Where Eagles Fly: The Final Chapter

Where Eagles Fly

The Final Chapter

The year 2025

The stranger arrives in Moab on July 2, 2025.

He searches for a gas station. The stranger is running on empty, and besides, it's raining, and his windshield wipers are worn.

He's in luck. Another four hundred yards, and on his right.

It's the first time he has set foot in Moab, Utah, since 1967. Some fifty-eight years ago. To get to the rest of the story, let's rewind a bit to December 26, 1966.

He was a young man then. He was twenty-one years old, with a young wife the same age and a two-year-old son. The family of three found a house to rent on Mill Creek Road. The house needed a coat of paint, but that would have to wait. The young man was scheduled to start work the very next day and needed to drive 21 miles to the Canyonlands (CNY) Airport. He would grow accustomed to the short journey, as he would make that drive five days a week, every month, for the entire year of 1967.

The young man was a struggling writer back then, but he had to put such thoughts of a journalism career on the back burner. He had a family to raise and needed to latch on to real work. Frontier Airlines would provide that cover for the next twenty years.

So, if you haven't guessed it by now, the author of Where Eagles Fly and the new man in town on the day after Christmas/1966 is one in the same.

I, D.H. Price, better known as Danny, or Danno, or eventually Pigpen, a nickname I would come to answer to among all the teammates I would come into contact with, on one ballfield or another, for the next half century. 

It didn't take me long before I walked into the Moab Independent and asked Editor Sam Taylor for a part-time job. Of course, it wasn't a big money-maker at ten cents an inch for all the copy I could muster. But it was good enough for me. It kept my fingers moving.

By early spring, Hollywood came to town to film a Western called Blue. The movie starred Terence Stamp, Ricardo Montalbán, Karl Malden, Joe Desantis, and Joanna Pettet -- just to name a few. A modern-day flick was being filmed on the side, called Fade In, starring Burt Reynolds and Barbara Loden. 

On weekends, Hollywood would take on our men's fast-pitch softball team. See photo below. That's me, the skinny kid, third from the right in the back row. The tallest person in the back row was Karl Malden. Standing in front of him was our pitcher and the Moab High School football coach, Glen Richeson, now deceased. In fact, there's a pretty good chance everyone in the photo is deceased, except for me, Stamp, and Pettet, now 82.

 

I would accept a transfer back to Tucson in 1968. But I left with a lot of memories — good memories of Moab, a sleepy, wonderful town back then, that is now a wild, crazy place during spring, summer, and fall, when the tourists invade the area to witness Canyonlands and Arches in person.

I did leave there with a fiction story locked in the back of my head. A story that now comes to light, so let's continue...

The stranger handed his charge card to the clerk and noticed a group of men having coffee and discussing, maybe, the world's problems or the local news of the day.

One man in particular seemed interested in the stranger who had just received his gas receipt and a pair of window wipers handed to him by a mechanic from the auto parts store next door.

'Have I seen you somewhere before?' said James Trumbo.

'No. I don't think so, the stranger said. Unless you are in that picture on the wall behind you.'

Trumbo quickly turned and eyed the picture. 'Are you?'

'Yes, that's me, the skinny kid in the back row.'

The three men at the table with Trumbo said their goodbyes and left. "Sit,' said Trumbo.

The stranger sat down and ordered a cup of coffee with two creams. I'm on my way to Grand Junction, well, actually Parachute, Colorado. My family is throwing me a party this afternoon. I turn 80 today.'

'Wow! said Jimmy. I just turned 77 recently. I'm not far behind you. So, is that really you in the picture?'

The stranger went on to explain...

'Well, I'll be. We have lives that parallel each other. I was at that game, sitting in the stands. Believe it or not.'

'Oh, I believe it!'

The stranger shook hands with Jimmy Trumbo and left the building.

*****

Trumbo hurried home. Rebecca was loading the trailer. Three of her students had reached the level of no return and were ready to compete. It was to be an exciting day. Once again, they would spend the weekend rodeoing. This time in Cortez, Colorado. Jimmy would tag along and cheer on the young cowgirls.

It was going to be a great weekend. Jimmy's daughters were hosting a seminar on horse schooling at the Events Center in Blanding. His employees had things covered at the station and the Outriggers store.

Jimmy will follow Rebecca in his truck. He has some business to attend to in Monticello. Besides, it was a good time to spot an eagle or two in flight.

Thanks, Amelia.

It was a nice ride... 

My favorite, Amelia...

Jimmy Trumbo would have loved it. I know I did!

For Chapters 1 through 5, search below.

Chapter 5 Where Eagles Fly: 'Rebecca! Rebecca! Where did you come from?'

 Chapter 5 of Where Eagles Fly

 Rebecca Manley

A.J. Johnson was buried in the Moab cemetery next to his sister, just south of town, not too many miles from the Hole N" the Rock, a piece of land, a southern Utah landmark, that has been photographed over and over again by curious tourists, who were en route west to Salt Lake City or south to Mounument Valley, or to other sight-seeing adventures like the Four Corners area, where you can stand in one spot and be in Arizona, Utah, Colorado and New Mexico.

Rebecca Trumbo would visit A.J. on occasion, bringing flowers and placing them gently at the base of A.J.'s black headstone with the white lettering. Jimmy would also have his special moments there.

Both loved A.J. Jimmy cherished their lifelong partnership, albeit for only a wonderful eight years. It seemed more like decades for all they had accomplished in such a short time. Rebecca had her own special reason for honoring A.J. Johnson.

A.J. was simply Cupid in her mind. Of course, she would often call him Mr. Grizzley; he was close to being the Roman god of love with a bow and arrow slung over his shoulder.

There was more to the story.

Rebecca was not just a photographer; she was also comfortable on a horse when she wasn't behind a camera. She was a barrel racer. An outstanding barrel racer.

One Sunday afternoon in Sterling, Colorado, she not only finished in the money but won it all as her horse, Belle, galloped with Rebecca aboard to a first-place finish, while minutes later the Trumbo Kid was battling to stay atop a bronc called the Black Thunder. He wasn't going to win the battle, at least on this day.

But there was still a celebration of sorts for A.J. and Jimmy as they finished second in the calf roping event.

"Congratulations, young lady,' said A.J.

'Good morning,' Rebecca countered with a smile. "What do we have here?'

'Oh, I'm harmless, but my partner could use a boost in confidence. You just raced to a win, and he just hit the ground hard. The bronc busted him today. He's kind of down in the dumps, and we could use a winner at our table to lighten things up.'

'Now, that's a line I haven't heard before...but I'm kind of hungry.'

'Well, there you go. I'm A.J. Johnson from Moab.'

'From Moab. I'm from Moab! My name is Rebecca Manley.'

'Oh, yes. I've seen your name in the Moab Independent many times. Do you ever lose a race?'

'Of course, but I try to win more than I lose. A lot depends on Belle,' as she points to her trailer parked outside the restaurant window. Belle's been fed. She's a happy camper right now. I wish I could say the same.'

'Well, come on over, let's remedy that situation, and you can meet my partner Jimmy Trumbo.'

'Trumbo! I know that name.'

'Yep, if you're from Moab, chances are you either know him or have heard about him.'

Jimmy stood up as Rebecca accepted A.J.'s invitation.

Suddenly, the Trumbo Kid forgot about Black Thunder...and horses altogether. Birds, mountain lions, and bears as well.

That was all it took. A.J. had done his job.

