Tie-die

'Cotton' Whitefeather! The first time I ever heard that name mentioned I was about eight years old. 'Cotton' Whitefeather was a friend from dad's rodeo days. Dad called him one of the best bull back riders he ever saw. Dad said that if by chance the bull did throw Whitefeather he would land as soft as cotton, thus the nickname 'Cotton'.

 I would listen tirelessly to the stories of their travels from Main to Arizona. Dad would always stop his stories when one of my friends or I would ask him to tell us the story of how he broke both his arms. That was the end of rodeo for dad and the last night that dad ever saw 'Cotton'.

Dad passed away in 1979 and with his death came the end of the 'Cotton' Whitefeather stories.

Fast forward to 2009, every so often I would do an internet search for 'Cotton' Whitefeather, but all I knew was his last name and not his first and you would be surprised how many Whitefeathers there are in our country. In 2009 I was spending a lot of time in Austin, Texas and during the day as my friend there worked, I had a lot of free time to do things in Austin. I happen to be looking through the massive phone book of Austin and the surrounding area. To my surprise there was one Whitefeather, William Joseph Whitefeather. For some reason that name jumped out at me, and then I remembered dad saying that 'Cottons' real name was Billy Joe.

After all of the years, I figured Whitefeather was dead, but I thought what the heck I would call and see if it was him. I called the number and I asked if I was speaking to 'Cotton'? There was a long silence and he responded he had not been called 'Cotton for thirty years. I told him I was Bob Gillespie's son and he said he was leaving on a trip, but he would like to meet me at a place called the "Chili Parlor". That would be my first of many trips to my beloved 'Chili Parlor".

I showed up early, because early on I would get lost a lot in Austin. But  the 'Chili Parlor' was easy to find. It was about noon when I saw a man walk through the door; a Native American about 5'8", 110 pounds, he was as bowlegged of man as I had ever seen, and he was wearing cowboy boots, with a black suit and a drawstring western tie. He was carrying a fold over suitcase and he had on a cowboy had that had to be forty years old. Around it he had a tie-die bandana that looked strangely out of place on that hat, and tucked in that bandana was a white feather.

I walked toward him and reached out my hand it was truly the great 'Cotton' Whitefeather. We sat down at a booth that I had picked out and he started telling me stories about my dad and their years on the road together. He told me of how dad had snuck him into his hotel room many times in the west when many times in Montana, Idaho, and Wyoming hotels would not rent him a room because he was an Indian.

He told me the story of the cowboy hat he was wearing and how it was my dad's. He had picked it up the night that dad had broken both of his arms. No one knew that night what hospital they taken my dad to, and 'Cotton' had to hurry to the next rodeo that night and figured they would meet again down the road.

I had to ask about the tie-die bandana. Cotton told me of a lady he had met in the sixty's, and how she had given the bandana to him in a coffee shop in Albuquerque. He never did see that woman again either. The white feather was given to him by an uncle who had been killed in WWII. 'Cotton' told me he was on the way to the Mayo clinic in Rochester, Minnesota, 60 miles from where my dad was buried. Cotton was fighting cancer.

As Billy Joe walked out of the Chili Parlor, coming out of the juke box was an old blue grass song being sung by the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band. The name of it was "There Is A Time" and it still brings tears to my eyes today. Click here and listen to that old blue grass song and think of 'Cotton'. He died on Christmas day in 2009.