We’ve had such fun looking at pocket pistols and revolvers, I thought I’d share another I ran across: The Colt 1848 “Baby Dragoon.” Many consider this to be the first true hideout gun.

The Colt Model 1848 Baby Dragoon Revolver was manufactured in Hartford from circa l847 through to 1850 with a total of about 15,000 produced. A .31 caliber weapon, this baby held five shots in its cylinder.

In order to cut back on the weight of the gun, the loading lever was removed from under the barrel and the front sight was scaled down to a tiny bead. This also helped make the gun more “snag-free”, meaning it was less likely to catch in the lining of the pocket or purse when drawn. Rather important if you wanted to get the drop on a bad guy.

The one on the left has no loading lever; the one on the right does. See it, under the barrel?

The five-shot Baby Dragoon was a scaled down version of the large dragoon revolvers, and were manufactured with barrel lengths of 3″, 4″, 5″, and 6″ and a distinctive square-back trigger-guard.  The 3” and 4” are reasonable for a pocket revolver, but a 5 or 6” barrel, plus the cylinder and polished wood grip–not exactly a miniature weapon.

The “Baby Dragoon” pistol was more accurate and more powerful than earlier pocket guns, and their lighter weight made them the weapon of choice for Pony Express riders, and the Wells Fargo Company.

Want more info? Check out Colt’s Pocket ‘49: Its Evolution, Including the Baby Dragoon & Wells Fargo by Robert M. Jordan & Darrow M. Watt. The book is out of print, but you might be able to find a copy through your local library.

The most famous gunfight in the history of the West took place on October 26, 1881, in a vacant lot behind the OK Corral in Tombstone, Arizona.  Anyone who’s seen the movies/TV series, or read any of the uncounted books knows that the winners were legendary gunman Wyatt Earp, his brothers Morgan and Virgil, and their friend, a shady, alcoholic dentist known as Doc Holliday.  But who were the losers?  Did they deserve to die as they did?  Let’s take a closer look.

Ike and Billy Clanton were two of three brothers from a small ranching family.  Ike, the elder, wasn’t the brightest light in the candelabra.  Known as a loudmouth who liked to drink and gamble, he was also a hard worker.  Younger brother Billy was still in his teens.

Tom and Frank McLaury, also small ranchers, were known to be honest and respectable.  They’d made good money selling cattle to the army, but were planning to move away because of the growing Apache problems.  Their only fault, it appears, was being good friends with the Clantons.

A complicated trail of events led up to the gunfight. It started when some stolen government mules were found on the McLaury ranch. Tom and Frank were away at the time and it was later proven that a friend had left them there.  Tom and Frank were never charged but the Earps publicly branded them as thieves.  Other incidents and accusations followed, fueling the bad blood. 

On the night of October 25, Tom McLaury and Ike Clanton rode into Tombstone.  Ike planned to buy supplies for his ranch and find a card game.  Tom was there to settle his accounts prior to moving away.  In the saloon, Ike ran into Doc Holliday, drunk and spoiling for a fight.  Doc began baiting Ike and challenged him to a gunfight.  He was soon joined by Wyatt Earp (photo) and his two brothers.  The slow-witted Ike fought back with the only weapon he had, his mouth.  He shouted that he and his friends would come looking for the Earps and Holliday, and they would have to fight.

Fade to the next day.  After more blustering and baiting, Frank McLaury and young Billy Clanton rode into town, unaware of what had happened.  When Frank was told, he tried to calm things down and get Ike and his brother out of town, but it was too late.  Like a giant clock, fate moved the players toward the final confrontation.  Here’s how the two sides stacked up.

Carrying guns was patently illegal in town.  But Morgan and Virgil Earp were both peace officers.  They’d deputized Wyatt and Doc Holliday, so all were legally armed.  All of them had pistols, and Doc also carried a deadly sawed-off shotgun.

Billy Clanton had a pistol and had been told he could keep it because he and Ike were leaving town.  Frank McLaury also had a pistol, which he was about to turn over to Sheriff John Behan.  Ike Clanton and Tom McLaury were unarmed.

The Earps and Doc walked onto the scene with their guns drawn.  Ike put up his hands and Tom opened his vest, both declaring they weren’t armed.  But the Earps and Doc opened fire.  Frank and Billy fired back in self defense.

When the shooting ended thirty seconds later, Frank McLaury was dead.  Tom and Billy were mortally wounded.  Virgil Earp had been shot in the leg; Morgan had a bad shoulder wound, and Doc was winged.  Ironically, the only member of the “Clanton Gang” to escape unscathed was Ike, who knocked Wyatt Earp off balance and fled.

