About
Chris Isaacs
Waddie
Mitchell's words about Chris Isaacs can't be improved
upon:
Recipe
for a Cowboy Poet
Start with
a cowboy
Add a bucket of intelligence
A barrel of wisdom
A lifetime of experience
A lot of salt
A dash of wit
A sprinkle of irony
Mix together
Expose the heart |
Add special
ingredient
(personality and philosophy)
Just water enough to bind
Knead and stretch to the limits,
Bake in the sun for at least thirty years.
Serve in large doses, or small, as required.
I know this recipe works,
'cause I got it by examining Chris Isaacs |
© Waddie Mitchell, reprinted
with permission from Cowboy Miner Productions, from the book jacket of Chris Isaac's Rhymes,
Reasons, and Pack Saddle Proverbs
A two-time winner of the Academy
of Western Artists "Will Rogers" Award, Chris Isaacs is a poet who
has lived the life that he writes about. He has seen life from a Cowboys point
of view for all of his 60-plus years, and his poems and stories are alive with
the heart and humor of life from a cowboy's point of view. He can usually find
the funny side of any situation, and is considered by many to be one of the
finest humorists in the country.
He has worked at many different aspects of the cowboy life from being a full
time working cowboy, to rodeoing, to many years as a packer. In between jobs
you could usually find him making a living as a horseshoer. He has a passion
for good horses and mules, and has even owned a good dog or two. All of these
things have given him lots of material for his poems and stories and he has
had the opportunity to share these all over the country in the past few years.
Chris credits his friends with a good share of the success he has had with his
poetry. "I have been fortunate enough to have some of the best
poets in the world as my friends and helpmates. When you have folks like
Buck Ramsey, Curt Brummett, Ross Knox,
Waddie Mitchell and others to give you
honest critique and some guidance, it helps you hone your craft. I am
also a true 'fan' of this art form, and I think that helps."
Chris has
four poetry CDs: Almost Live at Elko, Most Requested, A
Pair of Aces, and Both Sides. Both
Sides, was voted best poetry album of the year for 1997 by the Academy
of Western Artists. He also recorded a Christmas album, Merry
Christmas from Our Camp to Yours, with his friends Jean Prescott, Sky
Shivers, and the late Buck Ramsey.
Chris has two books of poetry, Bringing it Home and his latest endeavor,
Rhymes
& Reasons, which received the Will Rogers Medallion Award. (Find
more information about books and recordings below.)
Chis has been named a 2009 Arizona Culturekeeper (see the article
below) and has received the
Gail I. Gardner award and the Wickenburg Western Heritage Award.
Chris lives in the beautiful White Mountains of eastern Arizona with
his wife Helen (they married in 1968) and when not off performing can usually be found pretty
close to home.
Chris Isaacs named
an Arizona Culturekeeper
By
Jo Baeza (President
of the White Mountains
Roundup)
From
the
White Mountain Independent, November 3, 2009
photo by Don Dane;
www.dondanestudio.com
EAGAR –A committee of historians
notified cowboy poet Chris Isaacs this week that he is one of
10Arizonans chosen to be a 2009 Culturekeeper. He will be inducted
into the select group Dec. 20 at the Westin-Kierland Resort in
Scottsdale. Every year the committee elects 10 Arizonans whom they
determine have made significant lifetime contributions to the
preservation of Arizona’s cultural heritage. One hundred
Culturekeepers will be honored during the state’s centennial
celebration Feb. 14, 2012.
Chris Isaacs has been a working cowboy,
horse shoer, rodeo cowboy, Marine, firefighter, poet, performer and
packer. In fact, his packing expertise led to his moniker “Packsaddle
Poet” in the cowboy poetry community.
People in the White Mountains know Chris
for the poetry he performs locally, but many don’t know the extent of
his reputation. Chris is well known on the cowboy poetry circuit from
Nevada to Texas, from California to Tennessee, and all the way to
Canada.
