Sweet Grass, Montana

“Your’re gonna have to git out. Sherriff’ll be makin his rounds soon.” The bartender told Mom and Dad.

You see, anyone underage was not allowed in the bar and I was only five years old. But the bartender would always let me in with Mom and Dad when they drove from Lethbridge to Sweet Grass on Sundays, on the condition that they got me out before the sheriff arrived on his regular rounds.

There were no bars open on Sundays in Lethbridge, but just across the border in the U.S. State of Montana, the bars were open every day. Mom and Dad liked to drink. I got used to the smell of stale beer and tobacco on our regular Sunday trips.

I was always scared, but a bit excited, when I heard the sheriff was coming. I had only ever seen a sheriff on TV and this was a real live sheriff he were talking about. This bar was just like the ones I saw on TV. Round wooden tables and chairs with spindles on the back.

One day we were making our escape when the bartender turned white and said “Uh Oh! Too late! Sheriff’s here.”

I looked up. There was no sheriff. There was just a little old man walking in the door in a suit, covered with a tweed overcoat and wearing a derby hat. Where was the cowboy with the big hat, boots and six-guns?

“Folks, I’d like you to meet the Sheriff of Sweet Grass. Sheriff, these folks are from Canada. Come every Sunday.” The bartender was trying to avoid talking about breaking the rules and letting me in the bar.

He was talking to the little old man. Calling him Sheriff. This guy was a foot shorter than my dad. He had a wrinkled face and bent up hands. This was the sheriff? I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. How could this be?

The old man came over and introduced himself to Mom and Dad and then turned his attention to me. “What’s your name, young man?” he asked me as he extended his arthritic hand.

“Brian” I said as I stared up at him in awe.

He put a candy in my hand and said “Welcome to Sweet Grass. We usually don’t allow young’uns in these places, but I’ll make an exception today.”

Mom and Dad said their thanks and we headed out to the car for the drive back home. I left with mixed feelings. I could tell my little friends that I had met a real live sheriff. But I couldn’t tell them what he looked like. They would laugh at me.

Cowboy movies would never be the same.