Journal Notes

I’m heading to Arizona tomorrow. I look forward to visintg Linda’s Books in Tombstone where I’ll be signing copies of Frontier Teachers. I envy Linda. That seems like the life. Living in Tombstone and running an Old West bookstore. I’ve been working on the first chapter of a new western book for Bethany House Publishing. I thought I’d post it here to find out what visitors to the site think. Here goes…. A belt of timber green and vast hugged the banks of a swift river tumbling out of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Ward Hubert, a dusty, travel-worn miner in his early 20s, knelt beside the water’s edge and plunged his face into the icy liquid. After washing a layer of grime out of his eyes and ears he plopped himself down in a clump of grass. His tired mule gnawed on the vegetation near him then sauntered away to chew on a flowering oleander bush.
Many more hours beyond the dense pine and oak was a line of tall, craggy rocks sweeping the horizon. The prospector considered the patch of landscape he occupied then slowly began to gather chunks of wood for a fire. In a matter of moments wisps of smoke rose up from a pile of kindling and the smell of bacon frying in a skillet permeated the air.
Ward didn’t notice the four riders walking their horses into his camp until it was too late. The pounding of the rushing river drowned out the sound of the animals hooves. He pushed his meal aside and turned to face the unfriendly looking men. Rowe Jurgens, a tall man with intense black eyes and a boney face, halfway smiled at Ward and leaned forward in his saddle. “Where you headed,” he asked rhetorically? “Carson City,” Ward responded hesitantly. Rowe climbed off his horse and walked over to the fire. He picked up a coffee pot balanced over the hot embers and poured himself a cup. “What’s at Carson City?” he asked coolly. His eyes slowly scanned the possession in Ward’s small camp. They rested on a letter jutting out of the saddlebag lying near a bedroll. Rowe reached for the bags. Ward almost stopped him, but thought better once he caught a glimpse of the guns on the intruder’s hips.
Rowe opened the letter then began reading it aloud to his fellow riders. “Attention, Mr. Allen, owner of the Borat Stamp Mill in Carson City. Enclosed please find ore samples taken from the Mustard Seed Mine near Fairplay, California. My young partner in the venture and myself hope to transport the gold we pull out of the Mustard Seed to your mill for processing?.” Rowe’s voice trailed off as he carefully refolded the correspondence. Ward watched Rowe sit the letter aside and shove his scarred fist into the saddlebag. He lifted out four chunks of ore samples at the same time Ward spotted his gun on the other side of the camp.
Rowe shuffled the glittery rocks around in his hand, then grinned a big, toothy grin at Ward. He noticed the prospector’s gun as well and was taking great delight in watching Ward try to determine what to do next. “By all rights,” Rowe told him, “Otto Hackett is entitled to seize your mine now. He holds the mortgage on the property. Ward took a small step towards his gun. “A deal was struck between you and the others,” Rowe continued. “Hackett’s is the only stamp mill you’re to use.” Ward inched a little closer to his weapon. “This isn’t the first time we’ve had to remind you of that,” Rowe snapped. Ward made it to his gun and in one fast motion picked it up and leveled at the men. Rowe was quicker on the draw and aimed the barrel of his six-shooter at Ward’s head before the miner could pull the hammer back on his own gun. “And now things need to be handled differently,” Rowe announced.
Ward choked down his anger and with great resignation, lowered his weapon. He glanced over Rowe’s shoulder at the armed men pointing their rifles at him. “Well, if you’re planning on getting me back to Fairplay fast you better have a horse,” Ward warned. “My mule is strictly a pack animal and she’s tired at that. Rowe studied the scene then turned and smiled at the nervous prospector. “Looks like we’re one horse shy,” he announced. “Wonder how we’re going to fix that.” Suddenly, Rowe’s gun belched as it cleared leather and Ward flipped backward into the water as the slug hit his chest.
The rapid current carried the dead man’s body over an outcropping of rocks and pushed it into an embankment. Rowe’s riders watched the lifeless figure wash onto a shallow chaos of gravel and remain there. “What do we do with his body,” one of the men asked? “Nothing,” Rowe responded without remorse. “Leave it. Buzzards have got to have something to eat.”
After placing the gold ore back inside the saddlebag with the letter, Rowe mounted his horse and rode away from the site. His men eagerly followed along behind him.

