Journal Notes

The delay in the publication of the book about my brother is due largely to my own ambivalence . I have three drafts written, but can’t decide which version to use in the final submission. Last week I heard from a reader who noted that they enjoyed reading the daily journals on my site about Rick because the feelings are raw and unedited. I guess there will be more of that coming because I will be traveling to see my brother this week. Going through the visitation process at a federal prison is a lesson in humility. All around you are broken, withdrawn family members waiting to get in to see their loved one. Regardless of what anyone thinks of the prisoner they are going to see, watching an elderly couple or a four year-old child, assume the position to get patted down is heartbreaking. You can’t look upon that scene and not be moved. One of the threatening emails I received a few weeks ago described how disgusting I was because I had sympathy for my brother, my parents – anyone other than victims. They described how I should have “my eyes cut out” and then be “left to bleed to death through my eye sockets.” I believe our failure to show love to those who are hurting puts us in league with the devil. When you are in a lobby of a federal prison you are surrounded by hurting people. You never leave a place like that unchanged. Sometimes I think the final submission of the book should focus on how God can use events such as these for his good. Others times I think the book the should go into production is a scathing expose about everything that’s happened in the last six years. Then there are those times I thing I should send my publisher a copy of the journal I’ve been keeping. I’m still not clear what the book should ultimately be. I only know it should be. I do know that the proceeds from the sale of the material (what ever form that takes) are going to go to the Prison Fellowship Ministry. While wrestling with that decision I’ll be working on Chapter 9 of the Elizabeth Custer book. I’ll be writing about the Battle of the Little Big Horn and Elizabeth’s reaction to the news that her husband had been killed. On this day in the Old West in 1895 – the outlaw Black Jack Will Christian and his brother Bob killed Deputy Sheriff Will Turner during an arrest attempt. They were soon arrested by other lawmen but shot their way out of jail in Oklahoma City on June 30.

Whenever I was writing about a something that took place in Nevada County I always made a trip to Searls Library in Nevada City to do the research. Ed Tyson, the kind, elderly librarian would welcome me into the small, two-room building that was once a law office back in the day, and clear a place for me to sit down and start to work. I was struck by his ability to know just where a particular document was located. He had been at Searls for years and could quickly put his finger on the very item that was needed. He knew off the top of his head what photographs were on file and what book he needed to pull off the shelf to help get the job done well. He was always gracious and genuinely interested in whatever topic I was exploring. Ed passed away a few weeks ago. He was in his 90s and still working at the library. I’ve got to make another run to Searls Library in the not too distant future and I know the memory of Ed will be all around the historic location. I’ll miss his eagerness to assist and his generous smile. He always had a story or two to share about notorious western characters like Black Bart or Jesse James. And speaking of Jesse James?on this day more than 135 years ago he was getting ready to marry Zee Mimms. The couple had four children. Jesse became a devout Christian, but he was still a thief and a ruthless killer and had no intention of ever supporting his family in an honest fashion. I guess he wasn’t that devout. Two of his children grew to adulthood. His son, Jesse Jr., became a lawyer. I could make a humorous comment here, but some jokes are just too obvious to be funny. Jesse James had twins that died at an early age. I’m not sure from what. I bet Ed Tyson would have known.

I’ve never been as excited about writing a book as I am the one Howard and I are working on now about Elizabeth Custer. Her story has been told before, but we have the advantage of using a number personal letters and photographs that no one has ever seen before. I have been dividing my days into thirds in order to complete all the work needed by August. I spend the morning reviewing a completed chapter, checking and rechecking the facts, and adding endnotes. At noon I rewrite a chapter I’ve finished writing and type it up. I write everything out by hand at first. It may seem old school, but it works for me. Usually around two I work on writing the next chapter of the book. I’m expecting a copy of the only film footage that exists of Elizabeth Custer to arrive this week. It’s a silent film of her at a pottery studio. Once I’ve had a chance to review the material I’m going to try and track down the children in the film with her. They would be in their 90s now. I think it would be a treat to interview them and find out what they remember about the first lady of the west. The book is due to be released in May 2011. The plan is to launch the book at Azusa Pacific University in the L.A. area, along with a showing of Elizabeth Custer’s personal belongings. There is a lot of work to do between now and the launch. I anticipate having to do a lot of rewriting as well. My deadline is three months away. I hope I make it.

