Good Lord.

Kermit Staggers and De Knudson want back on the Sioux Falls City Council??

I’m beggin’ you (and you know who you are) get in this race before it’s too late. If you have a lick of intelligence, an unselfish desire to serve this community and share your ideas on how to help it deal with problems and plan for the future….run, for god’s sake..RUN. Sure you’ll take some heat from the naysayers but your honesty and determination to simply do what’s right will sustain you.  

If these two career politicians are the best Sioux Falls can come up with..well..we might just as well shove the city bus in reverse. 

And no..I’m not interested or remotely qualified but there are plenty of you out there who are.

Here endeth the rant.

Linda and I have had a special house guest this past week…say hello to Maggie.

Maggie lives with my brother, Denny and his wife, Judy. They were talking the other night about kenneling the dog for five days while they’re in Chicago. Much to my surprise, Linda blurted out that we’d love to watch her. We’ve doggie-sat in the past for both our daughter and niece; finding it to be an enjoyable experience but not enough to convince Linda that we should have a dog of our own. Now, it would seem, through this gesture, she might be on the verge of reconsidering. And why not? Maggie, a mild mannered 8 year old Cocker Spaniel, is a perfect house dog whose only flaw might be her breath that, at times, would drive a buzzard off a fresh kill. We only notice because she loves to sit quietly snuggled next to us on the couch or bed and really appreciates our efforts at affection. Scratching her chin or one of those floppy ears instinctively sets her left paw to peddling the air like she’s trying to start an imaginary Harley Davidson. Oh, she snores too but then so do we.

Linda is perfectly correct, of course, when she reminds me that we’re often gone for long stretches at a time throughout the year and if we were to have a our own dog, it wouldn’t be fair to be leaving it at a kennel or with friends or family all the time. So, maybe we’ll just have to be content with these occasional stints as proprietors of the Lund Canine Hotel.

Maggie checks out Sunday. Bye bye you wonderful mutt..don’t forget to brush and floss.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Honey.” I said to Linda when we awoke from our slumber this morning. “Happy Valentine’s Day to you too,” she replied. This was followed by a shared, “I love you” and that was it.

We decided long ago not to be slaves to this manufactured holiday created by florists, greeting card companies and candy makers hell bent on making us (mostly men) feel guilty about ourselves if we don’t express affection with a gift they are only too happy to provide..for an exorbitant fee..

This wasn’t just me being cheap. It was a well thought out and mutually agreed upon decision based on sound reasoning; flowers quickly wilt, candy is too fattening and cards are tossed into the trash after a day or so: a waste of good money.

Our mutual adoration is eternal. We certainly don’t need any commercially construed reminders to do what comes naturally. It is a policy we’ve followed for years and are perfectly content with. Or so I thought. As I was pouring my second cup of coffee, Linda came into the kitchen carrying a musical Valentine’s Day card that was playing “Love Will Keep Us Together” by Captain and Tenille.  “Remember you got me this last year?” she said smiling. Uh Oh. I must have forgotten and violated the pact. I could still hear that song ringing in my ears as I left for HyVee to pick up a few groceries. Standing in the check out line I noticed another line. This one made up exclusively of blue collar guys with  empty looks on their faces mulling around  the floral department trying to come up with something to make up  for their lameness at having forgotten what day it was and hoping they can spend their way back into their significant others’ good graces with a big bunch of well picked over roses.

Geeze..she saved that card for a whole year, I thought to myself as the cashier was ringing up my total. Maybe I better walk over and see if there are any decent flowers left…but no, that would look contrived wouldn’t it?  Aren’t supermarket roses an act of desperation?

Here’s wishing you all a very nice Valentine’s Day.

This is a historic day.

For the first time in nearly 40 years of trying, I hit EVERY green light on East 10^th from Sycamore Avenue to the West side of the viaduct and set a personal record of 6 minutes from my house to the TV station. And that’s without speeding. Well, not too much.

