The Drag

For fifty years the Coney Island Café has fed downtown Pampa Texas it’s lunch while it’s patrons passed along and embellished the story of how the Texas Rangers commissioned two Indian prisoners to lay in and mason, one by one, every red stone brick that made up Pampa’s downtown Main streets. Fourteen city blocks in all.
Generally told with over 500,000 bricks laid, though nobody's actually counted, most locals preferred the upscale version with one Indian blind and the other with only one arm. This was substantiated by an old picture hanging on the Coney’s wall of a 1888 group posing on the porch of the town’s first railroad station. The photograph shows a distinguished group of seven clad in ditto suits with a variety of top hats flanked to one side by two men of darker complexion, possibly tanned or simply dirty, and dressed in uniformed overalls without hat wear. One appears to have no right arm, though when closely inspected, his chin’s held high, chest angled and extended proudly, suggesting one arm behind his back, and the second outcast sporting dark, oval glasses.
However downtown’s permanent foundation came about, the bricks began at the north end, where the Capri Theatre would one day host civil events, and proceeded south four square city blocks to the Post Office creating a choppy red sea. The masonry was flawed and the brick’s alignment well short of perfection, thus giving every vehicle traveling down Main Street a resounding cloppity-clop echo, scaring drivers into immediately slowing down and consequently producing a slow rolling troller for the downtown shop area. A self proclaimed chamber of commerce brainstorm in the years to come.
The “slowed into shopping” theory was also applied by adding traffic lights to old Route 66 in the 1960’s. Unfortunately for the local merchants, this never panned out. Once Interstate 40 was completed 30 miles south to fast-track travelers through the panhandle, nere a lost soul would venture far enough north to find Pampa, much less it’s parade of stop lights.
The Drag however, in all it’s glory, served the west Texas youth as a great escape from parental authority and a glimpse into their fast approaching adulthood, albeit generally on a school night with most participants instructed to be home by ten.
More importantly, it provided Mom and Dad a few hours of home life without the phones, blasting stereos and rebellious complaints of their excitable teenage offspring. Out of sight, out of mind. The sixties were a boiling pot even on the panhandle plateaus.
A night on the drag meant numerous calls be made in advance to formulate the correct grouping and designated driver for that evening’s ritual. Alcohol consumption, if possible, having no weight on this decision what so ever. The multiple calls sparked parental irritation, which in turn expedited the release of participants and jump started the blueprint on who picked up who and in what order.

Clique seating was paramount.

Shotgun, front door right, being the ultimate prize for visual and verbal encounters. This seat generally reserved for the more popular member, prom royalty or class officers. Many friendships and cliques had fallen out of favor as a result of improper or over seating.
In the end, twosomes were ideal and the most practical for joining up with the opposite sex. Whether that be while trolling the bricks or nurturing a beverage at the Cock’O Walk..
Pampa’s drag was founded by it’s 1950’s motorized teens and the route touched base with both main thoroughfares and all points of interest, which wasn’t complicated since there weren’t many.
The textbook procedure had dragsters slowly parade out of the drive-in east to Main Street, then ease by downtown’s blinking neon's where their balding tires thundered over the bricks. Gray County Men's Wear, City Boutique, the “Coney”, all cornerstones of the High School yearbook, left their lights on to guide Americas youth. A right turn at the Police Station, where behavior was usually monitored by a napping officer on duty, they eased 4 blocks west to Hwy 75, where another right turn would eventually bring them back into the Cock’O Walk drive in, lap completed.

In the summer of 1967 most teens circling the drag in Pampa knew that the legal age to drink and purchase alcohol in Liberal Kansas, just a hundred short miles north, was 18. Actual confirmation of Kansas Law had never made its way back to any classrooms or the Cock’O Walk since,

1.) no 18 year olds who’d returned from the trek were still attending high school and

2) the looming consequence; they still hung people in Kansas. The later scaring off most adventurists from even considering, much less attempting the feat. Fake id’s and bribing local drunks were the only methods of record to date for obtaining booze as a minor, and getting your hands on a fake id was about as likely as a moon mission.