*****

The courtship between Rebecca and Jimmy took a back seat at times as the two worked to build their accomplishments one after another. In the spring of 1980, the Double J was sold, Maria and Manny settled in Green River, and continued to blossom with Maria II, as Maria's home cooking turned nationally known, while Manny turned to his real love, football, and went on to Utah State and became a star running back.

As for Jimmy and Rebecca, they were just getting started. The two 30-somethings -- and just barely -- were on the move, and everybody in Moab was watching. The Jimmy Trumbo story was just getting started.

*****

By the mid-1980s, it was evident that what Jimmy Trumbo had helped create was becoming too much. There was very little time to chase after the bald eagles. Suddenly, parking spaces for locals began to disappear, and more motels appeared; the once comfortable spot to enjoy biscuits and gravy was slowly transformed into establishments serving entrees never seen before by local residents.

Jimmy had already downsized and cut and run from most of his businesses, from Green River to the old ranchhouse to old Charlie's bunkhouse. Those days of relaxation, a good Zane Grey book, and a nice little fire seemed like something from an old John Wayne movie.

Was it his fault? Only two decades had passed since Hollywood actors walked around town as free as a bird to mingle with the locals. Yes, times were changing. The Canyons were still there, but soon to be overrun like ants trying to scurry away from an overgrown ant hill.

Yes, Jimmy had his money in the bank. Money was not the problem for Jimmy, Rebecca, or their twin daughters, who were born in the spring of 1986. Jimmy held on to his Outriggers store and bought the gas station next to it. He found a four-acre property with a modest four-bedroom home north of Mill Creek Road and moved his family into it.

He wasn't leaving the Canyonlands, whether it was his fault or not.

He sat back in his recliner and took a deep breath with his daughters on his lap and his wife at his side. He would find a way to be with the eagles. He would make sure his family would do the same.

*****

The years continued to fly by. The 1990s blew by, and the turn of the century followed. Then came 9/11, followed by political turmoil and unrest nationwide. Still, the Colorado River continued to run, and millions would converge on the little town of Moab every spring, every summer, and in the fall. By 2005, the Trumbo girls, Betsy and Elizabeth, would accept scholarships to the University of Wyoming, majoring in Animal Sciences, following closely in their mother's footsteps.

They would graduate and return home, becoming an integral part of the community and, like their father, continuing to search for the eagles and to focus on the environment.

Jimmy slowed down and concentrated on his businesses—the outrigger store and the gas station that ran continuously, 24 hours a day. He always seemed to be in the right place at the right time. Rebecca would continue to board her own horses, along with a select few clients, while also teaching young women who showed an interest in her favorite sport, barrel racing.

The Trumbos had it going. Jimmy Trumbo was right where he should be. In his heart, he was that same young man who got off the bus in 1967 and ran into A.J. Johnson.

Up next: the year 2025 and the final chapter.

  

 

Where Eagles Fly: Chapter 4 Farewell to A.J. Johnson and John Wayne

Where Eagles Fly

Chapter 4

Farewell to A.J. Johnson and John Wayne

Time passes.

The Colorado River continues to flow, and the majestic red rock canyons remain the same. The people, the fans, they come, and they go. Bike enthusiasts, hikers, rock climbers, and stargazers will all find their way to the Canyonlands. Chances are, they will eventually run into the Trumbo Kid.

They will come to him. It doesn't have to be built. It is already there. The canyons -- stuck in an endless time frame forever. The fans, the onlookers, the men, the women, and the children will come and go quietly satisfied that they had seen, heard, walked, run, and biked through God's greatness.

Jimmy accepted Max's gift with glee. As for A.J., he wasn't just along for the ride. Every ounce of life left in him would go to fulfilling his dream of rolling down the river. Living and existing in such a place was his reward. He was now just a bit more visible.

Together, the 'odd couple' improved their dwellings first with an addition to the main house, with an added state-of-the-art bathroom, a spacious bedroom, and an office big enough for everything from John Wayne and Zane Grey paraphernalia to a place for detailed maps, focusing on the area from Moab to Green River.

The Double J became a stop-off point on the way to the river, especially for tubers and kayakers. The Double J doubled as a ranch and a Circle K-like atmosphere, but with a comfy cafe to boot -- a cafe with a Maria Lopez there to rule the roost. Her son, Manny, was there too -- a wrangler in the making and the new resident of the bunkhouse-- affectionately referred to as Charlie's Place.

The mine that Jimmy Trumbo inherited? He also inherited the mineral rights. Surprisingly, Max's ancestry dated back a long way, to a great-grandfather who knew which buttons to push and when.

For now, a well-respected real estate firm in Green River climbed aboard. It adhered to Jimmy Trumbo's idea to convert the closed-down mine, now named Trumbo Canyon Mine, into Maria II, a Mexican food restaurant, and what would become a stopping-off point for tourists on the way to join the Colorado River — the Green River spanning over 700 miles across three states, and the Colorado River over 1,400 miles and spanning seven states.

Closer to home, on the west side of Moab, Trumbo's Outriggers outlet suddenly opened its doors.

In March of '75, the recently turned 27-year-old Jimmy Trumbo stood quietly, among hundreds of mourners, as A.J. Johnson left the Colorado River and Canyonlands for good at the age of 85.

Of course, Jimmy T had spent nearly a quarter of a century searching for the eagles in the vast blue sky above Canyonlands, but finding a partner to help in his never-ending search had finally made her present known in the spring of '72 -- the beautiful, local, born-and-raised in Moab, Rebecca Manley, a long, dark-haired professional photographer.

Jimmy finally popped the question one summer day in '75, and they both joined hands and tied the knot. The story goes that Jimmy was focused, as he should have been, strictly on Rebecca that day, while she was without her trusty camera hanging over her shoulder. Many in attendance that day said there was a flyby -- a majestic bald eagle flew effortlessly down the Main Street of Moab, en route to a resting place on the top of Balanced Rock.

*****

Rebecca's family -- her parents, John, a retired banker, and her mother, Claire, and her younger sister, Renee, a 24-year-old veterinarian -- enjoyed their years in Moab. Still, to Rebecca's dismay, they moved on: her parents to a retirement villa in Pagosa Springs, Colorado. At the same time, Renee took over a thriving veterinary practice in Rifle, Colorado.

Her family wasn't that far away -- a three-hour drive to Pagosa Springs and a slightly shorter drive through Grand Junction on I-70 to Rifle. Of course, the young 'honeymooners' had very little time for anything but 'work', and neither Rebecca nor Jimmy considered what they did for a living as work.

They considered what they did as a privilege.

The couple was considered the 'Pride of the Canyonlands,' and taking time off was something that never occurred to them anyway. Except for an early fall weekend when the phone rang, and it was John Springfield. "Hey, guys. I'm inviting you to a special screening of John Wayne's new film, 'The Shootist.'

'He's done it again. This might be his best yet!'

'Do we need to fly to LA?'

'No, it's going to be in Salt Lake City on Saturday.'

'Wow! ' said Jimmy. You know what a fan I am.'

'Jimmy, everybody knows what a fan you are. And, Rebecca, I heard you're a history buff of the silver screen. Well, Lauren Becall is the female lead.'

'How wonderful. We'll be there.'

'John, we will drive up. I have a meeting on Thursday night in Green River.'

'Great, guys. See you then. I'll send you the particulars. Your tickets will be at the will-call window. Looking forward to seeing you two.'

