Journal Notes

Tales Behind the Tombstones is due out today. I haven’t seen a copy of the book in its completed form yet. It’s always a treat when the finished product arrives. This book is filled with photographs and I hope it is well received. Writing the piece made me aware of the many cemeteries across the country that are in a state of disrepair and of the many tombstones that have been vandalized. It’s unfortunate the lack of respect some people have for an indivdual’s final resting place.

I have been reviewing the edited pages for the book about women gamblers of the Old West. I was intrigued all over again about the ladies that dealt cards to the rough cowhands and fascinated with their ability to master the games of poker, faro, and blackjack. I believe readers will find the subject interesting as well.

One of the most difficult, and often times expensive, aspects of writing books about the Old West is securing the photos to use in the manuscripts. Historical libraries have archived thousands of wonderful photographs, but the process of acquiring the pictures and getting all the permission paperwork signed by the proper person is time consuming. The end result is an aesthetically pleasing book, however. The book I’m wrapping up now about women miners of the Old West will feature pictures that capture ladies digging and panning for gold. Priceless bits of history that are well worth the effort.

I miss working with author Joann Chartier. She was a joy to collaborate with and a true friend. There are very few women I admire and Joann is one of them. She moved away a few years ago and is living in a beautiful valley in Oregon, painting and writing. I know she’s happy and I’m happy for her.

Of all the women I’v written about, business owner and prospector Nellie Cashman, has to be one of my favorites. She labored diligently alongside male prospectors in mountainous creekbed and streams from Alaska to Arizona. She was outspoken and direct and her fellow miners respected her. She wouldn’t tolerate any improprieties was not afraid to standup to any man who dare cross the line. She never used her feminine wilds to make life easier. “Some women think they should be given special favors because of their sex. Well, all I can say is that those special favors spell doom to a woman and her business…. I’ve paid my bills and played like a man.” Nellie was one of a kind.

One of the reasons I’m attracted to the Old West genre is the notion of frontier justice. Bad people got what they deserved, a bullet between the eyes or hung. Avenging wrongs against your family, ala Wyatt Earp, was expected and accepted. The process had its flaws, but bad guys knew they couldn’t get away with it forever. I live vicariously through the actions of Wyatt Earp and what he did for his brothers. I’d have done the same.

I’ve spent part of the day revising a book proposal I’ve written about film producer Howard Kazanjian. He has had a rich film career and has worked with many repected members of the industry from Sam Peckinpah to George Lucus. His story will benefit film students and fans of film alike.

I began research on another book – this one will be about frontier schoolmarms. Emigrants established schools for their children almost as soon as they were settled in the new land. In sparsely furnished rooms equipped with mininmal supplies, western teachers taught as many as twenty separate lessons a day to youngsters ranging in age from four to twenty-four. I’m looking forward to writing about these heroic women.

I received three copies of the pictorial Happy Trails today. It reminded me of what wonderful people Roy Rogers and Dale Evans were and what a wonderful job the art department at Globe Pequot Press did on the book. There are so many people I write about I wished I’d known personally. Roy and Dale were two of them. They managed to keep the faith no matter what tragedy occured in their lives. I admire that and aspire to one day be like that myself.

Back in Grass Valley, California after an enlightening research trip. Kansas is a lovely state and it was a treat to be able to walk the same streets traveled by Wild Bill Hickock and Bill Tilghman. I’m putting the finishing touches on the book about women miners of the Old West. It will include a glossary of mining terms – one of which has always baffled me – the term “sourdough.” The term now refers to a “veteran inhabitant of an area,” but during the Yukon gold rush of the late 19th century, sourdough bread was a staple in the prospector’s camp, and the prospectors themselves became known as sourdoughs.