Many of the wagon trains that arrived in Nevada County more than 150 years ago, brought with them women who had become widows on the journey west. Cholera or lack of water claimed the lives of more than a few men. Often times those men left behind families. When the survivors reached the Gold Country they were dazed about having lost a loved one and confused about what to do next. I met a woman like that yesterday. She’s 22 and four months pregnant with her first child. Her fiancé died of cancer on April 6th. She has been sitting by his side at the hospital for weeks. Now that he’s gone she has nothing. No income, no home, no food, nothing. When she and I spoke she was naturally very sad, but eager to do whatever she could to repay whatever help our church could give her. When I left her she had a room for a week at a local hotel and a gift certificate for food. She was grateful and I was humbled by her graciousness. She was still very sad, but making the necessary steps to move ahead. It made me aware of how much my own sadness has overtaken me. I’ve not been able to move ahead like my new friend was bravely doing. I want to be like her. I’ve been drowning in a sadness that cries out for vengeance, but I realized in speaking with this young lady yesterday that I don’t really want vengeance. I want a balance of right and wrong. I’ve spent far too long praying for that balance to come RIGHT NOW. But that’s God’s business. I’m going to move on now as though the roaches who live to hurt, then self-righteously quote Scripture, never were. I’ll write my books about the Old West and my brother, protect my family from harm, and isolate my loved ones from the very existence of people who have souls as black as the night. Balance will come; just like it did in 1887 for Texas posse member, John Hughes. After a harrowing pursuit lasting 11 months Hughes, Sheriff Frank Swafford, and a deputy cornered a gang of horse thieves in Northwest Texas. Four of the outlaws were killed and two were taken into custody before Hughes finally recovered his stolen horses. Hughes went on to a long and distinguished career with the Texas Rangers. Balance will come.

I haven’t been feeling too well so I asked my friend Cynthia to contribute something to the blog. I thought it might be a bit more interesting than my usual rants. She didn’t disappoint.

“Having grown up here in California in the gold country, stories of cowboys and Indians, gold minors and woman of the west have always been intriguing to me. Local history seems to still be alive here. I can smell it in the air, hear it in the roaring waters of the once gold filled rivers. History so rich I can almost taste it. Just walk down the streets in towns such as Virginia City, Bodie, Nevada City or even Grass Valley. It makes a person wonder, or at least me, what took place here on these streets back in the days of gun fighters and madams. If you let your imagination run wild, you can hear the horse hooves heading towards the nearest saloon, the piano music coming from inside, gun fire in the streets either from celebration or a dispute. You can see the history in the architecture here. History is all around you but, what’s the real story?

I love to read but, history books aren’t really a favorite of mine. I have to admit, I like excitement and a good love story. I need to be hooked from the beginning in order to stick around for the end. I don’t have a lot of free time for such luxuries as reading but, when I do, I not only want to be entertained but enlightened. There are a lot of history books out there. A lot of dusty boring ones. I think they’re all in my son’s eighth grade history class. Oh, the stories have the facts. It’s just that the attention span of a 14 year old boy needs a lot more than facts and my prodding to get through one. Now I don’t know if author Chris Enss books can hold the attention span of a 14 year old boy, the only thing to hold my son’s is extreme snowboarding but, they certainly hold mine. The content is exciting and comes alive on the page for me. Maybe it’s because I’ve sat next to her in a dusty library and touched things such as a letter written by Annie Oakley to George Custer. Maybe it’s actually knowing I’m standing right on the spot where an outlaw was shot by a relentless sheriff bent on justice. But Chris Enss style or writing brings the old west alive for me.

I also appreciate the time and effort she puts into her research. I’m amazed she has the time, given her own personal struggles and pursuit for justice. But, I’ve seen her sit for hours digging through those dusty history books. Talking to family members and looking through personal belongings of a real western hero, looking for the story behind the story. She’s called me from familiar sounding places where I’ve watched scenes play out in western movies, digging up facts that might have been overlooked. Stepping inside the cold cell where a prison inmate on death row spent his last days. I’ve walked through overgrown graveyards with her, looking for the tombstone of an almost forgotten settler or gold miner. I’ve seen her tear up over a cross marking the spot of six unnamed babies and heard the excitement in her voice when she called to tell me that she was given the change to hold the pistols that once belonged to Bat Masterson and Bill Tilghman. I’ve seen her walk the dusty streets of a ghost town, dressed in period costume. She not only looks the part but, the old west is in her heart. You can see it in her face. Hear it in her voice as she captivates the group of history fans that have shown up for her book signing. Sitting in rundown airports, driving long distances with a GPS devise and a CD of old time radio shows. Doing the hard work for me so that I can sit and read about real places and people of the old west. Bringing them alive for me. Making history interesting and colorful. I hope there are always books out there that will allow the love of knowledge and the old west to live on in the hearts and minds of our next generation. History rich with lessons to teach us about truth, justice and love.”

