GRAVE HUMOR: AMUSING LAST WORDS IN THE WEST by Vonn McKee

 

While dying is not funny business, there’s no denying that some people utter some downright entertaining epigrams during their final moments on earth. Of course, there are plenty of unforgettably noble last words, but I submit that once Sam Houston summoned his remaining iron will to speak the words, “Texas––Texas! ––Margaret!” that nobody else could possibly top that. Why even try?

But those funny guys … especially the funny doomed guys, even if they didn’t mean to be amusing … they deserve special recognition, I believe, for using their last breaths to leave the crowd smiling, or at least wanting to smile. 

THIS IS FUNNY...

Some were famous, like Doc Holliday, who ended his life of gunfighting and wisecracking in a sick bed. With a glance down at his bootless feet, he declared, “This is funny.” You see, he always figured to die with his boots on, pistols blazing.

Some of the most interesting dying words were spoken by people who would have otherwise faded into Old West obscurity. Their memorable farewells are about all we know about them.

GALLOWS HUMOR

Sheriff Henry Plummer of Bannack, Montana, was hanged by vigilantes who suspected him of illegal activities. The sheriff held onto his bravado to the end and dryly remarked, “Give me a high drop, men.”

The Hanging Judge, Isaac C. Parker of Ft. Smith, Arkansas, dispensed of six murderers in a day. One of them, Sam Fooy, would have thumbed his nose at the judge and onlookers had his hands not been tied. He left them with, “I am as anxious to get out of this world as you are to see me go.”

John Owens murdered a man over five dollars in Buffalo, Wyoming, and couldn’t wait to get on with the show. “What time is it?” he said. “I wish you’d hurry up. I want to get to hell in time for dinner.”

A Nebraska farmer, Lee Shellenberger, was charged with killing his eleven-year-old daughter. Before the trial date, a lynch mob dragged him from the jail. Shellenberger was most indignant and delivered a threat just before the rope tightened. “If there is such a thing as haunts, I will do it, for I recognize several of you.”

We don’t know the name of the wise guy who was hanged at Yuma Penitentiary in 1887, but his punch line lives on. When asked why he was smiling, he replied, “Well, I was just thinking. You guys have got to walk back up there in the heat. I don’t.”

PARTING SHOT 

An outlaw named Bill Gallagher confronted tough rancher John Slaughter near Ft. Sumner, New Mexico, and decided to charge him on horseback. Slaughter coolly shot the man down. As Gallagher lay dying, he closed with a little self-analysis. “I needed killing twenty years ago, anyway.”

SHARP WIT

The Texas Panhandle produced plenty of tough characters. Sostenes L’Archeveque was one of them. Even his friends grew tired of his violent, troublemaking ways. They invited him over for a meal, then proceeded to ambush him. After being shot and stabbed, L’Archeveque still had plenty of fight left in him. He spat at his attackers, “You pull that knife out of my back and I’ll kill every one of you!”

➼  ➼  ➼  ➼  ➼  ➼  ➼  ➼  ➼  ➼  ➼  ➼  ➼  ➼  ➼  ➼  ➼  ➼  ➼  ➼

HEY, Y'ALL...WATCH THIS! 

Having been educated at a white man’s school, a Kickapoo woman named Oo-Lath-La-Hi-Na tried to avert an attack by soldiers who apparently didn’t realize her tribe as friendly.

“I will go out and talk with the white Captain. He thinks we are Comanches. The white men won’t shoot a woman.”

A caravan of wagons stopped for the night near Battle Mountain, Nevada, in August of 1857. One of the pioneers, Smith Holloway, declined to join the circle of wagons and camped away from the group, despite warnings of potential Indian attacks. After an uneventful night, Holloway arose and announced his last words, "Wake up, everyone. No redskins in sight!"

Four robbers were holed up in a cabin near Kokomo, Colorado when Deputy/Detective M. E. Conrad crashed through the door. Seeing no guns elsewhere in the cabin, Conrad grilled the men, forcing them to walk over to their beds, throw back the covers, and prove they weren’t bad guys. “Boys, we must see what you have got under those blankets,” he said, just before he learned the truth.

