Journal Notes

Buffalo Bill Cody was one of the most famous characters in the Old West. By the time he was eleven he had ridden shotgun on a freight wagon and killed a man trying to attack the teamsters pushing supplies to Utah. Articles were written about him, fame was eminent. He was a household name when he met Louisa Frederici, the woman who would become his wife. One of the books I’m working on is about their marriage and the numerous affairs he had. He was a striking looking man and women threw themselves at him. Louisa was jealous, and rightly so, but didn’t not want to give Cody up. She made his life miserable and his three sisters resented her for it. Cody’s sisters were dedicated to their brother and would have done anything to protect his name and position. They couldn’t stand Louisa and believed the biggest mistake Cody ever made was marrying her. I didn’t expect the story of Louisa and Buffalo Bill to resonate with me personally, but that’s the thing about writing. You find something to identify with in every tale you venture into.

I’m dressed in my Old West garb and ready to hit the road to speak at a book store about marketing books and promotions. I’m looking forward to the program, but am heart broken for my brother Scott and his wife, Linda. Linda lost her son this past week and both she and Scott are suffering over the loss. The funeral is today and I pray they will find comfort in the loved ones that surround them. I feel particularly blessed to have a sister-in-law like Linda. I wish my brother had met her a long time ago and further wish my brother, Rick had been as lucky to have had someone like her in his life. Statistics show that 90% of your happiness is derived from the person you marry. Scott is living that statitic out. If I’d been a better sister I would have made sure Rick would have had a chance to meet someone as wonderful as Linda.

The least stressful part about working on the Roy Rogers Dale Evans movie project has been dealing with Clint Black and Lisa Hartman Black. Not only are they the best choice for the roles of Roy and Dale, but they are kind, humble people. I had the pleasure of going back stage at Clint’s concert this past weekend. We spoke briefly about Roy and Dale’s story and about the television series he’s doing with CBS in the coming weeks. Both he and his wife are very talented and it’s going to be a real pleasure to make a movie with them. I’ll be speaking to a group of aspiring writers this week at Amicus Books. We’ll be discussing the business end of writing and reviewing the publicity campaign for both of the Roy Rogers/Dale Evans books. It’s always great to be at Amicus Books. The folks that run the store are quality individuals and a joy to be with. Their store is beautiful as well.

I have decided, along with my attorney, to elliminate the guest book portion of the website starting today. There are certain people who want to use my site as a forum for their own personal agenda. I received the first such guest book addition in Decemember and assumed the evil ones who were writing would move on, but alas they did not. I have not told any real specifics about my brother. The law doesn’t care about specifics or truth and can put a person in jail for a long time for doing nothing. I suspect the nameless individual that has been posting to this site is working every angle available to her to have me locked up. For now, I hold on tightly to the recantation letter written to me by the person who accused my brother of rape. I hold on tightly to a medical exam that shows an intact hymen. I’ve interviewed hundreds of men and women falsely accused of heinous acts against their children. One particular gentlemen was accused of such abuse by his young teenager daughter because she wanted pierced ears and didn’t think she should have to pay for the proceedure herself. There was no solid proof of the allegation and the man in the case is home now. The teenager in question was convinced that nothing really bad would happen to her father if convicted. Her mother, who wanted full custody of the girl, told her that her father would only had have to be gone “two weekends out of the month.” Some people can live only when the spotlight is on them. That’s the case with many teenagers who are making such accusations. The book I’m writing on this subject matter dives into this serious wave of actions in depth and sites many examples. The person who used my site as their own personal forum this weekend suggested I should feel shame for not believing the evil things said about a brother whom I know to be good. There are two sides to this story and I reject statements made by a person I always knew to be less than honest. I have numerous letters from the “less than honest individual” that paint an entirely different picture of the situation. I saw how easy it was to take care of my brother with no hard evidence and half truths told. I will live every day with the regret of telling my brother to take a plea. I was afraid of the system and now I know it was with good right. I do not want myself or my family exposed to the people who did that to my brother and are obviously looking to do the same to my mother, father, husband, brother, and nephew. I don’t feel any pride in the continual battle I am in over my unforgiving spirit and have made that clear in previous posts. However, I am proud of the fact that I will never have to be in the same immediate orbit as those who can do what they’ve done and have no remorse. It wouldn’t be safe for anyone else I love to be around them. If I do away with the guest book the individuals who feel as though I have no right to my sadness and loss will have to find another place to spew their hatred and continue telling people lies. Earthly justice is corrupt. God will sort this matter out according to the truth. That’s it for me on this subject on this post. Everything else that can be said can be purchased in a bookstore near you very soon.

To those folks who read my daily journals…. Please forgive the vile allegations of people who continue to add their thoughts to my guest book. My brother was a good man and was wrongly accused. I find it interesting for people who have moved on that they even read my journal at all. I guess if they were so righteous they’d get their own website. I will continue to voice my thoughts on my grief regardless of the few who don’t like it. In the past, guests who visited the guest book signed their names and left their email addresses. I noticed that the coward who blasted me for not embracing a liar refused to do that. But that’s what cowards do. I will be seeking legal recourse against the people who have spewed their falsehoods on my website. They told the authorities that they want nothing to do with my family had the police make that clear to my mother. Again, it seems odd if that were their true feelings they would leave us alone. Hopefully, the lawyers can handle this now.

