I guess when a person hears something – the same damned two words – every time he turns around – for a period of maybe twenty-five or more straight years – Those two words may stick in his brain.

If that afflicted person had a small brain then the pain could be excruciating. OR… if the afflicted had a rather large and subtle brain – maybe the pain was more like a dull throb. Kinda like a lingering hangover. I’ve just had a SLIGHT headache but I’ve had it for a long damned time.

For the lucky ones maybe those two words might be, for example -- “Adios Amigo” … “Hey Baby” … “Hey Buddy” … Love You”… “Take Care”… “Adios Amigo” … whatever…

For yours truly… well… all I got was “Call Clem”. That’s it. “Call Clem?”

What the heck could “Call Frickin’ Clem” possibly mean?

First of all, the only Clem I ever knew about was an Okie. That’s not promising. As I recall his surname was Mc… Mc… Paddley?... McSpraddly? No… dang it… uh… Mc? Mc? Spaaaaa…. duh…nnnnn. Yeah… that’s the guy… Clem McSpadden. That must be it – my head is starting to ache.

If this Clem guy had a middle name I never heard it. Since he was from Oklahoma his middle name was likely the same as his first name. Kind of a state thing. Figuring out just one new name per child sometimes takes years – which may explain the large number of kids and young adults running around with stand-in-line number tags stapled onto their collars.

I always figured that’s why Okies did so well in the military… you know – “Hut… two… three… four”. Undoubtedly some confusion over which guy was “Hut” and a bunch of #1’s left behind.

Now that I think about it… maybe I saw his middle name scrawled somewhere… think it was “Rogers”. Maybe I heard that he was a nephew of Will Rogers or maybe it was Buck Rogers. Think they were both into aviation but Buck Rogers was way cooler. But maybe it was that Will Rogers guy. Think he was a humorous and judging from the things a specific Clem guy did to me – he must’ve thought himself quite humorous.

Call Clem? Why those two words? Dang… hmmm. I mean I never “called Clem”. Not once. Not ever. I just kind of knew the guy to speak to him but then I also knew the Ferris Wheel guy at Little Rock enough to speak to him too.

As I recall… the Clem we’re speaking of was a Congressman or something. I guess if you weren’t cool enough to be a bull rider… being a Congressman might be a fall back position but only if all the astronaut positions were filled.

When folks were yapping about this Clem guy it seemed like they were always tossing in flowery words like “honesty, integrity, and character.” I must have my recollections all jumbled up. Too many horns up side the head, you know. Had to be two different conversations. Surely couldn’t have had those flowery words used in a conversation about a politician…. from Oklahoma, no less.

I think maybe I heard his name discussed when the Mouseketeers decided they needed a Commissioner to save the world. Kinda like SUPERMAN or BATMAN or SPIDERMAN. (Fact is – in the end -- it will probably take a woman. It always does.)

Guess that Clem guy mighta fit the Commissioner bill. Kinda looked the part… heard he acted the part. Knew rodeo… knew lots of folks who could help rodeo. Hell... he was over qualified.

They probably ask him a time or two. Probably didn’t want to leave Oklahoma. Probably felt obligated to stay until the state got all them numbered kids real first names.

One other time when Ranch Headquarters and the Mouseketeers were going on about rodeo needing its SECOND Commissioner, an image of this Clem guy flitted across my mind. But… I do only mean “flit.”

I had more important things occupying my large and subtle mind. He was surrounded by Playboy Playmates. As I recall he was kind of squished in between Miss August and Miss September. And I do mean “squished”… too.

Fortunately, HE had his clothes on. I didn’t look close but I’m guessin’ he was wearin’ a sport coat and tie, starched white shirt, starched Wranglers, and low rider calf roper boots. Personally, I was more interested in what my calendar girls WEREN’T wearing that what he WAS.

I really didn’t know the guy. For the first few years I rodeoed… he was just a voice. Kinda like listening a radio talk show host for two and a half hours. Good voice as I recall. Not too much of a hillbilly accent or anything. Unlike most of his Sooner State cellar dwellers he sounded like he’d been to graduate school (that’s 6th grade in Oklahoma).

I’ve been trying to find one word… if I had to describe his voice in one word… if I had to do it in one word… I guess it would “Safe”. Yep… S-A-F-E.

