Mad Jack Hanks: Tales from the O-NO Ranch 9-3-12 | TheFencePost.com
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Mad Jack Hanks: Tales from the O-NO Ranch 9-3-12

Mad Jack Hanks
Wellington, Colo.

Once in a great while, gentle readers, I will meet someone who really impresses me and it can be for any number of reasons.

Recently I bumped into a couple of fellers from Alabama at our local McBurger joint. They were riding motorcycles and when I ask them if they had been to Sturgis, S.D., the biggest bike rally of them all? Yes they had. However, they left Alabama, rode to Wisconsin to see the motorcycle museum there and then to Sturgis, then to Yellowstone and now they were on their way back to Alabama. Man, that’s a lot of riding on a motorcycle but alas, they were but mere children compared to me. I was impressed to say the least.

I have watched a local feller for a number of years as he trudges up and down the main street of Wellington in a very determined manner for a man with some years behind him. I have to tell ya that he is no bigger than a “whisper” but he is out rain, snow or shine walking to all the businesses in town looking in their trash receptacles for anything of any value. It’s always one foot in front of the other as he seems suspended in a forward lean but uses no walking aids. I pulled up to the post office on my Harley the other day and was surprised to see this old guy rolling up on a scooter.

“Hey, looks like ya got yourself a new motorcycle,” I popped off.

In a weak but positive voice he replied, “Well, I fell the other day and I need a little help now cause I hurt myself a little.”

We exchanged greetings and just the usual stuff and finally I asked how old he was.

“I’m 96-years-old, well, I will be in 10 more days,” he offered.

“Wow, 96,” I exclaimed, “you really get around for your age and in all kind of weather,” I praised him.

“How old are you?” he asked.

“I’m 72”, I said.

“Seventy-two, heck, I was married longer than that!” he said with a hearty chuckle.

“What’s yer name?” I queried.

“It’s Paul, what’s yours?” he shot back.

“My name is Jack, good to meet you Paul.”

He studied me for a second or two and then asked, “Are you that feller that writes in that paper that I read every week?”

I told him that I was. How he would recognize me in my biker costume I’ll never know, but he did.

He gave me a hardy handshake and said proudly, “Well I’m pleased to meet ya. I wondered when I might ever run into ya, I read your column every week!”

I was feeling 10-feet tall by now and talk about giving a guy a lift, ol’ Paul gave me a really big lift that for a moment I wondered if I too could live to be 96 and be getting around as well as I have seen him all these years. Yep, Paul, you are quite a feller and I’m glad I got to meet you and I hope your birthday is the best on ever! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!

Stay tuned, check yer cinch on occasion and I’ll c y’all, all y’all.

As a side bar if you, gentle reader, are having a birthday this week, Happy Birthday to you too! ❖


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