05/30/2024
Enjoy.
Memories!
Truth.
Excerpt from “The Truth the Way I Remember It”
Bob Marrs Stockman’s Saddle Shop, Amarillo, Texas, BR549
First let’s get this part straight. I always get stuck at the Mars part or is it Marrs. I never could get Bob straight from the other Bob since there were two. I only worked for one but sure nuff he was the best. I lament at his passing as he and Betty are truly one of the largest pieces of my life. They took me in as a son. Couldn’t take me in all the way since I wasn’t Texan but my Momma was, at this I was given a pass. Just a fact. Texans consider you a Texan or something else. Something else’s always given a sideways stare, check in a glare, never quite meeting their criteria for human hood. I would see this at the end of my enlistment there at Bobs and again when years later I would drive an Air Ambulance out of Bridgeport, TX.
Bob’s shop. Hmm. I loved that place. It was an old building across from the Amarillo Stock Yards. Aromas of years, dust, manure, cows, Herman Oak saddle leather; just hard to describe but to say that it was a Texas Panhandle saddle shop. I vaguely remember the front of the shop as the only time I was in the front was to unlock the door, hang freshly made strap goods on hooks or to put a “just finished repair saddle on a saddle horse”. No Siree we came through he back. Typical of old Texas shops and buildings you walk past an old rusty and encrusted swamp cooler, open the wooden screen door held closed by a good old strong spring. Love those things as they always give a good loud “bang” when you let em rip. Open the door into heaven. That is how I feel about those old places. They have character and history. Cement floor, old siding on the walls. Walls covered in tools, pictures of makers favorite saddles, family, dogs and of course cowboy art.
Now cowboy art can come in many varieties. Maybe an old magazine clipping from 1942 showing a cowboy, horse, Wi******er and bear or a pencil drawing done by some saddle maker from years past. There is cowboy art shows up in horseshoe boot jacks, belts, coffee cup coasters or as in one case “ Ghost Riders in The Sky” as painted by Bob himself. Man there was a plethora of cowboy art that just made a young man’s heart long for the “Good Old Days”. This place was legendary and I was just fortunate enough to be part of its history. Maybee the tail end of history but part of it none the less. Wiping off the dust from an old photo take by Condenast Magazine with a box camera I was remembering the shop. The smells , the sights, the creaking of a windblown old building! Everything Texas. There were horn holes pasted to the ceiling. Hundreds of them from every saddle maker to ever work there. It was tradition that once you punched the horn hole out of the fork cover to write your name on it, date it, smear a good dab of wheat paste on the back and throw it up onto the ceiling. Eddy Collie. I saw many of his, Elbert Foster, and now mine amoung many others. Funny what we remember but as I take you throught the shop past the two benches on the side, past the water tank for soaking seats and part, past the “Dentist’s bench “ where repairs were done, through a doorway into the “cutout room”. Don’t stop there we are going to the coolest, mother of all, most inspiring room in the shop. Some call it the “Head” as in my case, lavatory for easterners, bathroom, restroom, S—tter, crapper, throne room or as I used to refer to it often, The Prayer Closet.
Around a corner, through the door, at last. The porcelain throne. Stained by Texas Panhandle water just like the sink. Yep you sit down to pray, console yourself over a ruined piece of leather, yep! Just screwed up the only good piece 8-9 ounce and it was one side of a pair of spur leathers. You think of where you can get a piece to match without cutting into a new hide. Don’t want Bob to see it. Then you consider the storm at home you left earlier in the day, maybe lunch at the pizza boutique. Man, this was the place. Not about stinky’s or bad food the night before but the walls. The walls were covered with cowboy humor, not so wise wisdom, drawings of horses, cowboys, drawings of guns. Some were remarkably devoid of any intelligence at all and simply left their name saying they had sat in Bob’s crapper. The thing that made this place so special is that there was really good art on the wall. Like the nose art of a World War two bomber and pinup girl. These art pieces were done by men, real men, men that had a history and past themselves. Humor or wisdom or just cowboy logic. If I could have had any one thing out of that shop before it burned down would be the crapper, the john, the Sh—tter, the throne room , my prayer closet. Boy did I do some praying in that place. I prayed over finances, saddles, daughters, for Mom and Dad, I prayed for this nation, I prayed for my future. Yessiree! Daily I took Jesus, Mathew, Mark Luke and John into the Holy of Holies. God met me there. Of course he was always with me but many times I will now admit that I went there to see the art, chuckle and then meet God. Solace, peace quiet were all to be found in that tiny little room where truth be told I cried! I cried many times over my divorce, fighting over my daughters, tuff times. Yep! There were many times I simply said “ Thank you God” for giving me this job, and letting me sit in this wonderful crapper.
Joda Knife & Tool Works custom makes leather stamping tools, knives, and we do some gunsmithing! we