*****

The theatre was packed with special invitees. John had warned Rebecca and Jimmy in advance that John Wayne and Lauren Bacall would not be among the guests. The two stars had other commitments for the weekend, but John had said Richard Boone and Scatman Crothers were expected to attend, along with Ron Howard, one of the youngest cast members. 

The invitees for the special showing took their seats, and after a few introductions, The Shootist. 

Jimmy took it all in. It was as if he were back in the bunkhouse in '67. He had just put a log on the fire and was settled in and ready to read Riders of the Purple Sage.

Wayne was at his very best, and the streetcar scene near the end symbolized the end of an era. Every movie The Duke had ever made crossed Jimmy's mind. At times, he wasn't sure if he was engrossed in a scene of Wayne portraying his last hours of make-believe, or forging on horseback in True Grit, or saving Natalie Wood in The Searchers.

Rebecca constantly held Jimmy's hand. She looked at him and smiled. She didn't need a camera to document the moment. She knew exactly what her husband was thinking as each scene of The Shootist drew closer to the end, culminating with J.B. Books' final gun battle with the bad guys: actors Bill McKinney, Hugh O'Brian, and Richard Boone. 

Rebecca knew her husband was not only seeing Bacall perform but also beautiful images of Wayne's female costars rolling through his mind, including Maureen O'Hara, Angie Dickinson, and Anne-Margaret.

The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance lives on not only in Jimmy's mind, but also in millions of Wayne's fans. The ending train ride scene with Vera Miles and James Stewart...the final words: "Nothing's too good for the man who shot Liberty Valance."

Jimmy's mind was racing past Monument Valley to the South Pacific and back home to Canyonlands, where his eagles fly.

The credits on the screen were rolling. Rebecca and Jimmy smiled at each other. Suddenly, Jimmy's desire to be home came over him. He kissed Rebecca and said, 'Let's go home.'

The duo, The Pride of Canyonlands, let their work in Moab engulf them.

The Shootist was released in 1976 and received five Oscar nominations. Wayne's only Best Actor Award came in 1970 for True Grit. In 1979, John Wayne passed away.

Chapter 5 awaits...Where Eagles Fly -- 'Rebecca! Rebecca! Where did you come from?'

       

.'

Chapter 3 Where Eagles Fly...The Trumbo Kid: calf roper, broncobuster, historian and adventure guide

Where Eagles Fly                      Chapter 3            

by D. H.  Price

The movie buffs...and the money is in the bank.

How did Jimmy Trumbo, a lost, lonely, and skinny 18-year-old kid who showed up on a warm spring day on the streets of Moab, Utah, in 1967, become a Canyonlands legend?

Blame it on an over-the-hill cowpoke by the name of A.J. Johnson, or on John Springfield, the famous Hollywood set designer, or blame it on the great John Wayne himself, or maybe Western writer Zane Grey had a hand in it.

It all came to pass when Johnson, Springfield, and Trumbo sat around a makeshift poker table in the bunkhouse of the Lazy Double J on the night the trio had returned from Dead Horse Point. They may have shared a bottle of Crown Royal, but that wouldn't even explain the lore of the Trumbo Kid, since he'd rather drink a glass of milk than sip on anything that had alcohol in it. 

Springfield had waited all day to drop the 'good news' to Jimmy.

A.J. and Jimmy waited patiently as they heard the latches on John's briefcase unhinge. The papers would follow, and John uttered the words, 'Jimmy, it would seem you have inherited quite the sum of money and the ownership of a mine over in Green River.'

'I, what?'

John went on and explained to Jimmy that Max Fried had left him a nice little nest egg, and 'it will be official, in five, four, three, two, one!'  John tapped on his wristwatch. 'Jimmy, you are officially 21 now, right?'

'I guess. I haven't celebrated any of my birthdays since Sister Anne...'

Springfield went on to explain that Max had no children, was never married, and that Sister Anne was the youngest of the Frieds and the only sibling. What do you think of those marbles, Jimmy?'

'My goodness!' Jimmy said in utter disbelief.

John added: Max had an LA firm handle all the particulars. So, just sit back and relax. Here's the check for $500,000, along with the paperwork for the Green River mine, which, by the way, is exactly 42.8 miles from your bunkhouse to the front gate of the mine...make that 30 miles if you could hop aboard one of those eagles you follow.'

A.J. and Jimmy looked at one another and continued shaking their heads.

'Why now?' Jimmy questioned John.

"Max must have figured you'd someday follow those eagles right back to Utah when you were given the chance. You showed up a bit too early by arriving here and meeting up with A.J. in '67!' Now you're legal in every sense of the word,' Springfield explained as he handed the bottle of Crown Royal to the now 21-year-old.

A.J. got in on the conversation. 'You have to be 21 to drink in Utah!'

Jimmy took a swig of the Crown Royal and felt an instant burning pain in his chest.

'It takes some getting used to,' A.J. said, quickly taking the bottle away from the birthday boy. 'Congratulations and Happy Birthday. Let me get you some milk out of the fridge.'

Once again, another round of laughter from all three.

*****

Springfield would spend one more night in Moab. Done with his executor duties, his final evening with A.J. and the Trumbo Kid would be delightful. He would quickly learn of all the escapades and accomplishments the young man from the St. Mary's Home for Boys had achieved in such a short three years -- although it was plenty of time to launch a legendary hero amongst the backdrop of the Canyonlands red rock and the Colorado River.

'There's nothing that boy can't do,' A.J. said proudly. 'Jimmy was out roping me in just three months, he was herding cattle in no time at all, and he was simply a natural in the saddle.'

Springfield surmised that he acquired the knowledge needed to become a cowboy from Zane Grey novels or from watching John Wayne ride. It was such a smooth transition in such a short time.

'You seem to like the guy,' John said.

'I love the boy!'

'Stop it, A.J., I'm not all that..."

'Oh, yes, you are!'

A.J. turned to John. 'I took the boy shooting, and within a few weeks he was hitting targets right and left, with a 30-30, a .22 rifle, a handgun, or my nickel-plated 28 gauge shotgun for goodness sake!'

'Last year, he took up riding wild horses. He was a natural. Jimmy had become experienced enough, after being tossed to the ground in the corral over 100 times, that I finally entered him in a couple of rodeos in Laramie and one over in Sterling, Colorado. My God! We took a bunch of seconds in calf roping, and he rode some broncs, even busted a few, and he was in the money. He's just a natural at everything he touches.'

'And I see he reads and writes.' John said, eying all the books and piles of paperwork stacked about the bunkhouse. 'I talked to a few locals and got the impression Jimmy has become a natural Western historian, too. They say he's a walking encyclopedia when it comes to Zane Grey and Western movies, especially from the 1950s and 1960s; forget it, he'll name the entire cast and who starred in the film.'

'That is so true,' A.J. said. 'Let's try it.'

'Okay, Jimmy. Try this one: The Big Country.

Before John could even get the word 'country' out of his mouth, the Trumbo Kid was rolling.

'That would be Gregory Peck, Charlton Heston, Jean Simmons, Carroll Baker, Charles Bickford, Chuck Conners, and Burl Ives.'

'Burl Ives! That's good!

'How about The Last Train From Gun Hill?'

'That's an easy one. Kirk Douglas, Anthony Quinn, Carolyn Jones, and Earl Holliman."

'Okay, one more for 500,000 dollars! Broken Lance.'

A.J. smiled. 'I think Jimmy's money is safe.'

'Broken Lance, hmm! Do you want all the characters in that one,' Jimmy said, trying to seem perplexed.

'Well, yes, I do. John said, knowing he had probably been taken advantage of, and there would be no money coming back his way.

