Sandy Klauz
Wrangler

Well, like they say, a pitcher is worth a thousand words. You kin see Sandy's a pretty unusual kinda guy jes by lookin' at 'im. His grandaddy drove cattle from Mexico to Denver just before the turn of the century. His daddy owned the biggest stockyard in Chicago and sold prime beef to Al Capone. An' Sandy . . . well, he's done it all. Punched cattle when he left grammer school and worked in the stockyard when he was in his twenties. He inherited his daddy's business 'til the windy city spread westward and grew right over the stockyards. There's skyscrapers there, now. Sandy don't have to work. Ever. But, he loves the outdoors so here he is, workin' fer peanuts.

Sandy's a good-sized guy an' you don't wanta mess with him. A few years ago, he went into the Spur one St. Patrick's Day and, after a few green beers, fell asleep while sitting at the bar. Two of the guys thought it'd be pretty funny to give him a Saint Paddy's day remembrance, so they dyed his beard green. When he woke up, he went near beezerk an' carried one under each arm, dumped 'em into the watering trough out front, then sat on 'em 'til we thought they were going to turn inta fish. But, he finally let 'em up 'cause, he says, one of 'em, Eddie, still owed him ten bucks and he wasn't gonna send him to his maker 'til he paid up! Eddie still hasn't paid the ten bucks. He figures it's sorta like havin' life insurance . . . so long as he owes Sandy ten bucks.