COWBOY QUEST — Gun.Smoke (1988)
Let me paint you a stereotype real quick. Middle class white men in America love the west. My father was, and is, obsessed with the American West. His father, in turn, was too. And I am as well. It’s a cycle that stretches out beyond our family. I know this because the last time I went into a Hobby Lobby, a specific section labelled “Knick Knacks for Men” was full of stuff like this:
What even is this thing? Who would want to pay money for it and then hang it up in their home? In what world does a person exist that thinks this is a great little piece for the mantel. “Ah yes, I think I’d like to place this horrible and ugly hunk of material right at eye level. Then anyone who enters my home will know how very rugged I am!” It’s trash. Trash that takes the idea of “western” and tries to melt it down into one dumb object. A frustrating, stupid object.
Unfortunately, this giant HOWDY is more akin to what you see in games based on “the West” than the truth of the matter. Forget morally complex adventure like you see in your Zane Grey novels. No sir, it’s time for Toby Keith! Over time, the West has become something simple. Something you can escape into where people wear funny hats and ride horses. I hate it. I want something fun, but gives me the experience of being a real hero. So that’s why I’m setting out on a quest. A quest to follow the heroes I looked up to as a child — The Lone Ranger, John Wayne, my father — and learn what it means to be a real cowboy. And what better way to do that than the interactive world of video games?
So join me as I take my first steps into this strange new world and visit the first Western game I ever played: Gun.Smoke.
Booting up Gun.Smoke inspired a funny feeling in me. Like fading back through time, feeling the world around me ebb away in favor of a different one altogether. I can feel the ease of a beanbag chair around me, I can smell a batch of cookies that my mom is baking, and I can hear my dad and grandfather telling me to watch out as enemies ambush me from both sides of the screen — Sneaky Petes we called them.
This playtime had become a ritual.
There were only a handful of games that my dad and I could play together. His interests were very specific, mostly involving basketball or golf, and there weren’t a lot of games on the NES that catered to them. Certainly not a lot of good ones. It was years before NBA 2K would give the sort of simulation-style gameplay that would interest him, and no way to play the greatest golf game ever made. I was a toddler who required a lot of engagement. I wasn’t willing or ready for complex systems and choosing the right players or clubs. I wanted to run. I wanted to jump. I wanted to save the day in some way. Sports games didn’t let me do this without a steady stream of menus.
That’s where Capcom’s Gun.Smoke came in. It was an action game based in the West. Exactly the sort of thing we could both get behind. For me, shooting and moving actively was enough. For him, I think having some sort of visual he could relate to was all he really needed. Controls back then were simple, so he could pick it up and play without needing to understand the complexities of 3D movement — a major hurdle that has kept him from playing games to this day.
I remember one play session particularly well because it was the only time all three generations of Cole boys were gathered together around a game. My dad’s dad, Pops, was visiting. While Pops and my dad talked about something, most likely related to golf, I got bored and turned the TV on to play whatever I could. Gun.Smoke is what happened to be in the NES, so Gun.Smoke is what I could play. The title called Marshal Dillon to mind for Pops, so he came over to see what was up. Losing his conversation partner to the blips and bloops of bright pixels, so did dad.
And there we were, riding side-by-side in the hunt for outlaws. A sunset off in the distance but plenty of trouble in-between. It is, in all honesty, one of my fondest memories of playing a video game. I don’t recall how well I played specifically, or how far I managed to get before defeat took me. What I do remember is my grandfather’s almost seven-foot frame stooped next to me. And my dad pulling over the footstool to use as a chair closer to the TV. I remember the three of us on that old 90’s carpet with its specific stickiness and smell — like the whole thing had been washed with Kool-Aid and Bubble Jug — and how it felt like we were really in that adventure together.
Look, Gun.Smoke ain’t anything to write home about. Its roots as an arcade shooter are clear in the NES version: it’s a short little game and there’s very little to keep you playing or replaying outside of it being simple enough to pick up and get into quickly. But that alone lends it a kind of magic when the source it’s drawing from is a cross-generational one.
This series has a video supplement to each article. Here’s some gameplay from Gun.Smoke and the beginning of my quest:
What did Gun.Smoke teach me about being a cowboy? Nothing practical in that I still don’t know how to rope a steer or stay sane on long, dusty trails. But I don’t think that’s the point of Cowboy Quest. The point of Cowboy Quest is to find within myself the ideals of the American West and the cowboy as a figure. To learn, through the storied tales of cattle drives and brave pioneers, how to be a better person. Or a more fulfilled one. And in that realm, I learned something from remembering Gun.Smoke.
Moments of real joy among your comrades, be they family or friends, can be fleeting. One day you might find yourself lined up with your dad and grandfather, all absorbed in a video game. And you may find that a day like that never comes again. So the trick is to enjoy what you’ve got while you’ve got it. To let your own mental guards down that keep the wheels turning — planning more good times, wondering who you can be with next, or when — and appreciate what’s right in front of you. It’s tough. But worthwhile. Because when you do, those memories stick with you. And you can call on them later down the line when you really need them. Appreciating life, and more specifically the people in it, is a big part of being a real cowboy.
David Cole is an independent writer and games journalist from Wayne County, Kentucky. His work has appeared in five journals, four performance halls, and on three continents. He has been fortunate enough to work with some of his heroes and see large swaths of the world. Gurney Norman once said David was a good writer with a nice voice, which he still holds as the highest praise. More of David’s work, including his breakout collection I’ve Been a Prisoner All My Life, can be found on his website: davidcole.space.
