Journal Notes

Some of the finest writing I’ve ever read was penned by screenwriter David Webb Peoples. Peoples wrote the Unforgiven and I think it’s a brilliant piece of film writing. I couldn’t help thinking about one of the final scenes in the screenplay this morning. Seeking vengeance isn’t right, but in a well written western it’s so satisfying. I fear for my brother’s life everyday and knowing he’s fading away while the guilty parties continue on without a worry makes my blood boil. And so I turn to David Peoples and his spectacular work Unforgiven for a taste of justice. Little Bill is holding court in a saloon with his deputies. Outside the saloon, in an upright coffin is Ned, Munny’s friend, a man that has been as close to him as a brother. Little Bill tells his men, “Now if we divide up into four parties and hit all the farms and trails in a circle, we’re bound to find someone who seen them skunks (referring to Munny).” Little Bill is suddenly conscious of his own loud voice in a sudden silence that has swept the bar like a brushfire and, turning, he sees what everybody is staring at. Munny, with his 10-gauge shotgun leveled from the shoulder, is standing thirty feet away in the doorway. Taking a couple of sideways steps to get the door behind his back and sweeping the twin barrels in an ominous arc, he surveys the scene. Munny, a little drunk say, “Which one of you owns this place?” Nobody says a thing. Skinny stares pop-eyed from behind the bar and the sweat starts on his forehead and Little Bill is thinking coolly and everybody else is swallowing hard and looking at the shotgun. Munny, to an overweight man in front of him, “You there, fat man, speak up.” The man gulps and then Skinny screws up his courage and steps from behind the bar and gives it every bit of dignity his fear will permit. “I?I own this establishment,” Skinny says. “I bought it from Greely for a thous?.” “Better step clear, boys,” Munny says to the men around Skinny. And Skinny looks from side to side as people step away from him and he wants to say something desperately he wants to live, he wants?. “Hold on, mist?,” Little Bill interjects. Bah-whoom! Munny fires and smoke belches and Skinny is blown back against the wall and he falls to the floor a bloody mess. Little Bill is furious. “Well, sir you are a cowardly son of a bitch, because you have just shot down an unarmed man.” Munny points his gun at Little Bill. “He should have armed himself if he was gonna decorate his saloon with the body of my friend.” That level of animosity is how I’m feeling this morning. There’s nothing I can do about any of the wrong done to Rick though so I’ll just replay that section of this western masterpiece over and over again – changing the names of the characters in an effort to quiet the desperate pleas for help I hear everyday.

Although I was able to reconnect with some wonderful people from my past this Labor Day weekend, my 30 year class reunion was not without its awkward moments. The most memorable of the awkward moments occurred when I was asked to read a note I had written in one of my former classmate’s yearbook. Alfonso was a foreign exchange student at Buena High School. He was charming and personable and is very much the same now. I began the brief not to him in his yearbook with “Dear Pancho.” I asked him if that had been his nickname back then. He told me I was the only one who called him that and I named him after Pancho Villa. He neither looks like Pancho Villa nor was he from Mexico. He’s from Columbia! Evidentially, I was some sort of low-rent Don Rickles at 17. Another awkward moment came when I touched base with someone I dated a bit my senior year. Given how badly I treated him then he would have had every right to be rude to me now, but Jeff Bess was gracious and kind and behaved better than I deserved. The reunion gave me the opportunity to thank certain people for the positive influence they had on my high school years. Karen Derr was always sweet and no matter how busy she was she would stop and ask me how I was doing. And she was sincere. So were Susan Trick, Steve Smith, Janet Helton, and Tom Fair. Hopefully I’ve arrived on the other side of this historic occasion with not only a list of awkward moments, but new friends – people I never want to lose touch with, people that will make me a better person. I want to develop deeper friendships with Tracy Brown, Kate May, Cathy Hougham, and Robyn Hammon. You can never have enough friends. A friend is someone who can watch twelve straight hours of the Cartoon Network Jonny-Quest-a-Thon without uttering one word then get up and leave and not even say good-bye to me. A good friend is someone who can keep a secret, someone who likes to eat real food and not just salads, someone who’ll let me store some of my personal effects at their place, no questions asked, someone who doesn’t judge my mood swings, no matter how extreme they get, and most important, someone who will jerk the pen out of my hand should I begin any note with “Dear Pancho”.

Author Chuck Parsons forwarded a sonnet to me by Michener and I wanted to share it. “When people saw that I might be a writer a wise man gave advice profound and sane: I know that you by nature are a fighter but when the critics blast, you can’t complain. For that’s their job so think of something brighter. Don’t try riposte or struggle to explain, you’ll not succeed, just make yourself look slighter. And I advise you never to disdain the critic, for he boasts a clout that far surpasses yours: brains, style, facts and the use
of that huge daily paper. He’s the czar
with force to hammer you with harsh abuse. You’ll find recourse in the only one true shot: That you have writ the books and he has not.”