'Well, let's see. Spencer Tracy, Robert Wagner, Jean Peters, Katy Jurado, Richard Widmark, Earl Holliman, again...and Hugh O'Brian, and...'

'That's okay, Jimmy. I give up!'

According to A.J., the Trumbo Kid had bolted to the top five on the short list of adventure guides. Jimmy is a walking encyclopedia with instant recall of Canyonlands' past and present, and he continues to add to his resume. To top it off, Jimmy is no longer a skinny kid but, along with his 6-2 frame, has put on a good fifty pounds. Jimmy has often said, 'I give all the credit in the world to Maria and her visits to the ranch. She needs to be the head cook at some fancy restaurant.

'That is simply amazing,' John said. "Jimmy, you are flying with the eagles. You are right where you are supposed to be.'

*****

It was a breezy morning, and John Springfield was about to leave one world for another.

He shook hands with 'money bags' and with A.J. and cleared the gate at the Moab Airport and boarded the Convair 580, a two-engine prop job, destined for Salt Lake City. He would make his connection to LA, grab his car in the short-term lot, and head back to Thousand Oaks.

John was sure Jimmy and A.J., too, would put Fried's money to good use. That was Max's attention all along, and he never wavered in that endeavor. He certainly had left the Trumbo Kid with plenty of room to roam and plenty of ammunition to soar with the eagles.

Back at his desk in Thousand Oaks, Springfield began to clear his desk and figure out what to do with the rest of his life. Retirement was just ahead. He needed to answer a letter on his desk, another movie was to be born, and the project was to star John Wayne, Lauren Bacall, and Jimmy Stewart. There was another note. A slight delay for The Shootist, maybe a year or two. 

That was the nature of the movie business. Hurry up and wait.  

One thing was for certain back in Moab: the Trumbo Kid would not be slowing down anytime soon. Canyonlands had become a National Park in 1964, three years before Jimmy Trumbo's arrival, and Arches received the same designation during the winter of 1971 by President Richard M. Nixon.

Eight years ago, Jimmy was a wide-eyed 13-year-old, watching John Wayne do his thing in The Comancheros, with the majestic La Sal Mountains looming tall and glorious to the east. In the blink of an eye, Jimmy was now a wise 21-year-old and heading up an excursion that covered many of the trails inside the Arches. The destination on this fine day: Balanced Rock.

Jimmy Trumbo had his group take a knee, sit, and take a break. He pointed north, 'Look closely now, the eagle has landed.'

Where Eagles Fly: Chapter 2 The Springfield Connection

Chapter 2    The Springfield Connection

Where Eagles Fly by D.H. Price

John Springfield sat down in his study in Thousand Oaks, California. He glanced at the corner of his desk at a photograph of Mary and Johnny Trumbo, along with a young boy and an old man. 'Is that me?' Springfield mumbled. He thought he had aged somewhat since the photo was taken near Dead Horse Point in 1961.

He quickly hit the return key deep in the back of that old brain of his to a spring day on the outskirts of Moab, Utah, some six years ago. There had been nonstop thunderstorms for nearly a week, and some serious work on a few buildings along the main street of the temporary Western town was needed.

Springfield had enough of a crew to get the job done before filming resumed. He was short a painter, an entry-level job, and for some reason, no local townspeople were snapping at the bit to be a part of the Western movie Blue.

Perhaps, as Springfield recalled, Patricia Crowley was known to pull the rabbit out of the hat when he needed something or someone.

Springfield had entered the trailer that day and was startled when he saw the old codger, A.J., and Jimmy Trumbo standing in front of Patricia's desk. After a giant hug or two, he stood back and eyed the young man he hadn't seen in six years and uttered the words, 'Jimmy Trumbo.'

*****

Springfield picked up the briefcase at the end of his desk, unlatched the locks, opened the case, and took out the legal papers with the names Fried/Trumbo neatly typed on the first page of the documents.

The young Trumbo was a remarkably diligent worker, Springfield remembered, and during the final five weeks of production in 1967, he proved a valuable asset. He also wandered around the make-believe town, meeting and gaining friends at every corner. He was a very personable young man; Springfield was impressed.

Springfield was now a widower. His wife had suddenly passed away in 1969. The leading cause was COPD. The last couple of years have been tough, marked by the loss of his spouse and the responsibility of raising his two young daughters, Jill and Mary Anne, who, now six years later, have become two fiery redheads — both co-owners of one of the largest advertising firms in the bustling town of Carlsbad, California.

Springfield was on a mission. He was to fly to Phoenix, take a puddle-jumper to Grand Junction, and hopefully stay in a motel on the outskirts of Moab, Utah, by late tonight.

Jimmy Trumbo knew Springfield was on his way. He had set up a day trip to Dead Horse Point in hopes of all of them capturing some beautiful photos at the very same spot where the very first picture of the foursome was taken — of Jimmy, of his parents, and of Mr. Springfield on that bright spring day back in 1961.

A.J. seemed even more excited about seeing Mr. Springfield than Jimmy did. "Let's get to town, Jimmy. Time's a-wasting!"

Back in 1961, there was always work available for A.J. on the set of The Comancheros. It was a longer drive south of Moab, but not far from the LaSal Mountains, Castle Valley, and  Fisher Valley, all familiar landmarks for John Wayne and his gang of movie stars. 

Sometimes, the powers-to-be would slap some Western gear on A.J., and they'd toss him into a scene, maybe walking down the street of a makeshift town, or prop him up against a building and use him as perhaps the town drunk. What A.J. didn't like was when they stuck a hammer and nails in his hand, secured a tool bag around his midsection, and sent him off for some arduous work. 

Springfield was waiting in the lobby of the motel when Jimmy and A.J. pulled in. They piled into Springfield's rental, headed west, and took the turnoff to Dead Horse Point. The rest of the trip was spent enjoying the scenery, especially the Colorado River, as the water seemed to gather steam at times, then slow suddenly, as if the river knew precisely where it was going despite all those twists and turns. The beautiful red rock above silently guarded the participants below.

'It's as I remember it,' John gleamed as he took in the vastness of it all. Nothing has changed since '67, except for the ever-changing shadows that remain hidden, then emerge from the rock formations.

A.J. popped up. 'I was thinking...'

'Not always a good thing,' said a smiling Jimmy Trumbo.

'Come on, Jimmy. You know I speak the truth and nothing but the truth.'

'Amen, brother!' added Jimmy.

John shook his head, acknowledging the fact that the 'odd couple' sitting before him was not odd at all but rather the recipients of an everlasting friendship.

A.J. continued...

'John, when we get back to the motel, why not check out and stay with us for a few days? We can show you the ropes. We have all the comforts of home out there.'

Jimmy warned John that they had an antenna and some basic TV channels.

'All the comforts of home,' chimed in the art director from Hollywood.

Jimmy said they had every Zane Grey book, along with numerous old Western novels by various authors.

 

'Well, that sounds like a five-star establishment,' John said. Of course, that alone would have Springfield packing for the ranch. He was a Western movie buff, no doubt about it. 

*****

The trio returned from their short journey to Dead Horse Point, an enjoyable hour up and an hour back with a two-hour stay in between...smack dab on the top of it all...the pinnacle of the world right there in southern Utah -- overlooking the Canyonlands below. 'Breathtaking!' said Jimmy, with his eyes fixated on the Colorado River, forever searching for those elusive eagles in flight.