For more fascinating accounts of Western characters and their send-offs, I recommend Garry Radison’s book, LAST WORDS: DYING IN THE OLD WEST. And watch your words, my friends. They could well outlive you.

All the best,

Vonn

VONN McKEE
“Writing the Range”
2015 WWA Spur Finalist (Short Fiction)
2015 Western Fictioneers Peacemaker Finalist (Short Fiction)



www.vonnmckee.com
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GOING WEST? START HERE!

The city of St. Louis, by American standards, has been around quite a long time. In 1764, a wandering fur trapper named Pierre Laclede stood at the foot of today’s Walnut Street and made this proclamation: “I have found a situation where I intend establishing a settlement which in the future shall become one of the finest cities in America.” He was accompanied by his stepson Auguste Chouteau, who would oversee much of the construction of the new village.

Auguste Chouteau's Rendering of St. Louis

St. Louis, named for King Louis IV, technically lay within Spanish territory. It thrived as a trading post due to its location at the confluence of the Missouri and Mississippi Rivers and proximity to fur-rich lands to the west. 

Beginning in 1800, there were a whole lot of land switcheroos going on. France whipped out the secret Treaty of St. Ildefonse, which gave them immediate claim to the entire Louisiana Territory. They named St. Louis its capital. Four years later, a battle-weary and cash-strapped Napolean cut a package land deal–the Louisiana Purchase–with President Thomas Jefferson, thereby doubling the size of the United States. (As a native of the state of Louisiana, I take great pride in pointing out that our boundaries once encompassed all or part of fifteen modern states!)

Missouri River Water Trail

St. Louis grew into an important outfitting post for travelers heading west. After months of preparation, the Lewis and Clark Expedition officially launched their keelboat and pirogues onto the river at nearby St. Charles in 1804. Their Corps of Discovery would return to the same riverfront two and a half years later. 

Two mailbags marked “The Butterfield Overland Mail Company” left St. Louis on September 16, 1858, marking the inaugural trip of BOMC’s three-year run as a postal carrier. Countless settlers streamed through the city, stuffing their wagons with supplies for a long trek to the newly opened frontier.

Riverboats sidled up to the docks at old Laclede’s Landing, a number of them piloted by an upriver boy named Samuel Clemens. The famous 1870 race between the Robert E. Lee and the Natchez ended here on the Fourth of July, with the Lee more than six hours ahead.

The Robert E. Lee and the Natchez, roaring upriver

Two brewers named Anheuser and Busch became “buds” in 1879. Industry and railroads moved in. At the time of the World’s Fair in 1904, the host city of St. Louis was the fourth largest metropolis in America. 

If you thought that Charles Lindbergh named his plane “The Spirit of St. Louis” out of fondness for the city, you would be mistaken. That was the home base of…his investors.

On St. Louis’s riverbank–framing the setting sun–stands its most famous modern icon, the Gateway Arch. It is the centerpiece of the Jefferson National Expansion Memorial, and was dedicated in 1968. If you’ve never visited, be sure to check out the Museum of Westward Expansion at the base of the Arch. Take the enclosed tram (unless you’re claustrophobic) to the observation deck for stunning views of the city to the west and the sprawling farmlands of Illinois to the east. Finnish architect Eero Saarinen designed the curve of the aluminum structure to resemble a length of hanging chain. I’m told that the technical term is a weighted catenary. 

And just where does this St. Louis timeline lead us? To the first annual Western Fictioneers Convention, of course! It seemed only right that we should meet in the city known as  “The Gateway to the West” to celebrate the literature and history of the American Frontier.

Old Pierre Laclede would be pleased to know that "one of the finest cities in America" will be hosting a talented group of writers who continue to keep the spirit of the frontier alive.

The Western Fictioneers convention runs from 1:00 PM on Friday, October 30, through 11:00 AM on Sunday, November 1, 2015. Registration info can be found HERE.

