My father was a cowboy, as were each of his four brothers. You could always find a Stetson hat in his closet, white of course. His black cowboy boots, always immaculately shined, stood tall at his bedside. Born in Cut and Shoot Texas, he broke horses for White Texas ranchers as a young man. One of his favorite stories to tell was how his father’s horse came to be named “France.” You see, the name was “sent back” by my father's Uncle Walter, who was serving with the Buffalo Soldiers in the US Army in France during World War I. Black soldiers are still denied their contributions to American culture. So the traditions of riders continue with each new generation.