December 31, 2002
Last day. What a year! I can’t complain about much of anything. I’m doing what I love to do. How many can say that?

The Arizona Republic is doing a new year wish list for the state and they asked me to contribute. The assignment was, “What do you wish for Arizona in the coming year and how would you pay for it?” I knew all of these “civic” politico types would go on and on about the usual pie in the sky blah-logna, so I decided to be short, sweet and even more full of blah-logna. My contribution:

“Arizona needs respect and cash, here’s a simple, cost-effective way to do both: Pit the Tombstone Vigilantes against a group of pedophile priests in a demolition derby in Sun Devil Stadium. Give them all Crown Vics to drive. The pay-per-view revenue alone should cover most of our budget woes thru 2010.”

Of course, they declined to run it. Too offensive.



“Every exit is an entry to somewhere else.”
—John Lennon

December 30, 2002
Brad Radina (EJ’s dad) sent me the Top Seven Reasons Not to Bait Javelina for A Relative:

7. Once you're made an official member of the Javelina Biker Gang there's no getting out.
6. They think the way they smell turns you on.
5. The relative is afraid to look at them.
4. They think you like them, really really like them.
3. You give them a bowl of dog food and they take a garage and chicken house.
2. Relatives get to go home and just admire pictures.
And the #1 reason --- Sean Penn doesn't know where you live.

The finance committee met this morning and the knives are out. Lots of good discussion on where True West needs to be in 2003.

Finally got all our Christmas cards out. Went out in mail today. Actually kind of early for us. Sometimes we foal in January.

“Sometimes you have to get to know someone really well to realize you're really strangers.”
—Mary Tyler Moore

December 29, 2002
I rarely get headaches but I had one almost all day yesterday. Didn’t get jack done, just vegged around and took two naps. Kathy thinks it’s some sort of flu bug (she had a headache all day Friday).

Last night I read and perused my Film Noir poster book which I got for Christmas. Wonderful stark, sexy images. Very inspiring. As I finally drifted off to sleep my mind was racing with plot points for my own noir graphic novel. It’s the story of a drummer in a honkytonk coming out of a bad relationship who goes off the deep end and begans a saatar soaked search for the perfect sex.

As I turned off the light and floated in and out of concsiousness I hit upon scene after scene of events that happened to me when I was a drummer in Tucson. The only thing missing is the voice and the bare bones story. Actually, which one.

I had a great day. Made bacon and eggs for Tommy. Looked at an Atlas about where he can go snowboarding near Boulder (he’s going there to see a girl). Went for a walk with Kathy.

I want to do a snow story and a rain story, or at least stories where the weather is the co-star. A major author recently did a short list of things that will never work, and one of them was a book, or short story starting out with weather. However, in Raymond Chandler’s stories, the rain in LA is absolutely mesmerizing! I can’t get enough. I also love the snow in “It’s A Wonderful Life,” and the rain in “Two-Lane Blacktop.” The snow in “Dr. Zhivago.” It reminds me of snuggly warmth and love. Or, the proof against it.

"An old thing becomes new if you detach it from what usually surrounds it."
—Robert Bresson, French film director

December 28, 2002
Studio woes. Another bird in here this morning (two yesterday). They’re coming in thru the dog door, then they fly around and literally shit on everything before I can get them out. The dog is shitting in the morgue room on the floor because Kathy can’t sleep if the dog barks and Peaches barks when coyotes or javelina come near, my printer is on the fritz and is possibly broken, I don’t have a port on my home computer for my digital camera and Robert Ray won’t be coming out until Monday and the place is generally a pit. Other than that I’m happy.

The javalina didn’t attack last night. Now I’m wondering if maybe they stole one of our credit cards and spent the night at the Boulders. Maybe not. Brad R. just called and he’s emailing a jpg of the photo he took of the little biker gang on Christmas and I’ll forward it to Bernie and maybe you can see it right here before Monday.

Mare and Dan Rosenbaum came by yesterday (they are visiting from Brazil). Dan came on his bike in the morning and signed the dissolution paper for his stock. Mare came after lunch (she had lunch with Betty Huff and DeAnne G.).

Don Radina came out in the afternoon and we gave him the tour of the TW offices, then Kathy came and we went to El Encanto for dinner (he bought, we left tip, $10 cash). Don had good advice about stock and business.

