The following article " The Man They Can't Fence In" appeared in the Rocky Mountain Empire Magazine back n the 1940's or 50's.  This article pretty much sums up Sam's story (at least through the first 30 years of his life).

The Man They Can't Fence In

Singin' Sam Agins can whomp out a toe-tapping tune on his guitar, or he can be pensive with the loneliness of a wandering cowboy.  Sam spent the first ten years of his life on his back.

Nature dealt Sam Agins a dirty deal.  He gets even by helping others to feel that life is a grand and worthwhile adventure!

By Nat McKelvey - Photo by Tad Nichols

Whenever Singin' Sam Agins is asked his occupation , he can make his honest answer one of many possible choices.  "Why I'm a singer," he can say.  Or truthfully, "I'm an aircraft instruments mechanic, a violin maker, a guitar player, a leather craftsman, a collector of ballads, a stringed instruments mechanic, a poet, a philosopher."

Singin' Sam aged 30, is all these things.  This is remarkable because Sam can walk only on crutches, which he does with complete freedom, even though neither of his legs touches the ground.

Paralyzed from birth, Sam has made a secure place for himself in the highly competitive world of healthy, whole people.  Moreover, he is rapidly mobilizing all his talents into one great enterprise.

"More than anything else," Sam declares, his brown eyes large mirrors of sincerity, "I want to show by example that 'handicapped' doesn't have to mean 'helpless.'  I want folks in beds and wheelchairs to realize that many of them can get out and make their own way."  Already Sam has had a taste of showing others how to "lift up thy beds and walk."  As an Ambassador for Goodwill Industries in Denver, Sam has bounced in and out of hospitals, private homes, sanitariums, mental institutions, and even the Florence Crittenton home for unwed mothers.

Not many men are admitted to the Crittenton home.  When Sam swung into the place, guitar across shoulders grown massive from acting as powerhouse for both arms and legs, he found a morose, suspicious bunch of young women.  They were met to be entertained because entertainment had been arranged.  Most of them were so sore at the world  they weren't even speaking to each other.

Perceiving the chill, Singin' Sam slammed his crutches to the floor to startle the onlookers out of their self pity.  It did, too.  Sinking to his haunches like an amiable chimpanzee, Sam detected a slight stir of interest.  "Don't know," he said softly, if I should open the program with my usual number.  It might not be quite appropriate."   He plunked a few chords on his guitar, looked around.  "Guess I won't," he declared.  "Go ahead.  Sing it."  Sam let the girls verbally twist his arm for a while, waiting for the climax of their inquisitiveness.  When he detected it, he boldly sang:  "I've got no use for the women, a true one may never be found."

Girlish Guffaws

As the plaintive notes of this old cowboy ballad floated lazily around the room, Sam heard giggles that soon became guffaws.  For the first time in months, these girls were laughing with each other, finding something funny in their plight.  Finally, one of them called:  "Brother, we got no use for the men, either!"

That, as Sam likes to point out, proved the soundness of his psychology.  He went on to sing to these pregnant, unmarried girls such songs as "Harvest Moon" with it's line, "I aint had no lovin' since January, February, June or July," and the "Anniversary Song" which nostalgically remembers, "Oh how we danced on the night we were wed. . .  "The girls ate it up, laughed, joked and let their hair down like no group had ever done, according to the matron , in the nine years of her experience in the Crittendon home.  So they invited Sam back for a couple of command performances.

Though the unfortunate and handicapped have always been able to command Sam, his own ailment has not.  Born in Denver, Sam came into the world with a congenital paralysis of both legs from which doctors twice told his mother he would die.  Sam, of course, knew nothing of these death sentences so they didn't sap his will to live.

Beginning in Corona

Though he spent the first ten years of his life in bed, he planned for the day when he could greet opportunity with open arms. It came when the family, headed by Papa Harry Agins, moved to Corona, CA.