So this is what it’s come down to then? Blogging about driving to work?  Well, nothing much has happened to write about in the week since we’ve been home from Arizona. Oh, I did bump in to Bernie Hunhoff in the Keloland lobby on the same day the legislature nixed his bill to change the design of our state flag. If you recall, I expressed my feelings about the proposed change here on my blog (I and thousands of others didn’t care for it) and while  Bernie could have made our encounter an uncomfortable experience, he was as cordial and cheerful as ever. Being a democratic leader in a republican state..you learn to roll with the political punches.

I see Wild Water West plans to bring back Drive-In movies. I hope it works but, sorry, I have my doubts.

I have nothing but fond memories of the Sioux Drive-In Theater from when I was a lad but trying to relive those memories at the Verne Drive-In outside Luverne a couple years ago, proved disappointing. Back in the Drive-In’s hayday, there was no such thing as daylight saving time meaning dusk doesn’t occur until nearly 10 PM in the summer months. If there’s a double feature that means it’s two in the morning before the show’s over. Too late for most working stiffs and those of us retired folks whose eyelids start to sag at the stroke of 9.

Back in the 50’s and 60’s, people who went to the Drive-In did so in a CAR. There were rows of gravel humps at varying degrees of slopeiness from front to back on which you’d pull the front wheels for a clear view of the screen then grab the speaker and hook it onto the window.  But most people now drive high profile pick-ups, vans and SUVs. Theater managers try to get them to park toward the rear to keep from blocking other’s view but if you’re in a Prius you could get lost in a canyon of Caravans, Suburbans and Ford F250’s. Also, the few remaining Drive-In theaters have long since abandoned the idea of providing speakers on poles. In part, I suppose, because they became collector’s items for thieves or got destroyed by cars snagging the cord with their bumper..back when cars still had bumpers. Instead, audio is transmitted over an FM frequency you can pick up on your radio. Just make sure your battery is capable of dealing with the 4 hour drain.
The nice thing about speaker poles is they used to keep vehicles properly spaced apart. Now, it’s sort of like festival seating at a rock concert with ugly stares or a verbal rebuke coming from the guy next to you if you park too close.

But, if the Wild Water West deal works out, I’ll give it a try. Might even attempt a little front seat necking with Linda for old time’s sake. Won’t be the same, though. There’s no way she can slide over next to me with that dadgum center console in the way. No more bench seats equals no more close cuddling..no more Aqua Net aroma in your nostrils or soft angora sweater fuzz on the shoulder. It might also be fun to see if outdoor theater patrons still explore their rebellious side by joining in a chorus of horn honking in an attempt to humiliate the projectionist into starting the darned movie already.  That reminds me,  I need to get the Camaro’s horn fixed before summer.

I was never so glad to wake up as this morning; awful dreams..nightmares really. I can usually figure out what event or little observation during the day became implanted in the deep recesses of my brain waiting to jump into the forefront of my unconscious state but I’m at a loss as to what triggered this overnight experience in terror. There were loads of senseless details but the main theme of NUCLEAR WAR was crystal clear. I’d somehow survived the first wave of explosions only to mosey about the countryside bumping into other zombie-like survivors stumbling around in the dust of nuclear winter waiting  for the next bomb to drop. When it does, the Western sky lights up; at first beautiful..then terrifying and we all wait for the fireball to turn us back to carbon. But then, wait a minute, why do I hear little talking trains? That’s a weird twist even for this twisted dream. But I was actually awake now. I’d fallen asleep with the TV on watching something on the public broadcasting channel which turns into the kid’s show “Curious George” by morning.

Linda and I arrived back home from Arizona on Thursday afternoon..just ahead of a big snowstorm that’s supposed to hit Colorado and Nebraska. We encountered no travel problems at all this time except for the guy from Texas who, somewhere in New Mexico, took exception to my staying in the left lane to pass three vehicles in succession while he wanted around me NOW. After he was free to pass..he showed his displeasure by slowing down in front of me..then speeding up and blocking me from passing him back. Every ounce of my being wanted to bang into his rear end and make hand gestures..maybe even force us both to a stop..get out and have fisticuffs right there along side the interstate. But then, I remembered promising everybody that..yes, I’ll drive safely and carefully. Plus Linda was gripping the door strap so hard her knuckles were white. I backed off, let the belligerent Texan find someone else to bully and pulled into a gas station to fill up and cool off. The only other incident worth noting was when the driver of an 18 wheeler decided to take a nap at 70 miles an hour. He started drifting to the left just as I was in the process of passing. I took evasive action by veering to the shoulder and over those jarring rumble strips. The noise must have awakened the trucker because he jerked his wheel to the right before I was forced into taking Big Red on a journey from the pavement to the grassy median likely achieving flight status along the way.