Cowboy Poet Larry McWhorter said,
“Chris’s view of the cowboy life can be seen from so many different
angles because he has lived so many aspects of it. Chris can ride the
bull, drive the bull, and he can shoot the bull with the best of
them.”
Chris has recorded five albums of
poetry. His album “Both Sides” was the Academy of Western Artists
Poetry Album of the Year in 1997. “Out With the Crew” was the AWA 2002
Album of the Year.
Two books of his work have been
published: “Bringing it Home” and “Rhymes, Reasons & Packsaddle
Proverbs.” The latter was the 2002 winner of the Will Rogers Medallion
Award from the AWA. In 2004 he received the Wickenburg Western
Heritage Award, and in 2005 he was recipient of the Arizona Cowboy
Poets Gathering Gail I. Gardner Award. In addition, his poems have
been published in numerous magazines, including Western Horseman and
American Cowboy.
Margo Metegrano, managing editor of the
web site www.cowboypoetry.com said, “Humor is a great part of these
poets’ legacy, and humor is always in good hands with Chris Isaacs.”
Writing and performing are only part of
his legacy. Chris has been one of the driving forces behind the White
Mountains Roundup of Cowboy Poetry, Music & Art, a nonprofit Western
Heritage event that is going into its fifth year. Chris has worked
diligently to bring this distinctly American folk art to northeastern
Arizona every year in July to celebrate the National Day of the
American Cowboy.
Over the past four years “Chris Isaacs
Presents” has featured top performers such as Vincent Craig, Carole
Jarvis, Buckshot Dot, Marshall Trimble, Rolf Flake, Stampede, Eldon
Housley, Jean Prescott, Dave Stamey, Kent Rollins, Yvonne Hollenbeck
and Juni Fisher. Most of the performers have agreed to take a cut in
fees because they are friends of Chris and believe in what he is
doing.
Chris was born to the saddle. He said,
“I never wanted to be anything but a cowboy.” His great-grandfather
came from Utah with the Mormon pioneers and settled in the White
Mountains. His father, Christopher Columbus Isaacs, came from
Shamrock, Texas, to work with the Civilian Conservation Corps in the
Blue River country. Chris was raised in Eagar until 1950 when his dad
took a job in Mesa.
He said, “In high school I got runnin’
with some kids who rodeo’d.” He caught the rodeo fever and rode rough
stock for about 10 years. In 1964 he enlisted in the Marine Corps and
was sent out in January 1967 with the first combat troops attached to
the 1st Fleet . During the war, he served as an orderly to
a general.
In 1968 he married his wife, Helen, and
went to work for the Mesa Fire Department. On the side, he started
shoeing horses with the coaching of Bob Ashcraft. Except for a brief
time in Arkansas, Chris and his wife lived in Mesa where Chris got a
job packing in wilderness areas in the Superstitions and Mazatzals for
Mesa Ranger District.
Poetry was always on his mind. He
started writing poetry in high school, and entertained his Marine
Corps buddies by reciting it. He wrote about the people and places he
knew, and things that happened to him.
He said, “When they had the first cowboy
poetry gathering in 1985 in Elko, Nev., I wanted to go, but talked
myself out of it because I didn’t think I was good enough.” He didn’t
go to the largest cowboy poetry event in the country until 1994.
He said, “To be honest with you, I was
surprised there were so many cowboy poets. What really surprised me
was the amount of people that liked it. A couple of open sessions
encouraged me. Ever since then I’ve been performing. I just was lucky
with it. I started getting invitations to perform all over. The last
10 years have been really good to me.”
Cowboy poetry gives Chris an opportunity
to express how he feels about his way of life. “I’m from the old
school,” he said. “A lot of things that are happening now appall me.
People want to come to this country, but they don’t understand it . .
. I love my state. I have no desire to live anywhere else, but it’s
changing.”
