Journal Notes

We may not like to admit it, but America has always been a violent country. I spend my days writing about the violent actions of people in the Old West. Brutal men and women like Juan Soto, Tom Bell, Kate Bender and Belle Starr. The frontier was definitely a violent place – but nowadays we’ve gone off the Richter scale. I’m referring of course to the shooting that took place this weekend in Tucson, Arizona. It seems that violence has turned the American dream into an Imax version of The Sopranos. Look out over the landscape and what do you see? You see a demented Toontown, filled with carloads of gun-wielding maniacs exploding innocent bystanders like cantaloupes at a backwoods turkey shoot. You see a twisted bizarro-land gone crazy on a lethal cocktail made with equal parts of instant gratification, self-righteous anger, and notions of entitlement. But as I mentioned, America has always been subject to violence from such individuals. The difference now is the bad guys are no longer riding into town on their horses and shooting at the law, they arrive via Taxi with semi-automatic weapons and gun down innocent children. It was tragic behavior then and it’s tragic behavior now.

The research I’m doing on a book about women outlaws of the Midwest led me to a lady named Laura Ellen Reno. Laura’s brothers were members of the notorious Reno Gang. She was quite a character. According to historical records, Ellen was famous throughout the West for her beauty. She loved danger and adventure, was an expert horseman, and unerring shot, and as quick with her gun as any man. She worshipped her brothers, whom she aided in more than one of their criminal undertakings, shielding them from justice when hard pressed, and swearing to avenge them when they were hung. I like her. Not the criminal part of her personality, but the devotion to her brothers. On that level she wasn’t any different from some of the other famous people of the Old West who stood up for their brothers – Wyatt Earp, Bill Tilghman, Bat Masterson, just to name a few. There’s something very noble in that in my estimation. Naturally, my thoughts ran to my own brothers and how I want to avenge Rick. It’s become a preoccupation with me and it’s not healthy. I’m hurt and want to know the why. But hurt leads to bitterness, bitterness to anger, travel too far down that road and the way is lost. I think that’s what Laura Reno finally learned when she was burying her brothers. She never got over the hurt though. Her family said that on her deathbed she was crying because she felt she had let her brothers down by not protecting them from the “son’s of bitches who lied to make a case against them.” I feel your pain, Laura. On this day in 1874, gunman Chunk Colbert was feeling pain as well. He tried to bushwack Clay Allison after a horse race in the Indian Territory. After the two reportedly raced their horses and had dinner, Colbert had picked a fight with Allison. The two men entered the Clifton House, an inn located in Colfax County, New Mexico, where they sat down for dinner. Colbert had allegedly already killed six men and had quarreled with Allison several years earlier. Some say that nine years earlier, Allison had killed Colbert’s uncle in a gunfight. Whether that claim is fact or legend is unknown. What is known is that at some point during dinner Colbert attempted to raise his gun to shoot Allison, but the barrel hit the table as he raised it. Allison fired once, hitting Colbert in the head, killing him. Asked later why he accepted a dinner invitation from a man who would likely try to kill him, Allison replied, “Because I didn’t want to send a man to hell on an empty stomach”.

The spectacular poster for the new True Grit movie features a tagline that reads, “Punishment comes one way or another.” It’s a great movie by the way, and I couldn’t appreciate the sentiment behind the tagline more. It’s a sentiment that only has meaning in a specific time period, however. If this were the Old West I’d embrace the notion and just like Mattie Ross, set about to avenge my lost family member. It’s been four days since I’ve heard from the prison. I don’t know if my brother is in the infirmary there or has passed on. If they needed more money for his care they wouldn’t hesitate to phone, but they’re slow to inform family of the welfare of a loved one beyond that. So I wait and imagine myself on a western ride to make sure punishment comes one way or another. Farmers in Nebraska must have felt the same frustration on this day in 1891. A confused election situation in the state led the Young Farmer’s Alliance to try to prevent the governor’s clerk from taking office. The Alliance conducted a fully armed session of the legislature, which recessed when a sheriff’s posse appeared. But the plight of the farmers in Nebraska remained desperate: drought and falling crop prices have left the state’s farmers overwhelmed by debts. The Populist Party and William Jennings Bryan will be among the offspring of this crisis. Minus the drought and falling crop prices, my plight seems just as desperate on certain days – this being one of them. I’ve got press releases to write for the Elizabeth Custer book, chapters to complete for the revised version of Hearts West and Outlaw Tales of California. I better get to it – daylight is burning.