Just a couple more reasons to fly instead of drive next year..especially with gas prices and motel rates all over the map. Fuel costs varied from $3.56 in Phoenix to $2.87 at one place in Colorado. I ended up paying 83 BUCKS for a one night stay in Trinidad, CO . at a SUPER 8..for cryin’ out loud. And that was with the bogus AARP discount. I would have walked out and sought something less expensive but we’d spent over 10 hours in the car and just wanted out.

It’s good to be back in our cozy little house even though the cupboards are bare and there’s a stack of bills awaiting my immediate attention.

Now if we could only have some snow since we haven’t seen any yet this winter. (Kidding)

I always thought that “Spangles” was a great name for a cat but it wasn’t until last night, on the eve of Spangles’ demise, that I found out how our daughter Suzan and her husband Joe came up with such a clever moniker  nearly 16 years ago. They were living and working in Georgia at the time and visiting friends one evening near Atlanta when they heard a meowing sound coming from beneath their feet. A quick investigation revealed a frightened little orange kitty with big eyes and an attitude had taken refuge there. But the deck was too low for anyone to make a rescue. All attempts to lure it to the light failed. They were about to give up when one drunk fellow  knelt down and, for some reason, started calling the little bugger “Spangles”and to everyone’s amazement, she slowly inched her way forward into his waiting hands. There was much discussion about what to do with the stray cat but no doubt about what to name her. Suzan and Joe already had a male cat called Tempest and weren’t too keen on adding another to the family..especially with their small apartment., but when everyone else passed on adoption, Spangles wound up going home with them anyway. It turned out to be a good arraignment. Tempest soon got used to the notion of being the Alpha male..the big cat of the walk.. and Spangles seemed more than content to serve as his companion and official groomer. They both survived a grueling move clear across country to California where they became Hollywood cats. All was well until shortly after our granddaughter Zoey was born. Suzan discovered Tempest’s lifeless body on the floor one morning. Without warning, the king was dead. Suzan and Joe were devastated, of course, but poor Spangles was just lost.

It took a while, but eventually she took a shine to that new little girl in the house and the feeling was mutual. Zoey was given the cat’s permission to pull her tail, grab little handfuls of orange fur or perform a double-arm squeeze that caused the poor cat’s eyes to bug out. In exchange, Spangles was allowed to snuggle up on her new little friend’s bed each night; an arraignment that has lasted throughout Zoey’s childhood. About seven years ago, the family moved across country again..this time to Lincoln, Nebraska. Spangles had no trouble adapting to her new surroundings. In fact, she thrived there; growing even larger and more beautiful with each passing year and developing a purr as loud as a thousand snowblowers all roaring at once after a Midwest snowstorm. She also had an ear piercing meow which she used to full effect early in the mornings outside our bedroom door when Linda and I would spend a weekend. After I’d let her in, she’d leap up on the bed and..with her engine revved up full blast, would pace back and forth between us until finally settling down at our feet allowing us to sleep a bit longer.  By the time everyone was up and having breakfast at the table, Spangles was right there staring at my granddaughter waiting to be handed her daily treat; the remaining sweet milk from Zoey’s cereal bowl. Life was good and Spangles was in the cat bird’s seat.

Then, the other day, I received the following e-mail from Suzan:

Sad News. Spangles has been declining quickly. The vet thinks she has a tumor. We’re going to have to put her to sleep. Planning for Saturday Morning. We’re all emotional but have talked through it a lot and poor Spangy is just so weak it’s the only humane thing we can do now. Please say a little prayer for us..it’s going to be really hard. Love to you both. Suzan.