Earlier this fall, Chris and his son
were out cutting firewood around Mexican Hay Lake. Chris stood and
looked off to the east. “Now that’s beautiful,” he said.
“There’s nothing there,” his son said.
“That’s the beauty of it,” Chris told
him.
The Packsaddle Poet was surprised when
they told him he had been chosen as a Culturekeeper. He said, “I
didn’t know what it was. I hadn’t ever heard of Culturekeepers. It was
a shock. When they explained it to me, I considered it quite an
honor.”
© 2009,
White
Mountain Independent; reprinted
with permission
photo by Don Dane;
www.dondanestudio.com
A Few Poems
The Cowboy Creation
The
Flying Horse
Thanks, Grandpa
The Dying Breed
The Wild Horse Race
Michael Bia (separate page)
All poems © 2001, Chris
Isaacs, reprinted with permission from
Rhymes,
Reasons and Pack Saddle Proverbs published by
Cowboy Miner Productions, Phoenix, Arizona
The Cowboy Creation
Here's to all the "real
cowboys"
(May God preserve the breed)
Who make their living horseback
And still live proud and free.
Who ride the "grande
pastures"
Or the feedlot alleyways.
Who fight the heat of summer
And those freezing winter days.
Who wouldn't trade their
worn-out "kack"
For the trappings of a king.
Who still believe in God and Country
And the joy that family brings.
Men who still believe that
freedom
Is the most important thing in life.
That you treat a lady with respect
Be she a stranger or your wife.
Who use a different way to
score
The tally book of success.
Who keep company of horse and cow
And avoid the cities' urban mess.
Success they measure by the
ruler
Of honesty and truth,
Though their manner may be bashful
And their style a bit uncouth.
Their ways have stood the test
of time.
They wear well the cowboy pedigree.
And these reluctant heroes of the west
Have created ten million "wanna-be's."
© 2001, Chris Isaacs,
reprinted with permission from Rhymes,
Reasons and Pack Saddle Proverbs
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written
permission.
Following this poem,
Chris Isaacs writes: The American Cowboy is the only true icon
that this country has ever produced. He has become a symbol of
America throughout the world. As a packer and wrangler I have had
the opportunity to deal with people from all over the world, and it has
always amazed me that folks from foreign countries will still come to the
west expecting to find "guntoting cowboys and Indians" here in
Arizona. They are fascinated by the west and anything
"cowboy." Hollywood has a lot to do with this phenomenon,
but I think the real cowboys are still mystified by the fact that they are
viewed as a "symbol." They shouldn't be surprised. The
values that most of them hold dear are the values that made this country
great to begin with. Love of family, faith in God, a strong belief
in right and wrong, a love of country, a strong work ethic, a handshake
worth more than a contract, these values are admirable in any
society. Not a bad type of "symbol" to be.
The Flying
Horse
As a cowboy "making a
circle"
You can see some funny things,
But the strangest one I ever saw
Was a horse that sprouted wings.
It was way up on the Hulsey
Bench
When the summer grass was high;
One of those days so filled with beauty
It'd bring a tear right to your eye.
I was riding ol' Spud and
leading a mule,
Packing in a load of salt,
When a bend in the trail brought to my eye
A sight that made us halt.
There in the meadow asleep
like a babe
Laid a big ol' buckskin mare.
She was dreaming the dreams of the pure in heart;
She didn't have a care.
She must have filled her belly
in the cool of the morn
And when the sun got high
She found her a sunny spot to sleep
And just dream of the by-and-by.
Now the thing that was odd
about this scene,
That would get your attention twice,
Was off to the side stood a big black crow
Just as cool as summer ice.
The ol' crow seemed perplexed,
he wasn't quite sure
If the mare was alive or dead.
So he hopped to and fro all around ol' Buck
From her tail plumb up to her head.
Now where to begin on this
pleasant repast,
The ol' crow sat there and thought.
To start at one end and just work my way through,
That's the best was as likely as not.
