Journal Notes

The trip to Washington D.C. was a positive one. I met with a few politicians who promised to look into helping my brother. We’ll see. I do appreciate the process of being able to meet face to face with elected officials and voicing your concerns. Up until this weekend, I’d only read about such things. I located some important letters Libbie Custer wrote to George while in D.C.. I’m anxious to get back into writing today and adding the find to the text of the book. Hopefully this week there will be some forward movement with the western Thunder Over the Prairie. Walter Hill is still set to direct and there has been interest in the project from actors Steve Zahn and Ethan Hawke. The producers that optioned the book Playing for Time are meeting with a casting director this week. The process from book to script to actual production is a long one. I don’t know that the book The Cowboy and the Senorita will ever see the studio lights, but I believe strongly that Roy Rogers and Dale Evans’ story should be told. I think it’s particularly important now that their museum is closing. With all that in mind?I’m off to work.

I’m off to Washington D.C. today. I’ll be meeting with a few politicians about my brother, the poor treatment of federal prisons, the number of rapes that happen inside, and the rise in false allegation of child molestation. I plan to spend some time at the National Archives as well researching Libbie Custer’s story. No matter where I am or what I’ll be doing my thoughts and prayers will be for my friends the Franks. They’ve been dealt a heavy blow, but have praised God through it all. Oh, to be that kind of Christian.

News came yesterday that the Roy Rogers/Dale Evans Museum will be closing in December. Howard Kazanjian and I spent a great deal of time with the family getting to know all about the cowboy duo’s life and poured over precious artifacts and letters to pen the two books we wrote about them. It was a privilege and I’d welcome the chance to do it over again. They were motion picture icons and truly wonderful people. They possessed genuine spirits and something they like to call Cowboy Faith. Cowboy Faith is a simple faith-but one that has a rock-solid foundation and the unshakable assurance of God’s presence in every landscape and every situation. Roy and Dale endured many tragedies and always arrived on the other side holding on tightly to the Savior. They believed if our hope is truly in God, then we will be able to withstand anything this life has to offer. They knew that God never promised us that this life would be easy. But He did promise to always be with us and to help us endure life’s difficulties. They knew He wants us to be mature and complete, for it is then that we are of the most use to Him. Roy and Dale believed that together, we can make a difference. And they did. Museum or not, they’ll always be.

There are those who believe that life is a sexually transmitted disease. I wouldn’t go that far, but it is relentless. It’s Monday. Again. I signed with a second publishing house this past week. I’ll be working on a book entitled Bedside Stories of Bad Girls from the Mid West for FarCountry Press. The territory I’ll be covering are South and North Dakota, Missouri, Kansas, Nebraska, etc.. I’m thrilled to be working with a second company. I’ll be traveling to D.C. this week to speak to a couple of politicians about my brother. The quest to get him teeth goes on. It might not have taken this long had it not been for the fact that my ex sister-in law had taken my brother’s dental records. She did that AFTER she remarried. There are laws set in place to keep a person from doing such a thing, but in Missouri the true law breakers go unpunished. My brother’s dental office looked the other way while she took the files. They offer no excuse for their actions -they simple let it happen. They were kind enough to give me the paperwork that shows that the records were removed from the office by a woman my brother wasn’t married to however. I wonder what she did with the medical records? I also wonder where she gets shoes to fit over her cloven hooves, but the Prince of Darkness surely has a plan to clothe his dominions. I hope the politicians I meet with about this situation hear me and actually do something. I should hear news about the baseball movie and the western this week. It would be nice to see some forward movement on those two fronts. Making a motion picture is a lengthy process. It’s so easy to feel a twinge of envy for the Hollywood executives. They have everything?and so much of it. Libbie Custer will keep me busy through all the waiting today. She is one of the most fascinating women I’ve ever spent time with. Onward and upward?I hope.

