Journal Notes

My appreciation for teachers continues to grow. I’m writing about schoolmarms of the Old West and am amazed at all they had to do to bring formal education to the frontier. Some of the teachers used McGuffey Readers to teach their class how to read and spell. Others only had a Bible or a Sears, Roebuck catalog as a text book. I applaud the teachers I’ve had in my life. Viginia Upton was a dedicated teacher who was as kind as she was intelligent. Most everything she taught me has turned out to be correct with the exception of one item. She believed in justice and taught me that evil would always be found out. Not true. A copy of letter came today to my mother requesting that my brother quick claim deed the house he owned with the unfortunate horror of a human being he was married to, over to her. My brother will never be able to sign his name again. Evil will never be found out. I wish my heart wasn’t so overtaken by hatred at times like this. It’s hard not to think that way when your mother is crying and misses her son…and always will. Where is the relief? If only a teacher knew.

I was given the opportunity to be a guest on KNCO Radio’s afternoon program yesterday and it is always a treat to be a part of the broadcast. I appreciate KNCO’s staff and talent. They eagerly welcome authors and are genuinely pleased to talk with you about your work. KAHI Radio in Auburn, California is the same way. I’ll get to be a part of their programming next month. In the last few years I’ve been surrounded by people that have proven themselves to be untrustworthy. A few of whom I was once related to and one specifically I was proud to call my neice. The level of deceit and hurt on her part shattered my faith in many who claim to care. And it’s been hard coming back from it all and I can’t say I’m over it yet. Small acts of kindness as witnessed in the generosity of the KNCO staff, my friends from church, my family, and the readers of this website are helping me to make it through to another day. I’m grateful for that this Thanksgiving. And Tammy, if you could, please send me your email address. I’d like to thank you for your encouraging words.

I got a nice email from a friend from Buena High School in Sierra Vista, Arizona where I graduated. He had some nice comments about the books I sent him. And I quote, “I finished “The Lady Was a Gambler” on Saturday. What a fun read! The way you write, I could smell the leather, the wood, the cigar smoke and the perfume! I couldn’t wait to start the next one. I spent the whole morning reading, instead of watching my weekly Westerns on TV.” I thought it was darn nice of him to write. Thank you, Dale.

Wouldn’t it be nice to go back to high school knowing what we know now? I think I’d appreciate it a lot more. I know I’d thank my teachers more. I had a great history teacher. Her name was Virginia Upton. She was tough, but fair and I loved her a lot. She’s gone now, but she will never be forgotten by this former student. Teaching is a gift and I appreciate all the gifted educators I’ve known. They’re heros to me.

Sorting out the best way to market a book is probably the most challenging part of the writing process. I invested in a number of marketing campaigns this year for the books Ive had released and am unsatisfied with the slow sales. The ads that Ive placed in True West Magazine, American Cowboy Magazine, and Chronicles of the Old West all contain my website address. It disheartening when people say, You have a website? I am frustrated because I want to get the word out about the work and the website and am obviously doing an inadequate job. Ill keep at it. I havent been as vigilante as Id like to be with that aspect of writing. Try as I might I cant seem to get my brother off my mind. I wonder how long that will take. The despair is overwhelming the sadness is always there&lurking. Im off now to collect art work for the schoolmarm book due out next year. Im already planning a publicity campaign for that book and I pray that it will be a success.

I’m in San Jose today doing research on a schoolmarm who started the first school in the area. Her name was Mary Graves and she was the heroine of the Donner Party. Her story is tragic and inspired. It will be a great addition to the book. No matter how hard I try I cannot stay totally focused on the work. Thoughts of my brother’s torture creep in. I see him lying there, his teeth kicked in and his glasses busted. Bruises on his face and head, unable to move, ever. I will miss him always. The constant thoughts of the brutality are like a mistress. Someone who takes everything, but leaves nothing but sadness. I cannot find out anything about my brother’s body. The prison officials continue to be cruel. I was told that if “there was enough of him that a rat could eat I’d be lucky.” I am heartsick for my poor mom and dad. I wonder if the real criminal in all of this knew that we would be condemn to such a life? I’m sure she did. I wonder if the man she married will be safe? I suspect in two years time or less, this poor man’s mother will be suffering as she watches her loved one go to prison and die. Some souls are black as the night. There is no mercy and no way to fight such evil. When Mary Graves’s husband was murdered she felt the same way. It seems odd that most of the characters I’m writing about lately have experienced similar heartbreaking circumstances in their lives. There is comfort in that I suppose.

