When I was a kid Hopalong Cassidy was my hero. I had the complete Hopalong outfit - shirt, pants, cowboy boots, the double holsters with matching six shooters, bandanna, and the trademark hat. If memory serves me correctly, I even had several pair of Hopalong underwear. The only thing I was lacking was a white horse. Even though we lived on five acres on the very edge of town, no amount of begging could get my parents to agree to my own version of Topper.

I insisted my parents, aunts and uncles, grandparents, and siblings all call me Hoppy. I spent three or four months making sure mom and dad knew I had to have an official Hopalong Cassidy bicycle for my sixth birthday. There likely wasn’t a more excited kid on the planet when one mysteriously appeared on our garage the morning of my birthday.

I ate, slept, and breathed Hopalong Cassidy. My goal in life was to become Hopalong Cassidy.
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