Journal Notes

What happened in the Wild West on this day more than 137 years ago reminds me of the dangers of lying and believing lies. On August 26, 1873, outlaw Tiburcio Vasquez and six others were robbing a store in Tres Pinos, California. They promised no one in the store would get hurt and the shoppers in the store believed them. But the bad guys lied. Violence erupted and three townsmen were killed and a child was beaten unconscious. Now I think most reasonable people wouldn’t deny that some lies are harmless little isolated episodes of convenient untruth. Gentle inaccuracies like: “Hey, a lime-green paisley tie, great!” Or “This mutton sorbet is delicious!” But on the whole lying is the horns, claws, and teeth we weren’t born with. A great many lies told are not harmless they are cruel and have far reaching consequences. People lose family members and suffer greatly. Once we found out we could hunt animals by trickery, the tool of deception became our sharpest stick and we soon learned to turn it on each other. To this day the ability to lie remains the most well-oiled wrench in our box. Okay, perhaps it’s a bit harsh to call all of us liars. Whatever you prefer. Fast deconstructionists…truth managers…reality stylist…Whatever you want. The truth is that the truth has become more malleable than Stretch Armstrong in a Navajo sweat lodge. The truth used to be the Holy Grail. The truth used to be the brass ring, the mint-condition Solo Spotlight Barbie in the original box, the Babe Ruth rookie card with the original stick of gum still intact. But I think we may officially consider the gum to be chewed and stuck under the theatre seat. The bottom line is this, lying merely for personal gain is morally and ethically wrong. And I feel I can say that will all integrity and conviction to you, the smartest journal readers that I have ever written for in my entire life, I love you all. By the way, Tiburcio Vasquez was captured, tried, convicted for his legitimate crimes, and hung by a rope until he was dead.

Researching and writing about the unsettled frontier has become an obsession with me – which works out well since that’s what I do for a living. I check a variety of sources every week to see how the books I’ve written on that subject are doing. Most days I’m encouraged by the sales, but then there are the days where I look past those stats and glance at some of the reviews the work has received and feel like I’ve made a huge vocational error. Some people can be incredibly cruel and I don’t fully understand the reasoning behind it. It did get me thinking about criticism though. Why is it that every single activity in our lives is subject to a mean-spirited critique? Who wants to listen to some unqualified blowhard, having convinced themselves that their uninformed opinion is somehow relevant, yarble through an insufferably long-winded diatribe…Oops. Okay, I’m guilty here too, but having copped to that, I must say we truly are a nation of critics, sniping from La-z-Boys at a few active individuals struggling to effect political change, make a movie, write a book, tell a joke, design a better faucet-okay, that guy is a jerk. The faucets are fine, stop screwing with them, all right. The ones in airports are like science projects with the electronic eyes and motion sensors, water-saving springs – Faucet guy! Stop it! Look, we used to keep this need to criticize bottled up in the Arts Swamp where it caromed harmlessly off giant soup cans, blank verse, and untalented exhibitionists smearing themselves with chocolate. But now, it’s spilled over the media flood wall, and into every activity of our lives: Sports, pet training, home repair, snow removal-you name it, somewhere there’s a cable show dedicated to ripping it. I’m not saying there isn’t a place for solid, intelligent, constructive criticism. But when was the last time you read a review of something, a movie, play, book, that gave you a real feel of what the author was trying to say. For many critics, no matter what they write contains a personal shot at the writer, pet trainer, and yes, even the faucet guy. Now I don’t have any personal ax to grind here. I’m not the kind of person to name names – in fact, I have a hard time remembering the name of the insensitive blowhard that left a review on Amazon.com under the handle Jolie-de-livre. But uh…I feel so cleansed… The key thing to remember about critics is that they remain dependent on the innovator, the person doing the real work of creating. And because they just sit on the sidelines of life, never the hunter, they are doomed to be forgotten. But it’s not all their fault. I mean, we give them their chance when we rely too much on critics to make our choices for us. We think we need help, that somehow we don’t have all the facts. But you know something? We don’t need help! You like the Red Skelton painting? Buy the Red Skelton painting, all right? You know what you like better than they do. I’d be happy to send you the book in question and you can render your own opinion. Drop me a line and I’ll get a copy of Buffalo Gals to you as soon as possible. Use the contact section on this site to reach me. I’d be pleased to hear from you. Now, on to what really matters. On this day in the Old West in 1877, McNelly’s bulldog, John Barclay Armstrong, arrest John Wesley Hardin on a train in Pensacola. The outlaw, Jim Mann, was killed in the fray. Happy Monday.

