Once, I snapped at Ruth Newhall. In the newsroom. Strangest thing? I am here, alive, and able to talk about my death-inviting stupidity.
It was about 50 years ago and I was in my biker phase. Many in a series of daft and crooked legislative edicts oozed from Sacramento and in this particular case, it was a bill making it mandatory to wear a helmet while riding a motorcycle in California. I was, and am, against it. I had shoulder-length hair (on most of my head) and loved the feel of it blowing in the wind. I didn’t ride a big bike for the mileage.
Ruth listed a litany of reasons why wearing a helmet was a good idea, top of the list was that if someone inept at high-speed locomotion like myself were to crash into a telephone pole, first responders would be spared the latrine-cleaning trauma of sponging up my brains because all 1/128th ounce of it would be right there, in the helmet.
And I snapped: “Yeah. Just what we need, Ruth. Government as mom.”
Quickly, I doubled over, waiting for the blow, and cupped my mouth with both hands. Forget being The Mighty Signal’s feared managing editor. Like some dowager empress, Ruth could get you killed, slowly, with just a glance, not to mention, but she had mentioned, “I’m going to kill you” and that was over a misplaced modifier in a girls’ volleyball story.
My disagreeing with Mrs. Newhall (last name? same as the town?) shocked both of us. I managed to insert my second foot in my mouth by pointing out that the pond scum assemblyman who introduced the bill had received a fortune in campaign contributions from the nation’s top helmet manufacturers, which was like announcing to Ruth, “Yeah, I’m right, you’re wrong and now with that last factoid, you’re double-wrong whadya wanna do about that — Ruth-less?”
One of the best-kept secrets in town is that the yuppie Crabby Appleton mullahs on the Fourth of July committee have banned horses from Newhall’s nearly century-old Independence Day parade. Why come? Here’s the fine print reason from the committee’s website Rules & Regulations:
“For safety reasons, unfortunately HORSES will not appear in this year’s parade (unless they’re in a trailer).”
Safety Reasons. Of course. The darling phrase of all bureaucrats. In their tireless attempt to regulate everything from bowel movements to pronouns, public servants without number fall back on the lame justification of “Safety” to continue to push the envelope on their goal of the Sissyfication of America.
The double insane deliciousness is that this year’s theme is a salute to William S. Hart. You know. The cowboy? The hard-riding, ranch-owning, straight-shooting actor with the inappropriate nickname of “Two-Gun?” Most famous and influential person to ever live in the Santa Clarita Valley? The great Satan pornographer man-person oft seen on the back of — gasp — a horse?
Granted. I am terribly prejudiced about this heinous topic of public danger of horses in a parade. Especially a Newhall parade with this community’s rich — ewe, cooties — Western heritage. One of the great joys of my life was leading out the Fourth of July parade every year on, gasp, a horse. I confess. I’ve never been confused with having common sense. Heavens. Check county records for the names of the co-conspirators on my marriage and girlfriend licenses. But in all those years I sat atop a tall steed, not once did I stroll amongst the stalls pre-parade to choose a mount and walk past ponies named, “Lovey Sweetie,” “Buttercup,” “Angel Doll” or “Passive Pedro” and march to the barbed-wired enclosure housing, “Widow Maker (never been rid).” Everyone in a saddle I’ve ever met at a parade has had the good sense to leave the goofy-footed fire-breathing rodeo stock in the pasture.
Well. Except for once.
My dear pal Walt Fisher brought a horse he had bought (stole?) the day before. We met at the Rotary Pancake Breakfast and afterward, Walt confessed that his mount might have, “optical issues.” Turns out his stallion would absolutely not cross a double-yellow line. This isn’t much of a problem if you’re lollygagging trail riding in the High Sierras. But Newhall’s parade route, last I looked, was on city streets rich with double yellow lines. His horse would lower its head 2 inches above the line then hit the brakes. You could spur, whack hind quarters, get out a large hydraulic jack or yell, “Giddy Up!” and the sunfisher wouldn’t budge. Walt had to do an about face and ride a block to an unregulated-by-paint intersection.
One of the greatest community competitions in history was when we Placerita Canyonites challenged the Sand Canyon side-saddle riders in The Million Horse March. Granted. The valley’s uppity northerners led by Ruth Ann and Mike Levison beat us by several thousand equestrian entries but we were better looking and still are.
What’s next? Replace patriotic kazoos with solemn and understated Gregorian chants and bowed heads? Hold the parade at night, out of town, because of the offending rays of early July’s sun? Shall we ban the color schemes of red, white and blue because it triggers a visiting terrorist?
Shame on the people who came up with this daft idea. Shame on the people for not fighting it.
I’d like to opine something safe and gelding-esque like, “…mother-may-I let’s revisit the useless conversation on this topic and kick it decades into the future when we’re all eunuchs.” But, is it in the ever-expanding HOA codes and Santa Clarita misdemeanor Thou Shalt Nots that we can run the committee members who came up with this harebrained anti-horse edict out of town on a burning thatched community pool chair?
It would get my vote for Entry No. 126 in the 2026 Newhall Fourth of July Parade, which, of course, would have horses.
With more than 11,000 columns and 100-plus awards (119!), Santa Clarita’s John Boston is the most prolific humorist/satirist in world history. Visit his bookstore online at johnlovesamerica.com/bookstore and support American literature by buying stuff …