Spangles was 16. A good long life for a cat and, of course, ending her suffering was the only option.. but I can’t bear the thought of how this demonstration of mercy is bringing such misery and tears to our loved ones..especially Zoey who, at age ten, has been so close to that old animal all her young life.

This is one of the reasons Linda and I don’t have a pet. She still gets choked up thinking about having to put her dog, Sadie, down over two decades ago and would hate to go through that again. But, I’m pretty sure that even Zoey would say that the heartbreak of today and in the weeks to come is a tiny price to pay for all the wonderful years she shared with that big old orange ball of fur.

R.I.P. Spangles.

As the doctor once told me just prior to snapping on his rubber glove for  my prostate exam, “You might feel some discomfort here, Doug.”

Bottom is current SD flag Top is proposed new flag

I’ve got a couple comments on the proposed new South Dakota state flag and they’re sure to displease two of my favorite people who I admire greatly; South Dakota Magazine publisher and State Representative, Bernie Hunhoff and the brilliant Spearfish artist, Dick Termes, who I recently blogged about here.

Bernie has introduced a bill which would replace the current flag with the one designed in 1989 by Mr. Termes. According to the Rapid City Journal, Bernie has the support of at least 80 others in the legislature but from comments I’ve been seeing on the interweb, it doesn’t have a big fan base among the masses; including me. My objection has nothing to do with legislators wasting their valuable time on the issue or what it might cost to make the change-over. I just don’t care for the look of it. Oh, I get the sunburst representing South Dakota, the sunshine state(which used to be our slogan until it was changed 20 years ago..perhaps after someone pointed out the absurdity of it after 60 days of continuous cloud cover and gloom that usually hang over us in March and April) plus It’s also Florida’s slogan and we certainly didn’t want to confuse tourists about where they were headed. At the center of the proposed new flag are a couple of different colored blue circles and an orange Native American medicine wheel..which, according to Bernie, fits with the effort to promote state unity. I’m afraid, though, that would have to be explained to everyone who saw it..which, I suppose, would be one way of getting the message across.

For the record, I agree that the current state flag is too busy and pretty boring but if it’s to be replaced, I’m not sure if a design that might have been just fine for one of Elvis’ jumpsuits, is the attention grabber its supporters are going for. It was conceived 23 years ago and today could be easily duplicated in five minutes by somebody with photoshop or  a drawing download on their computer.

 I respectfully suggest that Mr. Termes go back to his palate and come up with something less  quilt-like and agenda inspired;  more in keeping with his enormous talents. A design that  simply represents what South Dakota has to offer. Maybe it doesn’t even have to be blue. Red is always a good attention-getter.

But what do I know from art? I’m just an old guy sittin’ here in the desert waiting for 4 O’clock to arrive so me and the misses can head down to Phil’s for the all you can eat  earlybird special.

I have to tread carefully here because if it weren’t for television commercials I probably wouldn’t have had a career

but if I see that helmet-wearing pig tearing down a zip line screaming wheeeee one more time, my eyes will roll back and I’ll go into convulsions sort of like that woman who claimed hearing the voice of South Dakota’s own Mary Hart on TV caused her to have epileptic seizures. The first time Maxwell (yes..the little piggy has a name) appeared in a Geico ad,  he was a student getting a ride home from school  and driving everybody in the van nuts by hollering weeee weeee weeee out the window.  Ha, ha. Clever.  A take-off on the poem that has delighted little barefoot children for years. I get it. But there’s a fine line between novelty and aggravation and whether he’s in a car or suspended from a wire, that little oinker creeps me out. What made the ad even more annoying for me was not being able to understand those two words Maxwell says as he passes a fellow zip liner. After a little Google research, he’s apparently saying “Pure adrenalin.” Wheee.

  I didn’t used to mind the Geico gecko but even this green little pitchman with the cockney accent is wearing mighty thin.

And speaking of insurance company overkill, I think the gal who plays Flo on the Progressive ads is very good but, again, constant repetition of the same commercials just rubs me the wrong way like a starchy stiff collar chafing my neck.