Came home around seven. Built a fire in fireplace and watched some TV. Dropped in on the middle of “The Last Picture Show” and it was so good. Jeff Bridges, Cybil Shepherd, Randy Quaid were just little babies (it was filmed in 1971). That is the movie and kind of stories I want to tell. So small town Western.

I seem to have settled on “Endlessly OK” for the Tombstone trime travel piece. I think it says what I want to say about my lifelong obsession with the OK Corral.

“Too many people overvalue what they are not and undervalue what they are.”
—Malcolm Forbes

December 27, 2002
We got hit hard last night by the Javelina biker gang. All the doors were shut, but they pushed in the side door of the garage (evidently it wasn’t shut tight enough) and just made a mess, ripping open bags of cans, newspapers, everything. I’ll take a photo of it and if I ever get the computer interfacing down, it will go up. They also ate through the sideboards on the chicken house, dug under the chicken wire, and got inside, rooting up all the food dishes in there and turning them over. I assume the two hens survived by hiding in the brooding portion of the house which has tiny doors, just big enough for a chicken. I haven’t gone out there this morning, but I suppose I should. Yep. Just checked (7:29 a.m.), and they rooted right around my makeshift rocks and flipped everything upside down again. Big gouge marks everywhere. Hens are fine, but rattled. This means war. No UN inspectors, no fly, pig sty zones. The gloves come off tonight

Interesting parallels. We armed Iraq when we hated Iran and now they are using those arms against us. We fed the javelinas so we could amuse E.J., now they are coming back for more and we want to kill them. Hmmmmmmm. Where’s Sean Penn when you need him?

“I'd kill for a Nobel Peace Prize.”
—Steven Wright

December 26, 2002
I plan to finally get our Christmas cards out today. Here’s the fifth paragraph (written in third person of course) “Bob is going into the fourth year of owning and running True West magazine, which will be celebrating its 50th anniversary in 2003. He can actually read a spread sheet now and often spouts capitalistic phrases at dinner like, “pass the gravy or I’ll cut off your fully vested equity.” and “accrue this!”

Christmas day, most of Kathy’s family came out for dinner and my nephew E.J. was excited about seeing the javelina. At about six, we put a tray of dog food out in the driveway to entice them in and periodically checked it, but they didn’t come. After dinner I got the ladder out and EJ and his sister Cedes went up on the roof and waited for about a half hour but it was just too cold. So we gave up, went back inside and had dessert. At about nine, Grandma Betty and Don’s boys left and the kids were wrestling on the couch (that would be E.J., Cedes and me) when Brad came in from the kitchen and said, “They’re here!” We all ran to the door and peered out, but couldn’t see anything. Sneaking through the garage we could hear them grunting and chewing. Slowly we all got closer and there they were in all their stinky glory! Ten javelina, lined up and eating dog food which was scattered across the driveway because one of them had grabbed the tray with his mouth and tried to run off with it, but another hippo clotheslined him and it spilled out. I got a digital camera for Christmas so I ran inside and got it. Shot off about seven shots and if I can figure out how to interface with this computer, I’ll post them for all to see.

“Everyone seems normal until you get to know them.”
—Old Vaquero Saying

December 24, 2002
Soggy and soaked. Sky socked in with clouds. Still dark (6:54 a.m.). Expecting snow on Black Mountain. Thought is might snow all the way down, but I went out for the paper and it’s just mighty juicy out.

Rained all day yesterday. Wore a wool vest and tie. Big business pow-wow at two. The Daiss, The Brinks, R.G. and the Bells went over plans for 2003. Very promising and productive. Afterwards called Bob McCubbin on a conference call and told him the news. He was quite receptive and we are all on the same page.

I read a very insightful interview with comedian Bernie Mack in the current Rolling Stone. The question was, “When did you feel like you finally nailed your act?” His answer: “I stopped listening to other people. And that’s when I came into my own. I was honest with myself and became honest with my comedy. You ever had a fight, and you’re scared to death, and the other guy throws a punch, and every punch he hits you with ain’t fazing you, and the next thing you know everyone’s around you going, ‘Man, you knocked the shit outta him,’ but you can’t remember what you did? That’s what happened. It just clicked, man, and I didn’t look back. I became Bernie Mack.”

