Weekly Posting of the Conservative Cow Doctor


Saved by the Class of 1975

I recently attended the 40th reunion of Tongue River High School’s class of 1975, but it does not feel like I have been an adult for four decades.  In my mind’s eye, I am about 25.  While on an early morning bike ride the week before the event, the trophy wife and I dusted off our mental Post-It-Notes to recall all 39 class members and their spouses.  Rather than smart phones and Facebook, ours was the manual typewriter and party line era, so our recall relied on rapidly fading memories.  We named 24 classmates; one for each mile of our morning ride.  Once home, I dug out my old yearbook and we filled in the 15 empty slots.  As I studied senior photos of me wearing bell-bottom pants with two inch cuffs, platform shoes and long hair, I wondered how it was possible I ever had children.  Apparently, the trophy wife did not realize just how far down the ladder she was marrying.   

Saturday evening, 25 of us plus most of our spouses, gathered for a beer and barbeque at a classmate’s house in Sheridan, Wyoming.  Friends are great, and old friends are extra special, but old friends from a small, rural high school share a bond about which city kids can only dream.  The catching up was instantaneous and infectious, but sadly, 10 classmates were absent due to scheduling conflicts, two could not be found and two have died.  There were two veterinarians, one rancher, several coal miners, a couple railroaders, construction workers, a main street store owner, an engineer, accountant, teacher, restaurant manager, logger and several health care providers.  Ours was a school mixed from three races, although we did not recognize that division in 1975, nor do we today.  We are friends and this brings me to my point. 

Unlike the picture promoted by the state run media, each of my classmates is gainfully employed; proud members of the producing class rather than enslaved members of the dependency class.  The 93 million Americans no longer in the workforce and the 50 million on food stamps apparently are confined to the progressive utopia of the inner cities, so do not live in Wyoming.  When the topic veered to politics, and it always will in a gathering of well-informed patriots, it was nearly unanimous the progressives have led America off a cliff.  To say my Wyoming coal miner friends were furious with President Obama’s War on Coal would be the understatement of 40 years.  With little provocation, they were ready to sharpen pitchforks, light torches and would have started marching on Washington Saturday night had they not felt obligated to be at work Monday morning.  Doing the only thing they can, most will support the liberty wing of the GOP in the next election because voting Democrat or establishment Republican will just mean a different color of the same misery.  For the haters parsing this column, color has nothing to do with race.  The 1975 class of TRHS will try, but they cannot save America without your help.  Think before you vote. 



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