Now if I start at the head
I'll run into them bones,
And they're mighty hard on my beak.
But if I stick to the soft parts and bypass the rest
I ought to have him gone in a week.
So Mr. Crow hopped up around
to the back of ol' Buck,
Just to find him a good place to start.
He looked up and down from the him and the hock
Just to find the tenderest part.
Now with ol' Buck stretched
out like a stiff on a slab,
It sorta left her tail stickin' out in the air.
And right there underneath seemed a good place to begin;
Why, there wasn't even no hair.
Mr. Crow looked again and said
to himself,
"Oh, my, is that a bullseye I see?
I swear, that shows me right where to start,
And the best part of all, it's plumb free!"
So, without further ado, he
raired back and pecked
And hit that bullseye right there on the dot,
But his joy turned to horror when Buck's tail clamped down
And Mr. Crow realized he was caught.
Ol' Buck quit the earth like a
space shuttle flight
Just leaving the launching pad.
To be woke from her dreams in just a fashion
I figure it drove her plumb mad.
She jumped, she bucked, she
whirled, she kicked;
She was clearing the tops of the trees,
With that ol' crow's head clamped tight under her tail
And his wings just fanning the breeze.
Now the higher she'd buck, the
harder he'd flap,
And they both had something they wanted to lose,
But the harder he'd pull, the tighter she'd clamp;
It was kinda like one of them "catch twenty-twos."
'Course from where I was
sitting it was easy to see
How ol' Buck could've cured all her ills.
If she'd just lifed her tail and broke wind real hard
She'da blowed that crow plumb over the hill.
But when I seem 'em last they
was tearing down trees
And clearing the brush, far and wide;
Ol' Buck trying to pinch the head off that crow,
And him just a whippin' her hide.
Like I said at the first, as a
cowboy at work
You can see some peculiar things.
But the strangest thing I ever saw
Was that horse that sprouted wings.
© 2001, Chris Isaacs,
reprinted with permission from Rhymes, Reasons and Pack Saddle Proverbs
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written
permission.
Thanks, Grandpa
I think back now and then on
the days of my youth,
They were happy and carefree and fun.
Some of the best of them all were spent with Grandpa
I was proud to be his grandson.
Gramps had shoed horses most
of his life;
A better shoer was dang hard to find.
Sometimes he'd take me along, though I wasn't much help,
He'd say "I might get in a bind
"And I'll need a good
handler to help bail me out
If some half-broke ol' horse just won't stand.
A good handler's important to a man hanging iron,
And my grandson here, he's a hand."
Oh it made me feel good to
hear Grandpa brag
About his horse holder when folks were around.
To hear him say that he needed my help
To me was a beautiful sound.
I'd watch every move that
Grandpa would make
Around a horse with some nervous quirk
He'd go easy, but quick, and I soon came to know
I was watching a master at work.
I'd ask questions and, Gramps,
he would answer,
And though I was too young to know,
He was trying to lay a foundation
For me to build on and grow.
I asked once, "What's
this horseshoe worth, Gramps?
Can't be more than a nickel or two."
He looked at the shoe, and then looked at me;
He said, "Son, that depends on you.
"If you take that old
shoe and throw it back in the box
And forget that it's even around,
Why it'll tarnish at first and then turn to rust.
After a few years it just won't be found.
"Or you can take that
same shoe and nail it on cold,
Without shaping or working it any.
The chances are good that you'll cripple the horse,
And that shoe would be worth not a penny.
"But if you take forge
and anvil and work that shoe right,
And trim up the foot like you should,
Well, the horse may not know it, but I promise you, son,
You'll do yourself and that pony some good.
"That's the way life
works, pard: the choice is all yours,
If you want you can just rust away.
Or like the cold shoe you can look mighty fine
And still not be worth your pay.
"But if you can take the
heat and blows that life gives,
And bend, but never crack,
Then your value mounts up and you're a worth a whole lot.