All the best,
Vonn
                                  


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Available on Amazon and Smashwords:

THE SONGBIRD OF SEVILLE
(2015 SPUR Award Finalist,
Best Short Fiction

THE GUNFIGHTER'S GIFT
(2015 PEACEMAKER Award Finalist,
Best Short Fiction)

A TALL TALE FROM TEXAS: Western Superman, Pecos Bill 

I am of that generation who grew up gnawing on crib rails covered in lead-based paint, riding with bare feet dangling off the tailgates of bouncing pickups, and eating warm-for-hours potato salad. I somehow survived without benefit of helmets, seat belts, and childproof caps. 

Perhaps best of all, I watched a constant stream of cartoons featuring anthropomorphic animals who smoked, drank, blew themselves up with dynamite and flattened their foes’ heads with anvils on a regular basis. That’s as close as I get to issuing a disclaimer for this blog.

With that out of the way, allow me to share a slightly unwholesome video clip of one of my favorite childhood heros–that towering Texan, the tallest tale of all tall tales–Pecos Bill. Watch him mulitmask like a master as he ropes and rides a cyclone, rolls a cigarette with his tongue (yes, folks, this is from Disney), fires off a few hundred hip shots with twin revolvers and YODELS. Even Widow Maker the horse joins in. Roy Rogers narrates and the Sons of the Pioneers provide background music for this 1948 classic.

I just loved Pecos Bill stories as a kid. That could explain my difficulties in elementary school. (You mean the Rio Grande wasn’t a trench dug by Pecos Bill?)

Pecos Bill, riding cyclones and swinging
his rattlesnake lariat
(scholastic.com image)

According to Legends of America...

“The mythical folk hero, first written about in 1917 by Edward O’Reilly, is said to have been based on tales told by range hands at the end of a long day of tending cattle, and is in the same spirit of other "Big" characters like Paul Bunyan or John Henry. O'Reilly would publish these writings in the 1923 book ‘Saga of Pecos Bill.’”

Slue-foot Sue
(Walt Disney Company image)

For a while, Pecos Bill had a lady friend named Slue-foot Sue who traveled via a giant catfish. Pecos shot out all the stars in the sky to impress her. Of course, he left one which became known as the Lone Star. The relationship was fated to end when Sue insisted on riding Bill’s unrideable horse, Widow Maker. Apparently, Slue-foot Sue is still bouncing off the moon to this day.

Patrick Swayze starred in the 1995 Disney remake “TALL TALE,” wherein Pecos gets to hang out with his super-buddies Paul Bunyan and John Henry. They save the day by appearing in a troubled boy’s dream. (Boy, does this clip make me miss Patrick Swayze.)

Patrick Swayze as Pecos Bill
(Walt Disney Company image)
Click here to view TALL TALE preview.

So maybe Pecos Bill could save the day once again. Could he be the rootin’ tootin’ superhero who gives modern youngsters a taste of the Wild West? If we tell our kids and grandkids the bigger-than-Texas tales of his adventures (complete with sound effects!), might it whet their appetites for more Western fiction?

Only one way to find out. Tonight at bedtime, Pecos Bill will shoot out some stars and Slue-foot Sue will bounce off the moon during story hour. And, just because I love them, the younguns in this family are all getting rattlesnake lariats for Christmas.

All the best,
Vonn
                                      



Keep up with Vonn:

Facebook
Twitter




Available on Amazon and Smashwords:

THE SONGBIRD OF SEVILLE
(2015 SPUR Award Finalist,
Best Short Fiction

THE GUNFIGHTER'S GIFT
(2015 PEACEMAKER Award Finalist,
Best Short Fiction)

WRITER FRENEMIES: MARK TWAIN AND BRET HARTE by Vonn McKee

I’ve been an avid reader of western fiction for most of my life. My shelves sag with books by the usual suspect authors. (You know the names so I won’t bother listing them.) I would become enamored of one author’s prosey style, dripping with adjectives, for a while. Then I’d fall in love with another’s stark, restrained realism. I’m a sucker for a stylist and still appreciate any style that’s well-executed.

