Condensed milk was invented by Gail Borden in 1853.  After one bad invention followed by another, he finally hit on the idea of food concentrates as an economical way to safeguard the food supply.  He once said he conceived the notion by observing his wife adding sugar to her milk to keep her full-figured voluptuousness, a sign of beauty and wealth at the time. (It would solve a lot of problems for me if we could just return to that time as my full-figured look is considered neither a sign of beauty or wealth, simply a sign that I adore cherry pie).  Before, milk was shipped in unsanitary oak barrels, and it spoiled quickly.  Although he didn’t invent the tin can, his marketing skills in effect launched the canned food industry.  Canning food diminished the possibility of food-storage spoilage, subsequent short supplies from the whims of natural elements, contamination by vermin.  He died in Borden, Texas of gastrointestinal flu (possibly from drinking from a dented container) in 1874 and had his body packed in a tin can of a railroad car to be buried in Woodlawn Cemetery in New York. 

In an earlier time Sitting Bull might have been a great and prosperous Indian chief.  But in the second half of the 19^th century he was the last ruler of a dying breed.  His victory over General Custer at Little Big Horn in 1876 was but a glitch in the United States drive to corral the Sioux Indians onto reservations.  A medicine man and never actually a chief, Sitting Bull led a dwindling number of Sioux away from federal troops for five more years, until finally in 1881, he and fewer then 200 remaining followers surrendered.  They were held in custody for almost two years before they were placed on the Standing Rock Reservation in South Dakota, near where Sitting Bull was born.  Sitting Bull, a tall, solid Indian with long, black, braided hair, was put on parade in several cities and in 1885 he toured with Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show along the East Coast.  But when he was on the reservation Sitting Bull stubbornly continued to stir up unrest.  Even after federal authorities prohibited the ceremony, Sitting Bull encouraged Indians to perform the new Ghost Dance, which the Indians had come to believe would lead to a rebellion and would bring a savior to defeat the White Man.  At dawn on December 15, 1890, about forty members of an Indian police force commissioned by federal authorities descended on Sitting Bull’s cabin to arrest him.  They pulled the 59-year-old naked man from his bed and ordered him to get dressed and go with them.  Sitting Bull gathered his things, but he took a long time to do it, which allowed time for restless crowd of Indians to gather outside.  By the time Sitting Bull was roughly pushed out of his cabin into the freezing weather, the crowd was angry.  Sitting Bull stood waiting for his horse to be brought up.  But then suddenly he yelled in the Sioux language-which the Indian officers, too, understood – “I am not going.  Do with me what you like.  I am going.  Come on!  Come on!  Take action!  Let’s go!”  Another leader of unrest on the reservation, Catch the Bear, pulled out a gun and fired at the top Indian officer.  Lieutenant Bullhead was hit in the leg and as he fell he fired at Sitting Bull, shooting him in his left side.  Another officer also shot the Indian leader, killing his instantly.  The gun battle escalated, and when it was over fourteen men were dead, all Sioux, including six Indian police officer.  Hundreds of others fled the reservation.  Most were soon caught and sent to Wounded Knee, where, on December 29, an anonymous gunshot touched off the massacre of 300 Sioux.

America’s first woman doctor was admitted to New York’s Geneva College in 1847 as a joke, and was expected to flunk out within months.  Nevertheless, Blackwell prevailed and triumphed over taunts and bias while at medical school to earn her degree two years later.  While in her last year of medical training, she was cleaning the infected eye of an infant when she accidentally splattered a drop of water into her own eye.  Six months later she had the eye taken out and had it replaced with a glass eye.  Afterward, American hospitals refused to hire her.  She then borrowed a few thousand dollars to open a clinic in New York City, which she called the New York Infirmary for Indigent Women and Children.  She charged patients only four dollars a week, if they had it, for full treatment that might cost at least two hundred dollars a day at the going rate.  During the Civil War she set up an organization to train nurses, Women’s Central Association of Relief, which later became the United States Sanitary Commission.  In 1910 at age eighty-nine she died after a fall from which she never fully recovered. 

James Gilbert Jenkins was a professional criminal having a long history of highway robberies and murders.  It was reported that he had killed eight white men and ten Indians throughout Missouri, Texas, Iowa, and California.  While living in Napa City, California, Jenkins became acquainted with Patrick O’Brien in order to establish a sexual liaison with O’Brien’s wife.  Mrs. O’Brien, a lusty, attractive woman with a strong will, goaded Jenkins into murdering her husband, or so he later said, although Jenkins’ willingness to murder needed no encouragement.  Jenkins got drunk, marched into O’Brien’s home, and shot him, but he was caught almost immediately and quickly confessed.  Mrs. O’Brien denied having anything to do with the murder and was released.  Jenkins was convicted and sentenced to death.  Before he was hanged, Jenkins lamented his sloppy habits and the fact that he had gotten drunk, believing that if he had been meticulous in his killing of O’Brien, he never would have been caught.  His last words on the scaffold were:  “That whisky that I drank the morning before I shot O’Brien was what caused me to do it when I did, and in so careless a manner.”  To learn more about James Gilbert Jenkins and other bad guys of the Old West pick up a copy of Outlaw Tales of California.  For more information visit www.chrisenss.com.

Make no mistake about it.  It’s not revenge I’m after…it’s a reckoning.