The Last Cowboy Book

Did the independent spirit of free ranging and standing up for the oppressed pass with the cowboys of old? For the last century, this flame has been carried in the hearts and minds of American boys as they grew into manhood. Their minds were set on fire with dime novels that portrayed the lives of early frontiersmen. Radio and television shows like The Lone Ranger, Roy Rogers, and Bonanza served as windows into the past - a close up lesson on the Code of the West.

I was one of these young boys who always wanted to wear a white hat and stand toe-to-toe with the bad guys in a battle against the forces of evil. Young boys have been this way throughout generations of Americans, and will continue as long as there are memories of the last cowboys who roamed in the Old West. Today, the ranks of the police and military are filled with these boys who have grown into men who live out these dreams.

Old, worn-out, retired DEA agents will tell you that the best days of being a narcotics agent have passed. The restrictive nature of rules and regulations, political correctness, and video recording cell phones have taken out all the fun in the job. These cowboys are slowly being fenced in by technology, laws, regulations, and pencil-necked stupidvisors.

What does this really accomplish? For one thing, I guess it protects us from ourselves and our brash actions that on occasion may lead to a train wreck. It succeeds in slowing down the rocket ride of the fast-paced undercover agent as he barrels down the road, keeping up with the soulless traffickers of the drug world. It snips our wings and shapes our methods with the sharp edge of a cookie cutter to smooth our rough edges. As a result of this, we lose the boldness of quick action, the ability to slam dirtballs at breakneck speeds, and the courage to do the right thing regardless of the consequences.

You don’t have to wear a Stetson and a pair of Tony Lama snakeskin boots to be a cowboy Narc. You only need the mindset that is forged in the streets of life, fighting crime with an iron fist or sometimes a feather (a gentle touch). Over the years, you learn to discern as Solomon would and grow the courage of a lion when confronted with dark things. We aren’t really as one would imagine. We aren’t dashing and handsome leading men, but rather, we’re old porch dogs, slumbering with one eye open, waiting, and watching- ready for that mangy cat or passing car to foolishly cross our path. At that moment, we spring into action and leap from our feigned rest to give chase, bringing down those who would dare challenge us. I recall an old Turkish proverb that reads: “There is a sleeping lion in the heart of the brave.” We may all look like a pack of porch dogs, but deep down inside we have the heart of a lion.

We are the cowboys of American law enforcement, a dying breed cut off from living our dreams in this not-so-brave new world. When society demands the fencing in of the freestyle police work of old, the new generations of cowboys have no choice but to step in line, or they will lose their job (or even worse, face legal consequences). Unfortunately, what these new restrictions can’t accomplish, the aging process will - a last generation of gun-toting cowboys are slowed down naturally by their aging bodies, broken down by the wear of wrestling bad guys, bailing from patrol cars, and kicking in doors in the dead of night. Over the years we watch as our hair turns gray or turns loose, our eyes turn hard (along with our hearing), the barbed wire pain of arthritis creeps in, and we have to learn to walk with a hitch in our get-along due to old, fractured bones. In the end, it is our own aging bodies that, like a traitor, serve to fence us in when the bureaucratic managers could not. Father Time has reared his unkind hand and touched us all.

The Last Cowboy is a testament to these old warriors.