For a long time now I’ve been considering going back to school. I want to study communications and I have enough credits from my previous college years to pursue a degree in that area. The thought of having to take courses I’m not all that interested in to acquire the degree isn’t that appealing to me however. I always liked school, but nothing I learned in school prepared me for life on any level. My first book should have read, “See Dick balance his checkbook. See Jane leave an unhealthy relationship. Run, Jane, run!” After meeting with a college advisor I learned it would take a little more than two years to get the degree. I’d begin the studies in January 2011. I’m undecided about what to do. How is it possible to be 49 years-old and still unclear about the direction you should take? I have a good friend who got her master’s degree in psychology a few months ago. She’s over fifty, still single, no kids, with 6 cats, but now she knows why. I’m not unclear about what I want to continue to write. I love the Old West and I’ll keep writing on the subject as long as I can. There’s so much Old West material to write about. For example – on this day in 1884, Doc Holliday shot Billy Allen in Leadville, Colorado over a five dollar gambling debt. Doc was arrested, tried and acquitted in that shooting. It was to be Doc’s final gunfight. Bad guy John Wesley Hardin left this world on this day in 1895. Hardin was attacked and killed from behind by John Selman during a dice game in the Acme Saloon in El Paso, Texas. So much great material! I could write about Holliday or Hardin, gambling or gunfights – the possibilities are endless. Too bad the local college won’t let me major in something like “Wild West Women” or “Outlaws and Lawman.” That’s a pursuit I’d get behind without hesitation.

In my humble opinion one of the best westerns ever made is Tombstone. Written by Kevin Jarre, the dialogue is some of the most brilliant and honest I’ve heard. The dialogue the Doc Holliday character recites about Johnny Ringo resonates with me. It pains me to say it, but I can understand Ringo’s angst. Doc Holliday says to Wyatt Earp, “A man like Ringo has got a great big hole, right in the middle of himself. And he can never kill enough, or steal enough, or inflict enough pain to ever fill it.” Earp asks, “What does he want?” Holliday tells him, “Revenge.” I’ve felt that way a lot over the last six years. I just want revenge. It pains me to see how much my brother suffers and to watch the bad guys get away with it. It pains me because I know an unforgiving spirit binds me to the abuser. I may think that in order for the person to be punished, I need to remain angry, but all I’m doing is hurting myself even more. I want to get past it, but the more Rick slips away the more I struggle with the command to forgive. It’s a daily fight and I’m just tired of it all. Thank God I have my work. I’ve started to fine tune the chapter outline for the Sam Sixkiller book. I’m anxiously awaiting copies of the case files he kept to arrive from the National Archives. I can begin writing once those get here. Picked up a couple of copies of the August edition of True West magazine. The ad for a few of my book are in that edition. I’m pleased with the way it turned out. Thanks to Cattle Kate’s for teaming up with me on the advertisement. Continued prayers go out to Brent Harris and his family in Dodge City. Hope he’ll be up on his feet again soon. On this day in 1873, corrupt law enforcement officer Happy Jack Morco participated in a quarrel with Ben Thomson that resulted in the shooting death of Sheriff C B Whitney in Ellsworth, Kansas. Whitney was a participant in the Battle of Beecher’s Island against the Sioux in 1868. Happy Jack let his anger and drive for revenge get the better of him. It didn’t end well for him. Jack was shot in the head by a fellow policemen.

