Sunday, April 10, 2011
Bully Joe and His Riders
For the people of an Ole West town called Pueblo Del Diablo, big bad Bully Joe is not only the mayor but the king and the messiah. For his band of horse-riders, his thunder-like voice is authoritative and so powerful. He owns the meanest mouth in town that no amount of mouthwash could cure. His tongue is as deadly as a rattlesnake and the smell of his breath is as foul as a cartful of horse shit and those of a farting skunk combined. This made the big mouth of this balding ol' fellow as threatening and deadly as a lighted bundle of dynamite sticks. He loves to boast all his achievements. He openly and very often claimed that he is a good leader and nobody in town could match him. His diehards would apparently die and kill for him for gold coins either from his own pocket or the town’s coffer.
No ordinary citizen in Pueblo Del Diablo dared to cross his path to contradict him. Much more openly say something messy about him. Not even the sheriff or the local banker, the blacksmith, the guns and ammunitions dealer, the tavern owner including the pimps and the beautiful ladies who sing and dance. He only get advises from the gang members who are close to him. He does not mind what others feel as a result of what he blurted out. There are times that he has the tendency to put in shameful situation even his own men. They are scolded for shortcomings even in public. For him, the only important thing is to say what he wants to say, regardless of the gravity of collateral damage. It does not matter how, when and where did he say it. Much more the consequences of what his tongue just wielded. What is only important to him is to express his mind. No more, no less.
Big bad Bully Joe does not mind if he would be hurting your feelings or emotion and your dignity as a person, especially those who are not from his side or does not believe his politics. Those who do not go along with his group are mercilessly treated like a brutal Apache. They are considered traitors and destined to be hanged or tied in a cactus in the middle of the desert until hungry vultures feasted on them.
That’s Bully Joe for you. The Old West leader who see through his eagle sharp eyes are just two colors: black and white. No in-betweens. “White” are his allies who follow his line of thinking and command, and "black" who does not go with him are “enemies”. May they are criminals, dignitaries or just ordinary citizens.
He does have, no doubt, a good horse sense. A so-called horse sense is a good judgment or sound sense an intuitive skill developed from experience. He initiated progress and development in Pueblo del Diablo but those improvements are not enough. You cannot get respect only on what you do but also on what you say and how you say things. As well as how you treat your critics and others who do not care for what you’ve done.
This is what Bully Joe seems to forget. He failed to value people above all other assets and physical or cultural changes. Because of this, not long ago, he had been abandoned by his faithful and experienced lieutenants and rangers because he is so distant when leading, when pursuing certain mission. Not knowing the disagreements and troubles between his riders behind. Many of them developed thick knees or a feeling of abandonment in the middle of something. Especially every time he aimlessly opens his big bad mouth, spitting fire of arrogance and disrespect of ordinary people and hurting the employees of the US Federal government. Some of his men are also tired of this personality. Some of them too are hurt by such bad manners but the only thing they can do is to protest in silence. Many are either too loyal or just being blinded. Many of them feel that their leader is superior in all aspect, so ahead of them in many ways as a person that they cannot fully cope-up with nor follow. Unlike the dusts on their shoulders and hats that they could easily ward off.
While on their way to fetch a ranking government official from Kansas to visit Pueblo Del Diablo, mean Bully Joe moved too far in front of the pack with his Colt 45 pistol around his waist and a Winchester rifle tucked in a holster below his horse’s saddle. After almost an hour of ride away from his group, Bully Joe just realized that he’s already away from them. He, unknowingly isolated himself as a leader.
The next night, his loyal friends, his trusted men and women mourned for his death. His peers were down with deep sorrow. Across the street, majority of the people of Pueblo Del Diablo are happy and jubilant. Drinks are free at the tavern courtesy of the local banker once badmouthed by their leader. The peasants who are maltreated and his erstwhile ally who parted with him and he once insulted in public brought bread, cheese and pudding. While the sheriff and his two deputies are alert in their post. The whole town was flooded with endless music and dances and a drop of solitude.
Bad old man Bully Joe died. He was shot in the back by one of his lieutenants near the cliff. He was mistaken for an Apache, an enemy. That’s what his most trusted man in the pack informed the town folks…