Another week with Libbie Custer and Nellie Bly? I’m going to be tracking down a story I heard last week about a court case involving Libbie and her nemesis, Frederick Benteen. According to my source she sued him for defamation of character several years after he had passed away. In all the writing I’ve done I don’t think I’ve ever researched a woman more dedicated to a single purpose than Elizabeth Custer. She fought everyday to bolster her husband’s reputation. Her motives were not simply economical either. She believed George had been accused of something he didn’t do and was willing to go to great lengths to prove it. I promised my brother I would do the same thing. Even if he dies where’s he’s at I will not stop. Libbie Custer will be my inspiration. I’m off to Tombstone at the end of the week. Historical writers Glenn Boyer and Ben Traywick will be there with me. No one knows more about Wyatt Earp than these men. It will be a thrilled to meet them in person and get their take on today’s history writers. Hope to hear something back about the film projects this week, but with all the fires in and around Los Angeles all decisions might be delayed. I’ve got a lot of work to do today so I will put into practice the best advice I ever received, “Shut-up and write.” Thanks Dad.

Yesterday I had the unique privilege to speak with author Gail Kelly-Cuter. Gail is a descendant of George Armstrong Custer and the information she provided about her family was invaluable. I’m writing a book about Elizabeth Custer for Globe and got some great stuff about George’s relationship with an Indian woman name Monahsetah. Monahsetah knew George was married and eventually Elizabeth found out about Monahsetah. Historians will no doubt argue George’s involvement with Monahsetah. Gail has already taken a few hits for the book. When I say hits I mean people have been rude and insulting to her. The woman has been hurt and publicly ridiculed. Whether or not you agree with her story she deserves better than that from so-called educated people. I believe the fountainhead of all this bad behavior has got to be daytime talk shows. What an intergalactic freak show these are. You tell me, what Rusty the Bailiff Fan Club meeting do they go to harvest these losers? Ricki Lake? Richard Bey? Jerry Springer? These people should be not be allowed to own a TV, for crying out loud, much less be on it. And you know their guests not only aren’t ashamed of their asinine antics, they positively revel in their own grand mal ignorance. Screaming in people’s faces, screaming at the audience, the audience screaming back?. There have been so many times over the last five years I just want to say forget this culture, pack up some jerky, and go time-share with Jeremiah Johnson. I don’t want some vacant-headed Quaker land. That’s not civility, that’s banality. And I’m not talking about Martha Stewart civility either, where there’s nine forks arranged around your dinner plate like some cutlery Stonehenge. I’m simply saying, treat people with some decency. You don’t agree with what someone wrote in a book, try to engage them in a grown-up conversation about where they got their information. Don’t make fun of them in front of a large group of people or carry on about their work on a website. I guess people feel they don’t have to be civil when they hide in the dark behind a keyboard in their home or office. I believe when civility breaks down, the fall of civilization is close behind. It seems we’ve all turned inward and in the process have forgotten there are other human beings on the other side of the insults we hurl or lies we tell that put a good man in jail. That’s where civility comes in.

A few weeks ago I did an interview for a newspaper in Missouri where my family lives. The interview was about the western books I’d written and the books I have coming out in the not too distant future. I had forgotten that the article was due to come out until I received a call from my grandmother. I wasn’t home when she phoned so she left a couple of messages on my answering machine. Both messages were about the fact that the article was on the front page of the newspaper and how hurt she was that I didn’t mention her. She was near tears when she said, “You must be so ashamed of me and the fact that I’m in a rest home.” She wasn’t happy for me or proud of me, just hurt that I didn’t mention her. My family put the “funk” in dysfunctional. The message did remind me of a few others my grandmother has left on my answering machine that are just as aggravating, but none the less comical. I thought I’d share. “Hello, Chris. Yeah, I don’t know if you heard the latest on the portable stereos, but they’re saying that the foam earpieces on the headphones is a prime breeding ground for bacteria. So if you’re walking around with headphones on, you may wanna take an antibiotic. Okay? Talk to you soon. Bye.” I’ll write more later. My phone is ringing now. It might be my grandmother.

I’m heading back to Arizona next week for a few book signings, one of which will be at Linda’s Old West Books in Tombstone. I’m looking forward to this trip because I’ll get to spend time with some of my favorite authors. These are the historic authors that have inspired me to keep going on. Jane Candia Coleman, Captain Glenn Boyer, and Ben Traywick are not just writers that tell great stories, but they are kind people. It’s going to be a blast hanging out with them and drinking in the history of Cochise County. I think a book about those three individuals would be a fascinating read. I hope to get a chance to talk with Gail Kelly Curtis today about her new book and all that she knows about Elizabeth and George Custer. I admire daring authors like her, people who know the hits they are going to take just putting their work out to the public. It’s very brave. I need to be around brave right now. It’s been a hard year thus far. Actually it’s been a hard life. My heart physically hurts. Too much trouble and loss in a short span of time.

