I lived in a county that had a population of over 600,000 and I was over 50 years old before I knew anyone who had written a book. I moved to a county that has a population of 7,000 and I have met and become friends with a dozen people who have a published book. The same goes for artists, sculptors and musicians here. So much for my kids telling me that I was moving to a cultural wasteland.

Lately I have read two really great books by local authors — “Temperance Creek,” by Pam Royes and “Damn, I Shot My Horse,” by Fred Hauptman.

Pam’s book has a lot about the Snake River country and is beautifully written. Fred’s book is about growing up pretty much on your own. Fred’s parents dropped him off in the middle of nowhere Nevada and left him alone to prove up on their homestead in his early teens. Child protective services would be on that in this day and age.

Fred’s book reminded me of a friend I used to cowboy with, Sonny Tureman. Sonny was from around John Day and was older than me. He was a real hard case, probably a product of the times and his upbringing. Sonny was a tough as anyone I ever knew. When he was a kid growing up in Grant County he tended to get into trouble occasionally. Unfortunately for him, his uncle was the county sheriff. When he was apprehended, his uncle would make Sonny nail down loose boards on the board sidewalks they used to have in downtown John Day. The old ladies in town would see Sonny back on duty, shake their heads and scold him about being bad again.

When Sonny was about 13, his parents and uncle had enough of his indiscretions. They loaded him up and took him to a remote ranch where they ran in 40 head of horses that had not been touched and told Sonny to have them ready to go by fall. These were not 2 or 3 years old; they were 4- to 8-year-old horses that were feather-footed, big enough to really buck and were tough minded. His parents or uncle would bring Sonny groceries and tobacco every two weeks and check on his progress. Sonny would tie up a leg on one of the horses, throw the saddle on, get on and pull the slip knot on the leg. He told me that on the really bad ones he would head and tail five together and get on the one in the middle. I suggested that might make for a pretty good wreck. Sonny admitted this was true but they couldn’t buck as hard that way. He did recommend not falling off if you tried this.

Living alone and being on your own at that age can have an odd effect on people. Sonny could stand his own company and if he didn’t like you he totally ignored you and didn’t talk to you. It was like you weren’t even there. If you annoyed him you could suffer his wrath physically, or if lucky that day just receive a good cussing. Sonny could string combinations of cuss words unheard by almost everyone.

One day we were driving yearlings down the road when the mail lady ignored Sonny’s request to stop and she turned the cattle back just before they got to the gate. Sonny gave her a good cussing and whipped her vehicle with his rope for emphasis. The next day federal marshals were at the ranch and wanted to know where the guy was who had assaulted the mail carrier, which is a federal offense, turns out. The boss said he didn’t know — he had gotten rid of him because he was a trouble maker.

Sonny used his horse-breaking experience to become the world champion RCA bareback rider on three occasions. He also won the average at the NFR in team roping with Ace Berry. He made his living on the Rodeo Road and later as a day-working cowboy and was as good a help as he wanted to be that day. Sonny is the only person I know of who never filed an income tax return and got away with it. He died without ever paying income tax. I think he was a Democrat.

Thanks to all who worked so hard to make the CJD Ranch Rodeo a big success. All you cowboys that competed, thank you also, and you better practice a lot because the Miller kids do and they are already pretty tough.

Columnist Barrie Qualle is a working cowboy in Wallowa County.