Most teenagers had posters of pop stars on their walls. My wall was covered with gunslingers. Blame my obsession with the movie Tombstone, I guess.
My first time in Tombstone was on the way back from a high school soccer game in Douglas Arizona. Our bus pulled over in historic town for a pit stop on the way back to Tucson.
Displayed in a gallery window was a painting of Doc Holiday glowing in the night. It was magnificent.
I convinced my parents to take me back to Tombstone the following week and buy the masterpiece. Eventually my dad made a frame for it and I hung it over my bed.
Many years later, I would return to Tombstone to take whisky shots at the Crystal Palace Saloon at its stunning wood carved bar.
This last visit to the “Town to Tough to Die,” exhibited overheated tourists eating ice cream on benches beneath the shade.
Concrete sidewalks are nonexistent as visitors walk on wood walkways in front of shops. Boots clunk on the lumber planked path.
Men and woman play the part and are dresses in clothes from the late 1800’s. I wonder how they can stand the heat under so many layers.
Cowboys armed with pistols on their hip roam Fremont Street leaving a trail of dust in their wake.
Gunfight pops can be heard in the distance as children chug Sarsaparilla in glass bottles.
Bars are dark and crammed with people who often overflow into the street.
The infamous Bird Cage Theater is pink and pleasant.
Horses pull vintage carriages full of tourists who poke their camera out of the window to take pictures of the places Wyatt Earp and the Clanton game roamed.
It’s business as usual in the Old West.