Parrothead Ramblings

The Crime Dog and The Mystery Mountain of Southeastern New Mexico.

Well, The Crime Dog phamily has made its way back to the kennel from the much needed trip to visit my Mom in Roswell. What a place. Some things just never change, like all the homicides, drive-bys, and violence you would never, ever expect to find in a relatively small town. The Sanchez bunch is still shooting at the Sedillo gang, who in turn is shooting at the Garcia family, which just took one in the ass from the Martinez faction. (The names have been changed to protect the violent assholes.) When I was a cop there, our watch briefing would often include information on someone getting shot. The inevitable question was "So? Was it anybody important?" It's not apathy, racism, or even indifference. It's just too common. Of course, officers have always investigated aggressively, made arrests, and sent some guys away, but there always seems to be plenty of trainees just waiting to take their places. The thousands of solid citizens out there, both Hispanic, white, and otherwise, deserve better.

While some things never change, others at least seem much too different. As a kid growing up out there, Roswell was my only world. It was all I knew. My Grandpa used to run cattle for a guy way, way, way out there about 25 miles east of Roswell on the Tatum highway, known as "East Second" in town. Second Street is aptly named, since it's the second busiest street in town, right behind Main Street. It was always hustling and bustling like a four lane superhighway when I was a kid. But something has happened to Second Street, along with every other street and building in Roswell.

They've all shrunk.

Every time we would pass by an old familiar location, either The Fetching Mrs. Crime Dog or I would say "Wow. That's smaller than I remember." It was like a mantra. We're completely jaded by big city life now. That excruciatingly lo-o-o-ng 25 mile trip to Grandpa's? Hell, that's a quick trip up to Scottsdale, or maybe Bank One Ballpark now. My cul-de-sac is about as wide as East Second Street, and our shootings are usually relegated to a little box back on page four of the "Valley and State" section of the paper.

Some things never change, however, which is the subject of the picture above. Anybody who has spent any time in southeastern New Mexico will recognize that mountain behind me without so much as a second thought. It's an unmistakable landmark, and is in an area made famous in movies, songs, and books. I have a beer koozie and an all-expense paid trip to Gila Bend just waiting for anybody who can identify that mountain, and just why it's famous. Now, before you go off half-cocked, understand this: The title of this blog is a huge hint.

So, break out your atlas, put on your thinking cap, and see who can come up with that name. Your beer koozie awaits.
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