You can face life and never look back."
Well, I don't know if I
realize yet
Just how wise my grandfather was,
But I cherish the memories I have of him now,
And I'll love him forever because
Although he was just a
small-town, country horseshoer;
Never had much more than just family and friends;
But he knew about "life," and the value of work,
And how to help boys become men.
© 2001, Chris Isaacs,
reprinted with permission from Rhymes,
Reasons and Pack Saddle Proverbs
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written
permission.
The Dying Breed
I can't call myself a cowman;
Hell, I've never owned a cow,
But I've worked for some good ones;
some that sure know how
To make the calf crops pay the
bills
when there wasn't enough rain,
Or hold their own with bureaucrats
and play that never-ending game
Men whose word is binding;
Whose handshake is their bond.
They give what is expected
and then they go beyond.
Men who understand good
horses,
and what cow mammas tell their calf;
Who take life "rough and tumble"
and still manage a good laugh.
Whose hands are rough and
rope-burned,
who walk with stiffened gait.
Who stick by a friend through thick and thin
and never vacillate.
Who took good care of their
land
before that was politically correct,
Who feel endowed by their Creator
to preserve and protect
The land they are stewards
over
and that job they took to heart
They made their life's work ranching
and they play well their part.
So it's been my lot for many
years
to have worked for some of the best
Of these men who may be a "dying breed"
yet have not shirked the test.
Who have not knuckled under
or sold out to the corporate dragon.
Who've held the ranch together
and still ride out with the wagon.
And I thank the Lord in heaven
for giving me the chance
To know some of these good men
who still work the "family ranch."
© 2001, Chris Isaacs,
reprinted with permission from Rhymes,
Reasons and Pack Saddle Proverbs
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written
permission.
Following this poem,
Chris Isaacs writes: I've been in and around the cowboy
lifestyle all my life. I've been a working cowboy, a day-work
cowboy, a rodeo cowboy, a packer, and horseshoer almost all of my adult
life. Yet like most purists, I've been hesitant to call myself
"cowboy," because I feel that title should be reserved for the
folks who earn their living every day as working cowboys. It has
been my good fortune in life to have become good friends with some sure
enough top-hand cowboys, and to have been included in their circle of
friends. Men like B. A. Randall and his son Burt, Billy Green, and Art
Lee. In my circle of poet friends, men like Leon Autrey, Curt
Brummett, Jesse Smith, Sunny Hancock, Kent Rollins, J. B. Allen,
Waddie Mitchell, Larry
McWhorter, Ross Knox, Rolf Flake, and others who are
"cowboy," have been a great influence in my life.
I take it as a high form of
praise when someone calls me "cowboy" and I never argue the
point. However, I am sensitive enough about that title that when I started
going to cowboy poetry gatherings, I billed myself as a "Packsaddle
Poet" because that's how I was earning my living. I've tried to
"make a hand" whenever the opportunity presented itself, but I
am always aware that a "Cowboy" has honed skills that I may not
quite have mastered yet.
I'm starting to get preachy,
so just let me say that my poem, "The Dying Breed," was written
because of the great admiration that I have for the men who make their
living as cowboys. Especially those who are still trying to hold the
"home place" together and fight the daily battle with not only
the elements and the market, but also with folks and agencies out there
who would destroy that way of life. May God preserve them and the
cowboy way of life.
The Wild
Horse Race
From the Bloody Basin
country
beneath the Arizona sun
Came three wild and woolly brush hands
just to have a little fun.
They decided to expand
their reputations don't you know,
As the greatest Wild Horse Racers
at the All Ranch Rodeo.
Their claim to fame was elementary.
Said they simply were the best
At the sport of Wild Horse Racing
in the history of the west.
Why, their record was prodigious,
every year they'd won the race
(Except for nineteen sixty-seven
when they came in 14th place).
They earned their daily meat and beans
riding for the Double U.