There’s a lot more to this story.  I’ve cut some wide corners for the sake of brevity.  If you have any corrections or anything to add, I’d welcome your comments.  Did Wyatt Earp deserve all his “fame and glory?”  What do you think?

I just finished writing my story for  “Give Me a Texas Outlaw”, so of course what else do I have on my mind but outlaws?  I recently blogged about Mobeetie, Texas, and  Bat Masterson; so today, let’s talk about the notorious outlaw Billy the Kid and his time in the second town established in the Texas Panhandle, Tascosa.

I set my story in our newest anthology, “Give Me a Texas Ranger”, in Buffalo Springs. The town was geographically and historical situated in Tascosa, but I took my share of creative freedom. Like Tascosa, Buffalo Springs is divided into two parts — upper and lower.  As the name might indicate, the uppity folks lived on the upper side of the creek while the low life lived in the part of town frequently referred to as Buffalo Wallow.  

Tascosa as a whole was known as the toughest, wildest and most lawless town in this part of the wild frontier.  But no matter what the citizens of Upper Tascosa said about it, the town deserved its reputation in many ways. Before there was any law and order, or formal government, the newest settlement in the area attracted all types of seedy characters. Among them was celebrity desperado William H. Bonney a/k/a Henry McCarty and best known as “Billy the Kid.” Many stories exist about his two aliases, but the simple truth is that his mother was married to a man named McCarty for a brief time, and Billy took that name.

Coming into the Panhandle from his home turf of Lincoln County, New Mexico, in the fall of 1878, the Kid and his four friends trailed 125 stolen horses which they planned to sell to Panhandle ranchers. The group spent money freely and were even well-behaved during their stay in Tascosa.  At first, the citizens were awed by the Kid’s reputation. Once they had observed his exceptional behavior, a number of residents welcomed the beardless, easygoing, blond youth with open arms. It seemed they felt he was too meek and mild to be an outlaw.

Eventually the Kid befriended, Dr. Henry F. Hoyt, an ambitious young doctor who had come to the Panhandle to set up his practice.  As the story goes, John Chisum, infamous cattle baron of New Mexico, had advised him that they needed a doctor at Tascosa.  During a smallpox epidemic in the town, Hoyt had saved the life of the beautiful daughter of one of the area founders, by improvising a poultice of gunpowder and water–and had become an immediate hero. However, once the epidemic was under control, Dr.Hoyt found that the small settlement couldn’t support a doctor, so he began work as a mail carrier between Tascosa and Fort Bascom, which led to his meeting Billy the Kid in a Tascosa saloon.  

  Equity Saloon, Tascosa, Texas

The two became good friends, and at one time Hoyt gave the Kid a lady’s watch he had won in a poker game for the outlaw to give it as a gift to his sweetheart.  Hum, I wonder where I got the idea of a pocket watch for my new story in “Give Me a Texas Outlaw”?

Soon afterward, Dr. Hoyt announced his plans to move and set up practice in Las Vegas, NM. Coincidentally, the day before the fine doctor was to leave, Billy the Kid rode into Tascosa from his camp where the stolen horses were being held by his gang. The Kid presented his friend with a beautiful chestnut sorrel race horse, Dandy Dick.  The doc hesitated to accept the gift possibly because rumor had it that the stolen horses in the Kid’s possession had been taken from the same part of New Mexico he was relocating to.

The Kid good-naturedly walked into the store of Howard and McMasters, tore off a scrap of paper, wrote a bill of sale, witnessed and signed by the owners of the store, and gave it to Hoyt as proof the horse (branded B.B. on the left hip) wasn’t stolen.   Many years later, it was determined that the sorrel belong to Lincoln County’s late Sheriff, James Brady.  Bonney had shot his way out of Brady’s jail against fearful odds, then shot and killed the sheriff, making off with his horse.

 By the end of 1878, Billy the Kid and his gang left Tascosa, having sold most of the stolen horses. There had been a shake-up in his group, since Henry Brown, Fred Waite, and John Middleton decided to forsake the life of outlaws. They elected to stay in Tascosa and go legit.  Bonney didn’t take long to recruit replacements for them. After his departure, it was discovered that he also rustled enough head of cattle to cause considerable concern among the Panhandle ranchers.

As their first act after organizing in 1880, the Panhandle Cattlemen’s Association sent an expedition to join lawman Pat Garrett in scouting for Billy the Kid and the cattleman’s livestock. With the help of Panhandle men, Garrett found the Kid in Fort Sumner, and shot him to death on the night of July 14, 1881. 