Consequently, Dean McCarthy’s purchase of one 23 year old Chancy Coberly’s “expired” drivers license was more like an event. It brought Dean new respect with a profound rise in popularity.
Chancy was somewhere in the jungles of Viet Nam when his 14 year old little brother Ray-Ray auctioned the id off in the boy’s bathroom of the Gray County Youth Center, just before the spring’s final Friday Night Dance.
After the id was passed around for inspection, Dean became the front runner for purchase. The expiration date deterred most of the experienced bidders and the $20 starting price, established up front per Chancy’s instruction, finished ‘em off. As the only remaining prospect with a $20 bill, Ray-Ray gave Dean a quick “Sold” count, snatched the twenty, and what was left of the crowd disbursed.
It was time to take this new adult status to the streets and give it a spin.
Dean had come to the dance alone but was met at the front door by Woody, who’d deserted his girlfriend Juanita almost immediately once he’d heard of the auction’s content and his best friend's purchase.
This was now serious business.
Discussions on the value of an id had been hashed over many times. Hightened most recently after they'd waited over an hour outside a south side, shanty town dirt floor bar, for a drunk hitchhiker, "u boyaz jest' calls me Catfish" turned temporary bootlegger, who finally stumbled out with 1/2 their prepaid 6-pack order and none of their change.
So with a bit of a swagger they walked out to the Youth Center’s parking lot with their freshly acquired status only to find around twenty new friends waiting, several of the id date experts included. With the crowd growing as the news riffled around the dance floor, Dean announced he’d be back if it worked. Everyone knew this was unlikely, but understood the importance of such a monumental quest and wished him the best as they trudged back inside.
Woody tapped Deans forearm and nodded toward the Snapp brothers in the crowd.
“Good guys to have in your corner Commander.” he suggested through the side of his mouth.
"Billy! Al! You guys coming or not?” Dean hailed over the herd.
Their big smiles broadened as they understood the significance of his selection, “Eh, yeah. Sure.. Ubetcha Dean!” Billy answered. The large brothers traded out shoulder slugs, then hurried back out to the parking and climbed in the backseat of Dean’s ‘57 Impala for the inaugural run.

Two failed Liquor Store purchase attempts forced the mission south, across the tracks, "colored town".

To the gang’s delight, their arrival had startled a half drunk and napping attendant, Amos, just before the 10 pm closing at the Prairie Village Pak N Sak. Once awakened and aware of the time, old Amos suddenly appeared to be in a hurry and either couldn’t focus on, or just plain didn’t care about the id. His quick glance and approving nod sparked Dean to remember he needed an “extra case” for Sunday. “Looks like rain..” came from the cooler while he hustled the 2nd case to the counter. Amos slurred an inaudible response as he leaned his head back and peered down his nose at this new fangled cash register. Dean calculated four bucks change forth coming and laid a $20 on the counter while announcing he’d be doing all his shopping here at the Pak N Sak from now on..

He hoisted the 2 cases, winked, and to the attendant's relief said, “Keep it Amos, see ya next time.”

Dean eased his back into the glass front door, wheeled around and grinned ear to ear while watching his friends high five all around.

“To the canyons boys!” was their new war cry.

It was a failsafe method for 2 months until old Amos got caught with his hand in the till, and his replacement, a rotund woman with illuminating orange hair, heavy makeup and attitude, shut their pipeline down and confiscated the id explaining she knew Chancy’s mother and instructed,“You boys best hightail it outta here if you know what’s good for ya!”

