Skip to main content

Tucson Phone Slingers

In this episode, Tucson Phone Slingers . . .

He rode up to Miller’s Crossing just after sunrise and stopped at the Starbucks. Stepping down from the saddle, he stood momentarily, taking in the streets, parking lot, and empty storefronts. This scoundrel then slipped his "Colt" from its holster and demanded, “Name six gun-slinging dealers from Tucson, Arizona.”

You'd probably get as far as Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday before you wondered whether Chick Bowdrie - Texas Ranger was based on a real person. However, most could oblige instantly if that same rascal insisted on six of your best gem contacts.

On this year's road trip to Tucson, Arizona, we whizzed by huge road signs for Tombstone. Visit the historic OK Corral, 100 miles, exit 303. There, you can relive the pistol-toting Wild West days. This got me thinking.

Gunslingers sported two well-worn leather holsters with Colt six-shooters, dressed in frayed denim, a bandana tied around their neck, dusty, worn boots, spurs, a black flat crown hat, and a faithful strawberry roan. You've caught me; I've read too many Louis L’Amour westerns.

However, after visiting a local coffee shop in Tucson, I noticed a radically different contrast between the modern-day "cowboy" image and the debonaire image seen on television.

In the not-so-wild west, today's cowboy is clean-shaven, a manicure, dressed in pressed denim jeans, a dual-pocket embroidered shirt, a broad-brimmed Stetson hat, polished boots, a Rolex, and a fine leather sheath strapped to his belt. The latest smartphone hovered below his gun hand, and a quick-flip, six-inch knife at the other. The horses? Under the hood of their climate-controlled, ¾ ton, four-wheel drive pick-up trucks.

You soon realize you're not in California anymore when you witness the following in the local coffee shop. With the precision of a gunslinger, these modern-day "cowboys" draw their phones from their wide leather belts with huge buckles to pay for their coffee using an app. Then, with a wrist flip, the knife punctures a hole in the plastic lid so the coffee flows freely. It's quite a sight.

A few years ago, at the Tucson gem show, we stumbled across a booth where you could still purchase a crafted leather holster for a pearl-handled Colt 45 six-shooter, a Winchester rifle, and rather large knives that a Texas Ranger might have carried.

The characters hanging around this booth wore bearded poker faces with grizzled expressions. You've seen the type—tobacco-chewing, manly men.

Draw - their smartphone slides from its holster. They snap a photo, and the conversation goes like this; "Hey, Jack - you there? These pistols are a steal, and they cost only $1,200.00 (I'm sure I can talk this guy down). I'm sending you a photo; give me an honest opinion, no bullshit." In the meantime, Lori is standing about 20 yards away, watching this spectacle, hesitant to come near this booth.

"Can you blame her?” I’m thinking the coffee shop is a little more civilized.

So, remember this year in Tucson, remain on high alert for that phone-slinging tough guy who pokes you in the back and blurts out, "Hands in the air - give me your best deal, or I'll post a video and tag you on Tic Toc."

I'm Patrick Ball; thanks for listening; see you in the next episode.

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Most Popular of All Time

Paris – the End of Silence

✈️  In this special episode: Paris – the End of Silence Sometimes, connection arrives in the most unexpected form—not through grand gestures, but through a quiet voice carried by technology. In a Paris apartment, I finally understood my family’s words . . . and felt my mother’s presence in every sentence. Since I was a little boy, France has been both a beautiful and frustrating paradox in my life. Every six to nine years, my mother, Mauricette, would take my brothers and me back to La Rochelle to visit our French family. The moment we arrived, the air would fill with a sound I loved but couldn’t share in—the rapid-fire, musical rhythm of French. My aunts, uncles, and cousins would warmly sweep me into hugs and kisses, their words flowing like a lovely melody I couldn’t quite catch. I’d smile brightly, trying to communicate with my eyes and hands. But as soon as we stepped off the plane, my mother and her sister-in-law, Joséan, started talking animatedly. They were gone, chatting h...
2 comments
Read more

Noirmoutier: An Ocean Between Us, Gone in a Moment

In this episode, Noirmoutier: An Ocean Between Us, Gone in a Moment. Sometimes love waits half a century for its moment — and when it finally arrives, time doesn’t stand still; it disappears. The moment I stepped off the train in Nantes, it felt like time froze. There she was — my cousin Michèle — waiting on the platform, arms waving desperately. When we finally embraced, the fifty years that had passed between us disappeared in an instant. The melody in her voice was the same, but softer than I remembered. We both shed tears of joy that only come from love long overdue. “I’m so happy you are here,” she whispered, her voice trembling.   Thank goodness for the translation app on my phone, because the conversation began immediately — fast, fluid, and unstoppable. The Frenzy of Catching Up As we drove for about an hour to the tiny town of L’Épine on the Island of Noirmoutier, the words kept tumbling out. Michèle and her husband, Alain, are the most gracious hosts — but my new challe...
1 comment
Read more

Our Journey to Avignon

🇫🇷 Lost in Transition: Our Journey to Avignon (Part 1) When everything that can go wrong—does—sometimes grace still finds you. Our Monday morning trip began on the quiet island of Noirmoutier , where salt marshes and sea breezes whisper of simpler days. From there, our early morning drive was uneventful; we arrived at the Nantes station with plenty of time to spare. From Nantes to Paris Montparnasse, everything went smoothly—so we thought, until it didn't. That's when things started to unravel. If you've never traveled the Paris Metro , imagine a vast underground maze pulsing beneath the city—corridors twisting into one another, trains roaring in and out of the dark, staircases that rise and fall like riddles. It's efficient, yes—but only if you know where you're going. We had over an hour and a half to make our next train to Avignon —plenty of time. Or so we believed. We needed to reach the Gare de Lyon station, where our TGV (high-speed train) was headed south...
Post a Comment
Read more

Patience – the Only First-Class Ticket

In this episode, Why Patience is the Only First-Class Ticket They say travel broadens the mind. After eight days sailing the Rhône with 140 fellow luxury vacationers, I can confirm it also tests patience, calf strength, buffet strategy, and one's tolerance for people furious that France insists on being French. Don't get me wrong—I adored this trip. The river shimmered like liquid optimism. The villages looked hand-painted. The pastries could negotiate world peace. But somewhere between Ship Horn Hello and Bon Voyage, we'd inadvertently boarded a floating behavioral research study disguised as a holiday. Our ship was less a cruise and more a ferry for the Sailors of Status. ⌚ The Wristwatch Wars Some passengers approached relaxation like yogis. Others treated leisure like a final exam with extra credit. I came to believe certain luxury watches emit ultrasonic signals that only their owners can detect. A frequency calibrated to trigger rapid movement toward any line forming...
1 comment
Read more