Journal Notes

Sometimes there’s noting really exciting on the writing front to report. I’ve just been working on Chapter 6 of the Buffalo Bill book since I returned from Cody. I feel bad for Bill. I’ve been reading over the transcripts from his divorce proceeding and his wife was a shrew. He tried to get out of the marriage a number of times, but the divorce wasn’t granted. The judge did not find any grounds for the marriage to be dissolved. Times sure have changed. The Codys were married for more than 38 years and were never really happy with one another. I feel for Louisa Cody too. Just like Buffalo Bill, my first husband thought monogamy was a type of wood. Louisa didn’t want to let Bill go, but she didn’t want anyone else to have him either. That’s a miserable place to be. I received the latest edition of True West magazine today. The full page ad featuring the cover of the book on frontier teachers is on page 72. It turned out well. I hope it brings more visitors to the website and readers to the bookstores.

I need to spend some time today working on promotions for the frontier schoolmarm book due out next month, the Thunder Over the Prairie book and the annual Christmas in Bethlehem program, but I am having a hard time tearing myself away from all the historical information I picked up at the Buffalo Bill Cody Museum. I’ve been reviewing testimony from Buffalo Bill’s valet about a woman named Bessie Isabelle who he had seen on more than one occasion in Cody’s hotel rooms across the country. It’s amazing how much private life is made public. Although, I think Cody wouldn’t have minded the sorted details being brought to the forefront of thought if it meant increased ticket sales to the Wild West Show. I was eating lunch at a great Mexican restaurant in Cody and trying not to feel sorry for myself because I was dining alone, when I got to thinking about all the times I had meals with my grandparents when I was a girl. And with a certain pristine rush many wonderful childhood memories flooded into consciousness. I took out a pad of paper and started jotting down what was running through my mind. It’s the smell of freshly mowed grass, fried chicken and Avon’s Occur bath powder. It’s the distant sound of a marching band, meal-time conversation and my grandmother loudly sipping her ice tea. It’s the anticipation of a high school football game and selecting just the right something to wear in case just the right someone sees you. It’s dust from a plowed field and a cold bite in the air to remind you that winter will be again. It’s popcorn, funnel cakes and tightly swirled ice cream cones. It’s crawling into your summer pajamas and curling up on the couch next to your grandmother, while your grandfather sits in his chair under a pole of ridiculous round lights, reading a newspaper. It’s laying your head in your grandmother’s lap and then falling asleep in the middle of the Johnny Carson Show. It’s comfort and home, infatuation and youth. You return for that moment, that memory, that hope. What you see with 14 year-old eyes cannot be recaptured with 47 year-old vision. It’s lost, but remembered. Longed for, but never realized again. Still you go back on the off chance you can catch a glimpse of what was and savor the experience as children rarely can.

The Buffalo Bill Historical Museum was naturally rich with information about Bill Cody. I was able to go through documents that had rarely been viewed. I read letters written to Cody from Elizabeth Custer, (the actual letters, not a photocopies) examined numerous transcripts of his highly publicized divorce, and studied hundreds letters the famed scout penned to his sister. Cody was very close to his sister Julia. He confided in her and she adored him. I couldn’t help but be reminded of my own brother, Rick. Cody, Wyoming was a wonderful place to visit. It’s beautiful and wild. Some of the nicest folks I encountered were the hundreds of Harley Davidson riders that were staying in the scenic area. The staff at the museum were some of the most accommodating people I’ve ever worked with. They are anxious to help anyone who walks in with research questions. While en route to my various destinations (I was in Helena, Montana before I went on to Wyoming) I read a book entitled The Shack. I thought it was exceptional. I hadn’t read a book that stirred my soul like this one since Hannah Hunards’ Hinds Feet on High Places. I particularly keyed into the section on forgiveness. The lead character in the book has been grieving for years over the loss of his daughter. Again, I couldn’t help but be reminded of my brother, Rick. The main character in The Shack has a conversation with God about the notion of forgiving and tells him that forgiveness is first for you, the forgiver, to release you from something that will eat you alive; that will destroy your joy and your ability to love fully and openly. The Lord asks him if he thought the protagonist in the book “cared about the pain and torment they had caused?” “If anything,” the Lord tells him, “they feed on that knowledge. Don’t you want to cut that off? And in doing so, you’ll release them from a burden that they carry whether they know it or not -acknowledges it or not.” When I finished reading the book I was willing to really ask God to help me to forgive the people who harmed my family and I. I’ve only given it lip service to this point. Forgiveness does not excuse the false accusations made against my brother. I think the last thing the people who made the false claims are is free. According to the web service tracking program I subscribe to they continue to search my site – so no, they aren’t free. But neither am I until I truly forgive. I have no duty to justice in this matter. God will handle it.

