Springerville, Arizona sat back waiting for election results.
Nobody was calling for any upsets.
Nobody could imagine what might happen to keep Eisenhower from taking the state. At least none of the guys at the Cattleguard Café possessed such an imagination.
Ranchers, real estate agents and a handful of off-duty members of the Apache County Sherriff’s Department packed the warm saloon. The room had a low ceiling and a dozen crimson Naugahyde barstools.
The jukebox was off and the radio was on for the election returns.
No Kitty Wells, no Hank Thompson. And according to the bartender, no more Coors Banquet. There hadn’t been a delivery that morning.
At the Cattleguard they all figured Senator McFarland would get back in again. After all, he was riding high back in Washington, the Senate Majority Leader now with all that influence. Sure, young Goldwater was putting up quite the fight. But beating McFarland, that wasn’t in the cards.
Leaning against one end of the bar was a rancher with a gnarled index finger he hadn’t been able to wrap around a beer glass in years.
The rancher said Joe McCarthy supporting Barry would give Goldwater a good boost. Together they’d keep the Reds out of Springerville, Arizona. Keep them out of the whole county, the whole damned country.
Then the bartender said he hoped those Hollywood people would come back to town and shoot another western. He cautiously launched into a shopworn story about pouring shots of Four Roses for Walter Brennan while they were shooting scenes for Return Of The Texan.
The story had been told too many times. Nobody listened.
One of the real estate agents asked why they would make a movie here in Arizona that was supposed to take place in Texas. Was Texas really that ugly?
Nobody had a good answer.
Nobody knew how long the Coors would last.
And nobody was looking forward to drinking Schlitz.