SAFE is important for a bull rider, particularly one with few skills (though obviously blessed with good looks and quick wit). Yeah… his voice always made me feel safe – or at least safe-ER. He said this Cowboy Prayer he made up which seemed ironic since I never had a prayer of making the whistle.

I remember gazing around at a rodeo audience when they were listening to him. Okay… it was a good excuse to check out the babes who were undoubtedly already checking me out. Anyway… looking at all those different people, old, young, rich, poor – it seemed to me that at that moment – all those different types of people – were on the same page. They were traveling together through “Clem’s World.” And, from their expressions, it must’ve been a safe world.

For whatever reason…maybe just his voice – but more likely his voice in combination with his storytelling (and alleged wittiness) – it seemed to me that everyone within earshot was suddenly free from their daily problems. There’d be a little chuckle every so often and maybe those folks would discover a few things to be thankful for. And they might even get choked up with emotion once or twice and in the reflective moments which followed – maybe they were able to shift their attention to someone other than their ownselves.

And… as a result of all that – the trip through Clem’s World -- maybe their worlds seemed safer.

Seemed to me anyway. Couldn’t say for sure. After all, I was really just scannin’ and pannin’ for chicks. Didn’t really know the guy.

Okay… I DID meet him a couple of times. He didn’t even offer to shake hands either time.

The first time, as I VAGUELY recall, he was sitting behind his desk in the bowels of the Myriad Center there in Oklahoma City. Didn’t even get up… just kind of looked at me over the top of his granny’s reading glasses and pointed for me to sit-the-hell down.

His pointing was reinforced by two catchers mitt-sized hands pushing down on my collarbones. Back in those days, I guess people in power automatically took the word of every 360 lb., 7’ 13” Security Guard. No hearing… no testimony… no lawyer… no video tape… no breathalyzer… no DNA – you were just “guilty”. Judge Roy frickin’ Bean.

Out of the blue, some Black Shrek up and DREAMS he saw “a skinny, drunk, long-haired white guy cowboy wearing big ELVIS sunglasses and a red and orange ski jacket – exercising bulls up and down the alleyways in the Myriad basement at two o’clock in the morning after the hotel bar closed.

Mistaken identity, plain and simple.

First of all… I was “Lanky” – even, one might say – “Sinewy.”

My hair was not THAT long… Bobby Steiner’s was MUCH longer… and mine was curly (he failed to mention that).

Inebriated? HA. They couldn’t pour enough whiskey in Oklahoma to make this Colorado mountain man even tipsy.

ELVIS glasses! I never wore Elvis glasses. I wore ELTON JOHN glasses. BIG difference.

As for the ski coat… another obvious error. MY coat was orange and red.

But the sentence was quickly rendered. No defense attorney’s compelling, closing argument allowed. No Appeals Court . Guilty, guilty, guilty. Get a rope.

For the next six nights, after the bull riding was over but before my feet could touch dirt, BLACK SHREK would escort me down to the dungeon where I would get to sit until whatever time “Mister Granny Glasses” closed up. No conversation. No TV. No refreshing beverages.

A travesty in the history of American justice AND professional rodeo.

The second time I ever met this particular Clem …

Actually… I never met him that second time… I FOLLOWED him and his best pal Howard Harris III through the crowd at the Kissimmee Silver Spurs “we capture our bulls right out of the swamps using packs of dogs two days before the rodeo” -- Rodeo.

Howard (who also thought himself to be a funny guy) had come and got me before the perf started… being that I was a full-fledged MOUSEKETEER (on the big Professional Rodeo Association Board) – the only one other than Howard at the rodeo that day.

See… early on, in order to get some things passed for the bull riders, I’d formed political alliances with the Stock Contractor and Committee Reps who also controlled the Contract Act Rep. Back then the TIME-EES ruled the board. They had the riding eventers outvoted 4-3 and it took 6 votes to get anything passed. Do the math.

But back to Kissimmee –

I’d just been sitting their gnawing on a rodeo dog watching them boiled-peanut sucking yahoos knock the alligators off of then paint-brand the surviving bulls they’d lived trapped a few minutes earlier -- amusing myself by counting the committee pickup men wearing suspenders riding around the arena (with all the precision of a herd of stampeding Wildebeests.)

