I find I have an addictive personality. When I was a kid, I'd eat whole jars/cans of an item in one setting (green olives, Parmesan cheese, cool-whip, little smokies). In college, I was at one time addicted to a pin ball machine so entirely that I skipped classes and likely wasted my entire student loan on it. When video rental became affordable, I would binge on 007 or Star Trek movie marathons (and this has not gotten any better, though I resist the temptation, with television series now on DVD).
This addictive personality trait is coupled with a weakness for charisma. I have fallen in behind many movements and faiths. Curiously enough, I also have a knack at creating such a following.
Knowing all this (and confessing it here) is merely to acknowledge that I really should know better. I really should not be so smitten by a big guy in a ten gallon hat.
...but dagnabbit, I also have a soft spot for big dreamers, big sky salesmen, folk who don't know "no." If a man wants to plant a theme park here based on Betsy Boop or Jesus, I don't mind, so long as he really, really believes in it. It's a good thing I am not a man of means, or I would have most likely been on Etheredge's donor list. We did buy season passes.
And here's the thing. I met Thomas Etheredge the day we walked up to buy our season passes. He met my family on the boardwalk outside the gates, and he did not seem insincere. He had a bubbling passion for his park. He seemed, to me, like Walt Disney of the West (although, I admit, even Walt had issues). He was proud of the park, and he was happy to see us. He spoke with my boys and our family a little bit, and I was flattered, frankly, that a man with so much on his mind and so much money invested and so many other things to do--that He would pause for us.
The day the park opened, even though the weather was not so great, my family was there. This was the second time I was able to size up Etheredge. The crowd was small that he gathered around a wooden wagon/stage. There were prayers, speeches, even a song or two, I think. He spoke of dreams coming true, of his vision for children enjoying our western heritage. He praised dozens of other people, had many up to the stage to talk or take a bow. Finally, he led them in a ceremonial ribbon cutting (it was actually barbed wire, in keeping with the park's theme).
Throughout that schmaltzy presentation, I remember feeling like part of history in the making. I was proud of Etheredge's accomplishments, and I wished him the very best. I remarked that I wished more people were there, and that I was considering getting a part-time job there or something to further his cause. In other words, I really bought in, and I really believed Wild West World would someday incorporate the Hopalong Cassidy museum (now sold piecemeal at auction) and host/promote other treasures of the Cowboy era. I was glad such a national monument was in my backyard.
Alas, it did not come to pass.
The park was only open for about a month or so, and I only went that opening day. My family got a bit more use of the season passes, but not much. The park closed with the excuse of no money. That can be exhaustively reviewed in the news. Etheredge skipped town and plays hard to get, somewhere in Texas. That can be interpreted several ways, but none of them characterize the man I though was under that ten gallon hat.Like so many other charismatic leaders, Thomas Etheredge seems to have fallen. People remind me of my previous scrapes with charisma. They tell me, over and over, about money being the root of all evil. They point to Etheredge's criminal record. Indeed, I have read the news and know the facts; however, I will always remember him as I saw him on opening day, regardless. I don't have a theme park or a dream to draw people toward, but I admire that enthusiasm, that zeal, that confidence he had that day. It really seemed as if his dreams were coming true, and I was happy for him and happy to be a part of making those dreams come true.
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