New Year – same dogged determination to do what’s necessary for my brother. I have been working feverishly on the book about the matter. Next year’s release date is contingent on many factors – none of which I am at liberty to expand upon now. All in good time. As the Roman philosopher, Seneca once said, “Time discovers truth.” Of course I think Groucho Marx said it best when he said, “Time flies like the wind; fruit flies like bananas.” This quote has nothing at all to do with the situation, I just thought it was amusing. I’ll be busy this week working on chapter 3 of the Sam Sixkiller book, chapter 12 of the revised Outlaw book, and researching mail order brides to add to the revised Hearts West tome. I’m going to pour myself into my work. I enjoy writing and it helps somewhat to take my mind off the situation with Rick. No day would be complete without a walk through Old West history and news of what happened on this day 100 years ago. On January 3, 1913, female rancher Josie Bassett poisoned her husband, Nig Wells, with strychnine in Lynwood, Wyoming. She was trying to sober him up after a 4 day toot by unknowingly serving him coffe in the wolf bait cup. Josie and her sister “Queen” Ann Bassett were best known for their love affairs and associations with well known outlaws, particularly Butch Cassidy’s Wild Bunch.

It’s been an eventful 24 hours. I received the first printed pages of the Elizabeth Custer book from my editor and had to redo numerous endnotes because sections of the various chapters had been moved from one to the other. Revisions and corrections had to be turned back into Globe early this morning. I want so much for this book about Libbie Custer to be accurate. The new information contained in this tome is fascinating and I’m sure will be challenged by someone. Seems like everyone has an opinion about history. Voltaire claimed that history is “Fables agreed upon.” Matthew Arnold wrote that history is “A vast Mississippi of falsehood.” And Henry Ford claimed that “History is more or less bunk.” Maybe they’re right. History is certainly a debatable subject. No matter how precise I try to be with the books I’ve written there has always been someone out there who thinks the history they know is 100% right and what I know is 100% wrong. When the Roy Rogers/Dale Evans book was released a few years ago, a gentlemen sought me out at a signing to let me know that I had their story all wrong. The man informed me that Roy had a younger brother that was a troublemaker. He claimed Roy’s brother was doing time in a prison in Illinois and that the true story of Roy Rogers couldn‘t be told without bringing that matter to the public‘s attention. I tried to tell the enthusiastic critic that Roy Rogers didn’t have a brother, only sisters. The man cursed me and told me I was a poor researcher. I did double check my facts with Roy’s son, Dusty after the incident and Dusty assured me that Roy did not have a brother. I fully expect to get the same kind of treatment with the Elizabeth Custer book. After writing twenty-three books about various historical matters you’d think I’d be used to it, but I’m not. There have always been critics and some of their remarks are quite memorable. For example, Thomas Babington Marcaulay wrote, “The more I read Socrates, the less I wonder they poisoned him.” George Jean Nathan called author J.M. Barrie’s work, “The triumph of sugar over diabetes.” Mark Twain called Edgar Allan Poe’s prose “Unreadable – like Jane Austen’s.” He then added, “No, there’s a difference. I could read his prose on a salary, but not Jane’s.” I’m not comparing any of my work to that of Socrates, Barrie, Poe, or Austen. I’m simply noting that authors much better than myself have been skewered. So when I recall a review I received that read, “This is an author worth watching – not reading, just watching,” I’m comforted by the fact that I’m not the first writer to take a hit and I won’t be the last.

It’s that time of year when one reviews what has taken place over the last 12 months and vows to make changes. It got me wondering if people in the Old West celebrated New Years. Outside of the usual revelry that took place at a saloon I couldn’t find many references to particular parties being held west of the Mississippi. Asians in the West traditionally celebrated the Chinese New Year with a parade, fireworks and gifts. In Rock Springs, Wyoming, China Town residents had a thirty-foot-long silk dragon with a huge head, red and green eyes and a forked tongue. Between thirty and forty men carried the dragon by placing it over their heads as they paraded through town, stopping before each Chinese business and bowing several times. At the Coney Island Saloon in El Paso, Texas in 1908, the celebration the patron’s were having got way out of control 10 minutes after the new year was rung in. Frequent saloon guests and shifty characters, Mannie Clements and Elmer Webb had had their heads together most of the evening planning some sort of wrong doing. The two men were joined by a third shortly after midnight and an argument ensued shortly thereafter. Mannie was shot in the head and killed during the conversation by persons unknown. Authorities speculated that the shooting may have been in connection with a racket to import Chinese into the United States. I don’t have any examples of settlers making resolutions for a new year, but I’m sure they must have. The tradition of the New Year’s Resolutions goes all the way back to 153 B.C. Janus, a mythical king of early Rome was placed at the head of the calendar. In keeping with tradition I’ve made a few resolutions. I want to write more, take on more private investigative work, and pursue a degree in communications. Most importantly, I’m going to fight harder for my brother. With God’s help marvels will be done in 2011 with the bad hand he was dealt. I wish I could resolve to free myself from the hurtful people that have haunted my life for so many years, but don’t know how to make that happen. In our lives, we meet all kinds of people. Some we never think about again. Some, we wonder what happened to them. There are some that we wonder if they ever think about us. And then there are some we wish we never had to think about again. But we do.

