Getting Burned At The Double-R Ranch

The weather could only be described as scorching that day at the Double-R Ranch. Small clusters of people formed a crowd that milled around between the corral and long, empty tables waiting for food. The children were getting hot and restless. Beneath the willow trees a wife straightened her husband's blue collar and a mother pushed her daughter's wheelchair into the shade. Over by the lemonade stand, a group with cameras slung over their necks stood around looking for leaks.

The owner of the place, the one his friends called The Cowboy, stood before them to answer the question that was on everybody's mind: Why are we all here? The invitations had said simply, "Come for lunch to be followed by entertainment."

The Cowboy announced with a smile that crinkled his wrinkles, "You're here as fine Americans representing other fine Americans. You're here because I want you to know that I care. I want you to put yourselves in my hands. And now if you'll all just be patient, lunch will be here in a moment."

He walked briskly back to the ranchhouse to find his wife, who was rushing busily around the kitchen overseeing the preparations. She was just about to walk outside with a stack of her best china, when The Cowboy caught her and said, "Not for these people. Remember--we want to do our best to seem just like them. And, Fancy, that dress looks like it belongs in a museum. Don't you have anything that looks like something Eleanor Roosevelt would have worn? Something a little more casual."

Fancy smiled at his suggestions and brought up the subject of the food: "Don't you think chocolate sundaes, apple pie, and submarine sandwiches is a bit unbalanced?"

"Fancy, we're going to let these people know that we believe first of all in God, country, and a strong defense. They'll just have to learn to swallow it."

"I suppose it is more nutritious than the school lunch program."

The food came out on paper plates, and the crowd gathered around. The Cowboy served up the pie; several people noticed that his friends got a bigger slice than anyone else. One of the children came back for a second piece. Somebody called The General reported it: "Cowboy, it's just what we expected--one of those welfare kids took an extra piece of pie."

"You stand watch and make sure none of the other cheats try a trick like that," The Cowboy retorted, as he smiled and patted the head of a little girl. A woman with a camera tried to take a picture of The General glaring at the children around the pie table, but he took her camera away.

The Cowboy noticed that the tension was beginning to rise with the heat, and announced after lunch, "We're here to have a good time, so let's forget our differences and have fun. We're about to start the games--and don't forget sometime today to get over there and guess how many jellybeans are in the jar. Winner takes them home.

"The first event is just for the children," he continued. "This is the greased pig contest. Are you ready, kids?" A greased pig was let out into the corral, and the children went scattering and yelling in all directions, some in pursuit of the pig, and some in retreat. A few caught up with the pig and tried to wrestle it to the ground.

The Cowboy settled back into his private box in the stands, specially set up that day for spectators, and shouted, "You kids be careful out there!"

"I certainly hope so," said The General, who was seated at his side. "They're not covered by Medicaid anymore, you know, and we wouldn't want to be saddled with the expenses."

After a few moments of watching the fun, The General leaned over and asked, "Who do you think's going to win this event?"

"I'm kind of high on the hog, myself," The Cowboy replied with a laugh as he reached for another mint julep and offered one to his friend.

When the children began to lose interest, The Cowboy stood up and announced the bronco riding event. This one was for the camera crowd. The Cowboy himself personally put on the horse's saddle for the chosen rider, making sure it was just a bit too loose, helped the man up and whacked the horse on the flank. The horse gyrated around the corral, and in a matter of moments the saddle had slid to one side, so that the jolted man had to lean drastically just to keep his balance.

The Cowboy poked The General in the ribs and said, "I told you they're always tilting things--see everything from a slant." The General nodded.

After awhile, the saddle had slipped completely upside down, and the terrified camera man held on for dear life so as not to be trampled by the bucking horse.

"Always making the worst of a situation," commented The Cowboy. "I guess he thinks there's something to be concerned about. It's that downbeat psychology again."

The third event was limited only to The Cowboy's friends. He explained that it was probably too complicated for anyone else, but he wanted everybody to understand it, so he brought out a chart. "This one is called 'Roll Out the Pork Barrel...We'll Have a Barrel of Fun'."

The chart showed the placement of the barrels in the corral, and he explained that the riders would mount their horses and ride around the barrels. Fastest time wins. As he spoke, he started to draw the path of the riders through the barrels and was heard to say under his breath to his pen, "Darn modern technology." He smiled up at the crowd and said, "Well, my pen isn't working, but I can assure you that the fastest time will win."

At the north of the property, a tightrope was being strung up for the next event, along with a net in case the contestants might misjudge.

"Now we need someone from the truly needy group for this one," insisted The Cowboy.

It wasn't immediately clear who should ascend the rope, as most in the group were young children, or pregnant women, or disabled. But the healthiest among them, a woman claiming she was in pretty good shape for an old lady, stepped forward.

The Cowboy told her, "Now don't worry. You've got a net." But when he took into consideration her age, he said with concern, "General, bring that rope closer to the ground. And lower that safety net too."

The crowd watched the courageous woman balance herself on the rope and take a few hesitant steps. They gasped as she began to totter. When she fell, the net, too close to the ground, stretched and allowed her to strike the hard earth. As she hit, people immediately rushed to her aid. The Cowboy ordered them away to give her room for air. "I'll take care of it," he said as he rushed the crowds off to the south end of the ranch for the next event.

By this time the one group that had been left out of all the games started to feel that things were a bit unfair and began to organize themselves. They called themselves the South Succotash Someplace Squad.

"Who are those people?" asked Fancy.

"Oh, they're just angry because they don't have jobs," The Cowboy replied. "You'd think just once they could forget it and have a good time."

"What does succotash mean anyway?'

"It's a vegetable, dear--like ketchup."

"Oh."

The Cowboy stood before the group and said, "Don't worry. This last event is just for you. I want you to divide yourselves into two teams. This is the tug of war."

A long rope was brought out and stretched over a trough of water. When the two teams were in place along the rope, The Cowboy said, "Okay, you guys battle it out, and we'll all watch." He walked back to his seat, propped up his feet, tipped back his hat, and said to The General, "This could be fun."

The two teams pulled for awhile, until one of the men said, "What are we pulling against each other for?" He let go of the rope, and one by one the others joined him. In disgust, he looked up at The Cowboy and said, "We're not going to play your games anymore."

As the crowd started slowly to walk away, The Cowboy shouted after them, "But I just wanted us all to have a good time! I wanted to let you know I care, I think about you..."

Parents grabbed their children and said, "It's time to go," while older people helped each other off the field. The cameras started rolling as the crowd moved in a mass toward home.

"I wonder how the press will cover this tomorrow," The General said with concern.

The Cowboy answered with a shrug, "They'll probably make up some story about how my party was unpopular. General, talk to them and explain that the day of gala festivities ended with a parade from the south end of the ranch."

Joyce Hollyday was associate editor of Sojourners when this article appeared.