I’ve seen tough. I grew up with fighter pilots, Special Forces soldiers, grouchy old supply sergeants, bikers, and serious working ranch cowboys. I have a great deal of respect and admiration for fortitude—mental and physical.
That could explain, in part, my love for Amarillo, and why Amarillo is my adopted home.
Exactly 138 springtimes ago, this town was born. Only 22 years removed from the war between the states, Amarillo was founded as a construction camp for the Fort Worth and Denver City Railway. As most of us know, our town quickly became a hub for cattle marketing and transport.
The earliest people here were as tough as a boot. Try to pick up a railroad cross tie sometime. Shoot, try picking up an 11-pound hammer and swinging it over your head and into the ground for about two minutes. They did that kind of work all day, working toward a supply line to get beef across the nation.
Then came the cattle workers. People who could break a horse for riding, teach that horse to cut cattle out of a herd, rope a steer that didn’t want to be roped, go full speed on the back of that semi-wild horse, and wrestle the steer to the ground without getting their teeth kicked out. Then, use the branding iron on him without getting burned. Sleep wherever you can find a less hard spot on the ground, use your saddle for your pillow, get up before the sun, and do it again. All in a day’s work for a real-deal ranch cowboy.
Then came the oil and helium industries, and the unimaginable muscle it took to get that stuff out of the ground. Drilling rigs, pipes to haul, heavy equipment moving tons of material daily. Decades later, some of that work is still going on.
One of the things I pointlessly daydream about is the question of how many of us “modern folk” would have survived the trip out west in those days. Remember, it had only been a few short decades since the U.S. was a baby nation. In 1887, we only had 38 states. There was still a lot of frontier—land that had yet to be seen, much less traveled.
Pretty certain I would have had a very short life if I were assigned to that time period. I had strep throat about 15 times while growing up. Penicillin wasn’t even discovered until 1928.
I would have been a goner.
The Comanche wars were coming to an end about the time Amarillo came into being. Quanah Parker had just agreed to peace terms, but some tribes still raided travelers and towns. Can you imagine stepping out of a bank and hearing the whizzing sound of a Comanche or Apache arrow?
Goner.
Then there’s the heat. Some summers we get off easy and it’s only about 92 to 95 during the daytime. Others it’s closer to 100 degrees, and I have seen it hit 111 in my days. It doesn’t matter. Your body can’t tell the difference between 95 and 105 once you are out in it for a bit. If I were a pilgrim in this place back in those days, with no air conditioning and fewer shady trees than we have now?
Goner.
Winter is just as cold as summer is hot here on the High Plains. Typically, we have some generous days of balmy weather even in the depths of winter, but when winter decides to get ugly, I have seen it freeze rock-solid and stay that way for a week. Once it gets below-zero, it’s all academic.
Goner.
After all these years, a residual toughness, I think, has been instilled in the people that inhabit Amarillo. A kind of “stand and deliver” mentality. We are not a city of people looking for a handout, from the government or anyone else. We do take care of one another, but it’s expected that every person eventually becomes a contributor to some degree. Having said that, Amarillo has a kind heart, in my opinion.
It’s one of the reasons so many of us have returned after seeing the world. I’ve even heard of people who have left, and vowed never to return to Amarillo who now live here with their entire family. Not every city can claim that, even here in the great state of Texas.
I am extremely happy about living in Amarillo, with its characteristic work ethic, smile and friendliness, but I am also grateful that this is God’s chosen time for my lifetime.