When I decided to write westerns rather than just read them, I approached it a little more scientifically. Just how did this genre evolve? Who spun the first yarns that led to a literary world of laconic cowboys, stage coach heists and arrows of flame raining down on covered wagons? 

Of course, the experts disagree. The first dime western was supposedly Charles Frey’s MALAESKA, THE INDIAN WIFE OF THE WHITE HUNTER, published in 1860. Oh, but James Fennimore Cooper wrote his LEATHERSTOCKING TALES featuring protagonist Natty Bumppo beginning in the 1820’s. You know, back when the Appalachians constituted the Frontier. Throughout the latter 1800’s, there were stories of fictional adventures based on living “celebrities” like Buffalo Bill Cody, the James Brothers, Billy the Kid and Wyatt Earp. Later came Wister, then Grey, eventually L’Amour. Then we lost count.

If I’d read and dissected every one of these, I would never have gotten around to writing anything of my own. I took the hummingbird approach, sampling a little of all.

One of the first accounts of the Old West that I decided to study was Bret Harte’s THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP, the story of a baby boy who is born to a mining camp’s resident prostitute, Cherokee Sal. Harte’s characters are so comically portrayed that it’s easy to overlook the grimness of the plot twists (a couple of the principals are killed off).

I also had fun reading Mark Twain’s ROUGHING IT, a travelogue – greatly embellished, no doubt – of his first trip to the West. The Twain humor is there, albeit less polished than in his later writings.

I discovered quite by accident that Bret Harte and Mark Twain were actually good friends in San Francisco. Harte was editor of the Overland Monthly and the freshly-pseudonymed Twain hit town in 1864 and found work as a freelance journalist. Ironically, Bret Harte became Twain’s mentor, guiding him through the writing of the INNOCENTS ABROAD manuscript.

In a letter to the editor Thomas Bailey Aldrich, Twain wrote: “Bret Harte trimmed and trained and schooled me patiently until he changed me from an awkward utterer of coarse grotesqueness to a writer of paragraphs and chapters that have found a certain favor in the eyes of even some of the very decentest people in the land.”

The admiration was mutual. Harte wrote of Twain: “I think I recognize a new star rising in this western horizon.”

They remained friends for several years but, alas, the bromance was not to last. As the two became more widely known, a rivalry developed, possibly because they had similar writing styles and audiences at the time. Twain became increasingly cranky in his discussions of Harte. They wrote a play together which was ultimately a commercial failure. Years later, Twain suggested that Harte owed him money. 

By 1878, Mark Twain’s admiration for the man who was once his mentor had crossed into total disdain. He wrote to their mutual friend, William Dean Howells: “Harte is a liar, a thief, a swindler, a snob, a sot, a sponge, a coward, a Jeremy Diddler, he is brim full of treachery, and he conceals his Jewish birth as if he considered it a disgrace.”

In my opinion, it would have been almost worth ticking off Twain just for the splendid insult that followed!

Mark Twain & Bret Harte at work on a play
at Hartford House, Connecticut

It’s hard to say why their great friendship fell apart. Maybe the things they held in common dwindled over time. Certainly when Bret Harte and Mark Twain met in the rowdy town of San Francisco, they were kindred souls. They were a couple of intellectual young satirists who lived in a remarkable time and world. Nothing escaped the stab of their sharp pens. They wrote of frogs and slaves and kings and cowboys, usually with some seed of political opinion buried within.

Wives and children, cross-country moves, career successes and flops – all may have contributed to their parting of ways. Maybe they were too much alike and could never have existed in the same spheres for long. That’s often true of highly creative types. Both might be amused – or not – if they knew there is a California town named for them (TwainHarte) located near where each of them lived.