I did a radio interview yesterday with a gentlemen who dislikes westerns. It was an uncomfortable 15 to 20 minutes defending the genre, Dodge City, and the wisdom to write about such a well-known story as Dora Hand’s. It was awkward, but I guess it comes with the territory. The last few days I’ve been quite irritated with the officials at the prison where my brother is housed. He was beaten a few years ago and has no teeth. I’ve been trying to do something about it, but to no avail. I have had conversations with the officials and offer to pay for the teeth, but they simply laugh at me. They don’t see that they are doing anything wrong and that they are treating my family like criminals. It’s evil. I guess that comes with the territory too. It would be wonderful, bliss actually, if I never had to think about my brother’s situation again. Getting passed all that’s happened is next to impossible when he has health issues. He’s been beaten and raped and his tremors get worse each time I see him. He won’t be around much longer. Which in many respects is a blessing. I’ll be with him in a few weeks. I’ll have to go through a series of security measure to see him including being locked down myself a couple of times. I was told yesterday that I refuse to see that my brother deserves this. I marvel at how easy it is for people who do not have to experience anything like going into a federal prison on a regular basis to make such a comment. Let’s just suppose he does deserve to be in prison, (and the actual facts of the case which have never been heard prove differently) how does my mother deserve to look into the face of her son who has been beaten beyond recognition? How does my father deserve to see that his son has no teeth and that his mouth is misshapen as a result of the severe beatings? The individual who noted so assuredly that my brother is getting what he deserves also quoted Scripture. Specifically, Phil: 4-8, “whatever is true, pure, and right.” Compassion is true, pure, and right. There’s no question I hold on to my anger, loathing, and contempt. The system is broken. I’m my brother’s guardian and would have it no other way, but having to see what I see on a regular basis changes a person. Make no mistake about it, after I look at my brother’s face and see those around him who are struggling in the same manner, it isn’t justice I want. It’s a reckoning. Now, on to this day in Western history. 1894-the bitter rivalry between Bud Frazer and his former deputy, Killin’ Jim Miller, boiled over in Pecos, TX. Miller got off a shot that wounded a spectator and Frazer emptied his six shooter into Killin’ Jim’s chest and walked away from the fight. But Miller survived that shooting by wearing a heavy steel plate under his coat.

One of my guilty pleasures is watching Judge Judy. I like her no-nonsense approach to dealing with people who come into her courtroom with no morals or sense of right and wrong. Many of the cases that come before her are from people that have borrowed huge sums of money from someone and refused to pay it back. They always claim the money was a gift. Sometimes the people who are in trouble owe thousands for traffic violations. They make a deal to pay the person they borrowed the money used to get them out of a jam back. They never do however and when they are in front of Judge Judy they too insist it was a gift. She tries to explain to them that the person they stiffed on the money should not be responsible for paying their traffic violations. She tries to get them to understand that what they have done is wrong. They NEVER get it. They sincerely do not think they have done anything wrong and that IT IS the other guy’s responsibility. It’s frustrating to watch, but I do because she doesn’t let such lack of shame and morals pass without punishment. Stupid should hurt and on Judge Judy’s show it does. I recently had a conversation with someone who is insensitive to a host of people’s feelings – just dead wrong about the way they are treating people. They don’t see it. And they get away with the bad they do. It’s unfortunate that Judge Judy can’t be more like Judge Roy Bean. In his court the morally bankrupt who refused to see the error of their ways were taught a lesson at the end of the rope. Sometimes lynching an evil person is necessary. In 1892, two criminals from Wyoming were taken out for their inability to see they were wrong and change their ways. Nate Champion and Nick Ray were murdered by a hundred or so minions of the Wyoming Stockmens Association at the Kaycee Ranch in Johnston County. Ray was gunned down at daybreak outside the cabin and heroically pulled to safety by Champion. Ray soon expired and Champion was put under siege inside the cabin. When the cabin was set afire Champion made a break for it and was shot 28 times. He left a detailed diary of the events up to the fire. Frontier justice?it worked!