The Snapp brothers were genuine cowboys. They were fair haired, barrel chested swedes who liked to dip snuff when they herded cattle, or most any other time. They roped calves, rode bulls, dug and repaired fences, and got up at the crack of dawn to gather milk, eggs and pitch hay before breakfast. Cattle ranching was all they knew and with no female guidance in their lives, they went about it wild and unmannered.
A firm hand and strong bond with their Pa resulted in a conscientious good nature with a love for the animals and outdoors, but apprehension toward strangers and most anything outside that bond. A lesson Dean learned and negotiated on his first diesel fuel delivery to the Blankenship Ranch.
Bronco Billy Snapp was two years older than Albert Einstein Snapp, but their Pa had explained to the school board they were home schooled equally and would go to the same classes.
“They’ll school together, work permittin’, or not at all.” Mr. Snapp had explained.
Denying the Snapps attendance would be asking for trouble according to Sherriff Rufus T. Jordan. So the board adhered to the good Sherriff’s advise and suggested to the faculty, were it them with these exceptional circumstances? They’d move these boys through the system as quickly and non confrontationally as possible. If they were lucky, the work would interfere with their classes.
Gossip had it Buford Snapp had done some hard time in Huntsville, as to when and why exactly was unclear, since the charges and any court history or documentation had disappeared from Gray County courthouse.
Service records showed Oliver Buford Snapp had enlisted in the Army, along with his friend Norman Blankenship in 1941, but was a medical discharge shortly after. His where abouts unknown until he returned to take over the Blankenship ranch some 11 years later, bringing with him two boys and a Mexican cook named Juan Cortez, or "Cookie".
Mr. Blankenship, a decorated war hero and founder of Blankenship Enterprises had moved off the ranch and relocated his offices to California just before the Snapps return. According to the Daily News article, he was going to oversee the expansion of his new restaurant chain modeled after his highly successful “Pizza Hut” in downtown Amarillo, a concept he’d designed and built just a year before.
The Snapps settled in and worked the Blankenship cattle ranch, the largest spread the Canadian river nurtured. When needed or just as a friendly gesture, they’d pitch in and help any rancher or farmer in the area with chores, all with the Sheriffs recommendation and guidance.
Nobody in Gray County ever questioned, or charged the Sherriff for anything. For 40 uncontested years, his broad 6’8” frame had been the law.
Locals did have confirmation of one thing, the trip you didn’t want to take was Sherriff Rufe’s elevator ride up to the county jail.

“Liars ain’t no good to nobody.” was Buford Snapp’s creed, and his boys passed that proclamation, and warning, on to most of the people they disagreed with. Often repeating the commandment over and over while pounding some uninformed foe into submission.
They attended school only when their Pa said the work was done and played in most of the Pampa Harvester home football games because they liked the fighting, especially since ‘nobody gets thrown in the hoosegow’.
Coach Eural Ramsey hadn’t won a game in almost 2 years when he’d heard the brothers banging into the outside gym wall during a torrential downpour one afternoon. The Coach ran around to the back of the building to discover his starting tackle propped up against the wall, out cold with helmet on, though somewhat ajar, and the two enormous brothers head locked and rolling gleefully in the mud.
When asked "What happened?" during the ambulance ride to the emergency room to get his jaw reset, the tackle, still hazy and would be for life, answered "There was sumthin' bout testin' my helmit fer bulls.Was we in a tornada?"
With no other talent and nothing to lose, Coach Ramsey explained they could repay the school for their misconduct, and medical expenses, by replacing the tackle and suiting up for the team. As he suspected, they took to defense like a duck to water. Waiting for the ball to snap before slugging the guy across the line proved to be their biggest drawback.
Failure to make after school practices wasn’t a concern, Coach knew once word got out they’d be playing on Friday nights, the stands would fill up and the spectacle itself would endear him to the townspeople. The losing would probably continue, but we’d sure “whoop some ass” prior to the ejections.
Undoubtedly the largest, and best defensive linemen in school history, the Snapps led the conference in tackles, sacks, penalties and ejections while playing in only half the games.
Since road trips interfered with their work schedule, those Friday nights were usually spent fighting each other unless they were fortunate enough to get a ride into town. The final spring dance being such a night.

Now it was August 18th, just weeks before going back to school as Seniors and they hadn’t scored a beer in almost a month. Another Friday night with fresh pay in their pockets and nothing to do.
Boredom in a small west Texas town is dangerous.
Woody and Dean sat with seats reclined, feet propped on the dash, and sipped Root Beers in the last parking slot at the Cock’ O Walk, a prime position in case of an emergency exit. (Rufe was known to “drive-by” with siren's blasting on his way to domestic disputes) Tonight though, the same boring carloads had eased through the drive-in and around the downtown loop for hours. When out of the darkness, as if strolling into history, the silhouettes of Billy and Al Snapp came slowly walking up the drive-in exit ramp.