The Pittsburgh Press (April 2, 1942)
Rambling Reporter
By Ernie Pyle
PALM SPRINGS, Calif. – Today I have achieved a status in life which I am sure must bring delight to all my friends and a vile green envy to my enemies. I have really arrived. I am a guest at a dude ranch!
I never supposed I’d make it. But perseverance, long hours, honesty and forthrightness have brought their just reward. Life for me has reached its goal.
But before I depart for a future that can be only anti-climax, I must tell you a little of what life on a guest ranch is like.
This ranch, for instance, (it’s the Deep Well Ranch) is only a mile and a half out of Palm Springs. It is not a real working ranch; it is admittedly and honestly just a guest ranch. It’s just as nice as staying in town, except you’re out in the country.
People “rough it” with every comfort up here, which is right up my alley. I spent 19 years washing outdoors in a washpan, going 100 yards to a “Chic Sale,” riding horses because I had to – and I never liked it and don’t see why I should pay high prices to do it again.
I do passionately prefer the open country to the smothered city, but I like to take my city conveniences with me to the open spaces – so I approve of the Deep Well Guest Ranch.
In one building here there is a huge western-type lobby, with rawhide chairs and a fireplace and saddles hanging on the wall.
In another building is the dining room and kitchen. The owners live in a beautiful ranch house right in the middle of the works. And scattered around, here and there, on various sides of various grassy plots, are the rooms and lodges for the guests.
Visitor treated as a guest
Some 40 people can be accommodated. The ranch has 25 horses for them to ride, including three Tennessee “walking horses.” It also has a lovely swimming pool, innumerable lawns and low canvas chairs for lolling, a paddle-tennis court, bicycles, and lots of sun.
The fundamental principle is that the visitor is treated as a personal guest in the owner’s home – except that, of course, he does have to pay. The theme is to do what you please, so long as you’re a nice guy about it.
The ranch is essentially for rest. But when the rest cure has begun to take effect, then there is entertainment if anybody wants it.
Such as, for instance the breakfast rides. Everybody who wishes gets up early (8 o’clock!), climbs on a horse, and rides 45 minutes out into the desert. Real western stuff.
At the end of the trail they have breakfast out in the open. (It has been delightfully brought out ahead of time by some thoughtful stranger in a chuck-wagon.) And then, after gorging and sniffing the desert air, they all ride back again. Puts steel in a man.
But mostly, the men just sit all day long, and the women lie around the swimming pool. In late afternoon, cakes and sherry are served as “tea.” The ranch has no bar, so it escapes the too-rich-to-work type of cut-up vacationer.
At night the ranch wagon takes those who want to go in town to a movie. The others sit around talking or playing dominoes or cards. The guests go to bed fairly early and get up late. Hardly anything is stirring before 8 o’clock.
Ranch stresses informality
The ranch is a friendly place – not professionally friendly, like an obsequious waiter – but actually so. Nearly all the guests call the owners by their first names. The owners are Frank and Melba Bennett, who seem to have been born to the art of guest-ranch-running.
Melba Bennett is really a genius at this sort of thing. She comes from a well-to-do but earthy family. She has always known ranch life, has always loved people. She has a gift.
The Bennetts came here originally as guests, and Melba was so disgusted with the way it was being run (a “ranch” where a head-waiter met you at the door in full dress) that she itched to get her fingers on the place. She did, and it isn’t that way now.
Most people wear shorts or overalls, and you eat as you are. The ranch likes to make people feel welcome, so if anybody accidentally drops a spoon, everybody in the dining room drops one. It makes a terrific noise.
Frank Bennett, pursued by his many duties, is usually late to dinner. So when he enters the guests all sing a song to the effect that “Frankie is late again.”
Melba Bennett has always wanted a real western ranch, with actual cattle on it. So, in her folders and correspondence, she dotes on their prize piece of beef known as “Ernie the Cow.” I started for my shootin’-hip when she said that, but it turns out that “Ernie the Cow” was a part of the business long before Melba ever heard of me.
When guests arrive, the first thing they want to see is “Ernie the Cow.” Unfortunately there isn’t any “Ernie the Cow.” Melba just made it up. There isn’t any cow at all. The best Melba has been able to achieve so far is six calves.
Like all resort owners, the Bennetts are trying to look ahead and fit their business to war conditions. Melba has it all figured out.
By next season Frank will be in the Army or defense work. So Melba figures on cutting the meals down to one main dish instead of a choice of three, having the guests keep their own rooms tidied, cutting the rates, and she’ll run the place herself, alone.
And she can do it, too. If I weren’t such a vital cog in the international situation myself, I’d like to come out and help. Maybe I will anyhow. I could be “Ernie the Cow” and just chew straw all day.