I come up with all sorts of things to write about. Then I don’t. Sometimes I do and then hit the delete button. I decided that this story needed to be told because it came up as a topic of conversation last Thursday. On Saturday night I watched Paul Newman play Judge Roy Bean in “The Life and Times of Judge Roy Bean.”  I took the two events as a demand that the story now be told.

It all began with a canoe trip down the Rio Grand, more years ago than I care to admit. The story isn’t about the river trip. If you want a commentary on the grandeur of nature, read John Muir or Joseph Conrad. My talents don’t lie in the direction. No, my story is about events after that epic journey. It takes place, in Langtry, Texas, outside the courtroom of Judge Roy Bean.

Five cops and three friends decided to take a five day canoe trip from La Linda, Texas to Dryden, Texas on the Rio Grand. Supplies included food, ammunition, and whiskey. No soap. At the end of the trip we were all pungent, unshaven and unwashed. As we began our homeward journey to San Marcos, Texas, what did we spy but a sign advertising the Judge Roy Bean Museum. It seemed like a good idea to stop.

Judge Roy Bean was a Justice of the Peace in Val Verde County. The judge was a larger than life character who has achieved legendary status. The Jersey Lilly (above) was his bar, courtroom and residence.

A pretty mangy group piled out of the car at the Jersey Lilly. A description of Bobby will convey the general idea. Bobby is about 6’4″, tall and lanky. He was wearing an OD green military triangular bandage as a do-rag. He started the trip wearing a pair of Viet Nam era camouflage pants. During the trip he ripped the knees out of the pants. Tom cut the legs off, turning the pants into cutoffs. Bobby retrieved the pant legs, reversed them, and used the cuff ties to secure the pant legs to just below the knee. With the exception of Bobby’s pants the entire group displayed variations on his sartorial splendor. 

As I exited the Judge’s courtroom, I saw Grandma, daughter and two grand-kids posing for a portrait. They were centered under the sign: Justice of the Peace Law West of the Pecos.  Grandpa’s expression of dismay, dramatic lowering of the camera and slumping of the shoulders told me that I had ruined the shot. His dramatics also attracted the attention of Bobby, who was behind him.

It was obvious from the unwavering stance of the family that grandpa had composed this picture in his head and he was going to get it. They were in it for the duration. Over the next five minutes people came and went, each time ruining the shot. The old guy had the routine down; dismay, slumping shoulders and jerked camera. Each time grandpa engaged in his theatrics Bobby moved a little closer. 

Pretty soon Bobby was within arms reach towering over the old guy. Grandpa was in the groove, total focus. He was unaware of Bobby’s presence. The moment arrived, no more foot traffic, grandma and company were stoically smiling for the camera. The old guy readied his camera, in mere moments the shot would be his!

Bobby must have felt the tension because at this moment he let loose with a long, hemorrhoid rattling, fart. It was audible from thirty feet. The old guy jumped like he had been goosed.

He turned and looked at Booby and exclaimed, “Young man was that entirely necessary?”

I didn’t hear Bobby’s reply. I was trying to put as much distance between us as possible. I joined Tom and Doug and all three of us conducted an exhaustive study of a cactus.

I don’t know if the old guy ever got the shot. We decided we had seen enough of the Jersey Lilly and hit the road.