I’m a huge fan of Doris Day. I’ve seen all of her movies two and three times. I’ve sent her copies of my books as they have been released with a note of appreciation for her contribution to the film business. When one of my first books came out I received a card from Ms. Day wishing me well. I had the card framed and it’s in my office now. Wednesday evening I watched one her movies entitled Romance on the High Seas. What fun! I checked my email later that same night and was thrilled to read an email Ms. Day had sent.

Dear Ms. Enss,

Doris does not have a computer — so she asked me to send you this e-mail to let you know that she appreciates the books you sent and she’s looking forward to reading them because they remind her of “Calamity Jane.”

Many thanks!

Sincerely,
Judy Ruby
for Doris Day.

Wednesday was a good day! I’m off to Wyoming on Monday and I’m taking my portable DVD player with me and a handful of Doris Day movies.

There have been times when I’ve considered my devotion to my brothers to be a bit unusual. I continue to grieve over my brother Rick and worry all the time about Scott and Corey. Both are grown men, one is the director of 911 services in the Ray County, Missouri area and the other is in the Navy. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for them. Buffalo Bill Cody’s sister felt the same way about him. The book I’ve been writing about his life would not be complete without touching on the relationship he had with his sisters. His older sisters, Julia and middle sister, Helen both wrote books about him. They were proud of him and helped manage his ranch and hotel. His little sisters, May and Eliza were equally dedicated to him. Cody made sure they were taken care of too. He had homes built for them and supported them monetarily. When it became clear that their brother had married badly and wanted a divorce, all of Cody’s sister championed him in court and to the press. I have a great picture of Buffalo Bill flanked on either side by his sisters. It’s an endearing photograph. His sister did everything they could to keep their brother from being physically or emotionally harmed, but were unsuccessful. If only they’d been able to convince him that the woman he was marrying was a shrew. But just like my brother Rick, Cody wouldn’t have listened. Helen Cody said of her brother, “We regarded him as a superior being&it seemed so fit and proper that the promise of the stars concerning his future should be fulfilled that never for a moment did we weaken in our belief that great things were in store for our brother.” I admire the Cody sisters loyalty to their brother. Maybe what I feel for my brothers isn’t that unusual after all.

At one time I had hoped to get the okay to write a biography about Mary Jo Kopechne. The story of her life and untimely death fascinated me and I wanted to write about all the wonderful things she managed to do in her short time on earth. It seems that most only know about her accident with Senator Ted Kenedy, but she was much more than that. I’ve included a bit of the sample chapter in my notes today. Let me know if it catches your interest. If the response if favorable I might be able to convince my publisher to give me another shot at the manuscript. “I guess those girls just aren’t going to talk. It would ease the heartache so much if they would give some answers.”
Mrs. Joseph Kopechne – September 26, 1969. A determined diver dressed in full scuba gear carefully lifted a bent, stiff body with gritted teeth and clawed hands out of a murky pond. A company of police officers, fireman and medical examiners all wearing doleful expressions watched as the lifeless figure was placed on a white tarp stretched out on the ground. Few spoke as a cursory examination of the twenty-eight year-old woman laying before them begun. The process took only ten minutes.
It was 9:30 a.m. on July 19, 1969, and most of the residents at Chappaquiddick Island had no idea their tiny community had played host to a tragedy. News that a car had plummeted off Dike Bridge claiming a life in the process had not reached them yet. From the standpoint of Massachusetts law enforcement this meant there would be no curious crowds to control or usher away from the wreckage. They were free to investigate the scene without distraction. Doctor Donald Mills, Associate County Medical Examiner, squeezed his fat hand into a pair of surgical gloves and stared down at the woman’s face. “This is Mary Jo Kopechne, gentlemen,” he announced in a business like manner. “Looks like she fought hard to stay alive,” he added. In Doctor Millss initial inspection of the body he noted that Mary Jo was wearing a blouse, a bra and slacks, but no panties. “Maybe she forgot them,” he offered to no one in particular. With mortician Eugene Frieh and his assistant, David Guay, looking on, Doctor Mills loosened the front of Mary Jo’s blouse and pressed his stethoscope over her chest and abdomen. The physician inspected the body for ten minutes then turned to the examiners on either side of him and confessed, “This is the most drowned person I’ve ever seen &any light pressure on the chest wall&water would simply pour out of the nose and mouth.” The mortician nodded, “We need to be sure, though,” he insisted. Doctor Mills stood up, his hand on his chin. He squinted into the sunlight as he pondered the comment. At that moment a black Oldsmobile arrived at the scene and stopped next to an awaiting ambulance. Senator Ted Kennedy, dressed in a neatly pressed pair of trousers and a white shirt, emerged from the back of the vehicle. His attorneys climbed out after him, flanking him on either side.