Springfield, on the other hand, took no time at all in fulfilling his side mission on the day, which was to make his daughters happy. 'Dad!' they said in unison. "You be sure to bring plenty of photos back. After all, you are by far the best photographer in the family.'

The girls needed ammunition for their next project and for a vital summer sales meeting with some new clients focused on the ever-changing, exploding face of Utah tourism. Filling their salesroom with photos of Dead Horse Point would only help their cause. 'Don't you worry, girls! I'll see to it.' 

As for A.J., he was along for the ride and doing what he does best: enjoying life. Now, he was ready to return to the ranch and get John settled in. And besides, Springfield had said he was in town for a reason, and it involved his partner, now a full-fledged and honest-to-goodness wrangler, Jimmy Trumbo.

Evening would come quickly tonight for the trio as they reached the gate at what was now referred to as the entrance to the Lazy Double J Ranch.

A Hollywood happening during a softball game in 1967 in Moab would result in a long-standing friendship between two men—one young, one old.

No generation gap would ever materialize between A.J. and Jimmy. By the summer of 1970, they had pooled their money from odd jobs around town, mixed in a lot of blood, sweat, and even some tears from time to time, to transform the main house, the bunkhouse, and some broken-down adjacent buildings into something to be proud of.

The Double J was now referred to by some as a miniature working ranch. A few horses, a few head of cattle, a dog or two, and maybe some egg launchers, dependable chickens, that is, which would eventually result in Maria turning those eggs into some great Sunday-morning omelets.

Yes, money was always tight. There were times when the cubbards in the main house and in the bunkhouse contained no more than a few cans of beans and maybe a bottle or two of peaches. When drilling jobs became available along the Western Slope of Colorado, the two men would share the work and respond to ads in the Times Independent, take the job, and leave the other partner alone to take care of things at the Double J.

Of course, John Springfield was always kept in the loop, as Jimmy, besides becoming a real buckaroo, could also write some. Thanks to Sister Anne for that. Jimmy would always write to John, praising Sister Anne. 'The Sister taught me how to put words together and make up a sentence, which literally made sense.'

 As for Jimmy, he has it all going on.

Chapter 3  of  Where Eagles Fly to follow...watch for it, and more photos from Amelia.

Photo credits:

Priceless Captures Photography by Amelia is in Parachute, Colorado.

                                                                           

Where Eagles Fly...Chapter 1

 

To all my friends, relatives, classmates, and followers.

At my age, I turn 80 on July 2, 2025, and I'll probably not finish this fiction book about my thoughts while I was in Colorado during the winter of 2021. My stuff is all free now, anyway. So, read on regarding what was supposed to be my next masterpiece: 'Where Eagles Fly.' It was to be a gift to my family... and still might be, if the good Lord is willing and the creek doesn't run dry.

On second thought. Where Eagles Fly may end up as a short story. I'll leave it to my readers to decide...Chapter 1 is below...

 

       Where Eagles Fly

By

D. H. Price

Jimmy Trumbo waited until all the boys were asleep. He loved the quiet after dark, the glow of the moon, and the brightness filtering through the window.

Tomorrow would be another humid St Louis mid-summer day; only a late afternoon stickball game near the Wilson Building would break up yet another boring day. The playing area on the north side of the structure offered more open space, bordered by a grassy knoll that extended for some 250 yards to the east. There was plenty of room for the young men to play their brand of baseball.

Jimmy's classroom studies in the morning kept him busy, and his late-in-the-day duties included taking care of the grounds and mowing the lawn with Betsy, a state-of-the-art, fine-tuned John Deere riding tractor. A two-hour ride with Betsy would result in a perfect cut and leave a sparkling emerald green surface — the envy of all the neighbors and businesses north and south of Willow Lane.

Jimmy pulled the warm quilt Sister Anne had made for him over his shoulders. His eyes followed the light beyond his bedroom window. He eyed the man on the moon.

His thoughts were suddenly one thousand miles away...

A bald eagle suddenly appeared, then hovered over the red rock terrain below, and then sailed effortlessly...fading away and disappearing into an endless blue sky.

Jimmy finished his silent prayer and went to sleep. He was promised the first at-bats tomorrow. At least he'd be able to meet up with the other kids and play stickball.

The late spring of '61…

At 72 years of age, Max Fried had just finished his final film. With thirty-five years in Hollywood as a producer, writer, gaffer, and a go-fetch-some-coffee for John Wayne, well, he had practically done it all — except for the real crazy stuff like acting or filling in for a stuntman.

Not happening. Max knew his limitations, and working behind the scenes was his forte.

What happened to him during the spring of 1961 went from exhilarating to prolonged sadness, all in a matter of twenty-four hours.

The movie The Comancheros was in the books. John Wayne had another winner — another great Western completed. The cast and crew had scattered, leaving the LaSal Mountains and the southern edge of Utah behind.

It was a final celebration for some of the crew, the party animals, who had decided to head east toward the Western Slope of Colorado. A final toast was scheduled for a job well done, with an overnight stop in Glenwood Springs, followed by a trip to Denver the next morning and a midday flight out of Stapleton Airport.

An early-spring snowstorm had blanketed the Western Slope, and the Trumbos allowed their son to ride ahead with the Springfield family and their 16-year-old twin daughters.

John Springfield was a gifted set designer, but more importantly, a family-oriented and likable human being. The Trumbos felt their son was safe and in good hands.

Jimmy was safe, but his mother and father were not.

A trucker lost control of his oil rig and slammed head-on into the Trumbos' leased BMW.

The oil rigger was the only survivor.

Mary and Johnny Trumbo owned a summer home in Glenwood Springs. They died within five miles of their home. They loved the area and the hot springs. Both of them were young writers, still babies in the film industry, and the parents of a soon-to-be teenager who seemed to have the world by the tail.

Jimmy had just spent three months witnessing, alive and in person, The Duke, Stuart Whitman, Lee Marvin, Richard Boone, and Ina Balin perform — all of them taking their cuts, awaiting the sound of 'that's a wrap' and all the applause that followed, signaling yet another scene completed. His young eyes took it all in. Jimmy was in awe of it all. He was hooked.

Suddenly, Jimmy's world ended. His parents were buried in downtown Glenwood. Many movie stars from Hollywood had traveled to the beautiful town of Glenwood Springs to pay their respects to the Trumbos and to Jimmy, who had looked up at the dreary sky as his parents were lowered to their final resting place.

Jimmy didn't see any eagles flying overhead on that day.

A young couple's life cut short...gone in the blink of an eye.

Mary loved the mountains. She grew up in New Castle, and by her junior year in high school, she had become the editor of the school paper. The following year, she graduated at the top of her class. She was barely five feet tall but a little dynamo.

An academic scholarship to Colorado State followed, and she would spend the next four years in Ft Collins.

Mary met Johnny in her junior year. Johnny, who grew up in Fort Collins, was on a football scholarship but injured his knees during his sophomore season and decided to leave the sport behind to focus on a degree in Mass Communication.

They both graduated, and with their degrees safely tucked away in a safe place, Mary and Johnny exchanged vows at the First Baptist Church in downtown Ft Collins.

Six months later, the Trumbos headed for the West Coast. Mary had landed a job with the East Valley News in Los Angeles, and Johnny had latched on to a position as a sports reporter for the LA Times.

For the next few years, the Trumbos followed every lead and explored every avenue, searching for that dream job…the step in the door that would launch them inside the world of the film industry.