Of interest, in 1962, Lincoln County, New Mexico, filed suit to have the Kid’s body exhumed and reburied in his home county, but lost the case and his gravesite remains in Ft. Sumner, New Mexico, near where he was killed.

A number of legends persist concerning the Kid’s escapades in Tascosa. Most of them involved well-known folks who were not even in the Panhandle during Bonney’s tenure. Among the alleged participants are Temple Houston (who Linda Broday told you all about a week or so back), Bat Masterson, Pat Garrett and Frenchy McCormick, all of who came to Tascosa after Billy the Kid left. 

Over the years, I’ve read some conflicting historical accounts on famous outlaws, among them, William Bonney.  I’ve seen wanted posters with his name spelled Bonny and Bonney and rewards from $500 to $5,000.  He’s been reported as being 5’ 3” and 120 lbs to 5’ 10” and 140 lbs., but the truth, there was never any “Wanted” posters on Billy the Kid.  The closest thing to a poster was a reward notice posted in the Las Vegas Gazette in the late 1800’s and even at that his last name was misspelled.

Another historical inaccuracy that has been challenged is whether he was a handsome honyock with two prominent and slightly protruding front teeth or a cold-stone murderer with icy blue eyes.  I must agree with the historian who wrote that if the Kid had teeth protruding like squirrel’s teeth he’d be pretty plug-ugly, so why would he have so many well documented female admirers? 

One thing for certain, the short life and significance of Billy the Kid is disproportionate to the legendary standing his name has achieved.

My question today, do you think the ladies of the new frontier liked his bad boy image or did they prefer the fine lookin’ lad they swooned over?

Link to order at Amazon.com  Give Me A Texas Ranger

Not in my wildest imagination would I ever have thought I’d be adding an update on the 130 year old shoot out between Billy the Kid and Sheriff Pat Garrett!  Just as I posted my blog, Fox News broke the story that there is a modern day showdown brewing between the decedents of Sheriff Garrett and the governor of New Mexico. Now the story has taken on a life of its own on the Internet. From what I can sort out, Billy the Kid was offered a pardon for his Lincoln County jail escapade by then territorial governor, Lew Wallace, if he’d testify in a bloody range war.  Wallace reneged and eventually Billy the Kid was shot and killed by Sheriff Garrett.  Now Governor Richardson has to decide whether to keep Wallace’s promise to pardon Billy the Kid or not.  Garrett’s family is up in arms, excuse the pun, and the issue is hangin’ over everyone’s head.

Well, I’m not quite done extolling Texas, but I’m taking a break today and taking y’all back to Old California. To the Olivas Adobe, a terrific site left from Southern California’s Rancho Period. The home, or hacienda, is a prime example of adobe  (dried clay brick) architecture, made even mores unique with its two-story structure.  Don Raymundo Olivas added an unusual second floor during the rancho’s hey-day in the late 1840’s, and the house has been restored to its original stature. It’s something to see.

Making things even more fun, the adobe is said to be haunted! Although of course many locals dispute the idea, stories persist of  folks seeing a ghostly “dark lady” standing near the kitchen, of present-day tour guides hearing piano music in the empty living room, and of visitors encountering odd smells and strange footfalls on the balcony. She is referred to as “the Lady in Black.”  But “the Lady in White”  has also been seen…with no eyes but bloody sockets. A hundred witnesses saw a little girl, believed to be Maria Olivas,  in the children’s room on a recent Halloween night

Let’s start at the beginning, a very good place to start.  Don Raymundo was born poor in 1809 in the tiny pueblo that grew into today’s Los Angeles, and he joined the Mexican Army in California at 16. As a  Lancer (cavalryman), he was assigned to the Presidio (fort) at Santa Barbara, about two hours north of L.A.

It was here in Santa Barbara that Raymundo met Teodora Lopez and married her in November 1832. In gratitude for his loyalty and service, Mexican Governor Juan B. Alvarado granted Raymundo and a friend 4,670 acres of land in today’s Ventura County. Raymundo began ranching this land while Teodora began bearing children. 21 total, eight girls and 13 boys.                                                            

When gold was discovered along the American River about four hundred miles north, Raymundo found his own “gold mine” and made a fortune supplying those Forty-Niner miners with beef as well as hides.

These were the golden years for the adobe, with its remodeling and additions and glorious parties that lasted for days. Raymundo’s family prospered until drought in the 1860’s destroyed the cattle empires. He survived by raising sheep. However, drought may be just one reason for the decline in fortune. In 1855, legend claims the hacienda was robbed by a gang of outlaws with a take of more than $75,000 in gold.

