Young women, a young evening, and old tactics

Two stunning young women sip white wine as they assess rich, older cowboys at the Brown Palace Hotel's Churchill Bar.

In the dimly lit Churchill Bar of the Brown Palace Hotel, Morgan and Debbree perched elegantly on their bar stools, sipped white wine, and engaged in their favorite pastime when the National Western Stock Show was in town: man-watching with a purpose.

The clock struck 6 p.m., and with each man who entered, they whispered assessments of looks, apparent wealth, and potential for an evening’s adventure.

Their game was interrupted as two men in black cowboy hats took seats beside them. One had a rugged charm, his eyes twinkling with mischief, while the other carried an air of quiet confidence. “Jack,” said the first with a warm smile, extending a hand. “And this is Bryce.”

Debbree, her eyes glinting with amusement, responded, “I’m Debbree, and this is Morgan. You boys look like you just rode in from the ranch.”

Jack chuckled, “Well, we might not have horses tied up outside, but we’ve got stories that’ll make you feel like you’ve been on a wild ride.”

Bryce leaned in, his gaze fixed on Morgan. “I bet we’ve got more than just stories to share. Maybe some experiences, too, if you’re interested.”

Morgan’s lips curved into a sly smile. “We’re all about new experiences. Aren’t we, Bree?”

“Absolutely,” Debbree said. “Especially those that involve a bit of adventure and … spontaneity.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Spontaneity? You ladies might just be in for a treat, then. Ever been to the Buckhorn Exchange?”

Morgan shook her head.

Bryce’s smile broadened. “It’s Denver’s oldest steakhouse. The kind of place where stories are as rich as the steaks. We’d love to show you.”

Debbree exchanged a glance with Morgan. The unspoken agreement was clear.

Text and photo copyright © 2024 L.T. Hanlon. All content in this post is fiction.

Buster Chander buys a gun from an old friend

Buster Chander had always been a man of few words, but when it came to killing someone who had been blackmailing him, he was as clear as day.

“I want a handgun,” he said to Bisbee, owner of Silver State Sidearm Solutions. “Light enough so I can carry it all day without getting tired and still be able to aim true.”

Buster only cared a little about the brand or make as long as it could take down a man. Bisbee knew Buster well enough to understand his intentions. He nodded and began to showcase various guns on display.

“How about an AMT?” he asked, holding up a small pistol with a silencer attached. “Or maybe a Colt? Or a Beretta? We have SIGs, H&Ks, Smith & Wessons, Rugers — and even Tauruses if you’re looking for something more budget-friendly.”

Buster shook his head in disdain. “Something simple. Something I can use to put a bullet through an asshole’s skull without any fuss.”

Bisbee understood where Buster was coming from. He’d had seen plenty of cowboys like him come into his shop over the years, looking to settle old scores.

“Well, I happen to have one such gun in my underground inventory,” he said. He reached into a deep drawer under the display case and handed Buster a sleek black pistol whose plastic components made it look like a toy.

“Here’s what some of us like to call the ‘Timmy Special,’” Bisbee said. “The Glock 21’s proved itself in combat and crimefighting and is still favored by many lawmen. This baby’s reliable, accurate and indestructible. And Tim McVeigh carried it on that day of infamy. You can bet your ass it’ll dust your sleazeball blackmailer.”

Buster cleared the gun, sighted it, and pulled the trigger.

Click.

“This is the gun for you, Buster,” Bisbee said. “It’s lightweight enough to carry all day and packs quite a punch. You can solve most problems with just one shot from this bad boy.”

After some haggling, Buster paid top dollar in cash for the gun, no serial number, no records, no registration, no waiting period, fuck the feds.

With that, Buster left the gun shop, ready to blast that motherfucker to Kingdom Come.

Text and photo copyright © 2024 L.T. Hanlon. All content in this post is fiction.

Secrets at altitude: The turbulent life of Buster Chander

An elderly man in a cowboy hat stares out the window of a Boeing 737.

Lawrence “Buster” Chander gazed blankly out the United Airlines Boeing 737 window, the vast, open sky mirroring the expanse of his life, which now teetered on the brink of collapse.

At nearly 80, Buster stood as a stalwart figure in Montana, revered for the success of Chander Ranch Beef, a legacy he had nurtured into an international brand. But as the plane cut through the clouds toward Denver, where the National Western Stock Show awaited, a specter from the past ensnared Buster’s mind.

Forty-five years ago, a clandestine visit to Fort Dix, a gay bath in Denver, threatened to unravel his life when an anonymous blackmailer demanded $500 — which Buster paid without hesitation.

Now, after decades of silence, the blackmailer had returned and demanded $250,000 to avoid photographic evidence being shared online with the world.

The renewed threat loomed like a dark cloud, ready to expose Buster’s concealed truth to his wife, children, and grandchildren. His conservative family, woven into the fabric of Montana’s traditional values, would never understand. The revelation would not just break their hearts; it would shatter the very foundation of Chander Ranch Beef.

Buster didn’t have the money to ensure the silence. More crucially, he couldn’t bear the thought of tarnishing his family’s name and life’s work. He had lived in duplicity, always fearing this moment. Society’s views on homosexuality might have softened over the years, but not in the circles Buster inhabited. His family, his community, they wouldn’t see past the scandal.

