Imagine being an Indian boy wanting to be a cowboy, every day begging his father for a set of pistols, a holster and one of those red cowboy hats with the white stitching. I was that boy. Each day when my father returned home from work I would run up to his car and ask if he had gotten them yet. He would just smile and shake his head. I always wanted to be a cowboy, not a John Wayne or Clint Eastwood hero or anti-hero, but more of a Dean Martin “Dude.” I longed to be an “everyman” who
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