I’ve written twenty-two books and am still trying to navigate my way through the publicity maze. Some of the highly publicized signings I’ve done at big stores like Barnes & Noble in Reno, Nevada resulted in only two interested parties purchasing books. Conversely, I’ve done signings for book clubs where there was no notice but word of mouth and several people have shown up and many copies of the books were sold. Sometimes my website will get hundreds of hit’s a day and other times less than fifty. I do like speaking to book clubs, civic organizations, history groups. That’s seems to always go well no matter how the events are publicized. I do feel a bit like a Ginsu knife salesman at a county fair at times. I wheel my posters, books, postcards, etc. into the event and set it up, shove the empty boxes under the folding table, rearrange my business cards and wait. People stop by to chat about the material or buy a book. Most are very nice, but I have met the occasional odd duck. For instance?one man picked up a copy of the book Pistol Packin’ Madams and began talking with me about the subject matter. As the conversation wound down he asked me, “How much?” I explained to him that the bookstore had their own mark up for the book and he’d have to ask them the price. He then told me that he wasn’t talking about the price of the book. Somewhat taken aback, I then had to explain that I wasn’t a hooker, but the author of the title. What made the exchange even more perplexing was that I was dressed in a floor-length, pioneer costume, complete with a bonnet and high-button shoes. Are there a lot of soiled doves running around these days dressed like Laura Ingalls from Little House on the Prairie? And if so, who does their publicity?

Friday’s meeting with the studio head in Los Angeles didn’t turn out like the meetings I’ve attended usually do. In the past when I’ve traveled to meet someone who said they were interested in my work it generally turned out to be an exercise in ego. The “head of development” usually didn’t have any pull at the company, but rejoiced in luring hopeful, and at times, desperate writers, to their office. They can’t make a movie happen, but they pretend they can. And having someone come to visit them in their office makes them seem much more important than they are. At 25 I had the patience for that act. I’m 47 years-old now and I don’t tolerate it so well. In recent years I haven’t made as many trips to L.A. because of the act. There comes a point and time when you must face the truth that you are not going to be a ballerina, or famous artist, or whatever grand thing you thought you could do. Reality sets in. I didn’t give this visit south much hope, but I wasn’t so disappointed. The woman I met with actually is who she says she is. She was kind and had some good advise. I’ve been working on her suggestions to the Roy Rogers Dale Evans story today. It just might be a go this time. We’ll see. Howard Kazanjian was with me. He’s a bright film maker and he’s been working on this project for years. Hopefully being persistent will pay off. He’s certainly put in the time. I had a book signing the day after the L.A. trip at the Barnes & Noble in Citrus Heights and it was a fun event. The store manager, Mike Troyan, is brilliant! I met many nice people and as a whole the signings was a joy. I met a couple of sisters who shared with me a great story about their 80 year-old mom. Her mother fell in love with a boy from school and had dreamed of marrying him, but it never happened. Each married another. In the last few years, they have both lost their spouses and have reconnected with each other. After all this time it seems they will have a chance to be together. What a sweet dream.

The local launch for Frontier Teachers is this evening at the Book Seller in downtown Grass Valley. I was happy to find out that Globe had paid for an ad to be run about the signing in the paper. I didn’t know they did that. Good to know. I never leave a book store without buying something. Any lull in the signing and I’m shopping. It’s a good thing I’ve never had a signing at a candy store. I’d eat my weight in chocolates and never be able to physically make it out of the business. I hope to have chapter seven of the Buffalo Bill book completed tomorrow. I’ve been racking my brain to think of a the right person I can approach to write the forword for the book. I’m open to any ideas.