Another tale claims that Don Raimundo saw the outlaws approach and gave his strongbox to a trusted servant to bury. Enraged upon finding nothing of value to steal, the bandits supposedly ripped Dona Teodora’s gold earrings from her lobes!  Some say she is “the Lady in Black.”  Departing in anger, the outlaws caught site of the loyal Indian servant with a shovel in his hands. Thinking he was about to use it as a weapon, the leader shot him dead.  This servant was the only person who knew where the fortune was –and is–buried. The treasure trove has never been found.

Indeed, Don Raymundo’s death in 1879 was the beginning of the end for the Olivas’ fortune, and the adobe house was sold in 1899. Some of the ranchland has become a municipal golf course, some strawberry fields, some subdivisions. After passing through many owners, the adobe itself was purchased by Max Fleischmann, of the yeast empire, who restored the building in 1927. Upon his death, the adobe was given to the City of Ventura, and it opened as a museum in July, 1972. Docent-led tours are frequent, and many fourth-grade schoolchildren take field trips to the adobe for a hands-on two-hour program that brings to life the Rancho Period of California History.

And at Christmas, locals enjoy a holiday candlelight tour that showcases the tradition of Las Posada where Mary and Joseph seek room at the inn.          

Historian and professional ghost hunter Richard Senate believes the Adobe is one of the West Coast’s most haunted places. Check out http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bxaRs0S-Wp4  or his marvelous book, Ghosts of the Haunted Coast  from Pathfinder Publishing. I bought his book last weekend at a book festival and enjoy it immensely.

How about you? Any haunted places near your homestead?

Click on cover                                                                                                                                           Upcoming White Rose Pub. release

Texas history is full of larger-than-life men and women. There was none more compelling in the Old West than Temple Houston, the youngest child of Sam Houston.

Temple carried the distinction of being first child born in the governor’s mansion in Austin, Texas. He never knew his father because Sam Houston died when the boy was only 3 years old. His mother followed four years later when Temple was 7. Upon her death he went to live with one of his sisters.

Of the eight Houston children, Temple was most like his father in temperament and abilities. But he hated being compared to Sam and especially as being Sam’s boy. Temple was rebellious and had a need for adventure. At age 13 he signed on as a cowboy on a cattle drive going all the way to Dakota territory. To get back home, he was hired as a steamboat captain on the Missouri and Mississippi Rivers.

He began studying law and at the age of 19, he was admitted to the Texas Bar. He was well-educated and spoke fluent French and Spanish in addition to seven Indian languages.

None was more flamboyant and unorthodox. The 6′2″, long-haired man was fond of wearing black Prince Albert coats, elegant pinstriped trousers stuffed into high, handsome boots, and white sombreros. Temple was exceedingly handsome, had piercing gray eyes and coal black hair.

He was also a crack marksman. He carried a pair of ivory-gripped, nickel-plated Colts. And he didn’t hesitate to use them. After a courtroom argument with another lawyer, he met the man in a saloon. Houston killed the adversary and promptly entered a plea of self-defense. He was acquitted.

Before his 21st birthday, Temple was appointed first district attorney for the new district court in the Panhandle. He went to the wild, lawless town of Mobeetie where there was no jail. Not long after he arrived he insisted that one be built. While it was being constructed, one convicted cowboy was chained to a rock pillar in one of the town’s saloons. They gave him a blanket and left him in the saloon overnight. The following morning they found the man dead drunk, surrounded by whiskey bottles. He’d torn his blanket into strips and made a lariat. He spent the night roping bottles off the backbar and drinking the contents.

The next year at age 22, Temple married Laura Cross, a planter’s daughter. Seven children were born to them, but only four survived infancy.

Temple Houston was also an excellent defense attorney. At one trial, that of a man accused of murdering a skilled gunfighter, Houston whipped out his pair of Colts, pointed them at the jury, and fired away. Jurors dove out of the box, spectators dove out the window, and the judge ducked down behind the bench. Houston’s attempt to show the lightning speed of the gunfighter in comparison to that of the accused cowboy, even though the cowboy had shot first, was in fact a matter of self-defense. Once courtroom order resumed, Houston apologized for his gunplay, explaining that his own weapons had held blanks. The cowboy was acquitted.

