Kenneth James Wolverton

Copyright December 2014


This is the true story of Billy Sundown, a young cowboy deep in the heart of Scotland. What? Scotland? Well, he wasn’t really a cowboy, but he wore boots, spurs, a ten gallon hat and a big western gun belt. It was a peculiar sight to see a skinny little Scot imitating that wobbling walk of John Wayne.


Persistence was his gift and the sneering of people on Princess Street in Edinburgh did little to change his attitude. For a 99 pound weakling he did an admirable swagger of the Red River Valley. By grumbling deep in his throat and holding two pebbles in the back of his mouth he even managed to slur a fairly western drawl.


Billy wasn’t really his name, nor was Sundown. Hamish Arran McDuffie, actually. There was a sublime need in him to have a more romantic cowboy name.


Billy Sundown was what he chose. He figured that would look much better up on Hollywood marquees. For another thing, Hamish Sundown didn’t sound quite right and McDuffie the kid – no way!


However, I don’t want to go on about the how, the why, and who of Hamish, that is, Billy’s growing up and becoming a well-known figure.

Simply it was a complicated maze of time and place that puts a situation in one’s hand without any conscious recognition. Billy became famous because of a couple things.


The John Wayne wobble walk and strange garb had much to do with it but one thing for certain, was his manner of talking.


He always was misunderstood. Because of the pebbles in his mouth, other than the word “pardner” most of what he said was a heap of juicy broken syllables. In turn, Billy was so single-minded in his cowboy persona, he imagined every encounter with other people fit into a situation of his fantasy.


One conversation went like this in Bennett’s Bar:

“Cuuud yaa gimmmmee harp pont paardnuh,” Billy said.

“What’s that you say?” Rory McNeil the bartender said.

“Ah wanna harp pont paardnuh!” Billy drawled.

“Why didn’t you say that in the first place?”

“Ywah, ahhh ah dud paardnuh!”

“All right! Here you are a pint of heavy – that would be £.30 please.”

“Nad dat! Ah harp pont paardnuh!”

“Oh yes – it’s the best heavy in town – £.30, please.”

“Ah wanna harp pont!.”

“Sorry, but it’s 30 P…”

“Wha duhya ween duh dirdee pench?…”

“I need £.30…”

“Loog ah anna gohnno pench!”

“Okay – I know we have all had hard times so here – you can have the pint and I’ll give you a sandwich – and you can have a cup of tea later – never let it be said that I don’t know how it is to be down and out – cheers Squire!” Rory McNeil huffed and walked away.


Possibly it doesn’t appear the conversation was misunderstood except Billy was saying, “I want a hard part,” believing he had walked into a movie agents office to demand the kind of role he would prefer in a Hollywood Western.


The fact that he got a free pint and a sandwich was the ordinary fortune of Billy’s life pattern. People always gave him things and went out of their way to be helpful, feeling they were being charitable to a village idiot.


The reason Billy wanted a hard part was he had been given what he imagined to be riding jeans through a previous encounter. He wanted a hard part so he could test the seams of his jeans to make sure that they met up with the toughness of John Wayne’s character. Billy was away with the fairies for the riding jeans were a pair of baggy corduroy trousers.


Rory McNeil’s generosity was embarrassing for Billy. A cowboy’s thirst requires liquor. He was grateful the bartender offered him a pint of heavy, but it wasn’t the rot-gut wild wooly bronco-busters drink.


The sandwich wasn’t the flapjacks either but the Pakistani dinner he had received from a previous misunderstanding left his throat tingling with spice and peppers. However the sandwich and beer would serve as a cooler, so he took the gift.


Billy was in the habit of taking whatever was offered him, not out of politeness but because he always imagined it as something that fit in with him being Billy Sundown, the toughest gun slinger in the West. The Pakistani dinner he fantasized as a fiesta in Mexico at the Patron’s Hacienda in celebration of Billy Sundown single-handedly saving a herd of rustled of longhorns from plunging off of 500 foot cliff.


Billy Sundown was a child of imagination and romance. It was this innocent character plus the tenacity of being persistent that one day he found himself sitting in one of those photo boxes, the kind you stick £.10 in and three minutes later, out drop four blurry black and white mug shots. But to Billy Sundown he had never looked so good. They were the best cowboy portraits he’d ever seen. Even John Wayne would be jealous.