I was right in the middle of working on chapter seven of the Buffalo Bill Cody book when I got a call from Clint Black today. He’s currently in New York working on Celebrity Apprentice. I like that show. I watched it last year and thought Trace Adkins was the best player. I hope Clint will do just as well. He wanted to find out if I could purchase a cupcake from him for an episode they are filming for the show. I froze. I know how much something like that goes for on that program. I think the celebrities sold hotdogs last year and someone received an $8,000 donation for one. I gave Clint the phone number of Howard Kazanjian. I think he’ll stand a better chance of making his goal with someone like Howard in his corner. Anyway, it was a memorable call and a nice break from writing. Along with the Buffalo Bill Cody book I’m working on chapters of a book for Bethany House Publishing and adding a few here and there to the Deadliest Accusation. A 7 year-old boy was arrested this week for breaking into a zoo and killing 13 animals. There are a lot of youngsters who do terrible things. They take guns to school and shoot their classmates, they film themselves robbing and vandalizing houses and beating senior citizens. It’s not such a stretch to believe a teenager would accuse their father of rape. It’s the deadliest of all accusations. It’s not difficult to believe at all?just sad. Something to ponder over an $8,000 hotdog.

A phone conversation with Edmonds Entertainment has given me renewed hope that the Roy Rogers Dale Evans movie is a little closer to getting made. Clint Black spoke with the company a few months ago and told them about the project. They asked to see the material and my agent sent it along. Howard Kazanjian and I are supposed to meet with the head of development for the production company next Friday to discuss The Cowboy and the Senorita. I didn’t know what to think at first. I’ve been down this road many times. I called Clint and he had good things to say about the development head. He was positive and that attitude is infectious. Roy and Dale were such wonderful people. They deserve to have a film made about their incredible lives and faith in God. My prayer is that this is a door that leads to the movie getting made. Howard and I have been working on this project for more than five years. I guess that’s a reasonable time period. It took ten years to get the film Forrest Gump made. It’s a funny business. There are no rules and they’re strictly enforced.

I have a couple copies of the new book Frontier Teachers to give away to history lovers who email me and sign up for my newsletter. Let me hear from you.

One of the definitions of the word reconcile is to settle or resolve. I’m trapped in a situation that seems like neither of those options will ever be possible. My brother languishes in the hospital wing of a federal prison with no hope of ever getting better. Calls on his condition come every other day and money must be sent each month to pay for the necessities that help sustain his life. I long for reconciliation, but there seems to be no possible way of ever settling or resolving this event. When he was falsely charged of this heinous crime, the prosecution attributed the arrest record of another man to my brother. Our last name is spelled Enss. The background check was issued for a man with the last name spelling of Enns. Motions to revoke that falsehood from the case read like this, “It is clear that Mr. Enss does not have a prior criminal record. The government sought to introduce evidence of an alleged domestic assault on Mr. Enss’s ex-wife in the early 1980’s. There were no charges filed, there is no arrest report, and there is no other evidence save the bare allegation twenty years later of the ex-wife.” My brother’s former boss submitted this letter to the court.

March 26, 2004

TO: Richmond Police Department
Attn: Chief Terri Williams
102 West North Main Street
Richmond, MO 64085

RE: Criminal Background Investigation

ENSS, Ricki Everett
DOB: 11/15/1963
SSN: 527-79-8528

Dear Chief Williams,

A check of the Sierra Vista Police Department records shows no criminal history conviction data on the above named individual.

If I can be of further assistance, please contact me by calling (520) 452-7500, extension 702.

