Journal Notes

It’s April already. Just 30 days out from the release of Thunder Over the Prairie. I so hope all goes well with it. If feels a bit like I’m sending a child off on their own for the first time. I’m very protective of it and don’t relish the thought of any bad reviews. I don’t happen to think any publicity – good or bad – is a plus. I do like the good though! I subscribe to the idea that if you don’t have anything good to say, don’t say anything at all. I subscribe to that saying – I don’t always practice it. I think the key thing to remember about critics is that they’re dependent on the innovator, the person doing the real work of creating. And because many critics just sit on the sidelines of life, never the hunter, they are doomed to be forgotten. And no one wants 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 sorting out books, films, restaurants, or whatever. I guess we think if we don’t have that we don’t have all the facts. But you know something? We don’t need help! You like the Red Skelton paintings? Buy the Red Skelton paintings! What do critics know anyway?

It seems like I’ve been working on the story of Sam Sixkiller for a while. But I’m just as fascinated with the lawman’s life now as I was when I first began the research.
The history of the frontier Indian police of Oklahoma would not be complete without the story of Sam Sixkiller. Sam was one of the most popular and accomplished lawmen in the territory. He built a police force that took on bootleggers that threatened to destroy the lives and culture of the Native Americans in the central plains. He was the Eliot Ness of the Old West.
In 1886 Sheriff Sixkiller was shot and killed in an ambush. After the killers escaped indictment by the tribes, Congress passed a law giving the district Federal courts jurisdiction over any Indian who committed a crime against a federally appointed Indian police officer or United States deputy marshal.
I thought I’d post a bit of the Sixkiller story today. Enjoy.
Lawman Sam Sixkiller led his horse through a belt of sparse timber along the Illinois River in Southeast Oklahoma. He was a stocky, heavy-shouldered man with a neatly trimmed, droopy mustache and small dark eyes that were flatly calculating. They shifted purposely from the streams of sunlight off a growth of yellow sagebrush to the rocky path before him. In addition to the sound of the roan’s hooves slowly moving through the mesquite and buffalo grass, there was the mingling of a trio of agitated voices wafting through the warm air.
Sam urged his ride into a clearing where three Cherokee Indians sat playing dice. In between rolls of the pebble dice the men drank from a bottle of whisky they eagerly shared with each other. Scattered beside the men were four empty bottles of liquor. The drunken Indians barely noticed Sam watching them in the near distance. He scowled and inched his horse into their crude camp. The men were undisturbed by the rider and continued with their game. They argued over whose turn it was, nearly coming to blows before settling on which player went next.
Sam watched them toss the dice on a thick blanket. At first glance the blanket appeared to be draped over a log. The closer Sam got to the action the more it became clear that the make-shift table was actually the body of a fourth man. A stream of dried blood had trickled out from under the blanket and pooled around a stand of butterfly weeds. Sam scrutinized the scene more carefully, spotting a massive knife within reach of the Indian closest to him. Every nerve in Sam’s body tensed. He refrained from any sudden moves that might betray his next move. He casually pushed his jacket over the six-shooter strapped to his side, revealing not only the weapon, but the slightly tarnished badge that showed he was the sheriff of the Cherokee Nation.
One by one the men turned and looked at the lawman. For a breathless instant Sam watched the knife, expecting one of the Indians to snap it up. Without saying a word the three gamblers got to their feet, wavering a bit in the process. Sam pulled his gun out of his holster and leveled it at the men as he lifted his 5’8 inch frame off his horse. He motioned for the Indians to back away from the body and they reluctantly complied. Disgusted, Sam walked over to one of the bottles and kicked it hard. It spun into a nearby rock and broke. What little booze was left in it spilled out and was quickly soaked into the ground. With his gun still trained on the Indians, Sam made his way to the motionless man on the ground. Using the toe of his boot, he rolled the man out from under the blanket. There was no mistaking he was dead. There was a deep cut across the man’s throat and his limbs were stiff.