It so happened he had 5 Pounds in £.10 pieces that a ladies charity had given. Before you could say Hopalong Cassidy, there were two hundred  pictures around the photo box of the most famous Cowboy the West had ever known, Billy Sundown.

There he was on a golden Palomino; on great cattle drives; face to face with Doc Holliday; a poker face; a gunslinger’s sneer; a hell-eating leather bending buckaroo! It thrilled his heart to see himself as he really was.


If you or I should take a look at those 200 photos, we would assume it was a lunatic trapped in a photo box that had gone out of control.


Billy had different eyes than you or me. He probably marched to a different drummer too.


It was workings of fate that Billy lost the photos the day after he had taken them. It was fate also that allowed The Demented Lady from San Jose, California to find those photos. It is not everyday that a Demented Lady from San Jose finds photographs of a lunatic. She thought so herself, this isn’t just an ordinary old plain day. It was the discovery of a lifetime. At last, the face of the Messiah appeared – in short, the image of the man she had always sought after.

This face was the appearance of Love Manifest. He was one man and all men. This face personified her perpetual desire in a lifetime of seeking. Yes, she had known men, many men, but none of them were complete. They were only individual variations of egotistical insecurities. Try as they might, they could only be themselves.


Their downfall was they could only be one man- not all men at once – and it was all men at once she desired. She had a huge appetite. Oh blessed Providence, her heart’s desire had come. Here was living proof, for pressed to her breast were 200 photographs of 200 different faces of only one man.


At a glance she could see the genius of this man for  instead of seeing him only as Billy Sundown, she saw him as Mick Jagger, Tarzan, Buck Rogers, Perry Como, Rudolph Valentino, Karl Marx, Guy Lombardo, Winston Churchill, Gandhi, Christ, Elvis Presley, Mohammed Ali, and 188 other famous personalities.


Unfortunately none of them were cowboys, and what was worse, none of them were John Wayne. As a matter of fact, she hated John Wayne. However two minds with such powerful imaginations, such visionary eyes, were drawn together like rain to earth.


Fate has its funny little way. This time fate took the form of a private detective hired by the Demented Lady from San Jose. Eventually the detective arrived at the Woolworth department store where a photo-mat box set between the wait-for-your-shoes booth and the house-ware section. He flashed his ID to the first clerk, slowly pulled 200 faces out of his inside coat pocket and said “do you know this man?” The response was immediate.

“Oh, that bleeding loony! He stayed the whole afternoon in the photo machine! I don’t know who he is.”

The second clerk said, “Aye, him. I haven’t a clue!”

The third clerk was the gold mine. She said, “Why, that’s Little Hamish, but he prefers you call him Billy Sundown.”

 “Do you know where I can find this man?” The detective asked.

The third clerk hesitated for a moment then with one finger on her chin and her other hand tucking in her blouse, said, “Mr., he’s a difficult fellow to locate but I suppose he might be staying down in the rowboat again.”

The detective, curious in finding this individual coughed, ‘Rowboat?”.

The third clerk took her finger off her chin and begin to tuck in the other side of her blouse and said, “Aye, either the rowboat or one of the park benches, but you kin’ the weather is getting a wee bit chilly now, so I would think that he’s probably in the rowboat.”

The detective, murmured, “Rowboat… Park benches?”

The third clerk begin to twine her hair and said, “Aye, the benches are not too comfortable, even in the summer and when it’s brisk like this the rowboat is much cozier.”


The detective had a few ideas while a crazy rich American female was so anxious to find the gentleman in question…perhaps he was a lost son, a runaway husband, or a lover that left with her jewels. But this individual was staying in a rowboat. Indeed there was something curious here. The detective pulled out a red plastic notebook and a yellow felt tip pen.

“Where is this rowboat?” He asked.



On further questioning the detective found out that Little Hamish, a.k.a., Billy Sundown was a cousin of the third clerk and had recently been fired from another job. This time it had been his quick-draw practice that infuriated his employer… Dishwashers are supposed to wash dishes, not pull bent spoons out of their pockets pointing at the chef shouting, “Bang! Bang!”

The third clerk told the detective little Hamish was 46 years old and he had never had a job for more than a week. She whispered, “He’s a wee bit strange if you know what I mean – he thinks he’s a cowboy!”


With the information secured and a mind for curiosity the detective went in search of the man of many faces. There are not too many cowboys that live in rowboats at the docks. In a short time his hunt was successful. Little did the detective suspect he was bringing about one of the great love matches of all time.