One summer afternoon, on the day Mary found out she was pregnant with Jimmy, a call came in from Randall K. Williamson, a Vice President of Operations at 20th Century Fox. Williamson was responsible for identifying and recruiting talented young journalists for the majority of the company's projects.

The next morning, the Trumbos arrived at Williamson's office, and both writers signed on the dotted line for internships with the company. Their careers in the film industry had begun — just like they had envisioned all along.

Mary and Johnny spent the next twelve years refining their craft, making all the right moves, and they quickly rose to the top of their profession.

And then, one day, the call came in. The Trumbos' next stop was somewhere in southern Utah. The film: A Western. The star: John Wayne.

The Trumbos packed their 1959 Willys Jeep Station Wagon and headed for Utah to join the rest of the film crew and all the behind-the-scenes workers. The Hollywood clan from Los Angeles made the journey by ground or air to Arizona, then into Monument Valley, and finally to a site near Moab, Utah, where they would set up shop for the next two months.

By November 1961, the daily grind and all the efforts of those involved would finally come to life on the silver screen, in living color, for the world to see.

Not for Jimmy. A storm cloud moved in. It was not a string of lightning bolts, not a hard pounding summer rain, nor a wicked roll of thunder, here today and gone tomorrow.

Instead, it was a gut-wrenching twist of fate that spelled the end of the young man's fantasy world...and the beginning of a sad and painful existence.

Darkness had set in on Jimmy Trumbo.

Max would be there for Jimmy. None of Jimmy's relatives were living, except for Grandma and Grandpa Trumbo, who were in their late 90s and both resided in a long-term care center in nearby New Castle. Mary's parents had passed away long ago, back in 1958. It was as if a tornado had finally emerged and devoured the entire Trumbo family, except for Jimmy T, now a lost young man searching for answers to a troubled past.

Fried had a small house in St Louis and a condo in East LA. So, Max stepped in and had his lawyer handle all the funeral expenses and all of the Trumbos' final business affairs. Max had good intentions, but even the process of adopting Jimmy was foiled.

The following summer, Max passed away from pancreatic cancer and died on Jimmy's thirteenth birthday. Once again, Jimmy was alone. Max had one sister in St. Louis, Anne Fried, and she resided on Willow Lane, just north of the city.

Sister Anne was the head nurse at St. Mary's Hall for Boys, now the next stop for Jimmy.

Sister Anne welcomed Jimmy with open arms, along with a quilt she had handmade especially for him.

Jimmy would remain at St Mary's for the next five years.

Sister Anne and Jimmy T grew close. The years went by slowly for Jimmy. He struggled with mathematics. Forget Algebra and Geometry. No way. General math was hard enough, but with Sister Anne's help, Jimmy improved every year.

He loved to read, especially Zane Grey books and stories about the Wild West; he was a fan of just about everything. Jimmy read and read.

If Sister Anne lost track of him, chances are he'd be out mowing the grounds or inside the St Mary's library with his nose stuck inside another book.

By the winter of '66, Jimmy could finally see some light at the end of the tunnel. He could feel a change coming. His anger at life had subsided.

His grades improved drastically. He was becoming a man. A peacefulness he had never felt before suddenly existed.

Graduation Day…1967

Father Harry rarely walked the quarter of a mile from his office to the maintenance yard where Betsy was housed. On an unusually warm Monday morning, Father Harry knew Jimmy Trumbo would be there. It was eight o'clock, and the sun was wasting no time climbing over the Olive trees along the east side of the property at St Mary's.

It was graduation day.

Jimmy Trumbo was to graduate alongside 50 of his classmates later in the day. The ceremony will be held in Clevenger Hall. The hall was named in honor of Thomas Clevenger, a former St. Louis Superior Court Judge and philanthropist who had no children of his own but recognized the need to build a landing area for wayward boys, disadvantaged youth, and, in some isolated cases, just a place for a boy like Jimmy.

Clevenger died in 1947, and he would have been very proud of the fifty-one graduates who had survived their shattered backgrounds, struggled through all their studies, and emerged from their complicated past. They would step on stage today and receive their diplomas.

"Father Harry! What brings you out here this morning?"

Before Jimmy completed his question, he already knew there was trouble in the halls of St. Mary's.

"It's Sister Anne. Jimmy, she passed away during the night. I'm so sorry."

"Jimmy!"

The young man turned his back to Father Harry, grabbed both his knees with his trembling hands, and ran as fast as he could to his dormitory.

A week later…

Sister Josephine rushed through the lobby of the administration building and into Father Harry's office.

"Come quick, Father Harry. Please hurry!"

"Where are we going?"

"The north gate. Please hurry."

Father Harry and Sister Josephine climbed into the old 1955 Ford work truck. Father Harry started the engine and waited for instructions from his passenger. A few minutes later, he could see for himself that no more directions were necessary.

A long, freshly cut path…mowed in a straight line and heading due north, down the hill toward an open gate below.

Betsy was left alone. Her engine was still sputtering.

Jimmy Trumbo had left the premises for good.

*****

Jimmy was lost. Every single person he had latched onto in his life...his parents, his grandparents...Max...and now Sister Anne — all of them gone. Everyone close to him vanished. His life and his fantasy world had all disappeared into thin air. Gone!

The man on the moon was all he had left to talk to, and he never returned a conversation, anyway. And where was God? His prayers were never answered. Instead, he was left in total darkness.

He was angry with everyone. He should have said goodbye to Father Harry, but his mind was too cluttered. He was out of control.

Jimmy had packed an overnight bag with a few clothes, a tube of toothpaste, a toothbrush…, and a photo of a happy family of three — taken somewhere near Dead Horse Point in 1961. He tossed his birth certificate in the satchel and three rolls of bills, all the money he had saved while at St Mary's.

He grabbed the bag, ran full speed to the maintenance yard, and climbed aboard Betsy. With tears in his eyes, Jimmy released the lever and mowed his way to the north gate.

Jimmy hitchhiked through Missouri and Kansas, and into New Mexico, before finding a ride north to the Four Corners. He boarded a bus to Cortez, Colorado, and then on to Monticello, Utah. He transferred buses, found a window seat in the back, grabbed a pillow from the overhead rack, and gazed out the window as the bus headed north.

An hour later, Jimmy could see the LaSal Mountains. He caught a glimpse of an eagle gliding west against the backdrop of a clear blue sky.

Ahead, he saw a familiar sight, the white lettering glowing in the sunlight. The Hole N" The Rock, just ahead. The eagle appeared once again.

Jimmy had witnessed such a scene many times in his dreams — those recurring dreams that allowed him to fall asleep night after night.

Jimmy's eyes followed the eagle south over the red rock terrain. The beautiful creature disappeared. Jimmy arrived in Moab, Utah, on a warm, almost hot, Sunday afternoon. He grabbed his satchel and stepped off the bus.

He walked west three hundred yards to the city park. A softball game was in the final inning. The stands behind the backstop were full of people cheering on every pitch.

Jimmy squeezed into a spot on the edge of the front row and listened to the crowd directly behind him.

He listened to the chatter. Hollywood was in town making a movie, a Western called Blue.

The town softball team pitted against the Hollywood stars, which included English actor Terence Stamp, Ricardo Montalban, Karl Malden, Johanna Pettit, and an actor Jimmy recognized right off — Joe De Santis.

His parents had discussed the actor for an hour at the dinner table back when Jimmy was just nine years old. Jimmy recalled that DeSantis had shaken hands with him once on the set of Cheyenne. Johnny Trumbo explained to his young son that De Santis was more than an actor; he was also a sculptor and studied at the Leonardo da Vinci Art School.