Over the years the women in my Thursday night Bible study have become essential to my ability to get up and go on the next day. They’ve listened to the horror stories about my brother, reserving any judgment. They cried with me, laughed with me, and prayed with me. We’ve been there for one another and it is because of them that I recall one of my favorite stories this morning. Nothing I could write could express the need I have for this group of women better than Leo Tolstoy. Tolstoy once wrote a brief allegory in which an Angel disguised as a man is sent to earth by God to learn these three lessons: what is given to men, what is not given to men, and what men live by. At the conclusion of the story, the Angel reveals his identity to the poor shoemaker who had taken him in, and speaks of the lessons he has learned. So, Mr. Tolstoy, if you don’t mind?. “The clothes fell off the body of the Angel, and he was clothed with light so that no eye could bear to look upon him, and he began to speak more terribly, as if his voice did not come from him, but from Heaven. And the Angel said: “I learned that man does not live by care for himself, but by love for others. It was not given the mother to know what was needful for the life of her children; it was not given to the rich man to know what was needful for himself; and it is not given to any man to know whether by the evening he will want boots for his living body or slippers for his corpse. When I came to earth as a man, I lived not by care for myself, buy by the love that was in the heart of a passerby, and his wife, and because they were kind and merciful to me. The orphans lived not by any care they had for themselves; they lived through the love that was in the heart of a stranger, a woman who was kind and merciful to them. And all men live, not be reason of any care they have for themselves, but by the love for them that is in other people. I knew before that God gives life to men, and desires them to live; but now I know far more. I know that God does not desire men to live apart from each other, and therefore has not revealed to them what is needful for each of them to live by himself. He wishes them to live together united, and therefore has revealed to them that they are needful to each other’s happiness.”

Prior to working on the biography of Libbie Custer’s life, I assumed she wasn’t aware that George drank, played cards, and bet on the horses. But George was completely forthcoming about his vices before they married. Libbie decided to ignore his shortcomings and even went so far as to write her cousin and boast her new husband had no faults apart from cursing from time to time. She must have been harboring some misconception that after they married George would be a changed man. Love and deep admiration is silly that way. I believe Libbie had no idea what she was getting into when she married Custer. She walked on the ground he worshipped. She convinced herself that his philandering was all in her imagination and even if it did happen, he would always come home to her in the end. I can identify with her thought process. I was once married to someone just like that. After we divorced I wrote a play about the relationship entitled Lucy which won a couple of awards at college. It was really the inspiration I needed to pursue a career in writing. Custer’s roving eye and inability to manage his gambling habits inspired Libbie to write as well. She made a fortune writing and lecturing about her life with George. My broken heart wasn’t quite so financially lucrative, but it set me on the path I believe I was intended to be on and for that I’m grateful. Thanks, Roy. After doing the preliminary research for the book about Libbie I believe she was the type of woman who would have asked her husband during an argument, “Tell me, George, if you had to do it all over would you fall in love with yourself again?” I know how the Custer’s story ends, but the development of their relationship to that point has been most interesting. Hope readers of this tome, due for release next Christmas, will think the same.

The most popular edict among women today is that their father’s raped them as children. The deadly accusation destroys lives and requires nothing to back up such a statement. The popular thought is that this statement is so horrible no one would make it up.
What would be in it for them? In the case of McKenzie Phillips and at least three other full-grown adult women I know, the answer is vanity. It’s Satan’s favorite sin. They like the spotlight. They crave the attention. They parade their “so-called trauma” before news crews, talk shows, and in print. The accused, who in some cases is dead, has no way to defend themselves. The truth is, there’s no way to defend yourself against such a charge anyway. Because the prevailing attitude is again, so shocking, no one believes anyone would make it up. Psycho analyst, counselors, mental health students are quick to point out that the over the top behavior from these so called “victims” is textbook. They maintain it’s textbook no matter what the behavior happens to be from the self proclaimed victim. If I family knows the woman making such claims to be a habitual liar who has repeatedly made similar claims about other men in addition to their fathers, that behavior is explained away too. Psychiatrist reason that’s in keeping with a rape victim as well. NO ONE can question the accuser. They are obviously right because they dared to accuse. It’s set up from the beginning to be the deadliest accusation because NO ONE who defends themselves and NO FAMILY members who defend the accused are given any attention. The denial is consider “standard textbook behavior” as well. No thought is given to the fact that the accused just might be innocent. All that being said, I must add that I do believe such atrocities exist. I believe there are young girls and women who have been violated in the most despicable way by someone they trusted. I know it happens. I know and work with many women, my mother included, who I believe they have had such odious crimes perpetrated upon them. I believe these horrible things happened to these women because they are the least vocal about it. They share their stories with women in support groups and earnestly seek to help heal. They are not looking for a headline, they are not motivated by 15 minutes of fame. They don’t buy new clothes, get new hairstyles, manicures, and have their makeup done professionally to be interviewed by the nightly news. They are quiet heroes who strive to help a victim feel whole again. There are quiet heroic victims like Jaycee Dugard, who decide to deal with their agony and terror with the help of family and counselors and do not initially parade their angst out on television for ratings and their own talk show. I’m always suspect of the good Samaritan who calls the fire department to inform them of a three alarm blaze and then stands around to help in any way they can once the fire crew arrives. To neighbors, friends and family they look like a hero. But in many instances those are the very people who set the blaze in the first place. They crave the attention and for a very important moment in time they get it. Vanity. Satan can ruin so much with it. My brother sits dying in prison because of such heinous accusation that could have been disproved with medical records, time line, witnesses, etc… I was told none of that would matter in a court of law. 97% of all juries side with a victim regardless of anything the defense has to offer. I told my brother to take a plea. It will be interesting to see what becomes of McKenzie Phillips after this. A reality T.V. show, new book deals, film contract? She set off a three alarm blaze and this fire should yield her significant attention.

