Wednesday, May 24, 2017

The Goose Is Loose: Mojave Woman With The Blue Arms

May 25, 2017
   Noodling more Olive Oatman images of her as a full-fledged Mojave woman. In addition to her chin tattoos, she also reportedly had a blue line coming down each arm. 




Daily Whip Out: 'The Mojave Woman With The Blue Arms"

   I was tempted to put "The Mojave Woman With The Blue Racing Stripes" but that seemed a bit of a reach.

The Goose Is Loose
   Since I spent time last week with Master Artist Weston Allen Borscheller, I have made a vow to be more loose and brave. Here are a couple Lucy Goosy examples:



Daily Whip Out: "Two Kids For Every Mojave Girl"


Daily Whip Out: "Topock Birth Canal"


Daily Whip Out: "Macho Mojave"

   I am reading Whipple's Report (1853) and he writes in his journal about meeting Mojave warriors with their faces blackened and a red stripe down the nose and middle of the face. He also mentions multiple red stripes. This must have scared more than a few anglo settlers back in the day.


Daily Whip Out: "Red Striped Macho Mojave"


"There ain't nothin' in the world like a big-eyed girl, make me act so funny, make me spend my money, make me feel real loose, like a long-necked goose, oh baby, that's what I like!"
Chantilly Lace (1958), The Big Bopper

Tuesday, May 23, 2017

Dirt Track In-din Steering Into The Skid

May 23, 2017
   I was talking to my son-in-law, Mike, about dirt track racing last weekend in Seattle, which he knows a thing or two about. Back in the day (1970s) I dabbled in TT Racing when Motocross was just coming to the states. I was a "novice" and never won anything although I did get a trophy from Eastside Cycle Park in Tucson in about 1969. Mike and I talked about the metal shoe they wear on their left foot to facilitate the wide turns in dirt track racing, where they get going sideways, bigtime.

   There's just something cool about those powerful machines trying to outrun the front wheel and those daredevil riders staying with it.

   Got home Sunday and Googled flat track racers and got some doozy reference. Went home for lunch today and did this study (sans shoe): 





Daily Whip Out: "An In-din On An Indian Steering Into the Skid."

      Oh, and one more thing: I want that In-din smiling and enjoying himself.

"He who cannot rest, cannot work; he who cannot let go, cannot hold on; he who cannot find footing, cannot go into a turn going sideways into the skid."
—Old Vaquero Saying

Monday, May 22, 2017

New Evidence On The Man Who Killed The Man Who Killed Billy the Kid

May 22, 2017
   New evidence has surfaced on the man who killed the man who killed Billy the Kid.

   Historians have long wondered what happened to Wayne Brazel. He represents, in the Old West World, a position similar to Lee Harvey Oswald: part assassin-part patsy, with plenty of conspiracy theories filling the spaces in between.



   A new document has been found last November by Angelica Valenzuela, the records and filing supervisor with the county clerk's office in Dona Ana County, New Mexico, as part of a preservation effort in Las Cruces that involved records spanning the last half of the 1800s through the mid-1960s.
   Angelica found a report stating that "the deceased [Pat Garrett] came to his death by gunshot wounds inflicted by one Wayne Brazel."



Wayne Brazell, center, with two unidentified cowboy pards.


  Notice all three have one pant leg tucked in, and one out. I have always thought it was either a bet gone south, or an inside joke. Wayne also appears to have a freshly shaved head and the whole picture has a lark aspect to it, including his smirk.


   Some historians have said that the one witness to the shooting never testified and records show Brazel was acquitted after a one-day trial in which his attorney successfully argued self-defense.

   After his acquittal, Brazel spent time in Lordsburg, New Mexico and, later, Phoenix, Arizona, but then his trail disappears. Where did he go? When did he die? And, where is he buried?
   Back in February, I got an email from Scott Lane, who told me I could find out the answers to these questions if I wanted to meet a woman who is related to Wayne Brazel. 