There are some aspects of my job I enjoy more than others. I particularly love going to schools and teaching children about women of the Old West I’ve been able to write about. I have such a good time teaching children’s Bible study on Wednesday nights. I always learn so much more from them than I expect. Visiting the students at Clear Creek School wasn’t any different. The class made up thank you notes for me after my visit and some of those notes are so dear I had to share them. “Dear Ms. Chris Enss, thank you for coming and teaching in our class. I had a very interesting experience. Once again, I thank you.” Josh signed that very formal note. “Dear Ms. Chris Enss, thank you so much for being our guest on Tuesday. That was the most interesting history I’ve ever heard and what was awesome is that you made it funny too. I’m glad you were able to interest me in history for once! I am actually seriously convinced and considering, buying one of your books! You’re AMAZING! You inspired me to learn more about the miners, or the Donner Party, all that! You make it sound so interesting! I also loved how you had little artifacts from that time. You ROCK! Your new #1 fan!” That note was signed Brittney Huseboe. Those notes made me feel so special. I needed it too – after writing a note to my niece Nickol and never hearing back from her. Not only did I not hear back from her, but she removed herself from Facebook. It made me feel like I was some sort of predator or stalker or something. Oh, well. There’s nothing I can do about any of that. I do have many children in my life that I’ve adopted as my family and they call me Auntie. I’m grateful for them and thank God for the times they’ve let me know I’m loved.

Thunder Over the Prairie Prize Giveaway!

The true story of the trek the most intrepid posse of the Old West ventured on in pursuit of a reckless gunslinger is the subject of a new book entitled Thunder Over the Prairie. Thunder Over the Prairie rides into bookstores in June 2009. The year was 1878. Future legends of the Old West-lawmen Charlie Bassett, Bat Masterson, Wyatt Earp, and Bill Tilghman-patrolled the unruly streets of Dodge City, Kansas, then known as “the wickedest little city in America.” When a cattle baron fled town after allegedly shooting the popular dancehall girl Dora Hand, these four men-all sharpshooters who knew the surrounding harsh, desert-like terrain-hunted him down, it was said, like “thunder over the prairie.” The posse’s legendary ride across the desolate landscape to seek justice influenced the men’s friendship, careers, and feelings about the justice system. This account of that event, written by Howard Kazanjian and Chris Enss, is a fast-paced, unforgettable glimpse into the Old West. The launch of the new book will be held in Dodge City, Kansas at the Long Branch Saloon in Dodge City on Saturday, June 6 at 5 p.m.. The authors would like to give a lucky western fan a chance to attend the festivities. Enter to win two night’s stay at the Dodge City Hotel, a copy of Thunder Over the Prairie, admission to the launch party, a complete library of the author’s other works, and why you like their books by emailing gvcenss@aol.com with your idea for the next western you would like to see written. One winner will be selected from the entries and notified by the authors on April 15th.

Good luck!

I had the pleasure of participating in a signing this past weekend with three lovely authors – one of whom was a New York Times Best Seller. Brenda Novak was smart and engaging and I enjoyed hearing how her work made it through a slush-pile of submission that flood a publisher’s office everyday. She read the first few pages of her book to the group and it was easy to see why she is a success. I like to see a talented person get ahead in this world. I don’t care much for those who get to the front of the line based solely on hype. A lot of so called celebrities got what they are based on hype. Dennis Rodman for example. He is the Sistine Ceiling of hype. I’ve been watching Celebrity Apprentice and it makes me sad. I don’t think he’d be the star he is today if it weren’t for hype. He was a solid basketball player, but come on, being the leading rebounder in the league is like playing first chair tuba at the Des Moines Pops. Clint Black?now he’s talented and deserves to be a star. One of the best written songs of all time is Killin Time. He owes his fame to talent not hype. He doesn’t have to dye his hair to resemble the muted rainbow of bad meat – he’s just talented. Like Brenda Novak is talented. All that being said hype is here to stay because we live in an increasingly narcissistic universe that everyone believes they’re the center of. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I’m prone to think that myself from time to time.

Just finished packing for my trip to Monterey. Among the standard items tossed into the suitcase are my school books. I’m training to become a private investigator. I have a whole Phillip Marlowe scenario playing out in my head. This venture will either turn out to be an unexpected pleasure or another sitcom waiting to happen. I’ll be listening to the third book in the Twilight series as I drive. I’ve really enjoyed the series but at times my mind tends to wander while the book is being read. I’m not as moved by the werewolf aspect of the story. Werewolves?of all the monsters, the Wolf Man had it the worst I think. More body hair than Ed Asner in a line trap, never able to have a white couch in his house…. I do like a man with a mustache however. Now if I could only find a man who likes the same thing in a woman. But I kid. The Twilight movie comes out on DVD on Friday. How pathetic! I’ve set my sights on spending the weekend lost in a teenage driven film. Well, not the entire weekend. I’ll be working on the many opportunities the world of private investigation promises to deliver. Behind every failure is an opportunity somebody wished they had missed.