I was up to eleven hundred and eight when Howard whisked me away. Anyways… Howard tells me that we need to help Clem address some animal right’s protestors down on calf roping— (back when there was something called “calf” roping. Whichever MOUSEKETEER thought up “Tie Down” roping must’ve been gay – no offense to Rump Rangers intended.)

So speaking of RUMP Rangers… like I was sayin’… all I was seeing was the backsides of McSpadden and Harris (definitely doublewides) as they bulled their ways through the crowd.

I see them go into a big tent. So I follow – only to find myself standing in front of three hundred angry poodle-petting animal nuts and two television stations.

I should mention that not only was I standing there… all by myself.

The two big-butted RAT BASTARDS had ducked out the side of the tent.

So I guess those were the only two times me and that Clem guy got close enough to NOT shake hands. Technically we were probably close enough at Lane Frost’s funeral. Guys with “safe“ voices are often called upon for such occasions. Them and witty story tellers with big butts.

-------------------------------------------------------

So why “Call Clem?” What was the deal on that?

Not really sure. I was on the MOUSEKETEER Board of Directors for like twelve terms fighting the Communist Bastard Forces of Evil on behalf of the bull riders. Back then, unlike the other genres, bull riders always elected the best looking guy. I always figured that the other Mouseketeers held that against me.

The meetings used to be held at rodeos every other month and run three or four days from the time a performance was over until the next one started. They also had a Convention meeting that ran a full week prior to the NFR.

At the convention the Mouseketeers met with EVERY rodeo committee in attendance. That’s a lot of feathered hats, thumbs stuck in the pockets of stretchy bell bottoms, bolo ties, and white boots with black wings tips (and one side of the soles worn off from clogging and line dancing) to see in a week’s time. Kinda like a Square Dancer’s convention.

So that’s a lot of meeting time for Mouseketeers to ponder the present and future of the rodeo business. It’s been proven that whenever assembled in groups of more than one, cowboys can make a bad decision every five minutes. Look at rodeo today. Now do the math.

So that’s where I must’ve heard it – the “Call Clem” thing. I know I never SAID it… but I heard it ALOT. Can’t remember exactly in what context it was said – only that it was said – A LOT.

I really can’t recall exactly…

It’s a jumble, actually…

Maybe I was distracted by the sight of grow’d men ruling the rodeo world while wearing Mouseketeer Ears. Or it could have been the multitude of head injuries symptomatic of bull riding ineptness. Or perhaps it was the lingering affects of prolonged exposure to (second hand) marijuana smoke experienced by riding in big ol’ four doored gas guzzlers as they constantly cruised around the planet prior to the 100 rodeo rule.

So even though I can’t remember WHO said it… or WHAT context it was said in… here are some “Call Clem” moments that sometimes flicker inside my rather large and subtle brain.

___________________________________

“That little girl sang the National Anthem pretty good. Made the hair stand up on everyone’s necks. Call Clem and have him thank Pake for lending us one of his sisters.”

“They need a Master of Ceremonies at 37 different banquet sand awards programs at the Convention and NFR. Call Clem.”

The “Forces of Evil” have enough votes to dump steer roping at the meeting tomorrow. Call Clem.”

“June Bull’s got secretaries on the warpath over a Central Entry System. Call Clem.

The Mouseketeers decided to move Ranch Headquarters out of Denver to Colorado Springs. Call Clem and tell him “thanks anyway” on the free 40 acres out by the Oklahoma City airport.”

The Checotah Mafia have the Coors distributor tied to the ceiling fan in the hotel bar and have brought in 30 cases of BUD. Call Clem and have him bring Shrek.”

“We can’t get any concessions for rodeo cowboys out of the Cowboy Hall of Fame. Call Clem.”

“The Mouseketeers fired another Executive without cause. Call Clem and see if he’ll write a letter of recommendation.”

“A senator from Rhode Island just hid a “Ban Rodeo” paragraph in a five hundred page bill that’s going to be voted on in forty-five minutes. Call Clem…FAST.”

“Wrangler will sponsor a free style bull fighting program but they have to have the NFR. Call Clem.”

“Shoulders called and said that if it would help he’d move his bucking stock sale in as part of the NFR and open it to all the stock contractors. Call Clem back and tell him thanks.”