Valentine’s Day is fast approaching and some of the Old West romances I’ve been able to write about come to mind. One of the sweetest romantic stories (told in the book ‘Love Untamed’) was the romance between Frank Butler and Annie Oakley. The couple performed their sharpshooting acts together. Butler soon realized it was his wife the crowds were coming to see, and not him. Ultimately, he stepped aside and put Annie front and center. It was a generous sacrifice and one that continues to move me. They had been married for 52 years when Oakley died in 1926. Frank Butler was so overcome with grief that he stopped eating and died 17 days later. We know about Annie Oakley’s accomplishment, but we seldom ever hear about what Frank did.
Another fascinating tale, this one less romantic, appears in the book Hearts West. Eleanor Berry wrote to the Matrimonial News to find a husband and struck up a correspondence with a gentleman who asked her to marry him. So she traveled to the Nevada County area. No sooner did she get here when her stagecoach was held up by masked bandits, who demanded that everybody throw down everything they owned. She was frantic. She was on her way to get married and had her trousseau with her. She pleaded with the robbers, ‘Please let me keep these things.’ The leader said OK. Eleanor proceeded to the home where the ceremony would take place. There, she met her future sister-in-law, who took her into the back bedroom and helped her prepare for the wedding.
When the organist started to play, Eleanor came out and met the man she’d been corresponding with for so long. The moment he began to speak, though, there was something familiar about him. Then she realized he was the man who had just held her up.

I’ve been spending the last few days with either Buffalo Bill Cody or the men from the most intrepid posse in the Old West. I’m including in this post a few paragraphs from chapter seven of the posse book. I’m excited to tell the story of the men who successful brought in Dora Hand’s killer. The ending of the tale is as compelling as the chase itself. A cold morning broke in rose and gold colors over the vast Cimarron grassland. James Kenedy tumbled out of his rocky bed tucked under a long, narrow mesa and abruptly rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He hauled his weary frame to a depression in the earth, turned his back to the frigid, biting wind, and began relieving himself. His tired horse meandered behind him, alternating between gnawing on dried brush and drinking from deep puddles made by the rain that had assaulted the region.
James finished his business and dragged himself to the saddle and bit he’d removed from his mount the night before. The horse gave the outlaw a disapproving look as he approached him with the harness. Dried lather from profuse sweating beaded across the animals backside and his unshod hooves were tender and chipped. The idea of riding on wasn’t anymore appealing to James than his horse, but it was necessary. The downpour from the previous evening had no doubt raised the level of the river further, but James was hopeful that the water had crested and would begin receding by late afternoon. If that happened the ford would be passable and James and the cowboys he was sure his father had sent after him, could make it across.
No matter what trouble James had ever managed to get himself into he knew there was sanctuary in Texas.

His father had recently purchased Laureles Ranch, a one hundred thirty-one thousand acre spread 20 miles from Corpus Christi, and had hired a team of ranch hands to fence in the property. Miflin Kenedy planned to build up his herds, raise a better quality of livestock, and isolate his rebellious son from persistent police or vengeful gunslingers.
For a brief moment in time Miflin believed his spoiled boy had a future with the Texas Rangers. In November 1875, James joined a company whose main objective was to reduce the raids on cattle ranches by Mexican bandits. His knowledge of the wild territory made him a valuable asset to the troops, but his term of duty lasted only five months. In April 1876, he voluntarily left the Rangers earning a mere $59.72 for his time served.
Law and order was not in James’s nature. He thrived on misdeeds and violent confrontations with competing ranchers outside of the Texas Panhandle. He relished indulgencies of every kind and came and went at his sweet will. He could not conceive of a single circumstance where he would not be rescued from the consequences of his vicious actions. In fact, he counted on it.
With no regard for the promise his race horse once possessed, he cinched the saddle tightly on the animal’s

back, sunk his boots into the stirrup, and threw himself on the ride. With staggering self assurance James led the horse away from the scant hideout onto the plains.

There doesn’t seem to be a great deal of forgiveness practiced in the area of the Old West I’ve been writing about as of late. Neither Bat Masterson or Wyatt Earp decided to simply forgive the people who killed their brothers. They did away with them. I don’t know how they felt afterwards. I’d like to know if they felt satisfied. I think it would ultimately rip your soul to pieces. I struggle with forgiveness though. I want to look beyond those individuals who have severed relationships and shredded unity. I know that I’ve been forgiven of much and that I should be forgiving. I know. And just when I think I could try there is another call from an attorney and the nightmare starts all over again. The pain is still there. The confusion over what to do and who to talk to never leaves. I wish there was someone I could turn to take care of this situation with my brother once and for all. I don’t believe the pain ever left Wyatt and Bat no matter what they did. Their brothers were still gone. An eye for an eye offered no real peace. I believe forgiveness would do that. If I only knew how.

Snow and heavy rain have kept me tied to my office now for four days. I’ve got to venture out soon to do more research on Buffalo Bill Cody. I am working on a book about his life and loves and need more information about his home in Nebraska. He was married for more than 50 years to Louisa Frederici. They had a rocky marriage and it’s been interesting to learn why the relationship was strained. Cody was larger than life and Louisa couldn’t compete with his drive to conquer the wild frontier. He was rarely home. She wanted his attention and love so much she purchased a “love” potion from a gypsy. She slipped it into his tea and it made him very ill. When he filed for divorce he noted the incident to the court and claimed that she tried to poison him. Oh, the acts of a desperate woman.

Wyatt Earp. I thought I knew just about everything there was to know about him until today. I’ve been working on a chapter in my posse book about Wyatt and learned that he was a fine boxer. More often than not, Wyatt was able to subdue outlaws without ever pulling his gun. He was naturally good with his fists and having observed fighters in numerous boxing matches, had become a cunning pugilist in his own right. Bat Masterson claimed that Wyatt “never, at any time in his career, resorted to the pistol excepting in cases where such a course was absolutely necessary. Wyatt could scrap with his fist, and had often taken all the fight out of bad men, as they were called, with no other weapons than those provided by nature.” Wish I knew how to take “all the fight out of a bad man.” I’d do it and possibly find some peace.