They were hairy legged, hard and fast
brush-poppers thru and thru.
So on the mighty Colorado River
(or at least the Arizona side),
It was known there wasn't anything
the Two U boys couldn't ride.
Now on the rivers other shore,
three Prune Pickers rolled their beds,
And as they slept at night
sweet dreams of victory filled their heads.
They often dreamed of putting
these uncouth brush-poppers in their place,
For they were disciples of the old vaqueros,
full of dash and grace.
Where the Two U boys always used brawn
with no sign of finesse,
The Californios simply whispered
and their broncs would acquiesce.
They vowed to work their equine wizardry
before the spell-bound crowd
In a way so utterly scientific
it would make Robert Redford proud.
Now the morning of the showdown
both teams were on the run,
Just to perform last minute rituals
before the sounding of the gun.
The Two U's put on clean underwear,
and then they went to Mass.
While the Prunies prayed to Buddha
then they smoked a little grass.
The atmosphere was electrical
as both teams strode into the arena.
The Grand Entry, then the Anthem
sang by some diva named Salena.
The starter slowly raised his pistol,
then fired his gun up in the air,
And was promptly run down where he stood
(a sad start to this affair).
The Two U boys attacked in force
while the Prunies looked serene
As they hummed and lit some incense
they had hidden in their jeans.
One of the Arizona clan cried
"Their cheatin' damnit, stop the
watch!"
But then his protest was interrupted
by a hind foot to his crotch.
But his pards were there to help him,
to his rescue now they flew,
Where one was cow kicked in the belly
and promptly swallowed half his chew.
Then the other leaped to throw the saddle
on that bronco's wiley hide,
But he over shot his mark
and crashed into the chute gate, where he died.
Now the advantage went to the Prunies
by the margin of three to two,
And these boys meant to play their hole card
like some wiley buckaroos,
But their mystic equine voodoo
had begun to work its magic spell;
Too much incense and their humming
had blown their strategy to hell.
For their bronco stood there mildly
as the boys screwed down their saddle,
Then simply turned his head and looked around
as the rider lit astraddle.
"Good hell, this horse is stoned"
one of the Buckaroos began to wail.
"I told you not to put our stash
next to them damned alfalfa bales!"
By now one Arizona puncher
had a hairy bronc ear 'tween his teeth,
And his shirt was torn and tattered
like a dried out Christmas wreath.
For the tussle had grown horrific
with that ol' bronco on the buck,
While them boys was turnin' cartwheels
like a gymnast run amuck.
Then from
the crowd some PETA advocates
dashed into the fray,
To halt this ugly show of equine cruelty
with their slogans on display.
They were here to march in civil protest
with their banners held so proud,
But they were dispersed by two raging broncs
who got a standing ovation from the
crowd.
Then from the dust and the confusion
came the sound of passing gas.
The kind of sound made by a jake-brake
on a big rig rolling past.
Then the hair stood up on our necks
as we heard a cowboy cry,
"He's all yours pard;
I'm blinded by this horse s*** in my eyes!"
The boys from California saw
that luck had smiled on them this time.
"We'll just whisper this here pony
plumb across the finish line."
Now the Prunies started humming,
and then began to chant and sway
(While their bronco started looking around
for some more high-octane hay).
They hummed and pushed and pulled and hummed
toward the checkered flag
But at the finish line they were mowed down
by a bucking squealing nag.
"Foul" cried the Prunies.
"They only had one man left by heck,
And he wasn't even in the saddle,
he was just hanging on her neck."
"That's true" the judge replied
as he surveyed the ghastly mess,
"But we have to check your horse for drugs.
We'll do a urinalysis.
Well, the Prunies knew that they'd been beaten
by an old archaic law,
They cried "This horse is sick. That was medicine.
We'll settle for a draw!"
Well, that night, one beaten, battered cowboy
and his pard (who now is blind),
Dug a grave next to the river bank
and left their ol' friend there behind.