Sincerely,
Anita Johnstun C-233
Records Clerk. None of the above information made any difference. The prosecution continued to lie in court and say my brother had a criminal background. And there were so many other things:
Two erroneous statements, were used to obtain a warrant from the Grand Jury.
None of the plagiarized poems and/or songs that the alleged victim claimed she wrote were found on the Richmond Police Department computers.
Child pornography was found on the confiscated home computers after my brother moved out of the home.
An FBI Agent gave the alleged victim and her mother money.
Spouse lied on witness stand at Ex Parte Hearing.
Alleged victim admitted to lying before about the case and stated she had no problem lying again under oath.
Assistant Prosecuting Attorney’s inappropriate counseling of spouse concerning divorce proceedings, delaying it for over three years.
FBI Agent threatened four family members in court at sentencing.
Assistant Prosecuting Attorney coerced, intimidated and threatened the defendant and his entire family.
Computers were dismantled by unauthorized person and not according to police policy and guidelines.
Victim wrote a recanting letter in 2002 and she and her mother requested that the case be closed.

I’ll get another call today from the prison on the condition and needs of my brother. It comes everyday like a wave and it’s impossible to reconcile. I told him to take a plea and added to this miserable situation. I can’t settle anything or resolve the matter, therefore reconciliation seems to be only a dream. I keep saying I’m going to let this go, but the call comes and I’m right back in it again.

Stately rows of Victorian windows keep watch on the doings of Leadville and Cripple Creek. It was just as I expected it would be. The drive to both Old West towns was beautiful. The trees were a mixture of gold and red. I saw antelope sparring with one another on the open range and watched a thin band of rain fall on a dilapidated cabin near the base of a mountain. I stayed the night at the Hotel St. Nicolas in Cripple Creek. Built in 1898, it was initially a hospital. My room was the nursery at one time. Cattle roamed the streets like they owned it. Which in some respect they do. The open range law is still in existance there. If you want the cattle out of your yard and off your property, it’s your responsibility, not the owner of the cattle, to build a fence to keep them out. While in Leadville I visited Baby Doe Tabor’s cabin near the Matchless Mine. Actually, it’s more of a tool shed than a cabin. Her husband told her never to sell the mine because gold would be found there again in time. Baby Doe died in the one room cabin at the age of 81. She froze to death waiting for another fortune. I stayed at the Delaware Hotel, in the same room Horace and Baby Doe stayed in from time to time. The Tabors weren’t the only famous people to come out of Leadville. An Irish lass married a miner there, and became the Unsinkable Molly Brown. Doc Holiday visited the area too. On the way back to Denver I stopped at the grave of Buffalo Bill Cody. It’s a lovely spot overlooking miles and miles of the state. The only thing detracting from the beauty of the area were numerous rude bicyclist with no sense of courtesy for the pedestrians walking on the sidewalk leading to Cody’s grave. The museum at the spot had one of the outfits Buffalo Bill wore in his Wild West show. Sitting Bull’s headdress was on display there as well. I had a lot of time to think while driving. The was the most unfortunate part of the trip. Wish I could have left those things that continue to haunt me behind in Grass Valley. I’ve come to the conclusion that what people long for is reconciliation of one kind or another. But that topic is for another day. Right now it’s enough to savor the memory of the Colorado Gold Country and the rich history that’s still alive.

I’ll be making my way to Leadville, Colorado later this week. At one time Leadville had it all. It was a booming gold camp in 1860. Silver was discovered in 1878, a bonanza that in ten years had produced some $136 million. I can’t help but think of Baby Doe Tabor’s connection with the infamous mining town. Her husband, Horace Tabor, was a 47-year-old failed prospector-turned-grocer when he bought the Matchless Mine in 1878 and struck it rich. It was to net him $10 million. He had an affair with the opportunistic Baby Doe and the liaison scandalized Leadville and Denver society. Now of days that kind of behavior would barely raise an eyebrow. I hope to take lots of pictures of the area and enhance the sell of the books there. A man who was wrongfully convicted of murder is being executed in Georgia within the week. His family is going through a hundred kinds of hell on earth. I ache for them. I’ve learned much more than I ever wanted to know about wrongful convictions and false accusations that cost good people their lives. Wish there was someway to erase it all from my mind. I don’t think a trip to Leadville is going to do it.