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.

Comments

Most Popular of All Time

The Compass of Cuba: Mom

🎄  Preview of this week's  On the Fly  blog: A Holiday Tribute to Mom. As the holidays hustle with pixels and beeps, the world scrolls along in a smartphone-y sleep. I log off for a moment—just one little minute— To breathe in the past and to sit myself in it. My mind doesn’t wander to faraway places, Or trips full of tickets and new airport faces. Instead, it drifts backward, as memories do, to Cuba, Illinois, where the best moments grew. To a home full of warmth, in the wintry Midwest, Where my mother—dear “Marcie”—put love to the test. With a smile that could melt the most frigid of dawns, and hugs that hung on you like shivering fawns. She came from La Rochelle in France, brave and bright, Across oceans and war shadows, into new light. A town full of strangers soon felt like her own, And her courage built up the foundation of home. “Oh yes, we know Marcie!” the locals would say— “It's Doc Ball’s French lady! She brightens the day!” She cleaned, and she cooked, and sh...

Feeling Human Again

In this episode, The Unexpected Thankfulness of Feeling Human Again I’ll be honest with you: My triumphant return from France was not the glamorous homecoming I had imagined. No graceful glide back into routine. No cinematic jet-setter moment where I lift my suitcase off the carousel and wink at life like we’re old pals. Instead? I came home and immediately launched into a two-week performance piece titled The Great American Couch Collapse. My days blurred together in a haze of soup, hot tea, tissues, and desperate negotiations with the universe for just one nostril—one!—to function properly. The living room sofa became my emotional support furniture. And any creative idea that dared tiptoe into my congested brain was gently shown the exit with a firm but courteous, “Not today, friend. Try again later.” When life hits the pause button like that—when you’re exhausted, sick, and mentally unplugged—how do you find your spark again? Somehow, today, I felt it. A tiny shift. A clearing of th...

A Holiday Reflection–Mother's Love

In this episode,  How a Mother’s Love Built My Memories– A Holiday Reflection As this holiday season approaches and the world buzzes with shopping, planning, and busy schedules, I find myself embracing something wonderfully simple: taking a moment to pause. Not to check off a list or recharge devices, but to breathe deeply, remember fondly, and honor the person and place that have shaped my sense of home long before I had the words for it. This year, after regaining my strength from a lingering post-travel fog, my mind didn’t wander to exotic destinations or future adventures. It drifted backward—across oceans and time—to Cuba, Illinois, in the early 1960s, and to the woman whose love built the foundation of my world: Mauricette Elaine (Bontemps) Ball. My Mom . We came to Cuba after leaving La Rochelle, France, in 1959—a transition so dramatic I only appreciate its enormity now. My mother, barely in her mid-twenties, stepped off that plane and into the Midwest with a courage that s...

Believing Is Seeing

🎄 In this episode, Believing Is Seeing . . . It's December, we bustle, we wrap, and we dash. We sort life into boxes— myths  here,  to-dos  in a stash. We whisper of Santa (adult code: “Not Real”), but hold on one minute—let’s rethink this whole deal. For the stories we cherish, the movies we stream, hold more truth in their sparkle than we grown-ups may deem. So hop in this sleigh and hold on real tight— We’re chasing down Santa by the glow of his light! Scott Calvin once landed in the North Pole’s cold air, with elves, cocoa, and snow everywhere. He squinted and frowned—“This just  cannot  be so!” (Like thinking tangled lights will detangle if we  blow .) Then Judy the Elf gave a cocoa so steaming,  and said something simple . . . yet surprisingly gleaming: Seeing’s not believing—no, that’s not the key. "Believing is seeing!"   Just trust, and  you’ll  see!” Kids don’t need a map or a satellite screen to know Santa’s workshop is her...