But his most famous case was the one defending accused prostitute Millie Stacey in 1899. His closing summary is still studied by law students today. It’s considered the perfect defense argument and one of the finest masterpieces of oratory in the English language. In his speech which was spellbinding, he proclaimed Millie innocent, saying man was to blame for her shame and that “Where the star of purity once glittered on her girlish brow, burning shame has left its seal forever.” Millie went free, her guilt expunged.

(As a side note, a copy of the speech was framed and hangs today in the Library of Congress.)

A remark for which his is known is “Your honor, the prosecutor is the first man that I’ve ever seen who can strut while sitting down.”

Another time, a judge persuaded Temple to represent a penniless horse thief. Temple promised, “I’ll provide the unfortunate gentleman the best defense I can.” He asked the judge for a private office where he could talk to his client. A little while later, they found Temple sitting alone in the room with the window open. He smiled and remarked, “I gave him the best advice I could.”

Always a restless soul, Houston left Texas for a new frontier and more adventure. He participated in the Oklahoma Land Rush and raced with thousands of other land-hungry pioneers. He brought his family and moved his practice to the new town of Woodward, Oklahoma. His services were in great demand. Before it was over, he became as big a legend in Oklahoma as he was in Texas.

The man who lived life large died of a stroke in 1905 at the age of 45 and was buried in Woodward’s Laurel Land Cemetery. Needless to say, Temple Houston left a huge mark on the legal profession. And though he never reached the historical acclaim of his father Sam, he was a man to be revered.

Doesn’t this sound like a hero right from one of our western romances? I’d like to have known him.

www.LindaBroday.com

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It was said, “There is no Sunday west of St. Louis–no God west of Ft. Smith.”
Indian Territory.  A perfect haven for outlaws of every kind. They could run west of Ft. Smith where lawlessness reigned, where there were no consequences for any crime–until Judge Isaac Parker and his U.S. Deputy Marshals took charge.
By 1870, the Indian Territory had become a hellhole not fit for honest citizens. The last civilized gateway into the territory was in Arkansas–Ft. Smith.
The Five Civilized Tribes (Cherokee, Choctaw, Chickasaw, Creek and Seminole) who had been relocated to Indian Territory, had their own judicial system for the Indians of the Nations. But their courts had no jurisdiction over intruders who found their way into the Territory.

In 1875, President Grant appointed Judge Isaac Parker to what later became the Western Judicial District of Arkansas, including not only several counties in Arkansas and a strip along the Kansas border, but all of Indian Territory as well. The total area of the court’s jurisdiction was nearly 74,000 square miles, with Indian Territory accounting for over 70,000 square miles of that area.  Marshal Bill Tilghman (above left) was one of the most famous marshals of this era.

The lawmen, or the “Men Who Rode for Parker,” numbered less than 200 at the outset. Only one carried the title, “U.S. Marshal.” The rest were deputies. The marshal’s salary was $90 per month. the deputies received no salary at all. They could arrest for any crime committed in the 74,000 mile area–with or without a warrant. They earned usually no more than $500 per year. Up until 1898, a fee system was in place that allowed a deputy to collect $2 for each arrest he made. In addition, he could receive 6 cents per mile for going to the location of the arrest, and 10 cents per mile for himself and his prisoner to return to court.
No arrest meant no payment, and if he should happen to kill a suspect in attempting the arrest, the deputy was expected to pay for the suspect’s burial.  Judge Parker (above) ruled with an iron fist, and was known as “The Hanging Judge.”

After all the deputy’s expenses were tallied, the U.S. Marshal deducted 25 percent from the total before he paid the deputy the remainder.
During the 21 years of Judge Parker’s tenure, over 65 deputy marshals were killed in the line of duty. Some references list the number as high as 100.

Being a U.S. Deputy Marshal was even tougher in real life than Hollywood could ever portray. Christian Madsen (left), Bill Tilghman, and Heck Thomas were known as “The Three Guardsmen” throughout the Territory for their unending fight to bring lawfulness to the rough borderlands and the unsettled lands beyond.

 The lonely existence these men led, riding out in search of desperate criminals over vast areas of land for a $2 arrest fee, is unimaginable today. The turnover rate was high due to the danger, the low pay, and the enormous amount of territory they had to cover. Weeks of separation from their families was also a deterrent.

But the facts show what those deputy marshals did to bring Indian Territory back under the law again. Judge Parker tried over 17,000 cases during his time at the Western Judicial District of Arkansas–and there were never more than 200 men on the payroll to accomplish these arrests. Order could not have been restored without these men, willing to risk their lives to bring justice back to the wild borderlands of Arkansas, Kansas and Indian Territory.

There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.

