Not Guilty

Over the last ten plus years, I’ve been blessed to see first hand some of the most extraordinary historical western sites, and hold in my hands important frontier artifacts. I’ve stood in the very spot gold was discovered in 1849. I roamed through the inside of the buildings of the famous ghost town in Bodie, California. I was at Little Round Top in Gettysburg and lingered where Pickett charged. I visited Baby Doe Tabor’s cabin in Leadville, Colorado and visited Jesse James’s family farm in Kearney, Missouri. I’ve spent the night at Buffalo Bill Cody’s famous hotel, The Irma, in Cody, Wyoming. I’ve been to Ford’s Theatre and seen the blood soaked pillow where President Abraham Lincoln laid his head after he was shot. I’ve been to Mount Vernon and gazed out over the Potomac. I’ve wandered the streets of Jamestown in Virginia and sat in Mark Twain’s newspaper office in Virginia City, Nevada. I’ve had a sarsaparilla at the Long Branch Saloon in Dodge City, Kansas. I’ve been to Calamity Jane’s gravesite in Deadwood, South Dakota and strolled along main thoroughfare of Tombstone, Arizona. I’ve followed the path the Seventh Cavalry took to the Last Stand and sat on the banks of Donner’s Lake at the base of the Sierra Foothills. I’ve held Bat Masterson’s and Bill Tilghman’s six-shooters, one of Annie Oakley’s outfits of clothing, Mary Graves’s journal, Sitting Bull’s headdress, and George and Elizabeth Custer’s wedding card. It’s been a true adventure and I wouldn’t trade a second of those great memories. This writing career has allowed me to experience many rare opportunities and I’m grateful for all of them. All the joy and incredible memories the job has afforded me still does not erase the image in my mind of my brother in prison. I live everyday with the regret of persuading him to take a plea and say he was guilty of a crime he did not do.