Oh, and what was Allstate thinking when they created that Mayhem character? Here, let’s see if we can scare viewers into buying Allstate insurance with a zombie-like guy in a suit who is immune  to injury while causing  people to crash their vehicles and have life-threatening accidents.

They’re all doing it; trying to save us money on insurance through ads that, I guess, are supposed to be humorous. Oh, yeah..can’t stop laughing when that Farmer’s insurance guy uses a flame thrower to ignite a big ball of lint or when an old NASA space capsule comes crashing through the roof  onto a giant Jack-In-The-Box. Even my own insurance company sees fit to spend hundreds of millions to run irritating ads like the ones that feature a guy who keeps wrecking his car and calling State Farm for help even though he’d recently  dropped his coverage for something cheaper.  Or the 3 a.m. phone conversation the husband is having with his State Farm agent that sounds like he’s talking to his mistress which arouses the suspicions of his wife.

So Lund, if you can’t stand those commercials..why not switch channels,after all, the remote is always within reach. It’s true, I have worn out several remotes but it seems that even competing networks take their commercial breaks at the exact same time so there’s no escape.  When we’re home I record most everything on the DVR so I can zap through the ads faster than a screaming pig on a zip line.

To be fair, there have been a few TV commercials past and present that I never grew tired of.

Old Home filler up and keep on truckin' cafe

Remember C.W. McCall and Mavis “Old Home” ads? We’d see them every night, of course, during the Keloland 10 O’clock weather which was sponsored by Metz Baking Company. It was always a big deal when a new spot came out featuring the dog-eyed truck driver and gum-chomping waitress..not to mention the catchy lyrics, narration  and music from the brilliant mind of Bill Fries an Omaha ad agency executive who came up with the characters and also wrote the song “Convoy” which stayed atop both the country and pop charts for six weeks in 1975 .

Oh, and who can forget the deliciously funny commercials by the late Jim Varney who became a national phenomena with his bumbling rubber-faced character Ernest P. Worrell.

Lewis Stores hired Varney for an ad campaign

The site of him mugging the camera talking to his pal, Vern, about various products, then getting his fingers smashed by a falling window or being shocked by a TV set with a shorrrrrrt in it, never failed to break me up.  

More recently, those commercials featuring the E-Trade baby always bring a smile as did the Geico spot featuring Abe and Mary Todd Lincoln in which she asks her husband for his “honest” opinion on whether or not the dress she had on made her butt look big and he was forced to answer truthfully bringing priceless reactions.

Okay, maybe I do watch a lot of commercials. I know I’m looking forward to the Super Bowl not only to see if New York can work its magic on New England again but to observe all those mega-million dollar advertisements. I can’t wait to see how the Budweiser Clydesdales will try tug at the heartstrings this year or the humorous ways Doritos has come up with to peddle tortilla chips or to find out

Danica: Racy in more ways than one

 how brazenly GoDaddy.com will attempt to sell web site domains by exposing the diminutive bosoms of it’s spokesperson, race car driver, Danica Patrick.

The only problem with Super Bowl Sunday is finding time away from the TV to go grab some of the food and beverage products advertised or relieve oneself of what’s already been consumed..which, now that I’ve just turned another year older, is a requirement that occurs with even more frequency. Knowwaddamean Vern?

My crippled crumpled back is finally feeling better which leaves me with a couple options: continue to rest until the healing process is complete..or man up and get out there on the golf course and play through the pain. I have chosen the latter and much to my surprise it went fine. In fact, the only pain I felt was the realization and confirmation that my game still sucks. I’m like every other golfer who believes he has never played up to his potential and that one day all the stars will be in proper alignment and struck balls will fly straighter and putts will run truer than ever before confirming that the skills were there all the time.

My playing partners yesterday (in the Fountain Hills American Legion League) included two guys from Minnesota who’ve been coming out here for years. Bill, it turned out was from actually from Valley Springs, South Dakota and recognized me right away from TV. It turned out to be a lovely day with wonderful weather and great camaraderie; almost enough to make up for rather lousy scores. I’m trying it again today at a place called Gold Canyon with some of my pals who play regularly in our Brandon group and spend time out here in the winter. I’ve already started slamming back the Advil to discourage any pangs of back discomfort from creeping in to spoil the day.

