Tom spent these golden years speeding down Happy Jack with the cruise control set to “rock and roll”; hunting deer and antelope off his back porch or the driver’s seat of his truck; cursing telemarketers and Democrats; charming waitresses and telling tall tales at the Bunkhouse; hoarding food in his numerous chest freezers; being herded by goats in his 80s; feeding barn cats; fishing at Granite; making scrapple; sweet-talking his way out of tickets; rolling two vehicles and accidentally shooting a hole in one; keeping Frontier Arms in business; drinking rum and Cokes into the night with his bride; responding to how he would like his steak done with, “just wipe it’s a-- and cut off its horns”; running the fireplace full-blaze during the summer; wearing pressed and starched Levi’s; never throwing away his raggedy yellowed Western shirt; shooting the breeze with everyone at the Commissary; rodeo nights during Frontier Days; and being the life of the party.