Something I learned from a Cowboy

Some time ago I met a cowboy. Not a Hollywood cowboy. Not a guitar-strumming Nashville cowboy. This cowboy sat upon a horse so big, I had to lean out of the window of my ’67 Chevrolet and strain my neck to see him.

The cowboy and I were headed in opposite directions on a greyish, dusty, unpaved road. He was mounted upon the aforementioned animal. I was navigating my Chevy. Aside from our differing modes of transportation, there was one other factor distinguishing the cowboy from me. He knew where he was and where he was going. I didn’t.

In brief, I was in Montana looking for Holter Dam, which according to my wrinkled paper map, ought to be astride the Missouri River somewhere nearby. And, no. Cars did not have GPS navigators in those days.

So, there I was, looking up at a cowboy mounted upon the largest chestnut-brown horse I had ever seen. I quickly learned he was no ordinary cowhand. He owned a Montana wheat ranch half the size of the state of Arizona.

He dismounted and I exited my car and soon we were chatting face-to-face. In no time at all he gave me directions to Holter Dam. Easy for him. He lived there! How’s that for luck?

As we spoke, my car’s engine was still running.

“Have you got any tools in your car?” That wasn’t a question I had expected the cowboy to ask. After all, I was only seeking directions.

“A few,” I replied.

“You’ve got a problem with your engine.”

I felt really proud that I had a wrench or two and a screwdriver. Prouder still that I knew which was which!

The cowboy raised my Chevy’s hood. He listened ever so briefly.

Within a few seconds he was bending over my still-running engine. He used the wrench. Once. Twice. Then he was satisfied.

“You had an air leak back there.” He explained something about a gasket and a rocker cover.

I smiled as if I knew what he was talking about.

This cowboy was a pleasant fellow, dusty boots and all. We chatted. My jaw dropped. This was no ordinary cowboy. He was a Harvard Business School graduate. He needed that, he said, to manage his wheat ranch. He marketed to Russia, China, and beyond.

He was also an engineering graduate. I recall he said Michigan. He told me he needed that, too, “right here at Holter Dam.” But before Holter Dam, this cowboy had another use for that engineering degree. He applied those skills while working for General Motors. I’d guess that’s why from atop his horse he heard a potentially troublesome hissing sound beneath the hood of my Chevy.

Turns out this cowboy was the chief engineer for the dam’s hydro-electric generators. Also turns out he guided us to his home on the Holter Dam property. He gave my two kids a ride on the horse!

I met him again a year or so later. Rescue and recovery mission on the Missouri River. Part of my Air Force duties at Malmstrom Air Force Base just outside Great Falls. But that’s another story. Later maybe.

So, this cowboy was a lesson! Classic case of “don’t judge a book by its cover.” What social science calls stereotyping….

Yesterday, I met a guy at a bar ………