Papa Agins pursued the occupation of buyer and seller of anything of value and Sam got aquainted with Mexican orange pickers and cowboys.  The pickers taught Sam to braid leather ropes.  The cowboys taught him to ride and throw a lariat.  An Okie who left a guitar as security for a tire he got from Sam's father, unwittingly launched Sam's musical career.  When the pledge wasn't redeemed Sam induced his Mexican friends to show him how to get music out of it.  While Sam master the old "git-ar," he also mastered the art of tooling leather.  Many a neighbor complained to Corona health authorities when Sam maligned the civic air with freshly curing hides.

As boys will, even crippled ones, Sam eventually attained manhood.  His folks offered him a place in the business and a permanent home.  Sam would have none of it.  In 1940, he struck out for Mira Loma where he got himself a job in the quartermaster depot.  He was a member of the civilian police and handled the main gate.  Then came an opportunity to train for the exacting work of an aircraft instruments mechanic.  Sam passed the course and went on to work as a civil service employee of the army air service command.  About this time her heard the song, "Don't Fence Me In."  Somehow it struck a sympathetic note.  "I just couldn't see myself chained to a bench,"  Sam remembers, "so I pulled up stakes and went to Arizona."

In Tucson, Sam sang his way into an arrangement to open a leather shop at the fashionable El Conquistador Hotel.  Soon his belts and hand-tooled silver buckles were girdling dudes who hailed from every corner of Uncle Sugar Able.  Not infrequently, Sam has whipped out a collector's item to special order.  There was for instance, the case of the "spite belt."  A prominent businessman came to Sam and explained that , during the war, while he was off fighting dictators, an internationally famous violinist  lured away his wife and married her.  "This I don't mind," said the businessman, "but I've got to convince the boys at the office I don't give a damn so they'll quit riding me about it.  Can you make me a belt that will show my spite?  Sam could and did.  Exquisitely tooled, the belt bore the initials "X-FS," which indicated that "FS" was the ex-wife of th businessman, and he didn't give two hoots. To punctuate this lack of concern, Sam had tooled a border of violins all the way around so that, standing or sitting, the businessman's waistline advertised his scorn for the wife-stealing musician.

Nowadays, Singin' Sam travels the dude ranch circuits of Arizona and Colorado in a special truck which contains a leather shop and sleeping and cooking facilities.  "I got tired of bein' fenced in," he explains, "and besides, this way I have no rent to pay."

In exchange for the lease for his concessions, Sam entertains the guests at dude ranches such as the Saddleback at Tucson in the winter and the Holzworth Never Summer Guest Ranch at Grand Lake, CO., in the summer.  Sam drives his big truck himself, making only one concession to his so-called handicap--a special hand lever welded to the foot brake.

Fake Brake Handle

"I don't really need this," he declares, "but I have to have some gadget in the truck to satisfy all of the people who exclaim 'My, you must have a cockpit of fancy equipment to enable you to drive."

Sam's truck does have a special electrical converter which makes it possible for him to operate a conventional wire recorder, no matter if he is miles from the nearest power line.  If he hears a song new to him, he can record it on wire anywhere.  Many of Sam's recordings are sent to Prof. Ben Gary Lumpkin, teacher of English Literature at the University of Colorado.  An avid ballad collector, Professor Lumpkin has had Sam appear before his classes to lecture on the voice and guitar of American folk music.  When not singing or lecturing about it,  Sam writes verse.   Some of his poems, such as the nostalgic piece about an old cowpony that gets traded often, has been reprinted by virtually every cowcamp paper in the United States.  It's called "Eight Years Old, Comin' Nine" and its a guaranteed tear jerker among the saddle-sore set.

Sam hasn't found much time for reading books.  He's been too busy reading "the great book on human phsycology," as he says.  In the presence of Sam's personality, people seem to get a clearer view of lifes worth.

Acts of Kindness

Recently, Sam received a letter from Col. Robert L. Schock, chaplain at Fitzsimmons General Hospital in Denver.   "My daughter," wrote the colonel, "sends you her best wishes.  She has been talking about you for the past few weeks.  You are probably, in her eyes, one of the most wonderful persons in the entire world!"

