COMMENTS & CURIOSITIES:Whoa, dawgies

I’m an old cowhand, from the Rio Grande. Actually I’m not, which was part of the problem back in 1994, but we’ll get back to that.

If the fair board gets its wish, this year’s slam-bam kickoff to the 2007 Orange County Fair will be a cattle drive, right smack through the streets of Huntington Beach and Costa Mesa, which sounds like great fun, and it is.

I happen to know that because one of the few advantages of being around for a long time — and there are very few — is that eventually everything old is new again. You see, this will be “Cattle Drive: The Sequel” for the Orange County Fair. The original, which you may remember, was in 1994. I remember it well. It was fun and wild and a great time was had by all, most of all by my horse.

We will get to him — I think it was a him — in a bit. Get it? “In a bit.” It’s a horse joke.

As I recall, there were about 70 little dawgies (that’s what cowboys call cows — “dawgies”) and about the same number of riders. Cattle Drive II will be even bigger and better, with 125 riders and 300 head of cattle, which is a lot of dawgies. If it’s anything like the first one, everyone will get his or her money’s worth, and more. In Cattle Drive I, the riders included professional wranglers, who could make their horses do everything but stand up and salute. Then there were the guest riders, some of whom were very experienced, like expert horsewoman Donna Theriault with the city of Costa Mesa. Then there were the riders who didn’t ride that often but knew their way around horses, like GOP power broker Buck Johns and his wife, Colleen, and former Costa Mesa Police Chief Dave Snowden, who is an Old West fanatic. Then came a lot of other riders at various levels below them.

Then there was me, although there shouldn’t have been.

As with anything that requires athletic ability or coordination, I should have taken a pass, but it sounded like a blast, and I couldn’t resist. In fact, being a Civil War buff, I drove up to Western Costume in Hollywood and had them outfit me in a full-on, hat-to-boots Union cavalry officer’s get-up, which looked pretty convincing assuming there were Union cavalry officers who were legally blind and looked Italian.

You know how some people look fabulous no matter where they are and what they’re doing? Well, some people don’t. If you look up the definition of “big hat, no cattle,” that’s me in the little picture next to it.

I also made the excellent decision to ride without my glasses to look more authentic and because riding a horse down Fairview Road is scary enough without having to see it.

As I recall, the plan was for the riders to come up Arlington Drive to Fairview and turn left, at which point we would wait for the cattle, who would be led out another gate by the wranglers. On cue, we would all meander down the street, dawgies and horses, just like a real live cattle drive lumbering into town.

Apparently, someone forgot to explain the lumbering part to the cows. The herd slowly made its way onto Fairview, turned south, took one look at that empty, 100-foot wide stretch of road in front of them and took off like a missile, at which point, the wranglers charged forward to head them off. And the rest of the horses said, “Oh, cool, stampede. I love these.”

All of this delighted the spectators who thought it was all part of the show and were cheering, screaming and whistling, which made the cattle and the horses and the people on them go even faster. I have no idea what anyone else’s horse was doing (big hat, no glasses), but mine was in a full gallop — charging, snorting and for all practical purposes, without a rider, which he really liked. He knew and I knew that short of begging him, bribing him or shooting him, there was not a single thing I could get him to do, least of all stop.

Before we get to what happened next, let me give you my history as an equestrian, which is impressive. My wife and I were theater students at the University of Arizona in, well, the past. And at the time, you could pick up a few bucks working as an extra at Old Tucson, a movie set that has seen more westerns over the years than a projectionist in Midland-Odessa. You made $35 a day, plus lunch, which was not bad at the time. But if you worked as a rider, you got $75 a day, which was huge. Every morning, the assistant director would gather the extras and ask who could ride, and a few hands would go up. A couple of times, one of the hands was mine, for reasons I still don’t understand but can only assume had to do with the 75 bucks.

My first two attempts went OK. They involved riding in a group — a bunch of mean cowboys coming into town. Ride slow, spit, look mean, spit. It was easy. My third and final ride was as a cavalryman in one of the strangest westerns ever made, “Dirty Dingus McGee,” starring Frank Sinatra of all people.

Once we got into position, I was amazed at how little I had to do. When 39 horses around you are spurred and lashed to a gallop by screaming, cursing riders, you don’t have to do much. You are on your way just like that, and wherever they’re going, you’re going. I never made it to the second take. A wrangler raced out to us on his horse, pointed at me and said, “You’re out.” On the way to the corral he explained that as a rule cavalry troopers didn’t drop their reins, lean over and wrap their arms around the horse’s neck in a death grip during a charge.

I told him I understood and asked if I could try again. He said not while he was alive.

Flash forward 25 years and I am in a full gallop once again, only this time on Fairview Road, which is like the Arizona desert only harder and with lines on it. Once the wranglers reined in the cattle and turned them onto Fair Drive, the horses ahead of me made the same sweeping left turn, just as they were supposed to, and thankfully we all headed through the gate and into the arms of waiting wranglers, at which point it seemed safe to open my eyes.

And that’s about it. If it all works out, the West will rise again at the 2007 Orange County Fair. Be there; do not miss it; it is a sight to behold — the cattle, the horses, the sagebrush, the Arco station at Fair and Fairview.

And if you see someone in a cavalry uniform who looks totally out of place and equally inept, give him room. Cattle drives are fun, but they’re not for greenhorns.

I gotta go.