My name is Ronald G. Williams. I used to be a real cowboy and a rodeo circuit rider. I have finished in the top ten three times in the national finals.
I also worked for a little over a year as a lumberjack in Alaska. I was laid off there and didn't have much money, so I stayed in a buddy's cabin while he went back to the lower 48 to visit family, and lived off the land as a mountain man for a little while.
I finally got a regular job as a fireman in a large city in Arizona and worked there for more than 22 years until I was forced to retire because of my age. About a month after that, my barber passed away. I had become very good friends with him, and was very surprised when I was informed by his attorney that he had left me his barber shop and all the equipment in his will! He had no close family members.
I had no formal training as a barber, so I couldn't charge for my services, but I started giving free haircuts to the homeless men in town. It was something to do to keep me busy. As my skills improved, so did my reputation, and soon so-called homeless men in suits and ties started appearing for free haircuts!
The good news is that they gave me generous tips equivalent to more than the cost of a haircut from other barbers in town. Soon I was making more money than I ever had in my life, and all tax free because legally I was just giving free haircuts!
Finally I got carpal tunnel in both wrists so severe that I had to give it up. At age 80 I sold the shop, discovered Poem Hunter, and the rest is history.
So now I call myself Cowboy Ron Williams. I was a cowboy longer than anything else.
I was married for 40 years to the most wonderful woman in the world, but she has been gone for more than two years now and I am lonely. I would consider getting married again if the right woman came along, but there are few who want to marry an octogenarian. Would it help if I told them that I have more money than I can figure out how to spend?
Oh, the life of a cowboy is hard;
I don't have just a tiny back yard.
My grass does love to grow,
so when it's time to mow,
I enlist the good help of my pard.
By the way, the B.S. that I have listed for Education does not stand for Bachelor of Science. Instead, it refers to something sloppy and completely bovine.