I can’t imagine what it must have been like for Wyatt Earpy, Bill Tilghman, Charlie Bassett, and Bat Masterson to ride the plains of Kansas looking for Dora Hand’s killer. Just as they picked up on the murderer’s trail a freezing rain washed away any trace of his horse’s hoofprints. They kept at it though and eventually got their man. The sad, awful misery of it was that James Kenedy went free. His father was very wealthy and helped get his son out of trouble. Even in 1878 the color of justice was green. I feel like my brother got some justice today. After a grueling intake process from Moody Bible Institute he was accepted as a full time student. I wish he’d known how many people spoke out for him and recommended him to the program. I wish he’d known how many lives he touched. I wished I’d had adequate enough money to have helped my brother. I wish…

I’ve been writing about Bat Masterson again today. I am working on chapter five of the new book. I like Bat a lot. He was tough, but fair and always looked out for his brothers and sisters. He was particularly close to his brother Ed and after Ed was shot he blamed himself for not taking better care of him. He was never the same after he buried his brother at the Fort Dodge cemetery. The four men involved in his brother’s shooting were arrested for the crime, but were later released because there was no positive proof of there complicity. The bad guys went free, but Bat dedicated the rest of his life to making sure justice was served. Bat eventually became a writer and called out the bad guys by name in print. He could have shot them, but dying was too good for those boys. I know just how you feel, Bat. I know just how you feel.

I’ll send a free copy of The Lady Was a Gambler to the next five people who sign the guest book and include their email. The new book would make a great gift for history lovers.

I have spent so much time researching and writing about the four men that participated in the hunt for Dora Hand’s killer that it’s hard for me to decide who I like best. I’ve been focusing on Bat Masterson over the last few days and I like him as much as I do Bill Tilghman. It’s been interesting to learn what specific event made them become champions for right. Bat and his brother had done some work grading a section of land outside of Dodge and the man that hired them failed to pay them for the job. He skipped town. Bat couldn’t afford to hire an attorney to go after him so he bought himself a six shooter and waited for the man to one day return. When the thief eventually did return to Dodge City, Bat made sure he got the money he and his brother were owed. Bat waited out the bad guy. I wish I could subscribe to that. I got word yesterday from the prison officials at Beaumont Prison that if I ask anymore questions about my brother or his treatment they would turn me over to the FBI and tell the them that I was terrorizing them. Don’t know how Bat would have handled this. I don’t believe you can wait out the bad guy now of days. The bad guys have won and unfortunately work for the government. Where’s a good posse when you need one?

I’m trying to get back to work today. I have been writing about Bat Masterson and his role in the posse that set out to capture Dora Hand’s killer. It’s hard to stay focused. It seems like my faith and circumstances have been in a head on collision. I don’t think believing in a good God makes sense right now. I don’t think he likes me much. Don’t think he liked my brother either. My mother wants him to be buried next to her at the Norborne Cemetery, but I can’t let that happen. Just thinking about what those absolute horrors of individuals did to him in life makes me shudder to think what they what do to his grave in death. What happens to him will be a closely guarded secret. You know, Bat Masterson excaped death more than once. He was shot in the pelvis during a gunfight at the Lady Gay Saloon near the Sweetwater Creek in Texas. An Army surgeon managed to remove the bullet, but he walked with a limp for the rest of his life. I miss my brother. Like I said, it’s hard to stay focused.