Interior of the Long Branch Saloon in Dodge City, just a stone's throw away from Marshall Tilghman's six-shooter.
In the thirteen plus years I’ve been writing books about the Old West I’ve had many amazing experiences relating to the field. Some experiences have been more memorable than others. Two specifically stand out in my mind. In June 2009 the gracious curator at the Dodge City Museum on Front Street granted my outrageous request to hold Bill Tilghman’s and Bat Masterson’s guns. The historical artifacts were on display behind a thick sheet of glass. It took some time to remove the glass, but the wait was well worth it. Holding the weapon of one of the most respected lawmen ever born was an event I’ll always cherish. Marshal Bill Tilghman has been my idol as far back as I can remember. The next memorable experience took place at the Lone Pine Film Festival in Lone Pine, California. I was there signing copies of the John Wayne book I had written entitled The Young Duke. Among the numerous western film legends on hand at that event was Harry Carey Jr. Carey was an accomplished character actor who had starred in more than a few of my favorite westerns – films like The Searchers, Red River, She Wore A Yellow Ribbon, Rio Bravo and Tombstone. I met the quiet, unassuming man and his wife at dinner. Carey was in his 80s and dressed every bit the part of an actor who had just walked off a set from filming. Behind the gray beard and hat pulled low across his brow I couldn’t help but see the same boyish charm he possessed in the early years of his career. After introducing myself and pointing out the fact that we were born on the same day, Carey was born on May 16, 1921 and I was born in 61, the conversation happily shifted to the films he’d had the privilege of making. He talked about his father Harry Carey, Sr., John Wayne, and John Ford. He talked about serving in the Navy in the Pacific Theater as a medical corpsman during World War II. Carey was gracious and kind and a wealth of information. He let me ramble on about his performance in the John Ford western 3 Godfathers and Cheyenne Autumn. Harry Carey Jr. passed away this past week. He was ninety-one years old. Not only did cinema lose a fine cowboy actor (yes, I know he played other roles, but I’ll always remember him as a cowboy), but the world lost another World War II veteran. I’ll always remember meeting Harry Carey and think fondly on the last words he said to me, “We’ll be talking at you soon, Ms. Enss. Thank you kindly for the chat.”
