This is a memoir of my grandfather Walter Robb (1880-1970). Because my parents were working parents I was raised mostly by my grandparents, Walt and Dollie (1880-1970) as they insisted I call them. Walt drove a team on the Cherokee Land Run of 1893. His older brother Charlie rode briefly with the Dalton Brothers gang. Those who knew him thought of him as a kindly old man. But the Old West never left him, resurfacing from time to time, as when he threatened to pistol whip the woman across the street who called my friend Ken Booker a nigger. Brief mention is made of Walt's friendship with General Douglas MacArthur when he and Dollie moved to the Philippines (1907-1941). (I have their letters to substantiate this). Walt seemingly accommodated himself to the Twentieth Century. But underneath lurked this western character ready for a showdown.