One of the framed movie posters I have hanging in my home is for the film The Long Riders. It’s a smart western directed by a brilliant director named Walter Hill. Hill also directed several other fine westerns such as Wild Bill, Deadwood, and Broken Trail. Hill will be writing and directing Thunder Over the Prairie. I spoke with him yesterday to give him an update on the project and we spent some time talking about Elizabeth Custer. He’s interested in writing the screenplay based on the book Howard and I are writing. Walter knows westerns and it will be a pleasure to work with him. The release of the book seems so far away. I’m still writing chapter 8. I’ve have two more chapters to write after that, a bibliography, an introduction, photos to gather, and captions to write. My deadline is September 1, 2010. That seems like such a short time away. I am very grateful to be able to write for a living and I love this subject. I’m doing some part-time work for a PI firm. I’m helping to investigate a murder. I primarily go through the records doing the same kind of research I do for the books I write. One of the things I find most interesting about the case I’m working on now is how the statements from two of the principles involved are almost identical. They might be a word or two off, but they say the exact same thing in the same way. I find that odd. It seems scripted and rehearsed. I’m going to dig a little further. Something about this doesn’t seem right. More than 130 years ago at this time, Dodge City was still talking about a shooting that took place at the Long Branch Saloon. In 1879, Cockeyed Frank Loving and Levi Richardson got in a bitter fight over a woman in the saloon. When the smoke cleared Richardson lay dead on the floor and Cockeyed Frank went on to love another day. I hope to be heading back to Dodge in September. It’s one of my favorite places. Lots of open space, history galore, and some of the finest people I’ve ever met. At 8:21 a.m. my website was visited by an employee at the New Liberty Hospital District of Clay County, Missouri. I know who you are, but not sure what you want. Why don’t you come out of hiding and show yourself?

It’s unfortunate that I have to start my Monday with another conversation with the FBI about the individuals who emailed death threats to me at the beginning of the year. They have returned – hitting the site after midnight this morning from an Brigham Young University off-campus location. I’ll phone the dean of the school again today and contact the authorities. Hope the perpetrators feel their impending losses were worth it. On this day more than 128 years ago, the western public was a buzz with the news that the notorious Jesse James had been killed. Bob Ford, known as “that dirty little coward,” put a bullet in the back of James’s head. Immediately afterwards he scampered down to the telegraph office to claim the reward offered by Governor Crittenden. Ford’s fame did not have the desired outcome he’d hoped. The film The Assassination of Jesse James by Bob Ford was a gritty picture, well acted by Casey Affleck. It is one of my favorite westerns. Many of my favorite western are so because of the memorable dialogue. Tombstone, The Unforgiven, and Once Upon a Time in the West are great quotable westerns. The theme of revenge is a particular favorite of mine. That subject matter makes for some unforgettable lines. Throughout every period in history that subject matter has made for some unforgettable lines. Here are a few: “I will not leave you until I see you hanged.” Jean Baptise Paquelin Moliene, “If it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge.” William Shakespeare. “All the old knives that have rusted in my back, I drive in yours.” Phaedrus. “No more tears now; I will think about revenge.” Mary Queen of Scots. I’ve got a lot of work to do on the Elizabeth Custer manuscript today, but I will be thinking of Mary Queen of Scots sentiments when I speak with the authorities this morning. “No more tears now; I will think about revenge.”

At the beginning of this year I received numerous death threats via my website. Many of the emails were initiated by students at faith-based universities. I received an update on the matter from the authorities yesterday. Regardless of what is done to or said about me I know my brother isn’t guilty. It’s not blind faith either. I know what I know and I won’t change my mind. I’ve spent a great deal of time since my return from Montana reviewing what I’ve written about Elizabeth Custer. I’m checking and rechecking my facts and adding endnotes. She was a fascinating, daring woman and the more I write about her the more I admire her. I find it ironic that I would spend my days writing about women of the Old West. I’ve never been a fan of women as a whole. I don’t have many women friends. With few exceptions I find most women to be manipulative and untrustworthy. Sadly, I believe the examples set by some of the women in my own family have contributed to my thinking. Sadder still are the times I act out the very behaviors I detest in females. I’ve never known any woman personally with the grit and loyalty Elizabeth Custer possessed. I like Libbie because she meant what she said and stood by her convictions. I hope some of those qualities influence my life. Maybe by the end of writing the book I’ll be a better woman.