DimeNovels were popular in the late 1800's. They were printed on newsprint, and sold in apothecaries. They were black and white, 81/2 by 11 or half sheet size.
My goal is to publish a series of my own Dime Novels, reproduced in the original fashion. I'll have them on this page for you to read from time to time.
Can a boy have too many heros? I've thought a lot about that lately. I suppose that a boy can get lost if he never has a chance to find out who he really is, just all by himself. But I don't thing a boy can have too many heros. I will say this, though, it make a lot of difference what kind of heros we choose. There are all kinds of characters out there vying for our attention. Our job is to figure out which ones are wearing the white hats, the good guys. Here's hoping the good guys win most of the time.
The following story is a true story. It's a story about all the good things about the old days. Things like bravery, manhood, duty, cowboys, outlaws and life. It has all the things that make a story about the old west great, horses, mountains, wind through the trees, cattle, open spaces, and strong folks.
This story was told to me by my Grandpa. I know it's a true story, because it's something that actually happened to him. It's one of those stories that has had such an impact, that it has changed me and had a part in making me what I am today. Maybe it will remind you of stories told to you by your own grandparents, and I hope it will remind you of the events that have shaped your life. This is a story about heros. With any luck it'll inspire some heroism in you and in me.
Like I said, this story was told to me by my Grandpa, a hero of mine. I've had a lot of heroes in my lifetime, but the best heros I have known have been my grandparents. I always wanted to be like my grandparents. I have priceless memories of the time I spent with them. Memories of sitting around a campfire in the beautiful mountains of Utah listening to and memorizing stories they told me.
Grandpa was a big man, he stood tall and straight, and he never looked to me like and old man. He was slim and had broad shoulders and a square jaw. He was an outdoors man, he loved to hunt and fish and camp. And he love to take his grandchildren with him to the Utah mountains he loved.
Yes, Grandpa was my hero. As a child I was always trying to do things like he did. I was always looking for his approval, though approval was not something he handed out freely. It's true that Grandpa was more apt to bark at you, than to pat you on the head. He was always ready to help someone learn from their mistakes, by pointing them out. If you did something right, his highest praise was a smile and a nod of the head.
But the best thing about Grandpa was the way he lived, and how he passed on the things about
life that he learned. Grandpa was my role model, and he carefully taught me how to be one of the
good guys.
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CHAPTER
THE RIDE
When I was twelve years old, my grandparents took me to the old family cabin on Cedar Mountain. We were to be gone all summer. Near the end of the summer we would join my parents at the family reunion in Enterprise. Then our summer on Cedar Mountain would be over.
In our family, going to places in southern Utah, like Cedar Mountain, has always been like going home. We've always talked like we were transplanted to Salt Lake temporarily. Grandpa and Grandma had lived in Salt Lake since my father was a boy. They came to Salt Lake so Grandpa could find work. But home was always the mountains of southern Utah.
Cedar mountain is a kind of hallowed ground in my family, from way back. It was someplace that my grandparents had visited many times since before my father was born, and even before that when they went with their own families. Around every bend in the road was something to see and a special story. I tried to soak it all in.
After we had arrived at the cabin, Grandma had me help her set up house keeping to her liking, and then she started in reading her books. Grandma loved her romance novels. Once we had things pretty well set up, we found a camp site for my tent that Grandma approved of near Duck Creek. Grandpa and Grandma let me go off alone in my tent at night and to sleep.
Grandpa and I spent a lot of time doing what we loved best, exploring the country side on horseback. I would follow grandpa and every so often he would stop and point out something that he thought I should see and a story to go along with it. I could almost see the events that took place as he told me.
"Robert, I and your Dad, oh, when he was just a little older than you are now, set up camp over there by those willows one summer."
He would stop and remember, and laugh to himself.
"It was slow going that time. I wondered if we would make it up the mountain. We carried a rope, and I got down ever so often and made a mark on the trail, and then with the rope I would measure how far we had gone, that's how slow we went."
He looked at me and I smiled and he laughed. When we got to Navajo lake we stopped again and ate. Of course, there was another story to go with Navajo Lake.
"Robert, I camped here with you're dad one time, when he was a kid like you. We came out that time with Clay and his boy. The boys tried to swim in the lake, but it was too cold. Damn near drowned. I was up all night with a horrible tooth ache. There weren't no dentists around to take care of me then. Just had to suffer through to Cedar City."
He laughed again, and stood to survey the area. He tried to remember every detail about that camping excursion in the past, the exact spot where their camp had been, how Dad swam in the cold lake, how Grandpa paced the floor all night with his sore tooth.
Then he said that it was time to go back to camp. We got started and he let me lead the way. We had about an hour's ride to get back to camp, time to ride out in front and feel the freedom of the wide open space. The world was my play thing and I had time day dream. It was my choice to set the pace that day, and I chose fast. I rode hard, harder than I ever had before, harder than a boy of twelve should have rode by himself.
When I got back to camp, I was alone. Grandpa was no longer behind me. I had lost him, I had left him behind. I knew that I was in trouble. I had never looked back once in the hour since we first started back for camp.
Grandma was sitting in a chair under a tree, reading. I could tell that she somehow knew what had happened. I wondered what she would say to me, and if she was going to say anything about Grandpa not being with me. But she only smiled at me and didn't say anything.
I stood at attention, thinking about what I had done. I had never ridden off alone before. No one needed to tell me that I should not have. Boy, I had really done it! Up till that moment in my life, Grandpa had never really been angry with me before, never really yelled at me before. But I knew he would this time, he would be angry and he would yell. What hurt even more than that was to know that I deserved it. If grandpa didn't get angry, if he didn't yell, it would still hurt just to know I had let him down.
I jumped when I finally heard him coming, way off down the road. Grandma stopped reading and looked up too. My heart pounded faster as the sound got louder and Grandpa got closer. Then all at once I could see him. He was thundering down the road as face as he could. It was a sight that made me forget to breath. He raced into camp and almost fell trying to dismount so fast. Grandma closed her book and folded her hands in her lap. When Grandpa got hold of himself, he yelled in the loudest voice I had ever heard him use:
"Where's that damn kid! Where's that damn kid!" He strode quickly toward me. He stood toe to toe with me and yelled as he looked me straight in the eye.
"This damn, show off kid! Races back to camp without ever a thought for me!" He took off his gloves and threw them angrily to the ground. "What if I would have had an accident? What if he'd have gotten lost? What the hell's the matter with him?" Then he turned and looked at my grandmother as if she might understand what had happened better than him. "What the hell's the matter with him?"
Grandma just sighed and went back to her reading, "You've said enough Harold, let him be."
Grandpa didn't want to be finished with me, but there was wisdom and authority in Grandma's
voice. He whipped around again to stare me down for a moment with one eye. He didn't say
anything more. He stepped into the cabin and slammed the door.
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