This anecdote triggered a similar memory. When I turned 30 I knew what I wanted but I couldn’t seem to get it. A friend told me, “Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.” After another failed relationship, I found myself at a wake and there were bonfires in barrels in the front yard. I felt alone, vulnerable, unsure of myself. Well-meaning people were giving me advice: “be nice, be gentle, be diplomatic.” Instead, I started yelling that I had a pickup and a big cock (in actuality a rooster). Most of the women closest to me recoiled in disgust and moved away. One pretty girl hung with me for a while, and traded zany comments, but I was on fire, burning white hot and she couldn’t take the heat and finally moved off into the darkness. I stood in the doorway of the house and continued yelling. Mourners were fleeing in cars and on foot. Others shook their heads in dismay, but I kept going, turning off even my longtime friends from Kingman. One person didn’t flee, wasn’t grossed out and actually thought I was funny. It was Kathy.

“When you do not know what you are doing and what you are doing is the best --that is inspiration.”
—Geronimo

December 23, 2002
Wet and soggy out. Still dark (7:23 a.m.). Great day yesterday. Had the staff Christmas party at the Daiss spread. Abby went horseback riding. Cowboy Dan and Christina came. It was fun to see them. Gus and Patty were the only no shows. Played games, told lies, laughed, came home around 7:30.

Had a rough morning. Wanted to get some things accomplished in studio but it was cold and I wanted to flee, go back to bed. I forced myself to stay. Thought about some scenes I want to do, of snow, cold, rain. Grabbed a stool and plopped it in front of the stove and started culling cartoons and snippets of dialogue from The New Yorker. That felt somewhat productive.

Also, put the head phones on and listened to T’s CD and using free thought association wrote down words and thoughts that came into my mind as I listened to the music. Of course the lyrics had the most sway, but some inspiration came from the instrumental passages. A few of my random ravings, cleaned up for publication, of course:

Shotgun wedding at a desert crossing, niteclub venting, beefcake daunting, burn down the trailer park, don’t dare be shot in that Bozo nightmare, cocaine nose ring, body heat bren-a-dore stinkin’ up the highway, cycle goin’ sideways on a oil slick highway, fast track thumping, get a grip grab on your fake ID, come upstairs honey, so scared of hangin’, flag bending iguana, do what I wanna, don’t ry to stop me, cause I’m gonna, grinding, groveling, grabbing all the loin cloths, all the nos and nods spare my life, can you see me later? leave it on my window sill, empty homescape, white boy pain in a European brain drain, turn the lights down, in the days of my youth, what does it mean to be a man? brown-eyed-man, T-minus five, so hard to see, what we could be, double G stupid, black man’s cupid, rollin’ down Rodeo’s main drag, born on a slit-eyed pony, doin’ bar-b-que roasted, howlin’ down gasoline, slappin’ up a soft machine, tryin’ to keep my motor clean, saintless eyes, fightin’ for a fair shake, quakin’ like an earthquake, don’t you dare die down, eradicate that seduction line, take another live round, fakin’ all the honey down, all night shootin’ match, lay the mutha downtown, ridin’ on a meltdown, jump daddy, pump pappy, get off of that divorc—aye, tell me what I wanna hear, cuz it’s true, I like you true stop, go dot, run down battlefield. Blow by gimme thigh, driving down every damn useless road, stoppin’ at the juice joint, they tell me no gas or lubrication, no highway rest stop, laughin in the sunshine, a bullet in the brain pan, hairline fracture, this town is fuckin’ crazy, just like a loony bin tracers after me, I’m tired of fighting, wanna flee over that last ridge, lost cause, anti-freeze, I warn you, that’s some shoes I can’t wear...

Is there a thread of narrative in there? Is there a juiced up story to tell? Probably. It’s up to me to dig it out. Like a crevice of gold dust, hidden in a bank of rock (or a dry hole). But I never know when these thought fragments will come landing in the middle of a problem, a concept, or a story idea. I call it reticulated retention (I stole this from Kathy’s psychiatry vocab). I never know when it will coagulate or masterbate. Ha. Listen to Rappin’ Bozeman.