Singin Sam has no formal religion, but his acts of kindness are a constant reminder of his belief in God.  One of his favorite slogans is:  "On your way in you're a stranger; on your way out, your a friend."

In this world of dollar values perhaps the greatest tribute to Sam is the fact that he can go almost anywhere in Colorado and Arizona and cash his personal check without question.  He is that well know and respected.  Back in 1943, Sam received a letter from a person famous in his own circles, Cecil H. Short, dean of piano tuners.  He told Sam:  "Whatever you do, be sure to say to yourself that you are going to be the best there is. . .You know, and I know the joy of doing fine work is far above any monetary remuneration . ."

Sam has not become a candidate for listing in Dunn & Bradstreet, but he does earn $4 an hour from his leather work and may take in as much as $80 in a single night's stand at a dude ranch.  In leather work, he is the best there is.

Yet Sam is not entirely happy.  It isn't money or fame that he hankers for.  He puts it this way:  "I've come to the point where I'm no longer content with making people happy just by singing to them.  I want also, in an organized way, to help others who are physically handicapped."  This is a dream of a fellow who spent ten years of his life on his back, hopelessly crippled.  "As far as I'm concerned," says this minstrel of hope, "I'm normal.  I can do a lot of things that people with two good legs can't do.  I'm going to show as many as I can that handicapped sure doesn't have to mean helpless."

Photo of Triangle X  wrangler Bill Andreen taken by Frederica Agins along the Snake river at a Triangle X steakfry.

Dude Ranches

Singin' Sam's song City Boarders describes the transition that many working ranches made back in the hay day of the dude ranch.  Where once the cowboys on the ranches wrangled cattle and horses now they wrangled dudes.  It also reflects the context in which he performed.  In it we find the clash of cultures that marked the transition of the "Old West."  Singin' Sam also wrote a cowboy poem entitled Dude Roundup which appears in his book of poetry Ramblers Notebook, 50 years of Scriblin'.  

If you've met or heard of Singin' Sam it's very likely you met him at one of a number of these guest "dude" ranches that he played at.   As early as 1939 Singin Sam had started traveling around the Western United States playing and singing at dude ranches.  He played and sold his jewelry at these ranches all the way into the late 1980's. 

Unfortunately many of these ranches are gone but several still remain.  Some of the existing ranches have changed into tennis resorts with 5 star restaurants and swimming pools and others have barely changed at all. 

Some of these ranches Sam played at are listed below.

Wyoming Guest ranches

CM Ranch - Dubois - 800-455-0721                                                         

Triangle X Ranch - Moran

Turpin Meadows Ranch - Moran 

Block S Ranch - Moose

Teepee Ranch - South of Sheridan                                                                                                     Holzworth's Never Summer Guest ranch

Eaton's Ranch - Wolf

Horton's Ranch - Wolf

IXL Ranch - Dayton

Hart 6 Ranch - Moran

Montana Guest Ranches

Elkhorn Ranch - Gallatin Canyon

Nine Quarter Circle Ranch - Gallatin Canyon

Flathead Lake Lodge - Flathead Lake                                                                                              

Lone Mountain Ranch - Gallatin Canyon,                                                                                      Dude Ranches Out West: Then and Now video

Arizona Guest Ranches

Desert Willow Ranch - East of Tucson

Double U Ranch - A Jewish guest ranch near Sabino Canyon

Rancho Del Rio - Tucson.  Current site of The Tack Room -  The personalized ties were made by Singin' Sam who came by each week to make personalized leather belts, buckles, bola ties and anything else a guest might want in leather or silver. He would remain that night and sing cowboy songs by the fire.

Saddleback - Tucson

Tanque Verde Guest Ranch - East of Tucson

White Stallion Ranch - Tucson - 888-977-2624

Elkhorn Ranch - Sasabe

Lazy K Bar Ranch - Tucson - 800-321-7018       

Little Outfit Ranch School

White Sun Guest Ranch

Colorado Guest Ranches

Drowsy Water Ranch - Granby

Holzworth's Never Summer Guest Ranch - Grand Lake, (now part of Rocky Mountain National Park

 

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