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The Code

I’ve been tied to the strange world of “the computer” the last few days. Drovers Mercantile was updating our email addresses. Takes a while to input new information and it’s not exactly the Cowboy lifestyle I profess. But, hey, in today’s world it’s all part of the game.  
My family has dealt with new technology before. Back in the early 1890’s my great-grandfather on my mother’s side, William Richard McLin, raised a family in abject poverty because he had been crippled in a baseball game as a boy. But, learning the Morse Code changed his life and that of his children.  
They lived in a little community called Cave Spring, Missouri, and right now a very high percentage of the folks laid away in the cemetery are in some way my relation.  
Their home was cold and uncomfortable. My grandfather called it “The Old Misery Hole”. Someone taught them how to understand the Morse Code. As I recall, the way my grandfather told it, his brother Carl learned first and their father and all the children all picked up on it. 
That opened the door to a new prosperity for all of them. The railroad would hire a man on the spot if he knew the code. So, each of them eventually all had Agent jobs at various depots.  
Don’t know what this whole story had to do with me exactly. I guess they had their code and I’ve got the Cowboy Code. I haven’t found that pot at the end of the rainbow, but I’m sure doing things a lot differently than I would have imagined 30 years ago. 
So Long, 
The Cowboy 


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