I wrote a children’s book a few years ago entitled Cowboy True’s Christmas Adventure.  The proceeds from the sales of the book have gone to benefit the Prison Fellowship Ministry.  I like to share five review copies with readers at this time of the year. If you’d like a free copy of the holiday title drop me a line and I’ll send it out as soon as possible. Merry Christmas!

I have spent the last three days working on a revised and updated version of the book Outlaw Tales of California. Specifically, I have been writing about a murderer named James Gilbert Jenkins. Raised in Gentry County, Missouri, his early childhood could only be described as idyllic. When Jenkins was 9 years-old, however a man named John Forbes approached his father about hiring the boy to race horses for him. Jenkins was going to be traveling with the stranger and caring for his stable of thoroughbreds in between races. In exchange for his work, he was to receive a quality education, $500, a horse of his own and a saddle. James’s father agreed to let him go off with Forbes. Forbes was not what he claimed to be. He was a conman. He had only one racehorse and made his living primarily as a highwaymen and thief. Jenkins’s education consisted of learning how to rob and kill. By the time he was 30 he had murdered 18 people. The law finally caught up with him and he was found guilty of his crimes and sent to the gallows. Days before his execution he wrote a short book about his life. He wanted to warn people about what could happen if they weren’t law-abiding citizens. He took full responsibility for his behavior, but sited the bitterness he felt over his father sending him away as the initial motivation for his crimes. Bitterness is such a destructive emotion. I have been swimming in bitterness for years now and it has taken its toll. It makes you feel empty and angry. The moment I started hating the cowards that lied about my brother I became a slave. Bitterness is rooted in depression, anxiety and destroys relationships. Bitterness is worse than disappointment. It can destroy any possibility of human relationships to continue. I’ve even became bitter toward God. I’m afraid that God will not forgive me for having such strong feelings of bitterness. I know what the Bible says about forgiving others but ironically, I’m too bitter to do it! It’s not fair what these people have had done to my brother, my parents, and myself. I do not doubt God is with me. I pray and pray, but I don’t seem to find any release though. Perhaps that’s what James Gilbert Jenkins was struggling with throughout his life. He admitted his wrongs before he was hung. He told the executioner that he was “willing to die in such way that my doom may benefit others.” Jenkins added, “I had rather die than go out into the world again with my character formed in bitterness as it is.” Before Jenkins was hung, his feet and hands were tied. The trap sprung at seven minutes past three. The pulsation of the heart stopped in thirteen and a half minutes, and in twenty minutes, the body was lowered into the coffin. Bitterness is fatal.

The SASS Convention was truly a one of a kind experience. While on the convention floor I strolled through an array of western shops, watched a few shooting exhibitions, sat in on a lecture about Tombstone, and enjoyed a great concert by Riders in the Sky. From what I understand, attendance was off for the year due in large part to the economy. I hope the organization will thrive and the heritage of the old west continues to be preserved. Sometimes I think the whole notion of the American Cowboy is fading into the sunset. All was going well on the trip until I received news that the cowards responsible for the nightmare my brother and family are living, are trying to invent new charges. Not only is that pathetic, but it will not work. Too many people in authority are on to them now. They are scared, diseased rats scratching and clawing in a desperate attempt to free them from the fatal trap they themselves created. Like the great western gunfighters I revere, I’m ready for the battle. Whether Rick is dead or alive, I will serve as my brother’s champion and I will never stop! Like Wyatt Earp on his vendetta ride, I will avenge my brother. The rotten excuses for human beings involved in this affair have called down the thunder. There will be consequences. I’m heading straight for them and hell is riding with me.