Few periods in American history have spawned as many legends as the 1896-99 Klondike Gold Rush.  The rush brought out the best and worst in the men and women who swarmed north in search of wealth.  The tales of their adventures, some true and some myths, have filled many books.  But few writers captured the spirit of gold rush life like poet Robert W. Service, sometimes called “The Bard of the Yukon.”  His writing was so expressive, and so evocative of the time that his readers took him for a hard-bitten old Klondike prospector. 

Nothing could be farther from the truth.  Robert William Service never prospected for gold and did not, in fact, arrive in the Klondike until years after the gold rush played out. 

Service was born in 1874 to a Scottish family living in England.  Trained to be a bank clerk like his father, he left Glasgow for Canada at the age of 21, hoping to become a cowboy.  He drifted around western North America for a time and finally took work with the Canadian Bank of Commerce.  After working in a number of branches, he was posted to the branch in Whitehorse in 1904, then later to Dawson City in the Klondike in in 1908.  Inspired by the vast beauty of the wilderness, Service began writing poetry about the things he saw.  Conversations with local characters who’d lived through the gold rush led him to write about things he heard, embellishing them with his own imagination. 

After collecting enough poems for a book, he offered a publisher $100 of his own money to publish the work.  The publisher returned the money and offered Service a contract.  The book, published as The Spell of the Yukon in America and The Songs of a Sourdough in England, made him world famous and also very wealthy.  Within two years he was able to quit his job at the bank and travel to Paris and Hollywood.  Service remained a British citizen for life.  During World War I he served as an ambulance driver.  He wrote many poems about the war and about other places he visited – more than 1,000 poems in all, as well as two autobiographical novels.

He married a Parisian woman and lived most of his life in France, where he died in 1958.  His wife, thirteen years his junior, died in 1989 at the age of 102.

If you’ve never read Service’s Gold Rush poems you’re in for a treat.  I especially love “The Cremation of Sam McGee,” quoted in part at the beginning of this blog, about the prospector who was always cold.  It’s too long to include in its entirety, but here’s a link:

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-cremation-of-sam-mcgee/

Enjoy!

On Monday I put the manuscript for The Outlaw’s Return in the mail to my editor. Well, not exactly the mail. I sent it via Fedex.  I take overnight service totally for granted, but there was a time when it took 10 days for an itty-bitty letter to to go from St. Jossph, Missouri to Sacramento California, and that was considered fast. The Pony Express did an amazing job for the short 18 months of its existence.  The first ride began on April 3, 1860 with Johnny Fry traveling westbound from St Joseph, Missourt and Billy Hamilton riding east from Sacramento.

As I was leaving the Fedex office, my imagination took off . . . It’s high time Hollywood made another blockbuster western, and the Pony Express is ripe with possibilities.

It wouldn’t be the first Hollywood movie on the subject.  Charlton Heston starred in the Pony Express in 1953, and it was one of the last “B” westerns. Let’s do a remake, something that honors the courage of these men.  How about this . . . we do a story about two riders traveling in opposite directions, both in love with the same young lady. Her older brother runs a pony express station at the midpoint.  The young men are racing to see her, and of course they’re going to arrive at the same time . . . One of them is a total “bad boy.”  The other took the job for the money and wants to go back East and become a doctor. (The job paid $100 a month.)

Past or present, who should we cast as the two riders?

Here’s the ad for riders that ran in a California newspaper:  ”Wanted. Young, skinny, wiry fellows. Not over 18. Must be expert riders. Willing to risk death daily. Orphans preferred.” Eighteen is too young for a hero in a romance, but most riders were in their early 20s.  The oldest was in his mid-40s. The youngest ever a boy named Brancho Charlie. He was only 11 years old and rode for five months.

Not only do we need actors, we need horses. The Pony Express ran 400 horses including mustangs, pintos and Morgans. A rider rode full-out for about an hour and covered 10 miles. A half-mile or so before arriving at the next station, he’d shout or blow a horn to announce his arrival. The stationmaster would have the next horse waiting, and off he’d go.  The route was 2,000 miles and 165 stations marked the trail that went from St. Joseph, Missouri, through Kansas, Nebraska, the northeast corner of Colorado, Wyoming, Utah, Nevada and finally California.

There’s plenty of room for drama and plot twists. Pony Express riders faced danger from terrain, weather and Indian attacks. I’m seeing one of our heroes stuck battling an unexpected blizzard. The other has a horse go lame and he’s stuck without water. The trip generally took 10 days in the summer and 12-16 in the winter. Perhaps most amazing of all, only one bag of mail was ever lost.

