Tag: Reno

HERB RINGER— 25 Years After He Left Us: December 11, 1998 —Jim Stiles (ZX#92)

by stiles • December 10, 2023 • 16 Comments

On December 11, 1998, twenty-five years ago today, my friend Herb Ringer passed away in Fallon, Nevada. He was 85 years old. His health had been failing for a few years. In 1994, Herb was forced to give up driving — the greatest joy of his life — when he was diagnosed with a rapidly deteriorating case of macular degeneration. I had met up with him that summer at a high mountain lake above Crested Butte, Colorado. Earlier that week, an optometrist in Salida had diagnosed his condition and warned Herb that he needed to head home to Fallon immediately. Herb took the news stoically, maybe better than I did, and he left for Fallon the next day.

…this story is personal; it’s more about our friendship than his special artistic talents, though both are forever intertwined. I’d like to tell you more about Herb Ringer, the good-hearted, decent man and loyal friend that he became to me. We were connected in a way that I have rarely experienced. Herb once said, “You’re the son I never had.” The feeling was mutual.

IN DEFENSE OF “TRASHY TRAILERS” …by Jim Stiles (ZX#65)

by stiles • June 4, 2023 • 23 Comments

One could make the argument that without the invention and development of the travel trailer, Moab’s Uranium Boom of the 1950s would have been even more chaotic than it was. Until Charlie Steen’s life altering discovery of uranium at Big Indian, 30 miles south of town, Moab was a sleepy little village most noted for its orchards. And it’s a good guess that many of those original settlers were appalled by the mass migration to Moab. Others welcomed the excitement and the prospects of a more vibrant economy. Moab has never been a town to agree on much of anything. The debate still rages.
In any case, would-be miners and prospectors flocked to Southeast Utah, only to find a community that was not in any way prepared to handle the Boom.

HERB RINGER’S PRICELESS ‘ARTIFACTS’ Vol, 1 W/ Jim Stiles (ZX#62)

by stiles • May 14, 2023 • 8 Comments

But several months later, I rediscovered the paper bag and opened it up. It contained several hundred Kodachrome transparencies from the camera of herb Ringer. They were images of the American West, in pristine condition; the color was as vivid and sharp as the day Herb took them. Now he had given them to me. I was overwhelmed and Herb was delighted that he’d found someone who loved and appreciated his photographs as much as I did. This was 1986

And now Herb wanted to start sharing other treasures with me. His extraordinary photographs were just the beginning. He wanted to share the rest of his priceless possessions with me. That’s what this Zephyr Extra Part 1 is about. In that little 42 foot trailer, Herb maintained a museum of sorts. Knowing we shared this love of history, he began to insist that I take them. He knew I would cherish them as much as he did…

“I LONGED for the WESTERN LIFE.”–HERB RINGER’S Great Adventure — Jim Stiles (ZX#39)

by stiles • December 11, 2022 • 16 Comments

NOTE: I’m posting this in the afternoon of December 11. My old friend Herb Ringer died 24 years ago today. I have shared his pictures and stories for the entire life of this publication. And I’ve written a few about my dear friend. This story combines parts of past stories and introduces some new ones as well. And more pictures, of course. He is still missed after a quarter of a century, especially by me—JS

EXCERPT:
“Herb,” I’ll ask, “Here’s a picture of you on horseback and in the next picture there’s a girl on her hands and knees under her horse. What’s that all about?”

His worn out eyes sparkle. “Yes!” he smiles, “That’s Skippy. That was in the High Sierras in about 1942. She loved her horse and the horse would do anything for her. She bet me she could sit right under it and I didn’t believe her. So she climbed down and crawled right under the horse’s front legs. So, I took a picture. And that night I bought her a steak dinner.”

I could hear Herb moving things about in his closet and a few moments later he emerged from the bed room, a manila-covered album held tenderly in his hands. He returned to his chair, a bit winded from the short trip, and then he placed the large book in my lap. It was the size and shape of a photo album but was covered with brown wrapping paper and held together with yellowed Scotch tape. I opened the binding to the first page….