As the plane descended into the Mile High City, a resolve hardened within Buster, and by the time he stepped off the plane, his decision was irrevocable. The price of silence had become too steep and the cost of revelation too devastating.

Text and photo copyright © 2024 L.T. Hanlon. All content in this post is fiction.

Company’s T-shirt becomes Stock Show sensation

Two cowboys wear off-color T-shirts.

DENVER — Thanks to a typo, a bull semen distributor’s T-shirts are the surprise marketing hit of the National Western Stock Show.

Eric Cream, CEO of Cream of Bull Inc., a cattle genetics and artificial insemination business, said a T-shirt printer misspelled his company’s name as “Cram a Bull.”

“Our employees didn’t notice until they’d already passed out a couple hundred,” Cream said. Seeing the positive response, Cream ordered thousands more of the uniquely misprinted shirts.

The company’s slogan on the back — “Get a load of my winning semen!” — only added to the shirts’ popularity.

“These things are a chick magnet,” declared bull rider Toby Clunt Jr.

The National Western Stock Show, now in its 118th year, annually draws over 700,000 visitors. The vibrant celebration of the Western lifestyle features rodeos, livestock exhibitions, and agricultural trade and continues through Jan. 21.

Text and photo copyright © 2024 L.T. Hanlon. All content in this post is fiction.

Uncle Pete promises to show his nephew a good time

Dear Ben,

Hey there, kiddo! Just got wind of the email your mom sent you. Don’t let it ruffle your feathers too much.

You know how my older sister is – always thinking she’s the Cattle Queen of Montana! I swear, if there was a crown for that, she’d wear it to bed. But hey, her heart’s in the right place, even if she sometimes comes off as a bit of a snob.

Check out these photos from our family’s trips to the National Western Stock Show over the years. Man, you won’t believe some of the antics we got up to.

And about the Stock Show – I’ve got your back. I’ll make sure you get to do plenty of wild and crazy stuff. Why? Because I’m celebrating my D-I-V-O-R-C-E! That’s right, I’m officially a free man, and what better way to celebrate dumping a heifer than riding a filly?

So, chin up, Ben. We’re going to have a blast this year, just like the old days. I’ll make sure of it.

Yer Uncle Pete

Text and photo copyright © 2024 L.T. Hanlon. All content in this post is fiction.

I saw what you did, and I know who you are

Late on a snowy night, a young cowboy considers entering a business whose sign reads "Fort Dix - Men Only."

January 5, 1979

Dear Larry,

It has come to my notice that last Saturday night, you visited a certain private establishment. My knowledge of this is precise and substantiated with photographic evidence.

To ensure these pictures remain unseen by your family, I require $500 in cash within the next 24 hours.

Expect a message at your hotel tomorrow with further instructions.

Sincerely,

Someone who knows

Text and photo copyright © 2024 L.T. Hanlon. All content in this post is fiction.

Ben gets his ass handed to him

A squeaky-clean young couple poses in western clothes at a respectable bar in Denver during the National Western Stock Show in 1954.

Subject: About that email…

Dear Ben,

I came across the email you sent Travis. Frankly, I’m disappointed. Sharing an old photo that could mischaracterize our family as lowlifes and whiskey ticklers is disrespectful and far from the truth.

And calling Great-Grandma Peg a “hottie”? That’s not the kind of language or attitude we appreciate in this family.

Remember, the National Western Stock Show is a family tradition steeped in dignity. It’s not a venue for social abandon or cowboy carousing.

Please reconsider how you portray our family, especially in public or with friends. If you can’t do this, I’m afraid you’ll find your experience at the Stock Show more restricted than you’d like.

Let’s keep things appropriate and respectful.

Love,

Mom

P.S. — I’m attaching a photo from the Inter-Mountain Stockmen’s Association 1954 mixer at the Brown Palace Hotel that better illustrates how we kicked up our heels at the Stock Show. That’s Roy and Glorybelle Clunt. In the back is Mato County Sheriff Ed Richardson. Feel free to share this.

Text and photo copyright © 2024 L.T. Hanlon. All content in this post is fiction.

Dang! Our great-grandma was a hottie!

An attractive woman is flanked by two cowboys during a wild night at Sid King's Crazy Horse Bar in Denver during the 1967 National Western Stock Show.

Hey, Trav!

Man, am I stoked! We’re heading to Denver for our first-ever National Western Stock Show in just a few days.

I was rummaging through some old stuff in Great-Grandma Peg’s attic and stumbled upon this incredible photo. It’s from the Stock Show but get this – in 1967!

(I’ve attached a scan of the photo to this email. Hope it comes through OK.)

There’s Peg having the time of her life, Great-grandpa Jim on the left, and Cousin Charlie on the right. They’re at Sid King’s Crazy Horse Bar. I checked online, and that joint was quite the hot shit back then.

Seeing this photo, I realized how wild and crazy they could be. It’s like looking at a completely different side of them, one that we never knew, and it makes me wonder what stories they could tell about those days. We should do one of those oral history things with them.

I’m bringing this photo with me to Denver. It feels like a good luck charm, a connection to our family’s past. This trip may be just as legendary for us as it was for them back in ’67. Can’t wait to make our own memories there!

Catch you soon, buddy. We’re going to have the time of our lives!

Ben

Text and photo copyright © 2024 L.T. Hanlon. All content in this post is fiction.