“I like to read your diary. It makes me feel normal.”
—Allen Fossenkemper

December 22, 2002
One of my best friends celebrates his birthday today. Charlie Waters is 55. I sent him Tommy’s CD (Tommy’s middle name is Charles after the birthday boy).

Very cold out. We met JD on the road and he said it was 32 last night. Got a fire in the studio stove. The cedar is popping and snapping. Feels quite snugly.

At four yesterday Tommy and I drove in to El Conquistador for a Saturday lunch. Listened to his CD all the way down. Kathy drove in her car (so she wouldn’t have to listen to it and so she could make a deposit, or so she said) and met us. I lost a bet with Kathy that T. would know what Texans do with day-old chicken fried steak, but alas, he didn’t know the answer (they put it on bread with steak sauce), so I had to pay for lunch ($36 cash). From there Tommy drove to Tempe and we went by Wonderful Russ’s house and I played him the “Gin And Juice” cut, but he wasn’t nearly as enthused or excited as I was. From there Kathy and I motored down the 51 to downtown Phoenix to attend Robert Ray’s block party. Empinadas (or what are those deals—candles in sacks) lined the streets, Had a great time talking to D’s and Daiss, Carole and Bud. Robert showed me the April cover that Dan designed. Needs work (Sorry I looked at it because I mulled it all the way home). Listened to the LSU-U of A basketball game on the way out. U of A lost in the last second, 65-64.

Intrepid Dan Buck found a great snippet on Arizona Charlie’s Wild West Show where the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals protested his show in Denver. The incredible angle is that this was in the 1890s. The more things change...

Got the inspiration to do a feature on Monuments to Nowhere, after finding a photo I took in Northern Colorado two summers ago of a huge monument to some railroad barons. Not long after the monument was built, the train tracks were moved farther south, killing the shortlived town and today the only thing that remains is this huge monument in the middle of nowhere. I have a hunch there are probably others out there. And eventually, all monuments will look like that.

Finally wrote our Christmas letter yesterday. Here’s the first paragraph: “This is our first year of the Empty Nest Syndrome and we are suffering the usual symptoms: the 7:30 bedtime, the weekend naps and snoozing, the giddy choices on TV without teenage interference. Back in play are the nude bacchanals, the coffee table dancing, the jumping up and down in the driveway and shouting “We have our life back! We have our life back!” Of course this is a Christmas letter, so we are exaggerating some of this.”

“A happy home is one in which each spouse grants the possibility that the other may be right, though neither believes it.”
—Don Fraser

December 21, 2002
Business meetings all morning yesterday. I have been wearing a tie for the past three days (much to the shock of my staff, especially Abby who keeps betting I am going to run out of ties very soon). I just feel more professional. And I need all of that I can use.

Went over cash flow spread sheets with Carole and R.G.. One shows us losing $90K and the other shows us making $110K. As they say, “The Devil’s in the details.” Or, is that “God’s in the details”? Either way, it’s a pig in a poke (I’ve never quite understood that saying). So how about “Don’t let an art pig poke around in your cash flow spread sheets.”

The bank mixed up our debit card IDs (personal accounts, not TW’s), so every time I have debited art items they have been coming out of our house account. Kathy exasperated. I had to go up to the bank, stand in line for twenty minutes (Okay it was probably seven minutes, but I was irritated) and got cards reversed, deposited enough to cover balance. Did run into Gregg S. who is in on the Rawhide deal and he told me their master plan. Smith & Wesson is proposing a 50,000 square foot museum. Big ideas, hope they can pull it off. Right now they’re battling “404 flood plain drainage” problems, or some such governmental crap. I can just imagine the hoop jumping and agony they must be going thru.

Listened to Tomcat’s CD in my office. The parody song “Gin And Juice” is credited to Phish, but someone told me Dave Mathews is in on it. Whoever they are, these incredible musicians took a rap song and redid it as a hillbilly, mountain song, complete with honey dipped harmonies and Southern accents, mandolins, the whole nine yards. When you hear the music you think you’re getting something off the “Oh Brother, Where Art Thou” soundtrack, but then you start listening to the lyrics with lines like, “Dr. Drey brought some bitches from Compton, Hos keep on talkin’...I got a pocket full of rubbers and my homeboys do too...rollin’ down the street smokin’ endo...with ma mind on ma money and ma money on ma mind...” You get the idea. I’ve listened to it about ten times now and I laugh every time. Just flat out genius. Oh, to be that outrageously funny and good.