   Turns out she had read one of my True West Moments which ran in the Arizona Republic and the email said if I wanted to know what happened to the alleged killer of Pat Garrett I should come and meet her. The 82-year-old woman, Emalee (also styled as Emily on some of her documents) Brazell Price, and her two friends live on the west side of Phoenix and I live in Cave Creek, north of Phoenix, so we settled on a place in between, at The Texas Roadhouse in Metrocenter. I met them after I got off work on February 27 at 6:15 p.m.


   




My True West Moment (behind) and  Max Brazell (at right) in family photo
from the 1920s. By the way, the family styles it as Brazell (rhymes with razzle).


Max Brazell was the rancher who found the alleged alien spacecraft near Roswell, New Mexico in 1947 that is known today as "The Roswell Incident." Both Max and Emalee are Brazells and, she says, they are both related to Wayne Brazell. Not sure where the Brazel spelling, with only one L comes from. Probably a misspelled court document.




Emalee Brazell Price with Heather Wells and Scott Lane at the Texas Roadhouse.




   Emalee says Wayne Brazell died in 1936 of typhoid. He is buried in Barton Cemetery (near Edgewood, New Mexico). She also related that Wayne was working on a Conservation type project (The CCC Boys, they were called) at the time of his passing. If true, this fills in a major gap in our knowledge of what happened to the man who allegedly killed the man who killed Billy the Kid. She also told me that Wayne spent time in Yuma prison and she thought it was related to the Garrett killing. This seems odd since he was acquitted in New Mexico and it is doubtful any charges would carry over to Arizona, but that is the family story.


   And, by the way, Garrett was shot in the back of the head while urinating beside his buggy, which prompted this quip from Garrett's biographer:


"It's the only time in history a man has been assassinated while urinating that the defendant claimed self-defense and got off!"

—Historian Leon Metz

Postscript: Okay, here is an update from historian Lauren Kormylo:

According to Find A Grave, there are 5 Brazell graves in that cemetery, but Wayne Brazel is not there

BTW, his wife is buried in Alamogordo.

Wayne is in the 1910 Census, and his name is spelled with one "L" there. In the census, it does say he could read and write. All of the news sources of the day also spell it with one "L", and the 1880 Census shows his parents' name with the same spelling.  

I'm doing my own ancestry, and you wouldn't believe how often names get changed from one generation to the next.


And one more thing, here's a blog post by family member Amy Brazell, who says her father and uncle swear that Wayne Brazel lived under an assumed name the rest of his life. The name - Charles O'Neal. https://storify.com/brazell_amy/pat-garret-s-death-how-a-murdering-sheriff-met-his
_____________
End of notes from Lauren. And, by the way, Lauren is a bonified True West Maniac:



Saturday, May 20, 2017

Grandkid Takes Old Man to School

May 20, 2017
   Cocky little grandkid takes old man to school, Part I:
 

Weston's Daily Whip Out:"Puts Grandpa Ha ha's in the shade"

   Notice the cocky look on Weston's smug little mug as he holds up Grandpa Ha ha's sketchbook, revealing the old man's puny attempt to copy the master. FYI: the red tag at top right, of sketchbook, is a visitor's pass to the hospital room where his sister was holding court just after her birth last Thursday. Here's a close-up of the painting Grandpa was trying to emulate:


Weston's Daily Whip Out: "Shamrock"

The little brat—he's a month shy of four!—has major painting skills. Check out this tour de force:


Weston's Daily Whip Out: "Wolf Monster In Blue"

"It took me four years to paint like Raphael, but a lifetime to pant like a child."
—Pablo Picasso



Thursday, May 18, 2017

Comebacks On The Circle of Life

May 18, 2017
   Big day yesterday. Our grandson, Weston, got a new baby sister and her name is Frances. The streets of Seattle were wet with joy. Okay, they are always wet, but you get the idea.




Father Mike, Weston and his baby sis, Frances, at Overlake Medical Center, Seattle.