The Authors On the Move event held Saturday at the ballroom of the Hyatt Hotel was about the classiest thing I’ve ever had the pleasure of being involved. So often big fund raising book programs that ask the guests to dress up are disappointing. Dressing up for some writers means a T-shirt with a tuxedo jacket painted on the front of the garment, but not so with this event. Men were dressed in bow-ties and suits, women were dressed in spangling gowns. It was really something. I got a chance to wear the new western costume promising fashion designer Christian Goodwin made for me. The dress was beautiful, but I can’t imagine how women in frontier towns dressed like that everyday. I tripped on the dress going UP the stairs twice. The second time I fell I just rolled into the event. I looked like a hedgehog in silk taffeta. Lack of grace not withstanding I was glad to have been invited to participate. If nothing else it lifted me out of the nonstop misery that seems to be life these days. It’s not one thing – it’s a lot of little things that make me blue and hurt. Both my teenage nieces are pregnant and unmarried with no viable means of support. It seems like teenagers who have no right being in the baby-making business are spewing out toddlers faster than a candy conveyor belt operated by Lucy Ricardo on meth? Book sales have slowed because of the economy, family members are ill, and I can’t find the CD version of Breaking Dawn anywhere. And as always, there’s Rick. I recently tried to contact my brother Rick’s daughter in an effort to try and get beyond some of the hurt. I noticed that she had been visiting my website quite a bit and decided I’d reach out. Her name was posted on Facebook so I started there. The next day I noticed she removed herself from Facebook – almost as though she’s afraid. It’s disappointing. Who knows the lies she’s been told and believes. Lies so black they could suck the light from Las Vegas and still have enough black left over to provide a lifetime supply of turtlenecks to the Yale English department. And I know the people who have lied about my brother and my family hate to be called liars. So how about I just call them Fact Reconstructionists, Truth Managers, or Reality Stylist. Whatever they want?. The bottom line is I wanted to help ease the pain and make the bad get gone and I thought a little forgiveness all the way around would be the ticket. I guess there’s really no chance of that. I’ll just have to wait and be lifted out of this envelope of sadness with another event where I can wear my western garb and pretend my brother is okay.

It’s hard not be effected by what’s going on in the world right now. It’s a violent world we live in. Now people are walking into churches and shooting up the place. It seems like those violent acts lift shooters out of the anonymous muck into the national klieg light faster than a spot on Dancing With the Stars. And speaking about heaving things into the national klieg light, it’s hard not to notice that I’m spending my day writing about some of the west’s most notorious shots while a newscaster is reporting on some of the west’s most notorious shots. It’s a madhouse. I feel like Chuck Heston waking up in the field and seeing the chimp on top of the pony. What can be done with so many unhappy people in the world? All of us feel anonymous, powerless, and insignificant at times, but for many there seems to be no way out except to shoot it out. Maybe that’s because truly selfless acts don’t get near the publicity. “Hey, forget the guy who saved the kid in the fire, when’s Brittany Spears gonna reveal her new look?” “Will the doctor with the cure for cancer please sit down, here comes Usher!” Enough of that. I’ve got to get back to work writing about how two men unloaded their six-shooters into a wagon train of passengers. I guess it’s a good thing we didn’t have network television in the Old West. The public would be more familiar with a psychopath like Jesse James than a true hero like Bill Tilghman. Wait a minute?

I’ve been on the trail of Sam Sixkiller for several weeks now. Sixkiller was the first captain of the United States Indian Police who was shot and killed in 1880. I wanted more information about him than simply the facts of the various arrests he made and the night he died. Finally, I got a lead on a great, great, great, great, great granddaughter living in Idaho. I gave her a call and was able to learn a bit more about the man. The research part of writing a story is always the most interesting to me. I enjoy tracking down a lead and coming up with a tidbit few have heard about. That’s why I like working on Thunder Over the Prairie. All of the press packets and invitation have gone out for the launch of that book. I’m looking forward to the event at the Dodge City Public Library and the Long Branch Saloon in Dodge City. Just bellying up to the same bar where Bat Masterson and Bill Tilghman took a seat will be a treat. The message of forgiveness was the central theme yesterday in church and continued to be so throughout the day. My strongest desire is to be transformed into a person that can do what God asked with regards to forgiveness. I’m afraid that I’m such a despicable creature I’ll never be able to let go. I know that murder is born from anger and adultery from desire. I know that in the same way, the hatred of an enemy is destroyed by the love of friendship. Suppose you have viewed someone as an enemy, yet after a while they’ve been swayed by your benevolence. You will then love them as a friend. I think that Christ ordered these things not so much for our enemies as for us: not because enemies are fit to be loved by others but because we are not fit to hate anyone. I know hatred is the prodigy of dark places. Wherever it resides, it sullies the beauty of sound sense. Therefore not only does Christ order us to love our enemies for the sake of cherishing them, but also for the sake of driving away from ourselves what is bad for us. I watched an interview with a rape victim last night who accused an innocent man of the horrible act. He professed that he wasn’t involved, but no one would listen. He spent years in prison and was finally released after DNA evidence proved another man was the actual culprit. The victim met with the innocent man to apologize for what she’d done and he forgave her. She said that at that moment she could feel her broken heart actually start to heal. I want the experience of my broken heart actually healing more than I want anything. Of course in my desperate mind runs the thought that if I forgive maybe the bad will get better. Maybe things will work out as I dreamed. The Holy Spirit instantly reminds me that any forgiveness would be conditional then and not simply an act to “love my enemy”. Forgiving and expecting nothing is the key. To return evil for good is devilish. To return good for good is human. To return good for evil is divine. I ache for a healed heart.