Linda doesn’t drive out here so she’s stuck at home during those hours when I’m off gallivanting around the links but insists she welcomes the opportunity to do nothing other than read any of the books she has downloaded onto her NOOK (There’s a sentence that wouldn’t have made any sense five years ago.) or do her nails or just sit outside on the patio soaking in the sunshine. She doesn’t say it, but I’m pretty sure she finds time away from me to be relaxing in itself.

Good pizza and great big band jazz on Wednesdays

We joined up with cousin, Donny Gruseth and his wife, Arlene for a fun evening in Mesa at a place called the “Pizza Mart” on Wednesday night. My friend and fellow musician, Rich Smith of Sioux Falls, plays  bass in a band that’s made up almost entirely of elderly snowbirds who, at first glance, didn’t look like they could play a lick. But from the very first note it was obvious we were in for something special. Playing music transforms people. Years melt away when they stand up to take a ride or belt out a familiar tune on the microphone. Sit-ins are welcome and I confess to cringing a bit when an old lady was barely able to hobble up from out of the big crowd to the stage but when she began to sing an old torch-light song with the band following along perfectly, this elderly woman became what she obviously had been all those decades ago; a heart breaker who would send men swooning ala Lena Horne. When she finished to thunderous applause, the band leader announced there was a guy from Sioux Falls in the audience we’d like to call up here. Oh, No, I thought. Now I know how the comedian must have felt on the Ed Sullivan Show when he had to follow The Beatles. But I clomped up there and gave my best effort at singing Bye Bye Blackbird and just like that it was time to say Bye Bye because tents fold up early around here. Donny and Arlene thought we should grab a bite to eat but neither of us knew what would still be open in Mesa after 8:30..so we agreed to rendezvous at a later date.  Perhaps Friday. It’s Karaoke night at the Legion and our daughter already has songs picked out for me to try.

Golf and music. Now that’s more like it.

Are you suffering from Bill Janklow overload yet?

It’s going to take a lot of air time and column space trying to summarize and analyze the life and career of Janklow who died Thursday only a few weeks after announcing that his quick demise was immanent. I just have a few comments from my personal encounters with the man.  Few South Dakotans have ever been so robust..so polarizing..so complicated…so dedicated..so brilliant..so popular and so reviled as our longtime governor, short time congressman and tragic soul who served 100 days jail time for manslaughter.

The word I most associate with Janklow is “fear.” I think he really enjoyed putting the fear of god into people. At least that was the case during my years in TV news and his as governor. His calls to reporters, anchors or station managers and owners complaining or wishing to “enlighten” them, about a story he had issues with, were legendary. He’d beat you down with statistics and ask you questions you couldn’t answer then scold you for being uninformed and under qualified while insisting you take down the number of the legislative research council and get your blankety blank facts straight. I received a few of those intimidating tongue lashings and have heard him say more than once he was never talking to KELO again but after a while he’d simmer down and we’d all be back on speaking terms.

As the eulogies continue in the days ahead, you’ll be hearing a lot about Janklow’s quieter compassionate side. That was never more evident to me than when he helped organize the huge World War II Veterans celebration on the grounds of the State Capitol in 2001. Janklow epitomized the slogan “Once a Marine always a Marine” crediting the Corps with turning him from a wild juvenile delinquent into a disciplined responsible man.  His  appreciation for the men and women in uniform and his patriotism in general was on fire that day as he spoke so passionately to the thousands of South Dakota’s war vets gathered on that cloudy rainy September afternoon. It was one of the most eloquent speeches of his public life made even more poignant by the fact that it came just hours after the terrorist attacks on New York and Washington DC.  I interviewed Janklow shortly after that address and asked if, in light of 9-11, he’d considered postponing the event. Never, Doug..he said. Never. The people that we are honoring here today stood up and answered the call to fight and perhaps die for this country. What would they think if we caved-in to those thugs who despise the very freedom these World War II veterans so bravely sacrificed to preserve? No sir.

I told him I liked his speech and he told me thanks.