Went up to Bashas’ after work and it started to rain. Got ingredients for green chile stew, came home and Tommy built a fire in the fireplace and Kathy came home around seven. We snuggled in and talked about fictional heroes (they are both reading “Atlas Shrugged” by Ann Rand). Watched a show on Instinct and went to bed around 9:30.

“Creation is a drug I cant do without.”
—Cecil B. DeMille

December 20, 2002
Great birthday yesterday. Deena and Kathy took me to lunch at the Cracked Crab, then came back to the office and Carole had cooked up a birthday deal and Robert Ray’s mom made a rum concoction (very good). The staff got me a 1918 7 jewel Waltham pocket watch (maybe as a hint to be on time occasionally). Very sweet.

Came home at five and Kathy and kids were in the house making chicken fried steak (Texas style) with green beans and mashed potatoes. Thomas made me a CD half full of some of my favorite rock tunes and half full of his. We went up to Dairy Queen after dinner with the boys in the front and the women in the back, and as “Stray Cat Blues” by the Stones blasted out of the speakers with T. Bell and I playing air drums (while I drove!), I looked in the rearview mirror and saw the girls trying to breath through all the testosterone. They didn’t complain (as a guy you gotta love that). The CD also has “I Hate to Say I Told You So,” by the Hives, and “Hello Operator” by the White Stripes (opening for the Stones on their current tour). Led Zep’s “Good Times, Bad Times” (which has the single most amazing drum playing in the the history of Rock—triplets on the footpedal!). From there it was all downhill with “That’s What I Like About You” by the Romantics, and “You Shook Me” by AC/DC. You can just imagine how badly the girls wanted to get out of that car. Thomas and I didn’t even go into Dairy Queen. We just sat there and punched around, listening to snippets. He included “Gin & Juice” a hillbilly parody of a rap song that is just hilariously fantastic.

“I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they’ve always worked for me.”
—Hunter S. Thompson

December 19, 2002
Wall to wall meetings yesterday. Started at the Cave Creek Museum board of director’s meeting at 8 a.m. and ended with a numbers crunching session with R.G. and Carole at five. Many stories to tell, many fascinating people I met, reminders of things I did in the past I can’t remember doing. For example, someone at Dillon Precision showed me their tattered copy of “The Lighter Side of The Kennedy Assassination” which I produced for New Times Weekly at least a decade ago. As you no doubt have surmised it was in very poor taste. My favorite was “The Zapruder Film I’d Like to See” and it was a colorized version of the famous sequence (I can’t believe NT sprang for the full color!). I mimicked the grainy green infamous 8mm film, but in my frames when Kennedy’s arms go up to his chest, he reaches in, pulls out a .45, turns and shoots Oswald and lights a cigar. Can you believe the Dallas Observer (also owned by New Times) ran this piece (in Dallas!) and I got no death threats or ass whuppings? Amazing. And I barely remember dong it. No comment.

Got up at six this morning and Kathy served me oatmeal in bed. Argued about Trent Lott. I love to argue with Kathy about politics, but I hate to argue with her about money, especially our money, and really especially money I have lost. Ha. Carole called on cell phone to wish me a happy birthday.

Curve ball on the business stuff. Nothing is a slam dunk. More on that later. Got to get into office.

“Do not waste a minute—not a second—in trying to demonstrate to others the merits of your performance. If your work does not vindicate itself, you cannot vindicate it.”
—Thomas Wentworth Higginson

December 18, 2002
Feeling almost giddy. If you go back and read the business timeline you will see many very dark moments when it seemed like everything was going down the drain (actually, it was a daily, sometimes hourly fear). There seemed to be no logical way to salvage anything and yet I still felt “resilient.” Call it delusional, call it ignorance on steroids, but somehow I knew this was going to turn out alright. Of course, in today’s business climate and world uncertainty, our business is a long way from being bomb proof, but you could say the same thing about Microsoft. Or not. The difference is now I have solid, financial help. Ay Carumba! Or, as we say in our house, “Cinchi Coogie Cahgie.” (mindless syllables which somehow mean something to us).