The Demented Lady from San Jose was incredibly rich. There are several theories why rich American women are often crazy but in her case it was probably the direct effect of television. This was in fact the common link that she had with Little Hamish – a.k.a. – Billy Sundown – not that he was crazy, the worst ever being said about him was “Aye, he’s away with the ferries,” but it was television that had completely molded his character. The only difference was in their way of watching it.


She watched in the comfort of a centrally heated two level upper-class ranch-style villa in the hills of San Jose, while he stood on grey cold pavement outside the television shops of Edinburgh. It never occurred to Billy Sundown that he was deprived, but sometimes especially when they showed John Wayne westerns, he wished there were speakers on the outside.


In the beginning he went into shops, but would get so excited punching bad guys, blubbering loud slobbery exclamations trying to imitate John Wayne, that he would be chased out. It was better to stand on the street. That is one reason why his speech was somewhat blurred. Nobody realized Little Hamish had imitated the voice of John Wayne through a quarter inch of glass at a sub decimal volume. He did it perfectly.


For instance, “Ahh rot potnuh braugh!” was exactly like “All right pardner, draw!” projected from an 8 inch transistor television through a thermal-pane window. There were times that Billy Sundown couldn’t hear anything at all, so he developed the art of reading lips. The system wasn’t full proof as he never bothered to be sure people were saying what he thought their lips said. Amazingly enough, every Western he saw had the same script as John Wayne’s famous Red River Valley.


The reason for that was the Animal Cruelty Prevention Society had given Little Hamish 25 Pounds because he saved a bag of drowning kittens. That money allowed Billy Sundown to Watch Red River Valley in the luxury of a cinema 32 times in succession. Billy Sundown had never actually heard another western except for the mumblings vibrated through shop windows in the noisy streets of Edinburgh.

It seemed to him that there could never be a better story than Red River Valley so it was completely natural that the Hollywood movie makers would just change the pictures and use the same words over and over. So it was, no matter what western it was, Billy Sundown garbled the Red River Valley along with each new movie.


On the other hand, the Demented Lady from San Jose, watched midnight movies epics, such as, The Agony and The Ecstasy, Lust for Life, The Greatest Story Ever Told and literally thousands of others, all of which were cut up, spliced into and otherwise interrupted by underarm deodorant, cigarette and tooth paste commercials, in the comfort of her luxurious home and incredibly wealthy bank account.


She would often shout to her servants, “The Power and The Poetry!” A great warmth would float across her cheeks each time she said it. She would think about Beethoven going deaf writing his music, Michelangelo lying on his back painting the Sistine Chapel, Van Gogh cutting his ear off.  Hero after hero filled her mind with emotion. The sufferings of John Wayne never crossed her thoughts when he mentioned those pet words.


She had another saying, “There Is The Great Web.” What she meant by it was somewhat of a puzzle to herself. I will try to explain.


It was pseudo-theory the Brotherhood of Man is tied together by the Spider Web of Cosmic Mystery – it came about through a dream she had experienced as a young girl but had never quiet remembered the entire message.


Forgetting had a lot to do with her phrase, “There Is The Great Web.” of who the famous American bard Carl Sandberg once said, “The most rememberable thing about mankind is his power of forgettery.”

Forgetting what she remembered was the essence of her Great Web. She once had a home-made theory behind her words however fractal confusion was the vehicle of her insanity.


If you understand that, then possibly you are as crazy as the Demented Lady from San Jose.


Never the less, this is how Little Hamish a.k.a. Billy Sundown, fit in to her life story. Because the Demented Lady from San Jose always forgot, she confused her philosophical theory with the cravings of her physical body. She had a huge appetite in more ways than one.


Philosophically, she thought about the Great Web as the Foundation of God, that is, all of humanity being connected by a kind of subconscious lace which is God in disguise.


Physically she thought of the Great Web as being all men poured into one body that had come to earth for the sole purpose of satisfying her needs.

Her psycho-therapists said she was suffering Delusions of Grandeur  but in truth she was the living reality of her own theory which was:


At dynamic points in the gentle curve of life, God remembers that God has disguised Godself in the forms of millions of earthlings and for a moment God sees Godself in the whole of humanity. At other points, God simply forgets who God really is and merely thinks God is only one person that God sees Godself made of a billion  trillion parts. A brilliant concept but full of unsolvable conundrums.


