The legend of the man who became known as "The Grammar Sheriff, West of the Pecos" began in a checkout lane, in a supermarket on Rt. 40, outside Tucumcari, NM. The parents of a curious one-year-old, itinerate English teachers heading for the early fall, dangling participles harvest in the high chaparral, were startled when their usually placid baby began wailing next to the display of Zero bars and Squirrel Nut Zippers. After trying everything to placate the little feller, they determined the cause of his antagonism wasn't the presence of corn-syrupy treats, but the egregious grammatical faux pas hanging over the express lane. Only use "less" when you don't know how many, people, and young Tex can go back to nappin'. Tex grew into a gangling, drawling, apostrophe of a man who found himself wandering America's dog-eared thesaurus, looking up adjectives for dusty. He made it his mission in life to correct every misapplication of punctuation on every road sign and Mail Pouch Tobacco barn in the Southwest. His particular hobgoblin was unnecessary quotation marks that added a snarky touch of irony where sincerity or urgency was required. Did the proprietor intend for there to actually be "no smoking" hereabouts, or was that about as likely as the "no wagering" placard over the Bally pinball machine? Tucked under his ten-gallon Stetson, Tex kept a horsetail brush and a vial of genuine road-sign reflective paint in informative green or cautionary yellow that rubbed out endless smirking and palaver wherever he visited. Having saved countless citizens from roadside dangers and reputation-wrecking mortifications, Tex's campaign to clean up grammar in the Old West began to slow, but he answered an appeal from an artist and teacher out East to provide writing and editing services to grammatically indigent art professionals. Figuring he'd performed enough service in the name of the King's English, Tex drawled, "I've done my bit for the objective case. Time to try my hand at the possessive." And that's what he did.