Today I decided to take a break from court cases, statements, and loss and add the foreword actor Peter Sherayko wrote for the Buffalo Bill Cody book. It lifted my spirits and oh, how I needed that. Here it is…”I’ve got a good woman-what’s the matter with me?
What make me want to love every woman I see?” Hank Williams, Jr. In 1883, a remote cow town in Nebraska was treated to the grand opening of a show that would reign as America’s favorite for thirty years. It was Buffalo Bill’s Wild West. Kelsey Grammar holds the TV record for playing Frasier for 21 years, followed by themselves in film and TV for over 25 years, outstanding in today’s world. Yet Bill Cody was Buffalo Bill professionally for over 40 years, a role which is doubtful will ever be topped. In 1900 the Who, What and Where book was published featuring photos and biographies of kings, presidents and world leaders in business, literally hundreds of bios of the world’s most famous. Buffalo Bill is the only personality from America’s Western frontier. No Daniel Boone or Davy Crockett, Jesse James, General Custer, Billy the Kid or Wild Bill Hickok, just W.F. Cody – Buffalo Bill. His fame was so wide that he ranked with the most powerful men of all time. Virtually every American knew of Buffalo Bill: how he earned his nickname, his rides for the Pony Express, fought and befriends Indians, scouts for the U.S. Army in both the Civil and Indian Wars, performed for 10 seasons as a professional actor and all before the age of 40. When he created his “Wild West Exhibition”, Cody gave his audience their money’s worth: wild Indians, fancy roping and deadeye marksmanship, Bill himself topping them all with rifle from horseback at a full gallop, breaking dozens of glass balls thrown in the air. The crowd loved it, so did the press and dime novelists with writers like Mark Twain praising the show. In short, he out-Barnum’d Barnum. The exhibition set attendance records throughout America and Europe. Over a hundred books and articles have been written about Cody the frontiersman and entertainer. What more could be said? Well, Chris Enss has uncovered another notch in the Shakespearean life of Bill Cody. “The Many Loves of Buffalo Bill Cody.” Yes, Cody was a showman, a frontiersman, a man whose life started during the Mexican/American War and ended just as America entered the war to end all wars, World War I. Yet he was a man, a man in the truest sense of the word, one who cut his own trail and followed his own spirit guide. As a boy, he marveled at men like Kit Carson who taught him how to shoot from horseback and Jim Bridger who taught him Indian sign language. As a 10 year old he dreamed of becoming one of his buckskinned clad heroes and, by golly by gum, he did. But he was tainted with the sins of man. An eye for beauty and strength, an admirer of courage and adventure and in some circles a weakness for cigars, whiskey and women. In his own words, “Yeah, I like my cigars and whiskey and I sure do love those women.” Chris Enss gives us the stories behind many of the beauties who captivated Buffalo Bill. She gives us a clearer insight into a simple yet complicated man, a showman, Buffalo Bill and a man, Bill Cody, who became one. Yet for all of his fame, money and problems, Chris Enss gives us some clues and answers to this complex hero. It’s great how writers and researchers uncover questions that so many of we curious followers of American history have. My hat’s always doffed and a glass is raised to the hero of the west, Buffalo Bill, and now thanks to Chris, a glass is raised to her. Chris Enss is truly a woman of the West. Her previous books, mostly about women of the frontier west were enjoyable and informative. We met several years ago a mutual book signing in Tombstone, Arizona. I was impressed not only by her charm and style, but by her incredible knowledge and passion for, as Buffalo Bill said, “God’s biggest playground.” We are indeed lucky today that a whole new breed of people are influencing, educating and entertaining those of us who are interested in American History. Chris Enss is truly one who has blessed us with her knowledge and passion for stories of the West that haven’t, but need to be told.

Ride hard and shoot straight,
Peter Sherayko”