clapp was a lawyer in Rapid City, South Dakota, and the camp meeting was held on his ranch.
2. One night after supper, Jim and Jerry were standing and talking beside a ground fire when a couple handed Jim $3.00 to pay for their meal.
3. Jim had a napkin in one hand and the $3.00 in the other, and, being engrossed in the conversation and thinking he was burning the napkin, he wadded the $3.00 and tossed them into the fire.
4. He immediately begged Jerry not to tell me what he had done until the meeting was over.
5. In our closing service on Sunday afternoon, the tent overflowed and people were seated on the nearby grassy slopes.
6. I was about halfway through my sermon when a woman inside the tent, who had a small baby in her arms, lunged erect, screamed, ran from the tent, threw the baby into the buffalo grass, and collapsed in a pitiful state of dementia.
7. Her husband, in pursuit of his wife, ran through the startled-and-upset people, had a heart attack and collapsed near his wife.
8. On Sunday night, after the meeting had closed, Jerry told me about Jim burning the $3.00.
9. On Monday morning, at our final breakfast, I decided to razz Jim a little, and said, “I have thoroughly enjoyed being with you, because I have never before been in a meeting where a fellow actually made a burnt offering.”
10. He, slightly smiling and totally unruffled, replied, “I enjoyed having you with us, because I have never before been in a meeting where a preacher, with only half of his sermon, drove a woman completely out of her mind.”
(Full size image opens in new window.)
Next Page
Tags: 1950's · Cowboy Camp Meetings
Hal’s Cowboy Camp Meeting memories. . . . Introduction | Slide Show
Ed
1. Ed, who was a former world-champion cowboy, and who was 82 years old when I first met him, was still riding horses in working cattle on his Colorado ranch and quarter horse cutting contests.
2. In 1957, he attended our first camp meeting in Colorado, but didn’t really get very interested in it.
3. In 1958, I went back to the meeting a day early because I wanted to attend a quarter horse cutting contest that was being held on one of the ranches, and in which Ed was riding.
4. When I arrived, Ed was in the corral, astride a quarter horse and smoothly working a feisty young bull.
5. When he saw me he dismounted, crawled over the fence, grabbed me, and said, “God Almighty, Hal, I’m glad to see you! I’ve had a hell-of-a time since you were here last year!”
6. During the next hour, sitting on a bale of hay, he told me about a series of mishaps that had befallen him in the past year, including a wreck, food poisoning, being gassed in his jeep, and falling into a well.
7. He repeatedly said, “I’ve been trying to find the Lord! You’ve just got to help me find the Lord!”
8. Every day of that week, from Wednesday through Sunday morning, I spent extended times with him in trying to help him “find the Lord.”
9. Our Sunday morning service ended and Ed still hadn’t “found the Lord.”
10. After dinner, he came to me and said, “I’ve just got to talk with you one more time before you leave.”
11. We climbed a slope some 200 yards above the campground and sat down under a pine tree.
12. After about two hours of talking and explaining and weeping and praying, Ed, with tears in his eyes and a break in his voice, said, “Every time I think I’m getting sort of close to the Lord, I feel so sinful and evil, and I just know the Lord wouldn’t want me to come any closer to him.”
13. Almost in desperation, I said, “Ed, I know exactly how you feel, because I felt the same way before I found the Lord.”
14. His body stiffened, his brows knitted, his forehead furrowed, his eyes focused, he jumped out in front of me on hands and knees, and cried, “The hell you did!”
15. Within about 15 seconds his eyes were shining, his face was beaming, and his voice was almost shouting, “I’ve found the Lord! I’ve found the Lord!”
16. Few times have I heard sweeter music than that which came from Ed’s boots as he walked down that pine-needle-covered tent aisle in the final moments of our final service to joyfully announce to the camp meeting congregation that he had “found the Lord!”
17. Before I again returned to the Colorado camp, word came to me that Ed was dead.
(Full size image opens in new window.)
Tags: 1950's · Cowboy Camp Meetings
Much has been written and spoken about my father, and in the near future I will share a 1991 poetic tribute to “My Hero.” But as Mother’s Day, 2008, draws to a close, I breathe another prayer of thanksgiving for the world’s best one, bar none. In recent weeks and months, watching her calmly endure the greatest trial of her life with phenomenal courage and grace, I can only say that the sentiment has deepened and widened in the 15 years since I wrote this poem for her.
When I Grow Up
When I was an embryo, wrinkled and wet,
God knew I would need all the help I could get.
In His infinite wisdom, He knew you would be
the world’s only mother who’d put up with me.
As you proudly bedecked me in ruffles and curls,
I took it for granted that all little girls
had a mother as tender and loving as you
and that someday I’d grow up to be like that too.
If I’d paid more attention when you spoke the truth
I might have been spared the mistakes of my youth,
but I lived through the foolish decisions I’ve made
by having a mother who trusted and prayed.
There are many enigmas I’ve wondered about,
but one thing I’ve never had reason to doubt:
Whether I ever found fortune or fame,
I knew that my Mama would love me the same.
At times when my strength has been put to the test,
I’ve wished for your patience, so simply expressed
in my own little girl’s declaration of fact:
“When I smile at Grandma, she always smiles back!”
Now that I’m older I’ve grown more reflective,
viewing the world through a softer perspective;
peaceful in having my heart reconciled
with the values you taught me when I was a child.