Summer vacations are winding down and families are returning home to begin preparing for the coming school year. Many people have written to tell me that they have seen several of the books I’ve penned about frontier women in the various bookstores they visited during their travels. Yellowstone, Santa Fe, Tombstone…it’s good to know the books are out there and being enjoyed. I received a letter a couple of weeks ago from a woman who uses several of the books in her classroom. “As a home schooling mother of five, I use a lot of living books to educate my children. Chris Enss’ books have been an enjoyable supplement to our history program at home. We love to read historical accounts which are engaging, fun, and true, and her books provide that for us.” Stacy Jordan – Nevada City, CA. You never know how God is going to use what we do. I’m grateful and thanks for writing Stacy. I usually have more to add to my daily journal entries. Indeed I do have more to add, but I’m up against a deadline for the Elizabeth Custer book and have to take care of that before I can effectively share what’s been going on with my life as a whole. I’d be remise if I didn’t mention what happened on this day more than a hundred years ago in the Old West. In 1903, Tom Horn escaped from custody in Cheyenne, Wyoming. He was quickly overtaken by townsmen after being grazed in the head by a shot fired by O.M. Eldrich. And badly beaten during recapture. Horn had such a fall from grace. Early in his career the legendary western scout, range detective, and Pinkerton detective was one of the most respected men alive. Everything changed for him when he went to work for cattle baron John Coble. Horn was hired to kill one of Coble’s adversaries and accidentally shot the man’s 14 year-old son. Horn’s last words before being hung for the murder was “hurry it up.”

The bulk of this past week I’ve been consumed with rewrites on the Elizabeth Custer book. I’ve rechecked facts, corrected timelines, reviewed endnotes, etc.. It’s a long, involved process and you never know if you’ve caught every misspelling or grammatical problems. This is my least favorite part of the writing process and I come away from the experience with the utmost respect for editors. They have the responsibility of polishing the drafts submitted. That’s seem grueling too. What I like best about this job is having written. I particularly like having written about the Old West. On this day in 1896 in the Old West, Black Jack Will Christian and his gang, the High Fives, robbed a bank in Nogales, Arizona. Newsman Frank King spotted them and opened fire with a .41 Colt wounding two of the horses. The outlaws fled town with an empty sack. Can you imagine a day when newsmen carried weapons. Not that they need much coaxing, but politicians and celebrities would certainly be more willing to give an interview at the point of a Colt.  I received a few more threats today via email.  Oddly enough the threats were tracked to Windermere Baptist Conference Center.  Life is grand.

I met many wonderful people when I was in Dodge City last year promoting Thunder Over the Prairie – one of them was Brent Harris. Brent is the face of Dodge City. His picture has been in all of the western magazines. Dressed in cowboy gear, complete with a Stetson and kerchief, Brent’s image in tourism promotional ads, represents the spirit of the famous town. He maintains the museum on Front Street and does a number of other things around the historic location to keep it going. This past weekend Brent was seriously injured while tending to his duties around town. He’s currently in ICU at a hospital in Wichita, Kansas. I wish him a speedy recovery and pray the Lord will give his wife and children strength to endure. Brent Harris is one of a kind and without a doubt one of the most decent individuals anyone will ever meet. Get the heck back into Dodge soon, Brent.

Thought I would include a few tips on romance from some of my favorite frontier ladies. The love lessons learned by the women of the Old West are helpful and humorous. Agnus Lake – Agnes Lake Hickok is an overlooked and unique figure in American history. She first came to fame as a slack-wire walker and horseback rider who later went on to become the first American woman to own a circus, and after the murder of her first husband, she served as the sole manager of the “Hippo-Olympiad and Mammoth Circus.” Years later she met and married Wild Bill Hickok, and after his death she worked with Buffalo Bill Cody and P. T. Barnum. Her friends bragged that she was one of the most talented and joyful people they knew. Men were naturally drawn to her. Agnus learned if you find some happiness inside yourself, you’ll start finding it in a lot of other places too. Emma Walters – Actress who married famous lawman, Bat Masterson. She gave up a lucrative career to tend to her gun slinging husband and wound up one of the most neglected wives on the frontier. Emma’s lesson, why give up your own chance at fame just to be the wife of someone famous. Taz-Ayz-Slath – One of three of Geronimo’s wives. They pair adored one another. Taz-Ayz-Slath believed that Geronimo is had magical powers. He could see into the future, walk without creating footprints and even hold off the dawn to protect his own. She counted on him for everything – especially for holding onto their ancestral land. Geronimo surrendered himself and the land to the white man in 1894. Taz-Ayz-Slath learned that a woman who intends to lean on her husband for support better be sure he stands on solid ground. Josephina Jaramillo – Married frontiersman and farmer Kit Carson. The two raised a dozen children together. The entire family, along with several hundred members from the Ute Indian tribe, accompanied Carson to Washington D.C. to plead for the Indians land to be returned to them. Josephina learned that a lot of families settled the west with no more than bedding, buckets, Bibles, high hopes, and a good man with a vision. Etta Place – Companion to Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. She was often described as the most beautiful and wildest of the women in the Old West. Romantically linked to the Sundance Kid. Etta learned it’s prudent to spend less time trying to figure out who’s right and more time trying to figure out what’s right.

