Tombstone John

One of the most colorful towns in Arizona is Tombstone, site of the shootout at the O.K. Corral.

The blazing gunfight between Sheriff Wyatt Earp, his brother, Doc Holiday, the Clantons and the McLaury brothers has been memorialized in films, novels and books. The town still has remnants of the past, including a wooden sidewalk, saloons, and even an ancient rosebush.

My parents visited me in Phoenix in the 1970s

I decided to drive them to Tombstone, nicknamed 'The Town Too Tough to Die.' Our day-long visit there turned out to be memorable.

We arrived there just before noon and pulled up in front of an old Western saloon with swinging doors. As we got out of the car, the doors swung outward and an inebriated cowboy lurched onto the sidewalk, nearly colliding with my mother.

He quickly regained his composure, made an unsteady bow to Mom, and swept her into his arms.

"Let's dance," he said in front of my astonished father!

My mother tried to keep up with his stumbling gate even though they nearly fell off the sidewalk.

When they were finished dancing...

...the cowboy bowed to her and announced his name. He said he was Tombstone John and for the price of a drink he would take us to Boothill Cemetery to show us the graves of the desperadoes and characters who were buried there.

Dad was hesitant but my mother was amused by the drunk cowpoke and agreed to buy him a drink. We went into the saloon, refreshed ourselves and then followed John to the cemetery just a few blocks away.

'Do you play poker?', Tombstone John asked as we walked along the sidewalk.

'Is the Pope Catholic?,' I answered. John giggled.

'We have a game every night at the saloon,' he said. 'Your mother is a nice person and you have my personal invitation to join us.' I promised him I would think about it.

Boothill Cemetery was overgrown with weeds but the old tombstones were authentic and browned with age. One stood out. I still remember the final words written on it: HERE LIES LES MOORE, DIED FROM TWO SLUGS FROM A .44, NO LES, NO MORE.

We viewed the tombstones of Ike Clanton and his sons, the McLowry brothers, and other gravestones that marked the remains of the town's prostitutes and gold prospectors. It was well worth the price of a drink.

We spent the day in Tombstone. The old cowboy proved to be a worthy cowboy. When we finally told him we were heading back to Phoenix, he seemed genuinely sad to see us go.

'I reckon that means I won't have another chance to dance with you,' he told my mother.

'I guess not,' Mom said. 'Let's have a final dance on the sidewalk.'

While Dad watched, Mom, who was attractive and full of life, whirled and twirled in the cowboy's arms.

Author: Geno Lawrenzi Jr.

(Geno Lawrenzi Jr. is an international journalist, magazine author and ghostwriter and poker player who lives in Phoenx, AZ. He has published 2,000 articles in 50 magazines and 125 newspapers. If you want to share a gambling story or book idea with him, send an email to glawrenzi@gmail.com ).