His dad had said at the time: "Jimmy, you have seen his face a hundred times on shows like Gunsmoke."

A man brushed against Jimmy.

"Excuse me, are you one of the extras?"

"No, just passing through town."

The grizzly, somewhat elderly man said, "You are traveling kinda light, aren't you?"

"No, just graduated from school. Thought I'd do some traveling and see the country."

"These movie people are hiring extras for a Western flick, and they have some heavy-duty actors like Karl Malden and Ricardo Montalban. They have a movie set just northwest of town."

Jimmy said, "I heard that."

" Jimmy went on to explain to the friendly and likable gentleman about his experience in the movie-making business.

"My parents used to be in the movies. I mean, they were writers and producers and worked on my favorite Western, The Comancheros, back in '61, right here around Dead Horse Point. I was here with them."

"Wow! The man said as he continued to size up the young fella.

"Oh, yeah! I was an extra in that one, too. Something to do with my pretty face, I guess. I'm a rough-looking cowpoke. They always hire me on the spot. They think I'll fit in."

The man was ready to quiz the youngster. "I have a little ranch house about fifteen miles from here, along with about 100 acres of nothing. I have a bunkhouse, a few horses, and a couple of broken-down buildings. If you need a place to stay, you are certainly welcome. We'll get some food in ya, and I'll take you out to the movie set tomorrow. I know the gal who does the hiring. Might find yourself on the paint crew or something."

"I could sure use the money. I might take you up on that."

"Well, come on, young fella. My old pickup truck is down the street. By the way, my name is Arnold Johnson, A.J.for short. I'm pleased to meet you."

"I'm Jimmy T for short. Jimmy Trumbo."

The two strangers shook hands.

The old man said, "You can call me A.J."

A.J. revved up the engine. "We have dinner on the stove. I'll explain on the way."

Jimmy watched the flow of the Colorado River, bending and twisting northward, then eastward, as A.J. continued westward. The red rock glowed in the sunlight as Jimmy stared out the window, searching for those elusive eagles that might be heading in his direction. At least, he hoped, anyway.

A.J. came to a turnoff, and the pickup suddenly no longer had the luxury of the smooth asphalt to deal with.

"The road gets a bit rough from here on out," A.J. said as the old man's beard swayed through the driver's side window, the slight breeze bringing a little comfort to the inhabitants as they bounced around like pinballs.

"Once we make the next turn, it's only about five miles from there to my domicile," said A.J., as he continued to dominate the conversation. "I inherited the ranch back in '57. My grandfather willed it to my sister and me. Sis…she passed away three years ago… she wanted no part of it back then. She had a nice little place in town with a little garden in her backyard, and that was enough for her."

"I was off working the oil rigs at the time, over along the Western Slope of Colorado. I jumped at the chance to come home and take over this place."

A.J. shifted gears and maneuvered over a bad patch of the road.

"It's quiet out here except for a few coyotes now and then. Once or twice a day, a twin-engine aircraft will buzz over the rooftop of my ranch house. I'm only five miles from the Moab Airport as the crow flies, and Frontier Airlines lands, makes a quick stop, unloads and loads a few passengers…carries the mail and freight, too… and then heads west to Salt Lake or east to Grand Junction and Denver. The cups and saucers rattle for a few seconds, and that's about it. Pretty quiet out here, otherwise."

A. J. slowed the pickup down and came to a complete stop, slipped out of his seat, and opened the gate. Above the gate, Jimmy noticed the words, The Lazy J, the J twisting in the breeze.

"Pretty clever, don't you think?" A.J. added, proud of himself for such a down-to-earth title for such an establishment. "I'm a lazy old man. I take plenty of siestas under the stars. The name kinda fits the place. There's plenty of work to be done out here, but how do they say it? I'm a pro-cras-tin-ator. I can't spell it, but that's me in a nutshell."

"You tend to put things off, A.J.?" Jimmy said, finally getting into the conversation.

"Exactly. I have a lot of ideas and some money in the bank. One of these days, this area is gonna explode. You can explore to your heart's content out here, mostly down by the river. I need someone to lend me a hand...someday."

The older man's voice was interrupted by a coughing spell.

"I'll explain it all to you in due time."

A.J. pulled into the entrance of the Lazy J.

"There's Maria's Volkswagen bug in the driveway. I bet dinner is almost done."

Jimmy noticed smoke coming from the main house's chimney, and on the driver's side of Maria's vehicle, he saw the words: "Maria Lopez, A-1 Cleaning Service."

Maria took off her apron and greeted A.J. and Jimmy.

A.J. hugged Maria and was first to speak, as usual. "I brought a friend home for dinner. We met in town, and he's looking a little lean and could use some of your homemade biscuits."

"Maria, this is Jimmy Trumbo."

"Pleased to meet you, Jimmy," she said as she offered her right hand and squeezed the young man's right hand gently. "Come on in, you two. It's time to eat."

Jimmy felt comfortable as he selected the chair nearest to him and sat down. A.J. was still talking away. Maria shook her head. "He's hard to shut up once he gets rolling." She smiled and added, "Eat up, boys!"

The young man from St Louis hadn't had a full-course meal in almost a week. Jimmy took a deep breath and realized he had left Missouri just three days ago. He dug in.

A.J. and Maria watched him. A.J. acknowledged the young man's exuberance as he cleaned his plate in no time and uttered, "Well, all right then," as his new friend continued to chow down. Maria just smiled. She knew she had done well. Another happy customer at the dinner table.

The grandfather clock near the fireplace chimed. Maria jumped up and took off her apron. "Boys, I'll leave you to clean up. I must be on my way."

"There's a pot of coffee on the stove, and on the counter is a dish of my chocolate cookies. Enjoy. I need to get to the airport and have the lobby cleaned by eight o'clock. It's my best contract, and I don't want to be late."

"Thanks, Maria. See you next Sunday," A.J. said as he handed her an envelope with enough money inside to cover her time and trouble for the week.

"I'll be here. It was a pleasure meeting you, Jimmy."

She started up the bug and was gone in a cloud of dust.

Jimmy devoured the cookies, leaving a couple for A.J. He remembered a time not so long ago when Sister Anne would show up with cookies and milk for the gang at St. Mary's.

"Maria is a hard-working woman," A.J. said as he cleared the table and put the dishes in the sink. She raises a teenager and runs that cleaning business six days a week. When she takes Sundays off, she checks on me. I was a long-time friend of her father, Manny Lopez. He passed away a few years ago. Great guy, worked on the oil fields with me."

Jimmy eyed the photo on the mantel above the fireplace of two cowboys roping a calf.

"Manny was the heeler, and I was the header. We entered our share of rodeos back in the day." Jimmy turned to A.J. "Can you teach me some calf roping?"

"Sure, if you stay around for a while. It takes some time. It's not an easy thing to learn."

"When I was down in Castle Valley in '61, the stuntmen gave me a few pointers on how to lasso a post. That's about all I did. Of course, I was a little guy, and my hands weren't big enough to handle the rope."

"Well, alright then," A.J. said as he grabbed two cowboy hats off the rack. "Let me give you a tour of the ranch. Try this baby on for size."

A.J. hurled a mid-sized, dark leather Stetson his way. Jimmy wrapped both hands around his new headgear and offered a rare smile...his first smile in a long while.