The Pony Express is the stuff of western legend. Like so many other pieces of history, it was done in by technology.  When the telegraph was completed, the Pony Express was no longer relevant. Ten days seemed like a long time compared to what the telegraph could do.

Which brings me back to the here-and-now. I have to wonder how relevant the Post Office is going to be in 10 years? My oldest son is in Baghdad, Iraq.  We Skype and IM several times a day. He’s 8,000 miles away, and we talk all the time for free. It’s pretty amazing. The ms I Fedexed arrived in less than 24 hours.

But back to the movie . . . My picks for the two riders are Chris Pane (the young James T. Kirk in the new Star Trek) for our future doctor and a young Johnny Depp for his rival. Any other ideas? Which actors, young or old, living or long gone, would make the best Pony Express riders?

Best known as the place where the Pony Express began in 1860, and where Jesse James met his end in 1882, St. Joseph, Missouri, holds a place of honor in the history of westward expansion.

Situated on the bluffs of the Missouri River, St Joseph began life in 1826 as Joseph Robidoux’s first trading post. Although Missouri had become the 24th state five years earlier, in 1821, the area was still Indian territory. Lewis and Clark had passed by here on their way upriver in 1804.

When the fur trader filed the plat for the new town, he named it for his patron saint. Robidoux had only one stipulation for those wanting to buy lots of his land: no one could take possession until he had harvested his crop of marijuana. In those days, it was used in the making of hemp.

The town was destined to be successful because it’s location on the Missouri River made it easily accessable. Naturalist John James Audubon visited in May of 1843, (two months before its official incorporation) and described Robidoux’s settlement as “a delightful place for a populous city that will be here some 50 years hence.” St. Joseph celebrated its Sesquicentennial in 1993.

The settlement grew steadily, but the discovery of gold in California in 1848 turned it into a boom area. Gold seekers came across Missouri to St. Joseph by steamboat, to where the city’s location on the westward bend of the Missouri River made it one of two choice “jumping-off” points (the other was Independence, about 60 miles southwest). Gold rushers bought supplies here for the westward wagon trek. Estimates say as many as 50,000 passed through St Joseph in 1849 alone.

Another 100,000 or more pioneers would crowd the streets, bound for California and other points west, before the coming of the trains. And that’s why I chose it as a subject for today’s blog post.

Where steamboats helped established St. Joseph as the place for travelers heading west, trains kept it there. The first train from the east arrived here February 14, 1859. Until after the Civil War, St. Joseph was the westernmost point accessible by rail. That means, until around 1870, if you wanted to get to Texas–or Colorado or Montana or anyplace west–by train, you had to go through St. Joseph. By 1900, one hundred passenger trains a day came into St. Joseph. I don’t know about you, but that number boggled my mind!

And where the train tracks ended, the stage coach lines began.

If you read my blog on 11/27/09, you already know St. Joseph was the starting point of The Pony Express in 1860. And in 1887, St. Joseph became only the second city in the U.S.–after Richmond, VA–to have electric streetcars.

Wholesale houses for things like shoes, dry goods and hardware, helped ensure St. Joseph’s prosperity during its Golden Age in the late 19th century. At one time, the town ranked fourth in the nation for dry goods sales and fifth in hardware sales.

Cowboys were familiar with St. Joseph, too, since livestock was a large part of the economy beginning in 1846. Swift and Armour were important names in town.

I’m thinking that song from the musical OKLAHOMA, “Everything’s Up To Date in Kansas City” probably should have been written about St. Joseph.

To top it off, infamous bank and train robber Jesse James, a Missouri native, tried to retire here in 1881. His wife wanted him to live a more normal life. And it was here, in a house on top of the highest hill, where, in 1882, one of his new partners, Bob Ford, decided collecting the reward for Jesse James would pay better than robbing the Platte City Bank.

St. Joseph is a town full of history. There are national parks dedicated to the Lewis & Clark expedition, museums housing collections about The Pony Express, Jesse James and westward expansion, and stunning views of the mighty Missouri River. Stop in sometime. You’re bound to learn something new. I did.

With the issuance of the “Cowboys of the Silver Screen” stamps, the U.S. Postal Service honors four extraordinary performers who helped make the American Western a popular form of entertainment. Film stars from the silent era through the singing era are featured on the stamps: William S. Hart, Tom Mix, Gene Autry, and Roy Rogers. The stamps go on sale April 17.

Roy Rogers was so much more than an extraordinary performer. Born Leonard Slye on November 5, 1911, on a quiet street in Cincinnati, Ohio, where Cinergy Field, home of the Reds, now stands; “right where second base is now” according to Roy.