And the Prunies? Well, they left for a clinic
to hone up on their whispering obsession.
Oh, and their poor ol' bronc?
Well sir, he got six-months for possession.
© 2002, Chris Isaacs
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written
permission.
Read Chris Isaacs' poem
for Larry McWhorter, The Minstrel,
with other tributes.
On October 11, 2007, we posted news about a Louise Serpa
exhibit:
The
National
Cowboy & Western Heritage Museum will exhibit the
rodeo photography of Louise Serpa, "the
first woman to be allowed to enter the rodeo arena to record the exciting
and unpredictable action shots on film."
The Museum comments, "At 82, with hundreds
of rodeos to her credit, Serpa is a living legend. In 1992 a magazine
article in The New Yorker said about Serpa's evocative
black-and-white photographs, 'It's hard to believe your eyes when you
first see how wild in form her pictures are—both the horses and the
cowboys take on shapes so free from gravity that if you didn't know better
you'd think they were made of rubber or were products of trick
photography.'....Serpa holds the honor of being rodeo's best woman
photographer and ranks among the top PRCA sanctioned shooters. She also
was the first woman allowed on the courses of the Grand National in
England, and the first to cover the Dublin Horse Show. Clem McSpadden
(1989 Rodeo Hall of Fame inductee, 1998 Ben Johnson Memorial Award
recipient, and 2008 Chester A. Reynolds Memorial Award recipient at the
National Cowboy Museum) called Serpa the "Ansel Adams of Rodeo."
Read the official media release
here,
which tells, "
Louise
Serpa not only broke through the barriers of a male dominated rodeo
photography fraternity 30 years ago, she also shocked members in
Manhattan's high society where in 1943 she revealed her "inner-cowgirl"
when she rode sidesaddle down the banister of the Waldorf-Astoria and
ripped the back out of her floor-length dress at her debutante ball..."
The exhibit (February 9, 2008 through May 5, 2008)
will include 50 silver gelatin photographic prints; a documentary titled "When the Dust Settles"; and a
2004 interview with Serpa conducted by the Museum's research center
director, Chuck Rand.
[Photo: Bill Benton, High School Finals, Douglas, AZ, 1962; Serpa's first
magazine cover; photo courtesy National Cowboy & Western Heritage Museum]
Chris commented, "Your article on
Louise Serpa brought back a lot of memories from a long time ago. Louise
and I were at a lot of the same rodeos in the 60's and I'm proud to say
she was a friend although I haven't seen her in years. I'm glad to hear
that she is being remembered and honored for her work. She's a great Lady.
Here's a photo that Louise took of me in about 1963 or 1964. If you look
close in the bottom right hand corner you can see her Walking
S brand that she signed her photos with [see the detail
below the photo]."
Chris adds, "As a side note, the photo you posted with the
article was taken at the Arizona High School Finals in 1962. My dear
friend Fred Eaves whom I wrote about in the poem 'Fred' in my book [Rhymes,
Reasons and Pack Saddle Proverbs] was the calf roping Champion at
that Rodeo so that article stirred lots of memories."
Books
and Recordings
Chris Isaac's
humor and humanity come through his work, and his timeless messages make for
treasures that readers and listeners will enjoy for a long time to come.
Books
Bringing it Home
Bringing it Home
With a foreword by Waddie Mitchell, this book includes more than 30 of Chris
Isaac's most popular poems, including The Flying Horse and Mutual
Respect.
Paperback,
68 pages. This book is out of print as of November, 2009; it is sometimes
available through used book sources.
Rhymes, Reasons and
Pack Saddle Proverbs
Rhymes,
Reasons and Pack Saddle Proverbs
This book, with a foreword by Larry McWhorter, is a favorite here at the BAR-D. You can get an autographed copy directly from Chris Isaacs or order from the publisher, the fine folks at
Cowboy
Miner.
This
book was awarded the AWA
Will
Rogers Medallion Award.
