Racing In Their Blood

ritbIn this green and pleasant land, the fields outside the course are filled with white stretch limos the length of a squash court, attended by race- goers drinking champagne at tailgate parties. Some are even smoking out of glass pipes like these. Presumably those who cannot afford grey morning dress or had forgotten their top hat. Or possibly the touts. There are six races each day of the four-day Royal Ascot season, starting at the gentlemanly hour of 2:30 and finishing at the gentlemanly hour of 5:30.

After six months negotiating for a ticket, it is $130 a pop to get into the Royal Enclosure. Ladies who have …

Logger Of The Year? Yep.

mhbAs Ralph Morgan puts it, “I’d rather have friends than money anytime.”

Luckily, Morgan has both, although he’s not the type to talk much about the latter. Morgan has made innumerable friends after 40-plus years logging and doing other business in a two-county area of eastern Mississippi. And a good many of those friends are business contacts.

Maybe Morgan puts so much stock in maintaining good friends because most people who work with him become his friends. After living and maintaining three businesses in the same county for decades, Morgan is good at keeping those friends. Networking works in the woods, too.

As with almost any successful logger, much …

Lady Cowgirls Do It Up At The Rodeo

lcowgIt’s a typical mid-August day in eastern Colorado–so dry that a gulp of water mixes with dust in your throat and makes mud. Across the sun-glazed arena of the Akron fairgrounds booms the announcer’s voice “… and all the way from Montana, ladies and gentlemen….” In worn Wranglers and rugby shirt, world-champion bullrider Lynn “Jonnie” Jonckowski lowers herself onto Cottontail– 1,500 pounds of raging Brahma muscle.

Jonnie’s right arm, spirally fractured in 12 places by a bull’s hooves nearly two years ago, is tightly wrapped. This is her first major competition since the accident.

In the closet-sized chute, the bun rocks with anticipation, slamming his rider’s knees into metal bars …

The Cowdog Is King!

cowdikJohn Erickson is a jen-u-wine Texas cowboy. He’s a lanky, bearded six-footer in an honest-to-God ten-gallon hat, and he has that stubborn Old West determination to succeed.

That’s why he borrowed $2,000 from a high school football buddy who worked at the Perryton, Texas, bank, and in 1982 started publishing his own books — the Hank the Cowdog series.

Erickson had been writing for 15 years, collecting hundreds — possibly thousands — of rejections. “I’d gone to writers’ conventions and chased those New York editors all around the hotel lobbies, but nobody was interested,” he says. “Maybe self-publishing was a crazy thing to do, but it was really a matter …