“The Mouseketeers have pissed off all the major rodeos AGAIN over timed event slack and no limits. Say they’re gonna all go “open.” Call Clem.”

“We need an emcee for that widow’s fundraiser. Call Clem.”

“Ken needs some help getting a full time judges program passed. Call Clem.”

“Parents want to send their daughter to college but she’ll need a scholarship. Call Clem.”

“The Communist Bastard Forces of Evil held a secret meeting in Salt Lake last night. They’re gonna take the Association away from the cowboys – for good. Call Clem.”

“Ranch Headquarters and the OKC Chamber are at an impasse. Doesn’t look like there’s going to be an NFR anywhere next year. Call Clem.”

“That equine interstate transportation bill got pulled at the last minute. Call Clem and thank him for getting Mac and President Reagan to pull some strings.”

“Howard lit Sandy Kirby’s hair on fire while he was getting on a bull at Cowtown. Call Clem.”

“Reg went “Rambo” on some time-ees at Great Falls. Call Clem.”

“Neal’s got his heals dug in and ain’t gonna budge. Call Clem.”

“Jim gave the bulldoggers five head at a four perf rodeo. Call Clem and have him head-off Roy.”

“New Immigration Department Head is set on re classifying Squareheads as illegal aliens. Call Clem.”

“Trippers need a home for their Finals. Call Clem.”

Jay Pat called. “What’s His Name’s” broken neck is going to end his career. Call Clem and see if he can find him a job.”

“ASCAP lawyers want a million dollars a year for our rodeos to play music. Call Clem.”

“The bank is gonna take their ranch. Call Clem.”

“We need someone to go on the Dick Cavett show to represent the rodeo industry. Call Clem.”

“He’s in jail in Tulsa without bail and can’t afford an attorney. Call Clem.”

“Kid can’t get into vet school? Call Clem.”

“Call Clem and have him thank Ben Johnson for helping Eddie and A.G. out on that Timed Event Championship.”

“The stock contractors aren’t being fairly compensated in the NFR contract. They think they should get 30% of whatever the purse money is. Call Clem.”

“The New Commissioner has a sponsor revolt on his hands. Call Clem.”

“That Aussie in the lead for the world is scheduled to be shipped back to ROOVILLE the day after Thanksgiving. Call Clem.”

“The Hall of Fame is running a six figure annual deficit. call Clem.”

“Ranch Headquarter’s investments are making like a minus 1%. Call Clem and see if he knows a good investment firm.”

“Heard some scuttlebutt from a stock contractor about some of them boycotting the NFR since the Mouseketeers moved it to Las Vegas. Call Clem.

“The bull riders are thinking about going off on their own. Tell them to call Clem first.”

“The contract people at the NFR aren’t making enough. Call Clem.”

“That guy from Pepsico wanted a hundred grand to serve as an Independent Director on the NEW and IMPROVED Mouseketeer Board. Call Clem and see if he knows any businessmen who’ll work for nothing.”

“Contestants are saying that the NFR in Las Vegas has the look and feel of a prison rodeo. Call Clem and see what works for him at McAlester.”

“On the Gaylord’s offer to build a new Ranch Headquarters and Museum at the Lazy E… call Clem back and tell him to tell A.G. and Eddie “thanks” but “no thanks.”

“That was something having the Country Music Female Artist of the Year sing the National Anthem last night. Call Clem and have him thank Reba.”

“My God… there’s been a terrorist bombing in downtown Oklahoma City. Call Clem.”

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For more than a quarter of a century in times of trouble, the most powerful and the least powerful people from a unique culture picked up telephones and “CALLED CLEM.”

What they got on the other end of the phone line was a truly unique individual.

A humble man who quietly listened and never held grudges.

A quiet man of compassion and character who never turned his back on anyone.

A man who used his abilities and blessings to benefit people he often never got to meet.

A man who’s voice, even on the other end of a telephone line, could make the world seem safer.

A man’s who’s God-given abilities and giving nature really COULD make the world a safer place for the rest of us.

A man who prayed over everyone – even the one’s who didn’t have a prayer coming.

At least that what I heard… or overheard. Can’t really say for sure. Might’ve been someone else all together. Some other “Clem.” Who knows? It mighta even been a dream… or a hallucination. After all, there WAS lots of horns to the side of the head and second hand smoke.

BMAC