Unfortunately this is a basic human mistake and indeed this was the Demented Lady from San Jose’s own heritage of humanness, for most of the time she forgot philosophically what the Great Web actually meant…souls connected.

The reason the lady from San Jose was demented was because the creature that was really just her, often believed it was really God, or that is all of God. It told her that men were only made so they could physically please women and that once every thousand years or a Man of Humanity would be born to please the Woman of Humanity, which of course was her.


When she found Little Hamish posing as Billy Sundown, she slapped her hands together and sang out hallelujah! Her whole body ached with anticipation.


Meanwhile back at the ranch, Billy Sundown had been practicing dying a cowboy hero death. He had always loved the way John Wayne had died and Red River Valley – so there he was lying on the bottom of the rowboat, gasping, bubbling, performing an amazing cowboy death act when the Demented Lady from San Jose turned back the canvas cover that was limply hanging over the top of the rowboat.


Too late! Too late, she thought. Her man of humanity was passing from this life. She fell in a dead faint exactly on top of Little Hamish’s dying Billy Sundown. To say the least, Little Hamish was amazed to have a shrieking fat woman falling on top of him in the middle of Billy Sundown’s death act. It interfered terribly and wasn’t usually part of the scene.


In the movie Red River Valley, the girl with jet black hair and ruby red lips held John Wayne tenderly in her lap with her arms around his head as he told her to marry his best amigo.


This huge yelling woman smelling of lilac with pinkish violet hair certainly wasn’t a very good stand in. But to Billy Sundown, the idea he was a frightening site to anyone would never occur to him. It was obvious he was young cowboy shot in the breast and going to die. The heroine she should learn her parts properly.

That’s what outraged Billy Sundown and that’s why he began to shout, “Ahh rot mum yoob gobba wurb on yob pahb!”


The Demented Lady from San Jose was out cold and didn’t move. Billy Sundown was beginning to think that she didn’t stand a chance being a cowgirl actress. None of the heroines just lay around in the stories. They were always fighting in saloons, or dancing or loading rifles so their men folk could shoot redskins and outlaws.


He thought she had the shriek rehearsed enough, but she had to move around more. That part was usually reserved for the Indians and outlaws after they got shot.


Billy Sundown had no idea the Demented Lady from San Jose had passed out. He thought she had her parts confused. This was ridiculous! This enormous fat woman was crushing him flat.

When she didn’t respond to what he was saying, after about five minutes he lost patience and begin to push this heap of femininity off him.


She was colossal! She nearly filled the entire cavity of the rowboat and if it hadn’t been that she was such a spongy mass, he probably would have crushed Billy Sundown to something looking like a pan cake with cowboy boots.


Billy Sundown’s pushing was completely useless. He couldn’t budge her and inch. She just lay there covering him and his imagination like a tidal wave. There was one effect in Billy Sundown’s feeble squirming under the whale of a woman. He began to bring the Demented Lady from San Jose to a half dozing dreamlike awareness.


In a barely conscious mind, she felt the pushing and prodding of Billy Sundown. The faces of the photographs came to her mind’s eye and every time she felt another jab on her giant chassis she saw a different face. The touches were so tender and sensual. Never had a man touched her in so many poetic ways. A hand on one of her titanic breasts that slowly and lovely pushed it up to her chin – another hand that persuaded the flesh around her belly button to nearly touch her knees. Hallelujah! This was the master of love that was guiding and arousing her body. A great joy begin to fill her heart. Each time those hands stroked her soul, she saw another face, more handsome, more charming than the last.


A great thought was enveloping her – this was the Man of Humanity that was performing the work of art on her. As the Demented Lady from San Jose was coming to this realization, Billy Sundown began to thrust moist wads of flesh around her throat to the tops of her eyes. No man had ever done that to her. Just as the fatty tissue smeared over her right ear, she had the thrill that she had been waiting a lifetime, climatic as conquering Mount Everest!


At that precise moment she awoke to see the squirming jabbering personality of the Man of Men face to face! It was love at first sight. But Billy Sundown had no intentions of being intimate with the Demented Lady from San Jose. He was only trying to move this mammoth beefcake off his body so he could get back to the serious business of practicing his cowboy death.

When at last she opened her eyes and gazed into his face, he said, “Ahb dhink yoob neeb dab wurb omb yob parhb mum!”

Too excited to speak, she thought to herself, “the Power and the Poetry – God remembers who he is – God meets God!”