Big meetings today. Got a Cave Creek Museum board of director’s breakfast at 8 a.m., then a meeting at Dillon Precision at 10, and another business pow-wow at 2.

Yesterday, John Beckett shot a photo of the staff out front. Afterwards we all went to El Encanto for lunch ($10 cash). There were 19 of us. Marshal Trimble came out, Dan H. came out from Phoenix. John also took individual shots of these outlaws so I can post them here and when I mention them, you can click on their name and go get enough info to stalk them. Groovy, eh?

“Trust your own instinct. Your mistakes might as well be your own, instead of someone else's.”
—Billy Wilder

December 16, 2002
That darn Santa is amazing. After asking for $100Gs (see Sunday’s entry), I came into work yesterday and was immediately approached by two new investors who say they see the potential of True West magazine and want to buy in. Amazing to say the least.

Had a long business meeting with Dave Daiss, R.G. Robertson, Bob Brink and I about the offer and how to handle it. We will be meeting again tomorrow to finalize details of a new company. Very exciting as I’ve been pulling this wagon all by my lonesome for almost two years. Thankyou Santa Claus and any other beings or spirits (hello father Bell!) who had a hand in this. I have long believed that the Universe is always trying to help us, but that we are sometimes too stubborn or stupid to see it. And as a recovering cartoonist and Lutheran I admit to a certain belief system that borders on mystical goofiness, but that’s my truth and if you don’t like it, go create your own damn universe.

"Everybody wants to build and nobody wants to do maintenance."
- Kurt Vonnegut

December 15, 2002
I did absolutely no work yesterday. I had big plans, but I was a slug. Built a fire, took a nap. went for a walk, fed the chickens, petted the dog, but no artwork.

Now I’ve got birds in my studio. I’ve had about six of them, two at a time on several occasions. I think they’re coming in through the dog door, attracted to the dog food in Peaches’ dish. They get in and can’t figure a way out. I have very high ceilings so they fly back and forth, pooping on all my artwork (some actually look better for the additions). I have to get the pool skimmer and drive them to the crow’s nest and after opening the roof hatch they eventually hop up the ladder (I’m not making this up) and go out onto the deck and fly off. Weird.

Carole G. emailed me and said: “We had 5 coyotes chasing quail in the back today (at the same time). We have lived here since 1985 and never have seen anything like that. Food must be scarce.”

We are having staff photos taken on Tuesday and then I can post everyone’s photo when I talk about them so you can see all the geniuses and heroes I work with.

This morning Kathy and I went in early to Phoenix and had breakfast at the Matador. Had the huevos rancheros ($20 cash). Visited with the owner Mike and his son. They are Greek and he always remembers that Deena broke the first glass in their new location when she was a baby back in 1983. Supposedly it’s good luck, or maybe he’s been hinting for twenty years that we need to pay for the glass.

After breakfast, went to Jana B’s for her annual Christmas party. Tons of politicos and head honchos at her beautiful home. Met the art director at Phoenix Magazine who is from NY and she raved about our layout in True West. That felt good. Santa came at one and the kids went nuts and he had each one sit on his knee and tell him what they wanted. It was very touching, although I had to get a little rough with a five-year-old who got in front of me. The ambulance driver assured me he just had a mild concussion. I told Santa I wanted $100Gs in operating capital and he seemed pretty positive about making it happen. Some of this I made up.

Deena drove in from Tempe and we took her to brunch at the Good Egg ($13 cash). Then Kathy and I went shopping for a digital camera (my birthday present) at Best Buy. Placed just slammed. I told Kathy, “I’m in the wrong business.” Electronics cuts across all gender, class and ethnic lines. Everyone lined up buying sacks and sacks of goodies. Hard to believe the economy is not thriving.

From there we drove out to PV Mall and I got a new pair of shoes and two new sports coats. Kathy paid for them. Fun day.

"I worship the quicksand he walks in."
—Art Buchwald

December 14, 2002
Missed a dental appointment on Wednesday. Didn’t check my phone messages until Thursday night and missed their tickler call. I hate it when I do that. So rude.