Hardcover, 216 pages, $19.95
plus poaste from
Chris Isaacs 502 N Harless, Eagar AZ 85925 and from Chris Isaac's
web site:
CDs
A Pair of Aces
A Pair of Aces, honors the memory and celebrates the
talents of Chris Isaacs' friends, Cowboy Poetry greats
Sunny
Hancock and Larry McWhorter.
Accompanied by Rich O'Brien's exceptional background tunes, the CD
features Hancock and McWhorter favorites, along with an interesting few
selections of lesser known poems.
Aside
from the considerable entertainment value, there is much to be learned from
these sorely-missed masters and Chris Isaacs captures that wisdom in his
recitations. Our review is here.
Included are:
Sunny
Hancock's
"The Bear Tale"
"Doggerel, Plain and Simple"
"The High Steppin' Kind"
"The Horse Trade"
"Change on the Range"
"The Difference"
"Ode to My Lady, My Wife"
and
Larry
McWhorter's
Advice to the Traveler
The Retirement of Ashtola
Gate
Session
He Rode for the Brand
The Red Cow
The Real Thing
Open Gate
A Pair of Aces is available for $15.95
plus postage from Chris
Isaacs,
502 N Harless, Eagar AZ 85925 and from his
web
site.
Most Requested
Most Requested
This CD includes the most popular poems that Chris has written and/or performed over
the past few years, including The Flying Horse, Mutual Respect,
Michael Bia, and more.
$15.95 plus postage from Chris
Isaacs 502 N Harless, Eagar AZ 85925 and from his
web
site
Out With the
Crew
Out With the
Crew
This CD includes poetry performed by Chris and written by some of the best poets
alive.
The experience of this fine CD -- winner of the Will
Rogers 2002 Best Cowboy Poetry Album Award from the
Academy of Western
Artists -- is like a gathering of top poets. Chris Isaac's great idea to record poems of the top contemporary
poets (and one classic by Bruce Kiskaddon) says quite a bit about him,
his respect for other poets, and for what he contributes to the world of Cowboy
Poetry.
Chris, in his engaging style,
recites poems by Wallace McRae,
Joel Nelson, Bob
Bird, R.W. Hampton & Phil Martin, Jesse Smith,
Larry
McWhorter, Rolf
Flake, Leon Autrey, Rod McQueary, JB Allen, Sunny Hancock,
Bruce Kiskaddon, and Randy Rieman, and one of his
own. There are vocals by R.W. Hampton, Lisa Isaacs, and Leon Autrey,
guitar work by Leon Autrey, R.W. Hampton & Pat Dressen, and violin by
JoAnn Isaacs Brookover.
The CD includes some of the best modern
poems ever written: "One More Shippin' Day" by Wallace
McRae;
"For Woody" by Rod McQueary; "The Horse Trade" by
Sunny Hancock; "Johnny Clare" by
Larry McWhorter....see what we're sayin'?
$15.95 plus postage from Chris
Isaacs 502 N Harless, Eagar AZ 85925 and from his
web
site
Winner of the Will
Rogers 2002 Best Cowboy Poetry Album Award
Almost Live at
Elko
Almost Live at Elko
Recorded live at the 2002
National Cowboy Poetry Gathering in Elko Nevada.
Chris performs favorites like "Pert Near," "The Flyin' Horse," and "When
They Finish Shippin' Cattle in the Fall." He also has some political
observations (Liberals Beware) and a story or two about some of his
cowboy friends!
$15.95 plus postage from Chris
Isaacs 502 N Harless, Eagar AZ 85925 and from his
web
site
Find more here at
Chris Isaac's web site
Contacting
Chris Isaacs
Chris
has a great web site designed by H. JoAnn Brookover at:
www.chrisisaacs.com
with his
schedule, poetry, books and recordings, and more.
Chris Isaacs
502 N Harless
Eagar AZ 85925
email
