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May. 14, 2007
Cue that whistle-y music from "The Good, The Bad and The Ugly." It's one hour until high noon and I'm scared poopless about the gunfight. OK, so it's not a real gunfight. It's a simulation, with blanks and actors. It's staged six times a day (eight on weekends) at Bonnie Springs Ranch, the replica of an 1880s mining town near Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area. But there is real danger. I'm the bad guy who falls off a roof during the gunplay. Although a foot of foam rubber is supposed to break my fall, I could always miss. I could also land wrong and injure my back, or bounce off. Many possibilities can render this corral less than OK. "There's definitely a safety concern," says my trainer, gunfighter Joe Tasso. Real gunfighters were robbers and contract killers availing themselves of the anarchy of the post-Civil War frontier. They often knocked off trains and banks, earning up to tens of thousands of dollars per robbery. (Some gunfighters were lawmen, but they were frequently criminals, too.) Fake gunfighters -- at least at Bonnie Springs -- are actors who appear in the shootout show, which begins with a melodrama in the saloon and ends in a hanging in the town square. They also interact with the ranch's 130,000 annual visitors and help set up and break down the attractions. They work from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m., six days a week. And they earn $7 to $7.50 an hour. "This is a perfect job for me," says Tasso, who is 52. "I'm a big kid. I like dressing up as a cowboy, entertaining people and having fun." Tasso speaks with a decidedly un-western Brooklyn accent. "Actually, there was lots of people who talked like this in the Old West," he claims, citing Billy the Kid's Lower East Side lineage. Roof-jumping was once a daily duty for Tasso and his five co-workers. "But we only do it for special occasions now," Tasso says. The reason, I discover, is that many of the newer gunfighters are yella. The drop from the roof of the "Shoot'n Gallery" building is 7 feet. "I don't want to say yella," Tasso says, "but a lot of the guys go up there, look at it and decide not to." OK, so I'll say it -- yella. "I don't want my arm going backwards," says gunfighter Jason Kelly, 22. "I play guitar and I need it. I don't want to be in a cast for three months." Bonnie Springs Ranch was settled in 1843 as a stopover for California-bound wagon trains on the Old Spanish Trail. But the "Blazing Saddles"-like buildings that comprise it today weren't constructed until New Yorker Al Levinson decided to make it a tourist attraction in the 1950s. "Everybody mentions 'Blazing Saddles,' " Tasso says. Levinson named his ranch after his showgirl wife, Bonnie McGaugh. "Make an 'L' with your feet and then turn," Tasso tells me. I'm practicing falling backward onto the foam from a bench. I must land squarely on my back. "That's really the only way to do it safely," Tasso says. Landing slightly sitting up could severely injure my neck and spine. I ask Tasso about falling on my side. "That's worse," he says. "You'll crack your rib cage." And there are other things to worry about. "After you fire your gun, bring it to your chest," Tasso says. "You don't want it out, because when you hit the mat, it's going to come back and hit you in the head." I inquire about the location of the nearest hospital. "Don't worry," Tasso says. "They'll send a helicopter." After a stint in Alaska with the Army, Tasso settled there 28 years ago, operating his own firearms instruction company. "I really liked it," he says. "I was into hunting, fishing and shooting. But we wanted more excitement. It gets a little boring in Alaska." He decided to move his family to the valley two years ago and see what employment presented itself. "Now I'm at the age where I just want to have fun," he says. "I raised my kid and now I have my grandkids." On a random trip to Bonnie Springs with the little ones, Tasso got chatty with a gunfighter. "The next thing you know," Tasso says, "he offered me this job because of my firearms background." "That's him!" screams a gunfighter who resembles Jake Gyllenhaal in "Brokeback Mountain." Will Emery points up at the roof, where I'm trying not to star in "Brokeneck Mountain." It's go time. As per my training, I cock my replica 1873 Peacemaker back, aim and detonate one of six .22 caliber blanks in the chamber. The sound is that of a Hyundai backfiring. The visitors have gathered around, like real townspeople, to check out the commotion. One actually shrieks when I fire. Emery clenches his chest and falls to the ground. (In fake gunfighting, there are no missed shots.) "You can't shoot my deputy!" Tasso shouts, pointing a 12-gauge shotgun at me. I clutch my fake wound about a second before it's inflicted (lest I forget to bring my gun to my chest). The sound is that of a car bomb blowing a Hyundai to pieces. The index fingers of all little children seek out eardrums to plug. While peering down at the equivalent of a Tempur-Pedic mattress I'm supposed to trust my continued existence to, I experience just how hard trust is to muster before plummeting 2.5 body lengths in a direction that my face isn't pointed. You remember that game where you fall backward into the arms of the person behind you? I played it once in middle school. (Suffice to say, never trust Michael Solomon.) And that was at ground level. Like every single turn I've ever taken off a high-diving board, I opt for a cannonball at the last minute. Instead of dying, it looks as though I'm still alive and jumping onto a nonexistent horse. For the record, I never claimed I wasn't yella myself. Landing on my buckled knees hurts a little more than landing flat on my back would have, so I'm told, but a heck of a lot less than not landing flat on it would have. When I inquire about my performance, Tasso makes a suggestion that he says will set things right. Within an hour, the visitors applaud as I swing from the fake gallows. Fear and Loafing appears every Monday in the Living section. Levitan's previous adventures can be found at www.fearandloafing.com.
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