Rarely have I had a better time at a book signing than I did at the event in Redding. The audience was attentive and respectful. They were fun and asked some great questions after the presentation. I can’t wait to go back. The highlight of the evening was when a reader walked up to me and told me that she had read the journal entries on my site and would be praying for me and my family. I heard from another reader in Arizona the following day who had read the journal entries as well. She emailed me and shared the hurt she experienced over her daughter’s incarceration and was looking forward to reading The Deadliest Accusation. Such encouragement I believe is from God because at times I feel like I’m just holding on by a thread to get to the next day. I received the final quote about Thunder Over the Prairie from Dakota and Sunny Livesay at Chronicles of the Old West. Here’s what they had to say&. “Lawmen, cowboys, songbirds and soiled doves&it doesn’t get much better. A shooting, a chase and a trial whose verdict changes all of their lives. Thunder Over the Prairie is a great story from the history of our American West, warts and all.” I’m just waiting for a couple more photos to arrive and then I can turn the posse manuscript into the publisher. It’s very exciting.

The response from an article in the Grass Valley Union newspaper about the book A Beautiful Mine was overwhelming. Many people signed up to be on the mailing list for my newsletter and all of the interested parties got a free copy of the book. I was pleasantly surprised. I’m off tomorrow to do a book signing event in Redding, California. I’ll be close to beautiful Shasta Mountain so I’ll probably take a drive there before the lecture. I hope to have all the finishing touches made on Thunder Over the Prairie this week. I’m waiting for the rest of the photographs for the book to come in and a few more permission useage forms to be returned. After that, it’s good to go. I’m happy with the book and the changes that were made as a result of the early reviews. I don’t know if I’d have been able to get through those necessary revisions if not for Sunny and Dakota Livesay and Jim Sherer. They are good people and I’m glad I know them. The title for the book about my brother was decided on today. It will be called “The Deadliest Accusation.” I think it’s a good, solid title.

The book I’ve been working on about my brother has allowed me to connect with a variety of interesting people. Many of those have lost a loved one in the Federal Prison system. Some of them have loved ones inside that have been falsely accused. It’s comforting to talk to people who know the hurt and sadness you’re experiencing. No matter how much you talk about it or cry over it with them nothing erases the image of the one you hold dear being repeatedly raped and beaten beyond recognition. I wish it did. There’s a common bond, but nothing makes it hurt less. Not even if I were able to write the most stirring novel ever, compose the most touching symphony heard, or paint a picture that would move all who looked upon it. Nothing, nothing diminishes the grief in your heart. You just go on living by faith that God knows ALL.

I miss my brother and think about him everyday. My sincere prayer is that when the book I’ve written about him and the circumstances surrounding him being taken from us is told that lives will be changed. Prior to penning the tome I only wanted to get back at the two people who brought this on. I realize now that it won’t change anything as far as they’re concerned. I hope it helps the next group of people who find themselves in similiar situations where false allegations rob them of a son and a brother. I’m working on chapter six in the Buffalo Bill Cody saga. I’m looking forward to being in Cody, Wyoming in August to do more research on the subject. Think I’ll rent a car and take a drive through Yellowstone. I finished writing the western film treatment for AMC. I’ll work on the rewrite this afternoon and this evening turn my attention to promotions for the book Frontier Teachers: Stories of Heroic Women of the Old West. The book is being released in September. I was encouraged by the quote I received from Jay O’Connell for Thunder Over the Prairie. It’s going to go on the back cover of the book. I can’t wait to share it though so here it is. “Thunder Over the Prairie, written with cinematic clarity and a galloping pace, is a wonderful primer for the considerable literature on Bat Masterson, Wyatt Earp et. al. This accessible narrative of a fascinating episode in the careers of these well-known western icons is filled with characters that are archetypal yet utterly fresh at the same time. This charming books is the perfect read for anyone over a drink (or two) in a dusty western saloon on a lazy afternoon.” I’ve got a couple more copies of A Beautiful Mine: Women Prospectors of the Old West for anyone who writes and let’s me know they’d like to give it a read. Drop me an email.