Duke

For years I have struggled with how to thank my father for the support and direction he provided during my youth. Like most sons of my generation, and all generations that have gone before, I am paternally challenged. I have tried in many ways to tell my dad that I appreciate everything he has done for me, but it never seems to come out right, or at all. If I start to jot down my thoughts, my pen and mind seem to jam at the same time, creating a practical and emotional log jam. If I try to tell him, I just can’t seem to get the words out. After many failed attempts, I have decided to give it one more try; before one of us leaves this world permanently. This, then, is mea culpa; my thoughts and confessions about my pop.

I have realized over the past several years that the more I try to differentiate myself from my father, the more I become him. The more I experience in my life, the more I understand what he experienced trying to raise five children in such a difficult environment. After one recent occurrence, I found myself responding in precisely the same way he would have done 25 years earlier when he was my age. My friend Dave always jokes that he frequently looks in the mirror and gasps, “Dad!” I am beginning to feel the same. In many ways I have indeed become my father.

As a child growing up in Bluff, the two things I remember most are unrestrained freedom and my father working a great deal. My dad, “Duke” Simpson, always seemed to be up early to leave for work, and generally returned late. I imagine he must have felt a little like the mother birds that nest in the eaves of the trading post porch. These birds never seem to be able to keep up with the needs of their hatchlings, which perpetually scream for more. While Duke was running to meet our demands, our mother, Rose, attempted to keep us out of harm’s way. It was undoubtedly a challenge to keep five young children, who were only about one year apart, out of trouble. Rose and Duke seemed to manage well enough, but I am sure it was a genuine struggle.

By the time we moved to Blanding and began establishing ourselves in the trading business, I was a little older and slightly more responsible, although probably not much. Duke had a saying that went something like, “Rose, those kids could break an anvil,” which was generally true.

Probably as a means of keeping us from destroying what he was trying to build, Duke always managed to keep us busy. If he had been a religious man he may have said something like, “Busy hands are happy hands,” or “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop.” Instead, he would simply say, “Don’t you have anything to do?” If the answer was “No,” he had little trouble finding something to keep us engaged. Initially he put us to work as attendants at a small filling station he rented on the south side of Blanding. Later, a second hand store was added.

When we were at school, Rose and Duke took over. It was not an easy time for any of us. Although I resented the restriction the job placed on my free time, I was happy to have a little folding money in my wallet. I felt like a king when there were a few bucks in my pocket. Duke paid pretty well; a dollar an hour. It was not until much later that I realized what those years of running the service station taught me, and what an advantage the experience provided.

The filling station and second hand store were probably the start of our venture into the trading post business, although there are many other influences that may have been the true catalyst. The local Navajo people frequently wanted to exchange turquoise and silver for gas and used furniture, and it was this that ultimately resulted in the construction of Blue Mountain Trading Post.

I don’t remember how old I was when Duke began taking us on buying trips; possibly nine or ten. What I do recall was that he was always ready to pack us up and head out on a new business adventure. Sometimes it was a trip to a Colorado auction and sometimes it was a trip to the Phoenix flea market. No matter where we went, we always had an interesting time. Duke was happy just to be on the road, and we were glad to see new places.

During one of those trips Duke purchased the entire inventory of a defunct shoe store. When he returned home, we had a yard sale that resulted in the shoeing of the entire town. On another occasion he brought home a trailer full of western hats, shirts and jeans. The Blanding clothing market was nearly devastated.

These trips also allowed Duke to introduce us to the pleasures of the world. On one excursion to Colorado, Duke and I were driving through Moab when he asked me if I wanted a beer. Since I was young and interested in such forbidden delights, I readily replied, “Yes!” A short time later I was sitting straight up in the cab of the pickup truck with any icy brew in my hand. I could barely contain myself as I popped open the bottle. After one gulp, my excitement waned. The taste was so bitter on my inexperienced tongue that my thirst for beer was permanently quenched. I think Duke knew what would happen, since a similar situation occurred when I acquired an interest in tobacco.

As I graduated high school and college, I determined to leave Utah and never return. I had had enough of this state and my father’s business, so I left for the bright lights of California. I was convinced that Duke was not quite as smart as he thought, and not nearly as bright as I. Surely he sees the irony in my coming back to the land, the people and the business he loves. I only hope he sees how much I appreciate the man he is, and the man he has helped me become.

The Navajo people revere their elders, and listen closely to their advice. I am sure I could have saved myself a lot of trouble if I had done the same.

Copyright©2002 Twin Rocks Trading Post