Finally a conversation without fear.

I just got off the phone with my South Dakota golf buddies; not to gloat about being out here where the weather is sunny and warm (even though it is) but to see if they were still playing in this odd month of January. Sure enough, two groups of them were waiting to tee off at Brandon Golf Course just like they did yesterday and last week. I could hear them snickering in the background..especially after I confessed that my clubs were still in the trunk having not been touched since leaving South Dakota other than to be moved around to make room for groceries. I don’t know if it’s fate or if somebody is sticking pins in a Doug Lund doll but I’m really laid up this time. The cough and cold that had been slowing me up have pretty much gone away but then, last Saturday while stepping out of the shower, the lower left side of my big back slipped into an awkward and excruciatingly painful position. It was all I could do to stand up, get dried off and schlump downstairs to the Advil bottle. The last time this happened was when I was mowing the lawn and stepped into a depression I wasn’t expecting to be there. It took months to heal. So now, I’m coping with my impairment with ample doses of Ibuprofen and Smirnoff..but I don’t see golf anywhere in the near future short of a miracle.

Speaking of adult beverages, Linda and I visited an old friend the other day; The Rusty Spur Saloon in Old Town Scottsdale.

It’s the last of the old time watering holes in the valley. It began life in 1921 as the Farmer’s State Bank of Scottsdale. Then, just 12 years later, in the depths of the Depression, the governor of Arizona called for a “Bank Holiday” and that was the end of it. Farmer’s State Bank never reopened its doors..leaving lots of angry fruit and vegetable farmers in the valley high and dry.

The building housed the Chamber of Commerce and a real estate office for a time but in the 50’s it became the Rusty Spur where, it’s said, cowboy’s watered their horses with buckets of beer. Our desert daughter, Christy,  introduced us to the spur when we first started coming out here 16 years ago. Visitors to Old Town had no trouble finding the tiny tavern. You just had to listen for the non-stop live country music and watch for cigarette smoke wafting out the swinging front doors. You’re only chance of finding a place to sit down was to stand and wait patiently for a table or wall-side bench to open up. Once seated, our waitress came by to take our order and bring by a big bucket of salted in the shell peanuts to munch on and throw the shells to the floor.(A practice that has since ended after somebody in a position of authroity decided it to be a health hazard. No smoking anymore either, of course.)  

The evening entertainment was, and still is, Phychobilly and the Rodeo Cowboys; a real fun time country band that, at Christy’s suggestion, let me get up and sing a few songs with them every year including Kawliga..the old Hank Williams and Charley Pride tune that  never fails to bring the crowd to its feet and the dance floor. Back then, the place had…what the Antiques Road Show appraisers would call; Patina.

The big game animal heads, license plates (from every state) beer signs and photographs were covered with decades of dust and stale smoke. The rest room was…well, a place to do your business and get the hell out again. Ten years ago, Ron Anderson and his  wife, Susan,  took over the Spur and have since cleaned up some of the disgusting elements but kept the fun atmosphere including good food and live music every day and every night of the year. One notable absence now, though, is the skinny little old cowboy who never missed a night at the spur always sitting on a stool next to the bandstand. He was as much a part of the décor as the dollar bills pinned to the walls and ceiling.

All the regulars knew Teddy who became sort of a celebrity..especially with Psychobilly’s band who’d invite him up to sing “Cheatin’ Heart” every night. I liked the way the band and the crowd treated Teddy with respect and applause. Sadly, Teddy Hanna went to that bar stool in the sky this last year. I also liked the way Ron permanently placed a photograph in Teddy’s honor over the place where Arizona’s singin’ cowboy spent so many hours. But the Spur still attracts it’s share of colorful characters..like this heavy set gent who uses a modified Louisville Slugger baseball bat for a cane.

After leaving the Spur, we heard music of a different sort coming from across the street. It was this guy playing Jerry Lee Lewis stuff on his electric piano. He was remarkable. We sat listening, making requests and putting bills in his tip jar until it was time to move on.

God, I love this town..even if I’m denied the joy of winter golf while my pals are playing at home.

It’s still worth the trip