Though Roy was city born, he was farm raised. His family bought a small farm near Duck Run, OH, when Roy was seven. On Saturday nights, Roy was the musical entertainment, singing, yodeling, and playing mandolin while the family and their neighbors danced. His yodeling abilities were self-taught, and he, his mother, and sisters used the musical form to communicate when they worked in different areas of the farm.

The Roy Rogers we know best was a silver screen cowboy who sang his way to stardom. He always played the Western hero, with a warm smile, good character, and strong values.

Thanks to Gene Autry and his wildly successful films, every movie studio in Hollywood wanted a singing cowboy. Columbia Pictures signed the Sons of the Pioneers to appear in a series of westerns. Here, give ‘em a listen.

Sons of the Pioneers ~ Tumbling Tumbleweeds, written by band member Bob Nolan

When Gene Autry, who’d grown unhappy with his contract with Republic Pictures, threatened not to report for the start of his next film,  Republic held auditions for another singing cowboy, just in case. Roy heard about the auditions: “I saddled my guitar the next morning and went out there, but I couldn’t get in because I didn’t have an appointment. So I waited around until the extras began coming back from lunch, and I got on the opposite side of the crowd of people and came in with them…” It worked, and Republic signed him to a sever year contract. And when Autry left the studio, they put Len Slye, who had been renamed Roy Rogers, into the lead role in Under Western Stars. When the film was released in April 1938, it became an immediate hit, and Roy Rogers was a star.

In preparation for filming of Under Western Stars, several of the stables that provided horses to Republic brought their best lead horses to the studio so Roy could select a mount. The third horse Roy got on was a beautiful golden palomino that handled smoothly and reacted quickly to commands. Roy used to say “he could turn on a dime and give you change.” Roy named him Trigger, and the horse became synonymous with Roy Rogers.

As Roy’s popularity grew he never failed to give Trigger credit for much of his success. Roy was proud of the fact that through more than 80 films, 101 episodes of his television series, and countless personal appearances, Trigger never fell.

Trigger wasn’t his only sidekick. Smiley Burnette was Roy’s sidekick in his first two films, followed by Raymond Hatton, who worked with him in three films. Early in 1939, Gabby Hayes was cast as Roy’s sidekick in Southward Ho. Although Gabby had already made a number of films with John Wayne and William (Hopalong Cassidy) Boyd, he is probably best remembered today for the many films he made with Roy Rogers.

Roy Rogers & Gabby Hayes ~ We’re Not Comin Out Tonight

In 1943 Roy was voted the #1 Western star at the box office, and Republic began billing him as the King of the Cowboys. A few months later he made a guest appearance in the Warner Bros. all-star wartime musical film Hollywood Canteen, in which he and the Pioneers introduced the Cole Porter song Don’t Fence Me In.

Here’s another one I think you’ll enjoy: Roy Rogers & Sons of the Pioneers ~ Cowboy Ham and Eggs 

By 1944, Roy had starred in 39 films and had worked with almost as many leading ladies. Then the studio cast Dale Evans in The Cowboy And The Senorita. The immediate chemistry between Roy and Dale lit up the silver screen. Dale’s intelligence, strong will, beauty and talent earned her the moniker “the queen of the West.”

Did you know that Happy Trails to You, the song that became a Roy Rogers trademark, was written by Dale? Here are the two of them singing it together: Happy Trails to You

 Children across America who grew up on The Roy Rogers Show wanted to be just like him and tried to live by the Roy Rogers Riders Club Rules:

1. Be neat and clean.
2. Be courteous and polite.
3. Always obey your parents.
4. Protect the weak and help them.
5. Be brave, but never take chances.
6. Study hard and learn all you can.
7. Be kind to animals and care for them.
8. Eat all your food and never waste any.
9. Love God and go to Sunday School regularly.
10. Always respect our flag and our country.

Roy Rogers died on July 6, 1998, at the age of 86. Although Roy was a huge success in show business, he remained a down-to-earth country boy that Americans couldn’t help but admire. “Roy Rogers was a man who unashamedly loved his God, his family, and his country. He was that rare public figure who was just the same on screen as he was off. He just wouldn’t have known how to be anything else.”    — from Happy Trails: The Life of Roy Rogers by Laurence Zwisohn  (www.royrogers.com/roy_rogers_bio.html)

It’s Home Sweet Home to Me

“Goodbye, good luck, and may the good Lord take a likin’ to ya.”  – Roy Rogers