What Billy Sundown actually said was, “I think you need to work on your part some, man!”


As I said before Little Hamish a.k.a., Billy had the strange luck of being the point of charity for countless occasions because he was always misunderstood – being misunderstood is nothing new to a lot of people, but usually all it brings is turmoil, aggression and things people don’t like. It was different for Little Hamish. Usually he got food, money, clothes or trip somewhere. On the day that he met the Demented Lady from San Jose he got all these things on one ticket.


She pulled him out of the rowboat, much to his resistance. He hadn’t perfected his cowboy death act and this was no time to go to Hollywood. It was obvious to him that this was where the Demented Lady from San Jose wanted to take him. He didn’t know she was demented. He thought she was the overweight daughter of a Hollywood producer, that had always wanted to be in the Western. It was obvious she would never learn the part of John Wayne’s girlfriend. She didn’t have what it takes to be a cowgirl actress.


A 99 pound cowboy is no match for a colossal woman. She pulled him out of the boat and drug them into the limousine that was waiting and drove him off to an exclusive hotel.

Billy Sundown could only say “Ahb habent pinshist dub prubheshu!’

She nearly fainted. Such passion such poetry! The little man speaking profundity after profundity made her shudder with hot flashes down her spine. What she understood was this; “Oval Elephants Parish With Resurrections!”

Billy Sundown really said, “I haven’t finished the rehearsal!”


At the hotel she bathed him, fed him the most delicious meal, put fine silk clothes on him. Billy Sundown could only accept his fate, but not without comment. He said glorious things like, “Hobgoblin in glam flimflam flip-flop crunch flock?” Which translated by the Demented Lady from San Jose as, “Withered Youth Brittle, Merry Hazards Old Glaciers from Outback and Wise Drink Last Miles While Heaven Yields Golden Coveted Cloth!” Billy Sundown’s meaning was this, “When are you taking me to Hollywood? I don’t want a bath! I had one last month! Haven’t you got any cowboy duds?”


For the Demented Lady from San Jose it was pure portrait she was hearing. Yes indeed, “the Power and the Poetry.”


As Billy Sundown spoke hallucinations and celestial choruses begun . She flipped back through the years and returned to the point in her youth when she had received Divine Vision. A wizard walked out of the hazy blue graveyard and with his fingers began to draw patterns on her forehead. At first she was somewhat confused that she could see them, being that they were on her own forehead – but after a moment it became perfectly natural. His finger felt like warm water. The patterns were beautiful and when the wizard had finished the drawing, he removed his finger and with a silvered puff of wind blew across the patterns that instantly changed from beautiful designs into a flowing golden script that read; “The Lord Has Come.” She was amazed that such a thing could happen to her, then in another second she became hysterically fearful. She was not ready – no not yet!



That’s when suddenly she came back to consciousness in the hotel and directly in front of her stood Little Hamish, bathed and perfumed dressed head to toe in red and blue silk – not looking a thing like Billy Sundown – but even being enrobed in such expensive attire, he would have made most women jump back in laughter or fear. But not our Demented Lady from San Jose. She jumped over the years of her youth and vision, through the time of her erotic rationale to a point of crystal clarity.  It took years of sacrifice, determination and concentration to be able to see God Almighty Himself.  That obviously had been the plan of her visions of youth, but through the years of service she somehow got lost.


She now lived by lust and lavishness. She had also developed the art of eating caviar and drinking the most expensive French champagne from the moment she woke until the moment she passed out. She never went to sleep. She either fainted or passed out from the excesses of her self-indulgence.


I could go on and on about the Demented Lady from San Jose and perhaps someday I shall, but this is the story about little Hamish a.k.a. Billy Sundown, as he would have preferred to be known.


So, there he was in the hotel mumbling one powerful poem after the other – as far as Our Lady was concerned – when it happened:  The Demented Lady from San Jose reached over the top of Billy Sundown (who at the moment was being God Almighty Himself ) and turned on the television. It was one of the consuming habits that ruled her life. Something had to be happening while something was happening. For some reason, every time she thought about God, she felt guilty, so she unconsciously would do things to divert her attention, like eat tons of food while watching television, while searching the world for another better man.

As fate would have it as the television began to snap and buzz to its awakened state and what do you think would be on? Yep! You guessed it! Red River Valley!


I can hardly describe the joy that went through Little Hamish’s soul. Billy Sundown rides again! He jumped up and started shouting, “Ack back ak Jack whack!”


At which the Demented Lady from San Jose said, “You know, I hate that movie too and I simply can’t stand that creep John Wayne!”


Billy Sundown was horrified that someone could hate Red River Valley, and worse, not love John Wayne! That’s when our lady grabbed hold of the channel changing dial and gave it a flick. You can imagine how that upset Billy Sundown. The very first time he ever had the opportunity see Red River Valley and hear the words on the television!

It was because of this unfortunate event that Billy Sundown said, “MUMM CUB YOOB CHANGGA BAB CHAMMEL BABTA JOMMAYME?”   Meaning, “Ma’am, can you change the channel back to John Wayne?”


Of course what was understood was something else. It was this, “Many Hassles Between Times Brings Bliss!”


The situation would have been defused if the Demented Lady from San Jose had not to turned to a program that was about French cooking. Next to eating food, watching food was just as good. She loved television food programs. If it had not been for that, she would not have reacted so violently when Billy Sundown began banging the television with his foot.


You see, he didn’t know that the buttons in the knobs on the television were part of the magic in the electronic theater. Banging had often worked in making obstinate things obey his wishes. It wasn’t that he was violent, but it was just a natural thing to do, to bang on things. However the result this time was disaster. The banging made the television go berserk. The sound went fuzzy, the picture became jagged rolling lines. His banging also made our day Demented Lady from San Jose go more Demented. She hated being deprived of anything she wanted!  With one tremendous blow she knocked Billy Sundown up against the wall that had three tinted photographs of the South Pacific. One of the photographs fell on his head breaking the glass and cutting his right ear. Billy Sundown pulled himself off the floor, bleeding like a cut ear lobe and began banging on the television again.


Naturally the picture went crazy again which produced monstrous characteristics in the Demented Lady from San Jose. She grabbed Billy Down by his silken shirt and one of his legs, lifting him overhead and threw him into the bathroom where he landed headfirst coincidently enough in a French toilet. It was a nasty landing in which his nose took full impact. It wont surprise you when I tell you that his nose started bleeding. You know how noses bleed.


Billy Sundown extracted himself from the French toilet, then back to the television and resumed his Neanderthal technique. Bang! Bang!


The blood from his nose and ear was spurting out like an oil well. His silk shirt and trousers were splattered but were nothing in comparison to the room. It was beginning to look like a Jackson Pollack original and in the process of getting himself back to the television, he had managed to turn over every piece of furniture, his clothes dripping French toilet water.


The French cooking program was demonstrating how one should eat raw oysters when the banging started again. Oysters, particularly raw oysters, were an absolute favorite of the Demented Lady from San Jose. It was because of this she completely lost her Cosmic Theory of God. She had been quite tolerant up to then, but this man was obviously a fanatic and had to be dealt with accordingly. She was beside herself with rage, in fact so much so that both of her picked up Billy Sundown and with four hands high over her two heads, began to spend Little Hamish in the famous World Wrestling Federation’s helicopter spin.





When at last Billy Sundown was nothing but a blur overhead she made a mighty shot-putter grunt and threw them straight through the window. Incidentally, they were on the fourth floor but that did not matter as she shot him at a trajectory of almost 90°, crashing through the plate-glass and spinning so fast whirling off, that he look like a thumb print in the sky.

As Little Hamish a.k.a. Billy Sundown disappeared into the heavens, the Demented Lady from San Jose thought she heard the faint last words of Billy Sundown saying, “The World Spins Below But Far Beyond Are The Pastures.” What he actually said was, “Bluacka wobble blockka blub amda dun baddha slink arb  doooug foostoster!” meaning, “That won’t do, especially because I happen to know this isn’t the way to Hollywood.”


Little Hamish a.k.a. Billy Sundown was never seen again.


Later, when the Demented Lady from San Jose had calmed down and remembered what she thought were Billy Sundown’s last spiritual words, she knew she had done her man wrong, or that is, the Man of Humanity. It was with this realization she decided to devote the rest of her life to Little Hamish a.k.a. Billy Sundown’s beloved memory. She returned to San Jose, founded little Hamish’s Man of Humanity Theological School, and with the rest of her money had the image of Little Hamish a.k.a. Billy Sundown cast in bronze wearing the outfit of a cowboy. Described at the base is the motto of the school, “The dawn of Little Hamish was the last ride of Billy Sundown”.


The end