Jimmy stepped on the porch. The sun was dropping fast, but there was just enough time for A.J. to show his new cowhand the corral, the barn, and the bunkhouse. "The bunkhouse has all the comforts of home. Old Charlie Sands and his dog Hazel spent the last two winters in the bunkhouse, and Charlie helped me with all the fencing I needed to get done on the south range."

"Charlie was a good wrangler, but he had to get back to Oregon last January. His daughter was having a tough time raising three young children on her own and lived outside Portland. So, he loaded up his two horses in his trailer, cleared out his belongings, and hightailed it out of Dodge with Hazel by his side."

Jimmy entered the bunkhouse, and A.J. followed him in. The first thing Jimmy saw was a bookshelf stacked to the roof with paperback books. "Yep, I can't believe he left those all behind. I'd drop by at night, and he'd be sitting by the fireplace with Hazel, reading a Zane Grey book, and he wouldn't stop until the fire was down to smoldering ashes."

Jimmy was in shock. "I'm a Zane Grey fan, too. I've read many of his books. My goodness, I see a few on the shelf that I couldn't find back in St. Louis."

"Well, there you go," A.J. said. "Enjoy. There's plenty of firewood out here. It does cool off at night. The bad news is there's no air conditioning in the bunkhouse, but I do have air conditioning up at the main house."

A.J. showed him the bathroom. "See all the comforts of home. We do have an outside shower out back. It's enclosed." "Plenty of privacy. Of course, I have my well over there by the corral as well. There is also plenty of bedding, linens, and blankets in the closet. There is a sink and a refrigerator here in the kitchen. We'll have to go into town and get you some groceries tomorrow after we run out to the movie site and get you squared away."

"I can't thank you enough, A.J."

"I hope it all works out in the morning. For some reason, I think it will. I'll show you the rest of the spread, maybe late tomorrow. I'll leave you to it. I'll be up at the house if you need me."

Jimmy watched A.J. saunter back to the ranch house. Jimmy closed the door and surveyed his new surroundings. He moved quickly to the bookshelf. There were at least one hundred books — over half were Zane Grey or Luis L'Amour novels…or other books about the Old West.

It was like old Charlie had left him a gold mine.

Jimmy shook his head. It was just a few hours ago, and he had no idea where he was going to sleep for the night. He raised both hands to the air; tears were streaming out of his eyes. And now this, he muttered to himself.

He started up a fire just for the heck of it — throwing on a small log for practice, if for no other reason. He sat in the rocker and eyed the small flame that suddenly appeared.

What was he doing here? Just a few days ago, he had lost his closest friend, Sister Anne, someone he had latched on to five years ago...someone who gave him comfort and instilled in him the will to keep going with what had been a miserable, lonely existence.

Now, she was gone from his life, just like everyone else. He suddenly thought of Father Harry. The man didn't deserve what had been done to him… He left him and the school…and Jimmy said out loud, "I didn't even bother to pick up my diploma."

He had fallen off the face of the earth...or so he thought. He wiped away more tears and spoke aloud. "I didn't bother to say goodbye to my St Louis stickball buddies, my classmates, all of them with lifelong struggles of their own.'

Jimmy looked around the bunkhouse, then stared out the window into the darkness. A different moon suddenly appeared in the night sky — not a Missouri moon, but a southern Utah moon. Why are they so different?

He thought. Where is the man on the moon?

He wiped away a final tear. He climbed into bed and passed out. He dreamed of the eagle in flight.

*****

The next morning, Jimmy climbed out of his bunk. The paperback novel Riders of the Purple Sage — one of many of Grey's books that he couldn't get his hands on back in St. Louis — slipped off the edge of the bed and fell on the hard floor.

A photo fell out of the back of the book. Jimmy picked up the photo. A picture of Charlie and Hazel sitting on the front porch of the bunkhouse, eyeing the Utah setting sun.

Jimmy shook his head and said out loud, "I owe you, Charlie."

For a moment during the night, Jimmy had felt like he was back at St Mary's, passing the evenings away reading about the Old West — reading Grey's beautiful, tangled words, stories of life on the plains, the hot, unforgiving days on the desert floor…the shootouts, the outlaws...the good guys and the bad. It was John Wayne on horseback, some thirty years before the Duke had even stepped onto the set of his first movie.

Jimmy could smell the coffee brewing at the main house.

A.J. was up and practically ready to start up the engine of the old pickup — time for Jimmy's first journey to a Western movie set since he was eleven years old, the day he had left Castle Rock and was sitting in the back seat of the Springfield's vehicle, waving out the back window to his parents—a gesture: a final goodbye.

Jimmy slipped into an old pair of Charlie's wrong-sized boots. The old Wrangler had left the shoes in the bunkhouse's closet, where they had been stored for two years. 'Those babies were just too big. Not sure what I was thinking when I purchased those clodhoppers,' Charlie had told A.J.

Surprisingly, the boots fit the Trumbo Kid.

A thicker pair of socks would make the new footwear more comfortable. The boots also needed a good cleaning. The odor emanating from the soles' bottoms made Jimmy's nose twitch. But, coupled with the Stetson A.J. had thrown at him the day before, Jimmy certainly looked the part of a wrangler...and he was more than ready for the trip to the set of Blue.

"Good morning, young man," A.J. said, handing Jimmy a small dish of scrambled eggs and bacon, along with a cup of strong, hot coffee. "Eat up, we're ready to roll."

*****

It took a good forty minutes for the old pickup to sputter north to the highway and then another twenty minutes to reach the set. Jimmy noticed a cowboy on horseback, a film crew in hot pursuit as the sun rose over the LaSal Mountains to the east — the rays of sunlight suddenly bursting through the lens of the camera — the rider was on the move.

"Who is that?" Jimmy said as he took off his new cowboy hat, rolled down the window, and questioned the old man in the driver's seat.

"Don't you recognize him? That's Quint— Quint from Gunsmoke."

"What is Burt Reynolds doing out here?"

"I guess I failed to mention," A.J. explained. "There's also a movie within a movie going on. It's called Fade In and Quint…I mean, Reynolds is the star, and his love interest in the movie is a young actress by the name of Barbara Loden, who happens to be married to a famous director."

"Who would that be?"

"Elia Kazan. He directed On the Waterfront, Splendor in the Grass…A Streetcar Named Desire...well, the list goes on."

"Unbelievable. Sister Anne took a few of us kids to see On the Waterfront back in St Louis. Marlon Brando and Karl Malden. What a great movie!"

"Yeah… and Malden is here," A.J. added, wondering about Sister Anne but continuing to fill Jimmy in. "It's crazy out here. You'll see faces you have seen on TV and in the movies. Maria said that when she cleaned the airport lobby two Sundays ago, she was dusting away when in came Kazan. She sees her share of Hollywood stars. She's always coming to the ranch, smiling from ear to ear and yelling: 'Guess who I saw today?'

A.J. pulled in next to a trailer hidden on the outskirts of the movie set and quickly got out of the truck. Jimmy followed him inside.

"Patricia, I have a young cowboy here looking for work. Anything available?"

"I hear tell Springfield needs some workers," she said. "These on-again-off-again thunderstorms are playing havoc with some of the structures.

The roofs are not exactly up to snuff. If you know what I mean."

"Did you say Springfield?" Jimmy asked.

"Yes. John Springfield."

Startled, Jimmy shook his head. "I know him!"

"Well, it just might be your lucky day, son," the young blond, maybe in her early 30s, said, with her face down and her nose stuck in a file on her desk.

"What's your name, young man?"

"Jimmy Trumbo."

End of Chapter 1