I know there are heights I can never attain,
but one aspiration will always remain . . .
as I seek to interpret my role in life’s drama,
I still want to grow up to be like my Mama.
With each thought of you I thank God and rejoice!
You’re my mother by birth and my best friend by choice.
If my heart’s deepest longing should ever come true,
my children will love me the way I love you.
-Mary Kay
Tags: Poems
My brother asked me how I would feel about having “The Bandit Behind My Chair” read at the memorial service, and whether there was anything Daddy had written that held as much meaning for me. Yes, indeed …
When I walked down the dirt road to my mailbox on a June day in 1982, little did I know the treasure that awaited me. Back at my kitchen table, I naturally tore into the manila envelope with the familiar return address first, surprised to see a brown paper bag folded in half. As I unfolded that crude paper, the tears immediately began to fall, even before I read the first line. In the center was a block of text, painstakingly typed letter-perfect by the Hal Upchurch two-fingered hunt-n-peck method. How many times did he have to start over? How long did it take him to plan and draw the lovingly-devised border of hearts, happy faces and assorted squiggles? To cut the scalloped edge? The poem alone is the finest tangible expression of the gift of love that anyone could ever hope to receive; the exquisite artwork renders it absolutely priceless. My scanner will not accommodate the full size of it, but a corner can be viewed here.
As you know, I live out in the boondocks,
And I found it exceedingly hard
To make my way into the city
To buy you a nice birthday card.
But had I been able to do so
I’d have searched through each store & each shop
For a card with a frilly-blue border
And a white curlicue at the top;
One with a baby-pink center,
Bedecked with a soft-downy lace,
Designed in the shape of a flaming red heart
With a warm, loving smile on its face.
I’d have wanted the best of all poets
To have captured in verse what I’d say
In tenderest words and expressions
To you on your happy birthday.
I’d have sent you the colors of sunset,
The warmth of an October noon,
The song of a lark in a meadow,
The aura of wildflowers in June;
Paths that were lined with red roses,
Hills that were covered with flowers,
Valleys with far-flung horizons,
Pine trees fresh-bathed in Spring showers;
Strength that would rout every weakness,
Courage to flaunt every fear,
Patience to wait for the morning,
Trust that would dry every tear;
The glow of an Aspenglen campfire,
The bright, cheery words that it spoke,
The voices we heard in the embers,
The faces we saw in the smoke;
Rest for your mind when it’s weary,
Peace for your heart when it’s torn,
Joy to dispel the night shadows,
Softness and sweetness of morn;
Love that would never be silenced,
Hope that was belted and gloved,
Faith that would walk through the darkness,
Comfort in knowing you’re loved.
I console myself in remembering
That had I tried ever so hard,
Had I searched and searched for a lifetime,
I could not have found such a card.
So, in my crude, simple fashion;
Not frilly, not fancy, I pray
That joy, and peace and contentment
Be with you on your dear birthday.
Once more, I know it’s not fancy;
But warm wishes and blessings I send
To one who’s not only my daughter,
But to one who is also my friend.
Happy Birthday, Sweetheart
Daddy
Tags: Poems · 1980's
-Hal Upchurch, 1948
Stories are told of buccaneers bold
Who preyed on ships a-crest,
And of outlaw men who time and again
Plundered and pillaged the west.
This lawless breed, impelled by greed,
Divided their loot by the share.
Now each passing day I too fall prey
To the bandit behind my chair.
He’s only five but his mind is alive
To this make-believe medium of fun.
He conceals himself like a silent elf
And readies his two cap-guns.
At the close of each day he steals his way
To his favorite outlaw lair.
I know quite right I’ll be robbed tonight
By the bandit behind my chair.
He never feels that he is concealed
As long as his bright eyes glow,
But it’s quite all right if they’re out of sight
Regardless of what else may show.
There are many clues from his hat to his shoes
That betray where the bandit is hovered,
But I’m not supposed to notice those
As long as his eyes are covered.
At first I hear from behind my chair
The giggling bandit gay,
Then the giggle dies and the bandit’s eyes
Are fixed on his innocent prey.
Night after night I feign great fright
When I feel the bandit tense,
And the frightened surprise in his daddy’s eyes
Is the bandit’s recompense.
Swift and bold from his safe stronghold
The bandit appears for the kill,
And issues commands to raise both of my hands
If I want to stay out of boot hill.
Then quick as a flash he takes all of my cash
In the midst of my make-believe wails,
His cap-guns roar and I fall to the floor,
A dead man who’ll tell no more tales.
With grace and speed he remounts his steed
And races back to his lair
Where with gun in boot he divides the loot,
Each man in his gang gets a share.
Then plans are made for the next night’s raid
And his men ride away by the pair;
They feel great pride to ride by the side
Of the bandit behind my chair.
Later each night in the low-turned light
I kiss him and whisper my love,
And there by his bed with a low-bowed head
I pray to the Father above.
That wisdom from heaven to me shall be given
Each night is the theme of my prayer;
That through heavenly love I’ll be worthy of
The bandit behind my chair.
And there on my knee as I make my plea
Eternity whispers this truth;
Time’s rolling tide will take from my side
This first-born son of my youth.
When I’m led by His hand to the heavenly land
I will feel no more sorrow and care.
I shall know great bliss, but I’m sure I’ll miss
The bandit behind my chair.
Tags: 1940's · Poems