So, an interesting thing happened on the way to my western writing career. I discovered that the talent pool is very old and VERY deep. I will never again stay up half the night talking with my rowdy friends at a writing conference without remembering guys like Bret Harte and Mark Twain. Oh, to stay young and full of fire. Oh, to have fine companions with the same flame in their souls. 

I guess that’s what we’re doing here. Right, friends?

(That said, make plans to attend the first ever WESTERN FICTIONEERS CONVENTION in 2015! Details coming soon!)

All the best,

Vonn

www.facebook.com/VonnMcKee

AVAILABLE ON AMAZON HERE  
     

DRIFTING ALONG...By Vonn McKee

Brian Goodman photo

What would a wild west movie be without ‘em? Or even The Big Lebowski? They add just the right touch of desert desolation to a sound stage ghost town. Iconic lonely wanderers skittering across the screen…such a perfect metaphor for the drifting cowboy, ever restless and never tarrying long.

They’ve been immortalized in song. “See them tumbling down, pledging their love to the ground…” A strange lyrical image, if you ask me but, hey…whatever rhymes, right?

We know and love them (or not) as tumbleweeds. The botanical name is Salsola Tragus, or Russian thistle. Many a disgruntled farmer would smugly opine no surprise that the Russians might be behind this nefarious fence-clogging, crop-invading weed.

Disgruntled farmer

As you might guess from the name, Russian thistle is, indeed, not from around here. It sneaked over in bags of flax seed brought to South Dakota by immigrants in the early 1870’s. There was a conspiracy among the local farmers that the Russian immigrants, many of whom were Mennonites, had the noxious plant shipped over to protest frontier prejudices against them. The U.S. Secretary of Agriculture conducted an investigation and everything. Eventually, it was ruled a horrible accident rather than an act of botanical warfare.

Conditions in the arid and open plains proved to be perfectly conducive to total tumbleweed domination. As the plant matures, it breaks off at the main stem and hitches a ride on the wind, dropping as many as a quarter million seeds on its journey. (Yes, that’s from ONE tumbleweed.) The seeds are not picky about things like soil pH, minimum rainfall or hardiness zones so it isn’t long before the seedling goes from this innocent little tyke:

to this unassuming shrub:

to this!

National Geographic photo

Here is a map of Russian thistle distribution in the United States. It does not reflect the degree of invasion, only the presence of Russian thistle variants. While the wild weeds still prefer the Wild West, as you can see, about the only places you won’t find some version of these ornery thistles (they love to merge with other subspecies) are in the Everglades and the Great Lakes.

Tumblin’ tumbleweeds can easily take paint off a car, thanks to their spiny branches, and can self-stick into huge piles, creating fire hazards and navigational bothers. In January of this year, the citizens of Clovis, New Mexico, awoke to find themselves buried in tumbleweed drifts. It took the city weeks to dig out of the mess.

CNN image

The U.S. Department of Agriculture has tried many Russian thistle “management” measures to no avail. The current research is centered around various weevils, caterpillars and tiny insects called “blister mites,” which feed specifially on the thistle. (Just a little word to the D of A here: Y’all might want to be careful about introducing something called BLISTER MITES into an already bad situation.)

herbguide.com image

Since you are all probably humming "Tumbling Tumbleweeds" by now, here are some interesting links. For the purists, The Sons of the Pioneers with classic western harmony:

The Sons of the Pioneers (Young Leonard Slye in front)
Bob Nolan photo collection

CLICK HERE: Sons of the Pioneers

As a wild card bonus, here are the Supremes with their Motown version. (What? You don't own The Supremes Sing Country, Western and Pop?)

Joel Francis image

CLICK HERE: Supremes

Until next time, lonely but free I’ll be found, drifting along with the Salsola Tragus…

                  All the best, VM

NEW FROM WESTERN TRAIL BLAZER! 
THE GUNFIGHTER'S GIFT BY VONN McKEE
"Pap rides in on Wilhelmina's birthday, giving her a mysterious blue box and maybe even his 'gift' with a gun..."

Available on Amazon here!