   So, grandma Goose and Grandpa Ha ha are babysitting the boy at his house while his parents hang out in the maternity ward for a day or two.



I just woke up Grandma and Grandpa! 

   Of course, it's my job—and duty—to joke around with him, and rough house and teach him bad words, like "Boogerhead", but guess who really makes the boy happy?



Look Grandpa Ha ha, I'm upside down!

   In our family, we put great value on the comeback, you know, the funny retort. Heaven help anyone who pauses in the middle of a sentence in our house, because there are six of us lobbing in bombshell non-sequiters to fill the void. Bottom line: we respect and admire the outrageous comeback. The ruder the better.

   So, in terms of the outrageous comeback, I think this is one of the best I have heard in a long, long time: The East Indian comedian Kumail Nanjiani gets his share of the usual boneheaded sniping on the streets of America, where the humor-challenged accuse him as being a "raghead" and a "terrorist." So when he started dating an American girl and she took him home for the first time, her father spit out this opening challenge: "So 9•11, what's your take on it?" Without missing a beat, he responded:

"It was tragic. We lost 19 of our best guys."
—Kumail Nanjiani

Monday, May 15, 2017

Revisiting The In-din On An Indian In In-din Country

May 15, 2017
   Spent the weekend revisiting a painting idea I want to do up right. Did a couple more roughs for an ambitious sweep of a scene. I was inspired by my back country cruise on the Buck & Doe Road (61 miles of dirt road) between the Diamond Bar and Peach Springs, Arizona, last month.


Daily Whip Out Studies: "An In-din On An Indian In In-din Country, Part I and II"



Daily Whip Out Studies: "An In-din On An Indian In In-din Country, Part III"

   I may do a couple different versions of this, including a side view of an In-din rippin' down a dirt road, kickin' up a rooster tail with a full war bonnet flappin' in the breeze.

   This morning, I read with some interest, Adam Gopnik's thoughtful piece in the latest issue of The New Yorker: "We Could All Have Been Canadians: Rethinking the American Revolution." The essence of the piece is that "America was essentially a Third World country that became the battlefield for two First World Powers." That would be England and France and from there Gopnik draws, ahem, on how the battle of ideas was advanced by my tribe: it is, he writes, "astonishing how often the political figures of the time, from Benjamin Franklin to Paul Revere, communicated in comic images." In other words, their cause—actually OUR cause—was advanced to a great extent through political cartoons! Wow! Those are my peeps.

   But the item I want to mention is that the Canadians have come to call their In-dins,"First Nations," which I rather like.

"The Canadian experience was not free of sin—as the indefensible treatment of the First Nations demonstrates—and was, as well, not free of the 'colonial cringe' that bedevils so many countries over attached to the motherland."
—Adam Gopnik

Sunday, May 14, 2017

The Last Lily & The Lesson of Worth

May 14, 2017
   Her given name was Lily Louise Guess, but everyone called her Bobbie, after her father, Bob Guess, who she worshipped. 

   I just listened to an oral history by an old cowboy, Worth Duncan, wherein he relates stealing her new hat—he specifically mentions it's a Stetson—at a party (he was about eight) and having to ride over to the Guess ranch at York (on the Gila River north of Duncan) to give it back. Worth said it was a life lesson he never forgot and he never stole another thing in his life. Worth remembered it was in 1931 or '32, so I wonder if it's the Stetson in this picture?



Bobbie Guess at The King Tut Mine, Mohave County, 1933

   When Kathy and I drove to Rocky Point recently, actually both times, we took along the last bud from a bouquet of flowers I bought up at Bashas'. I didn't think it would bloom, driving with it in a paper cup, all along that long and bumpy road. But low and behold, it bloomed and Kathy immediately christened it "Lily Louise." I thought of my mother every day I saw it.


"Lily Louise"



The Last Lily

Thinking of my mother today (she passed in 2004) and I brought home another bouquet in her honor.

"Youth fades; love droops; the leaves of friendship fall; A mother's secret hope outlives them all."
—Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr.