“Papa, tonight I want you to tell me the story of the Lonesome Ranger!”
“It’s the Lone Ranger, not the Lonesome Ranger, Marian.”
“Why is he called that? Does he go around loaning people money?”
“No, in this case ‘lone’ means the same thing as ‘alone.’ The ‘loan’ you’re thinking of is spelled differently.”
“Well, that’s confusing.”
“Yes, it is: ‘lone’ and ‘alone’ mean the same thing, but l-o-n-e and l-o-a-n sound the same—they are homonyms—but are spelled differently, and mean different things.”
“Well, that’s kind of dumb; and boring.”
“OK, then, let’s forget about all that and get down to the story. The Lone Ranger had a horse named Silver—”
“Was he named that because he was silver?”
“No, he was white.”
“Then why was he named Silver?”
“Because the Lone Ranger was from Nevada.”
“Huh?”
“There’s lots of silver in Nevada.”
“There’s lots of trees around here; should I name my horse ‘Tree’?”
“If you want to.”
“Pshhh!”
“It could be worse; the Lone Ranger could’ve named his horse Gambler, or something worse yet.”
“Like what?”
“Never mind. Back to the story: The Lone Ranger was riding Silver one day—”
“Wait a minute, Papa! Why is he called The Alone Ranger when he’s not alone? He’s with Silver.”
“Horses weren’t considered people back in those days. He was alone as far as being with humans went.”
“So he was kind of a hermit; with a horse.”
“Well . . . Let me get on with the story, and you can see what kind of fella he was. The Lone Ranger was out riding Silver one day, along with his friend Tonto—”
“Wait! Who’s Tonto? You mean Dorothy’s little dog?”
“No, that was Toto, not Tonto.”
“Oh. Yeah. So who was Tonto?”
“The Lone Ranger’s friend and bosom companion.”
“So he wasn’t really alone. He had a friend. And a horse. Why did they call him the Alone Ranger, then, when he obviously wasn’t alone?”
“Because Indians weren’t considered people back then. Tonto was an Indian.”
“You mean Native Americans weren’t considered people?!?”
“Yes. You’re right—they weren’t.”
“Boy, people were really dumb back then.”
“Yes. But let’s continue, shall we? At this rate The Accompanied Ranger—that doesn’t sound right; I’m going to keep calling him The Lone Ranger, even though he wasn’t alone, OK?”
Marian just shrugged.
“What I’ve told you so far was an overture to the rest of the story, which is this: The Lone Ranger was out riding Silver one day, along with his friend Tonto, and they were stopped by a man with a large bow standing in the road.”
“Who was it?”
“Wil Tell.”
“Tell me now!”
“That was his name: Wil Tell. His longer name was Wilhelm Tell; English-speaking people call him William Tell. To avoid confusion, he just went by the shortened form of his name, Wil Tell, which is short for both Wilhelm and William.”
“Who was Will Tell?”
“He was a Swiss archer known for his phenomenal accuracy. You might think of him as the Swiss Robin Hood. His son once bragged about his father’s accuracy with the bow, and proved his complete confidence in his father by putting an apple on top of his head and having his dad shoot it off with an arrow.”
“Wow! I wouldn’t do that!”
“Good thinking. But to get rid of Tell, the Sheriff of Nottingham—oops, I mean Albrecht Gessler—told him that there was an outlaw in the United States named The Lone Ranger who was riding around robbing people. So Wil Tell boarded a ship for America to put an end to this desperado’s depredations.”
“So the sheriff lied to him. The Lone Ranger is really a good guy, right?”
“Yes.”
“What happened then—I mean, when Will Tell stopped The Lone Ranger, Silver, and Tonto?”
“I will tell you. The Lone Ranger asked Wil Tell what he wanted. Tell replied, ‘I, Wil Tell, will tell you what I want. I want you to stop robbing people.’ TLR responded—”
“TLR? Who’s TLR?”
“The Lone Ranger.”
“Oh. Proceed.”
“TLR responded, ‘I do not rob people. My friend and horse and I ride for justice’.
“‘If that’s true,’ Wil tell said, ‘I’ve been tricked by Gessler again. He’ll pay for that. I’ll shoot an apple off his head and aim low. There’s no sense in ruining a perfectly good apple in his case. By the way, who is your friend?’
“‘I am Tonto, Kemo Sabe,’ the Indian . . . er, Native American, said.
“‘Tanto Chemo Sabe,’ responded Tell, doffing his cap, ‘Pleased to meet you. That is a Spanish name, right—meaning ‘I know a lot about chemo’?’”
“What?!? What are you talking about, Papa?”
“Sorry. Never mind. Wil Tell did have a question for TLR, though.”
“What was it?”
“‘If you’re not an outlaw, why are you wearing that mask?’
“TLR answered, ‘Because I’m shy and modest, and when we bring about justice, I don’t like people to make a big deal about it and treat me like a big shot.’
“‘Then what about Tanto Chemo Sabe?’, asked Tell. ‘Why doesn’t he wear a mask?’
“‘For two reasons: one, he’s not shy and modest. It’s true that he’s the strong and silent type, but he’s quite proud; two, everyone says all Indians look alike, so they wouldn’t be able to identify him anyway.’
“To make a long story short—it’s time for you to get some sleep, young lady—the three teamed up for a while, fought injustice together, then Wil Tell returned to Switzerland, to settle the score with Gessler. As they parted, Silver whinnied, Tonto said nothing, TLR said, ‘Hi-yo, Silver, away!’ and Wil Tell said, ‘Auf wiedersehen.’”
“Owf Veederzane?”
“That’s German for ‘Ciao, baby.’ Tell was Swiss, and most Swiss people speak German.
“Schlaf gut, mein Mädchen.”
“It’s Marian, Papa, not Mädchen.”
“Sleep well, my Maid Marian.”