I had some health issues this past week which kept me from updating the site on Friday. A few tumors were found on my head that had to be removed. I left the doctor’s office in a bit of pain and with multiple stitches in my dome. During the procedure I thought about how primitive health care was in the Old West. Many people died of infection after an operation. Such was the case with George Hoy. In 1878, some drunken cowboys were whooping it up in Dodge City, Kansas when Wyatt Earp and Jim Masterson went to break up their fun a gunfight broke out and cowboy, George Hoy, was wounded in the arm. He died of infection 4 weeks later. I believe poor medical treatment is contributing to my brother’s end. In spite of how prisons are portrayed on television and film and how newscasts falsely claim that the care for the sick and infirmed in prisons are better than on the outside, it isn’t true. If a physician shows up at all they offer little assistance for the handicapped and beaten. I’ve been fighting for two years to replace the teeth that were beaten out of Rick’s head. I’ve been told that he doesn’t need teeth. This situation will never get any better. I remain infuriated while the real blackhearts go on. Oh, how I wish this was the Old West at times. Harvey Logan was able to correct a similar injustice in 1901. He finally got a clear shot at Jim Winters up in Montana and shot him dead. Several years earlier Winters had killed Harvey’s brother, Johnny Logan. I have to have faith. God has got this.

I’m overwhelmed with the amount of information I’ve uncovered about Cherokee lawman Sam Sixkiller. He was an unbelievable fearless man. I haven’t even started writing about him yet, but feel I might like him as much as I do Bill Tilghman. I spoke with Walter Hill yesterday about the film version of Thunder Over the Prairie. He asked me to send him some additional information about Dora Hand and the posse. I’m happy to oblige and very excited for work to start on the movie. I’d trade everything for my brother to be home and well though. I’m working on a few new book ideas. One is entitled 10 Love Lessons Learned from Wild West Women. I’ve included 5 to the post today. I think it will be a fun book to write. Calamity Jane – Frontierswoman and professional scout, gained fame fighting Native American Indians. She was best known for the love and devotion she had for Wild Bill Hickok. After years of pursuing the man of her dreams she learned that being one of the guys won’t win his heart. Alice Fletcher – A pioneer ethnologist and leader of the move to bring Native Americans into the main stream. She found the man of her dreams among the Plains Indians. She learned that expanding your horizons could lead to your heart’s content. Eleanora Dumont – One of the West’s most shrewd gamblers. She owned and operated one of the first saloons in Nevada County, California. She excelled at the game of 21, winning several thousands of dollars off gold seeking miners. She failed to win the affections of the editor of a newspaper she set her sights on because she was a too good at her job. She eventually lost the fortune she had amassed and died alone. She learned that love conquers all things – except poverty and being a better poker player. Lotta Crabtree – Child star who became one of the wealthiest and most beloved American entertainers of the late 19th century. Her mother was the quintessential stage mother who helped launch her career. Not only did her mother manage her business affairs, but she also managed to drive away any men who came to call. Lotta never married. She learned that mom might be good for advancing young talent, but not good for advancing young romance. Luzena Stanley Wilson – Gold Rush entrepreneur and founder of the profitable El Dorado hotel in Nevada. Men were wild for Luzena’s honey biscuits, including her husband. While he was off searching for gold, Luzena was making a fortune with her baked goods. He returned from the gold fields to find that Luzena had hit the Mother Lode. Luzena learned that the way to a man’s heart is not only by filling his stomach with culinary delights, but by keeping his wallet filled as well.