Prior to marrying George Custer a good friend of Libbie’s gave her some sage advise. “General Custer has elements of character which will develop…and, dear girl, some of that development rests with you.” Any character Libbie was unable to develop while they were married, she improved after he was killed. I’m fascinated with Libbie’s story because it shows how blind many people in love truly are. Just prior to the pair getting married, George was forthcoming about his vices. He told her that he drank (although he made a pledge to quit), cursed (because it was satisfying), was prone to eye a pretty face, played cards for money, and bet on horse races. These were all things that would eventually cause problems in their marriage, but she looked passed these particular faults. Actually, she not only looked passed them, but shared with her cousin that they were non-existant. In January 1864, she wrote, “I do not say Armstrong is without faults. But he never takes liquor, nor frequents the gaming-table, and though not a professing Christian yet respects religion.” Young love is intoxicating, but prone to overlooking flaws that could be big obstacles later on. It’s a glorious sickness. I know how George and Libbie’s story begins and ends, but filling in the life in between is what holds my interest in writing their story. Maybe I’ll learn something in the process.

Nothing has been the same since my brother went to prison five years ago. Not only is has his constant care become a responsibility I never would have imagined I’d have to deal with, but it has eroded away at my hope. No matter what I was involved in prior to this life altering experience I had hope that things would work out for the best. That’s all gone now. Years ago when I entered the writing profession I knew it was going to be hard, but that hope and persistence would be the keys to any success. Even if that notion was naïve it was still the spark that enabled me get through difficult days of rejected book proposals and screenplays. I also had hope that good guys won once in a while. Now all I see is that bad guys have everything – and so much of it. I continue to write because I enjoy it, but I no longer think it matters. I see for my future more visits to federal prisons, more money spent on medical care and feeding of my brother, a front row seat in which to watch his ultimate demise, a divorce, because who would want to willingly take part in this, and a Hemingway style ending to a writer who once hoped to inspire and entertain readers. I still have just enough hope to think I can pull out of this tail-spin, but I’m growing impatient for it to happen.

Inspiration. Webster defines it as a “high level of feeling or activity.” Wikipedia defines inspiration as the “arousal of the mind to special activity or creativity.” However it’s defined I don’t feel I have it anymore. I used to have such dreams about writing. Lack of true success in that area has left me uninspired. I can trace the decline of my inspiration to the day they arrested my brother and took him away shackled and handcuffed. When that life altering event took place I realized that many individuals probably never meet their definitive destiny. I used to want to try in spite of that, but I lose a little bit more inspiration everyday. I’m worried about those misalignments in life. What is the greatest military strategist of all time was born a watchmaker in Switzerland, or what if the most brilliant medical mind in history was housed in a man selling shoes in Oklahoma? Well, look at the sun. It gives us our very life and sustenance, but there must be many other suns, which are no different from our own directing their sustaining rays at lifeless rock formations, or at nothing at all. They must feel a little gypped. That’s how I feel to some extend. Kind of like a video game would feel without a T.V. set. I don’t want to be one of those people who approach life with the exuberance of a curb, but I’m rapidly beginning to fall into that. I will continue to write because I love the craft, but I’m not inspired. I just don’t believe anything turns out like you plan. I don’t believe dreams come true. I believe some of us struggle and fight for a place in line and are told the “window is closed” just when you get to the counter with your dream. I believe you can work hard all your life an never realize a damn thing. Still, I can’t give up. I just wish I knew a way to ignite that small, flickering light of hope back into an inferno of inspiration. I’m open to suggestions.