Where Were You, Roy Rogers&;#063;

My first hero was Roy Rogers. He was known as the "singing cowboy"
and he had this beautiful Palomino horse named Trigger, a loyal wife
named Dale, and a funny sidekick named Gabby Hayes. He was my first
hero because he was the first one on television I know of who stopped
the bad guys. He carried it out with such style, too. Those bad guys
stayed down!

All heroes, whether they are on TV or not, eventually let you down. Roy
let me down in November 1963.

It was sometime after lunch time and I was back in my third grade
classroom. I can almost see me at my desk, head bent and scribbling
furiously. I was always writing some story.

The principal broke in with an announcement that shocked us. President
Kennedy had been ambushed and shot in Dallas, Texas.

Almost immediately, though, I began to play a movie in my mind that was
how I imagined everything happened. Dallas was an old cowboy and horse
town way out in the middle of the desert. Some tumbleweed rolled by.
The stagecoach driver flicked the reins rapidly, trying to get the
horses to gallop harder. The President stuck his head out so he could
see to aim his six-shooter.

The bad guys, wearing black hats of course, drew closer. Their thin
cruel mouths shouted threats at the President. One of them began to
fire a rifle - one that looked just like the Rifleman's. Suddenly, the
President gave a cry and fell back.

"Whoa, whoa!" the driver shouted, pulling back on the reins now.

"Heh heh!" one of the bad guys chuckled evilly. "Now we get the
gold!"

Just then, Bullet came streaking over the hill. Right on his heels came
Trigger, with Roy Rogers whooping and hollering.

"Let's get out of here!" Suddenly, the rough tough bad guys had become
sniveling crybabies. They beat their horses' flanks with their hats and
ran away as fast as they could.

Meanwhile, the driver jumped down and yanked open the door. Roy Rogers
pulled up and jumped down from Trigger. "Mr. President? Are you all
right?" he asked worriedly.

The driver had given the President a kerchief to hold against the
little crease on his forehead. No one shot in the head ever had
anything worse than those little creases.
"I'm fine," the President said valiantly. "Go get them, Roy!"

My hero leaped agilely back onto Trigger's back and off they went. He
would chase the bad guys, catch them, rope and hog-tie them and drag
them back for justice.

And at that moment, I heard my principal clear his throat to speak over
the P.A. again. He announced very solemnly that the President was dead.
My teacher gasped, jumped up and ran from the room. The rest of us
looked at each other, scared.

Not only was I scared, I was also very confused. This was not supposed
to happen! Roy Rogers was supposed to save the day. What happened? Had
he gotten lost? Not ridden Trigger hard enough? How could the President
die of a crease wound to the head?

The TV was not on at our house when I got home, shock and betrayal
churning in my tummy. My mother was deaf and we only watched TV at
night. I told her that the President was dead. She took one look at me
and realized I wasn't kidding. I told her to turn on the TV. I got my
first look at what Dallas, Texas looked like on November 22,
1963.

Shoot. This wasn't some dusty cow town. It was a city, with paved roads
and grass and big buildings. There wasn't a stagecoach, either, just a
big long limo with its top down. And watching the clips from TV it was
pretty obvious that it was no crease that killed the President.

Still, I felt like Roy Rogers had let us all down. I didn't watch his
TV show ever again.