And so another work week begins. I’m inspired this morning by the late producer Don Hewitt’s favorite expression, “Tell them a story.” I hope to do just that with the Elizabeth Custer book I’m working on. Hopefully I’ll be able to speak with George Custer’s descendant, Gail Kelly-Custer today. I believe the interview will provide a much needed balance to the story and am looking forward to speaking with her. Gail wrote a book about her famous heritage and has received a great deal of criticism by several self-proclaimed historians. I already like her just because of that. Someone once said, “Critics are like eunuchs in a harem; they know how it’s done, they’ve seen it done every day, but they’re unable to do it themselves.” In addition to the work I’ll be doing on the book about Libbie Custer, I’ll be working on a new book proposal about Nellie Bly. Bly was a fascinating journalist who went so far as to have herself committed to an asylum so she could write about the atrocities within the system. She had critics too and shot one of them in the arm for his constant barrage of negative comments. In a scenario that sounds all too familiar, her critic was expressing the feelings of an author friend of his who hoped to write about the same subject. Instead of writing their own book, they spent copious hours picking apart her work. Frustrated by the never ending harassment, she marched in to the bar where the critic worked serving drinks, ordered a beverage, and paid for her drink with a gunshot wound to the right shoulder. Unfortunately the critic lived. In other matters, we should find out something concrete about the production company involved with bringing Thunder Over the Prairie to the screen. I should have a definitive idea about where I’ll be moving next as well. That’s good. I do don’t well in limbo. I’m looking forward to my high school reunion in a couple of weeks in Southern Arizona. It should be fun getting reacquainted with people I shared the same bit of carpet with for three years. I’ll be working with a team of budding college attorneys on helping my brother. At the very least I’d like to get some teeth sent to him. Criminals and blackhearts run the institutions and family members are forced to watch the suffering. The corruption within the system goes unchecked. There’s very little I can do to help, but watch things get worse and plan for my brother’s ultimate funeral.

How bad can life be when my work day begins with a book signing in beautiful Lake Tahoe and ends with a meeting with Clint Black prior to his concert at the Gallo Center for the Arts in Modesto? Seems pretty good. I consider myself blessed, but not necessarily happy. I’m forever mindful that my brother is in jail, in harms way, and I am the one who persuaded him to take the plea. No matter what is going on in my life, I miss Rick and am painfully aware that he isn’t coming home. The beauty of Emerald Bay will be marred by the though of where he is and the memory of how he used to be. I’ll spend the drive praying not only for Rick, but for whatever problems I seem to continually cause at my church. Perhaps like many things in life you outlive your usefulness somewhere and it’s time to move on. I put in a lot of hours there and enjoy working on programs like Christmas in Bethlehem and the benevolence committee, but when the church leadership is less than thrilled with you , it’s time to go. I get beat up a lot in my professional and personal life I don’t have the strength to deal with another group of individuals who are disappointed in me too. Even at a church setting there seems to be a different set of rules for the average volunteer and those related to the ministerial staff. None of this takes away from the fact that Jesus Christ is Lord and Savior. I just don’t seem to fit anywhere and I’m so very tired of the battle and I’m lonely to the bone. On a lighter note, I’m going to have a chance to interview a descendant of General George Custer tomorrow for my book about Elizabeth Custer. That should prove to be very interesting. I’m grateful that Gail Kelly-Custer has consented to talk with my about her heritage. My publisher is also giving me a chance to submit a book proposal for one of the most heroic woman in history, Nellie Bly. I’d like to remove myself to a remote island where there are no critics and heartache and pour myself into my writing. Of course it wouldn’t hurt if Matt Damon were near by.

The research I continue to do on the book about Elizabeth Custer led me to a couple of people who used to be the directors of the Little Big Horn Museum. My talk with Nadya and Bill Henry about the famous General’s wife was interesting and filled with valuable information I can use in the new tome. The best thing about the conversation I had with the Henrys was their complete candor about the supposed affairs George Custer had and the romantic attraction Elizabeth had towards a soldier named Thomas Wier. We spoke about the so-called guardians of history who do not care so about being factually correct as much as they do being politically correct. According to the Henrys, the desire by so many outside intities to manipulate the truth about Custer’s Last Stand has transformed the sacred battleground into a “political football.” Nadya was a delightful woman who wasn’t afraid to speak her mind. She was refreshing and bold and I look forward to many more conversations with her on this subject. Looks like I’ll have a chance in the coming weeks to visit with one of my favorite authors Glenn Boyer. Maybe I’ll get at the correct number of men Wyatt Earp killed on his vendetta ride. (Earp historians differ wildly over the exact number) Glenn has written several books about Earp and I like his fearless style. His critics don’t seem to bother him – and they’ve been unkind and unfair. I wish I could be more like Glenn in the face of such unfairness. Perhaps I’ll learn how he deals with it all when I see him. Until then, I’ll be spending time with Elizabeth Custer and diligently striving to get all my facts correct. Those facts change depending how someone reads the various historical accounts and interprets them – that’s what makes history writing such an explosive venture. I have five books coming out over the next five years, each one just as controversial as the next. I’m in for quite a bumpy ride.