Our True West holiday-holliday cards came in yesterday and they look smashing. As promised, here’s a version of the real card and a version of the “whore” card I had Abby print up as a joke. As a special offer to you and for a limited time, I’ll send you one of the “whore” cards. First come, first serve, while they last.
Send me your address and I’ll send one along. Impress your friends but don’t show it to your mother. And please don’t show it to my mom!

Last night Kathy and I walked up to the Nedoe’s for their neighborhood Christmas party. Very nice spread. Mark Nedoe has an Outlaw Josey Wales movie poster looming prominently in his living room. It is signed by Roy Anderson, who used to be our neighbor and is the artist who did the illustration of Clint with the two Navys held up in front of his face. Very cool (I'm jealous). At least four people said they read my javelina story in the High Sonoran Style magazine (culled from these very entries, see November 6, 17 postings). Also, our neighbors to the south asked about a “blood-curdling scream” they heard last week and we told them that was when Kathy was chasing the coyotes who were chasing Peaches (see last week.). And by the way, that is a scream they heard at least a half mile away. What a set of pipes on that gal (and her voice is loud too).

Numerous neighbors asked how the magazine is doing and of course I have my stock PR response, “You know I’m very excited Marilyn. We are paying the bills, we’re growing almost too fast. I really like our chances.” One woman named Marty said she thought it is amazing and special that a small town like Cave Creek (5,000) would produce so many “publishers.” It’s true. We have at least four newspapers, three magazines (and even magazine publishers who don’t publish here—the guy who started the Santafean magazine lives in Desert Mountain), several cataloguers, and a gaggle of writers. I didn’t say this at the party, but I think what it really says is that for some reason Cave Creek attracts humungous egos.

“Successful people are very lucky. Just ask any failure.”
—Michael Levine

December 13, 2002
Lots of business to attend to. We just landed a major account that does 1,800 orders a day and they have agreed to put one of our sub cards in each and every order. This is wonderful and now we’ve got to get a big order of cards which we had printed last year and are on a dock in Virginia, and we are in the process of getting them sent out here, pronto.

Had a good production-ad sales round table yesterday. Asked each person to bring in 3 ads they loved, and three they hated. Very spirited talk about “white space,” vs. clutter, etc. When it got around to Gus, he put our house ad in the “borderline” area. This was an eye-opener and we all talked about taking our own advice. One of the criticisms of the magazine is that it looks too crowded and needless to say this hit close to home. I think everyone learned something and we all want the same thing: a good-looking magazine.

When we finished the Christmas cards two days ago, Abby had the card on the screen and we were all looking at it and critiquing it. I wondered if the copy “Happy Doc Hollidays from the gang at True West” was good enough and somone quipped we should change the word “gang” to “whore”. We laughed hard on that one. Later, I went back out to Abbey and asked her to print me out two of the whore version. I hand cut them and sent one to my partner Bob McCubbin and the other to Bruce Boxleitner with the inscription: “Here’s our new Christmas cards. We got a thousand printed. What do you think?” I’ll run the card tomorrow for you to see.

“If you had to identify, in one word, the reason why the human race has not achieved, and never will achieve, its full potential, that word would be: ‘meetings’."
—Dave Barry

December 12, 2002
Got untracked yesterday and production finished the Christmas card and got it down to printer. Robert Ray ran herd on it from his sick bed at home, got us a better quote (saved us $250) and hammered out the mechanical specs, etc. That felt good.

Had a speech at noon out at 87th Ave and Bell Road (no relation). It was a Christmas party for the Space Challenger Learning Center volunteers (about 50) at Montecito Assisted Living Center. Very nice meal (in fact the best I’ve ever had at a speech and I do probably 250 a year). Speech was so-so. Got off on a weak track and stumbled to recover. One guy nodding off, two others got up and left (always a bad sign). Gave away about 50 True Wests. As an honorarium they gave me 12 passes to take my staff up in the Challenger flight simulator. Looking forward to that. Supposed to be quite fun until it explodes. Just kidding.

Speaking of kidding, I just got word that one of my ex-partners read the business timeline and is livid. Even though I edited out his name he is reportedly madder than hell, never wants to hear my name again. Thinks this whole journal thing is stupid, unprofessional and wrong. Well, there’s someone else who agrees with Kathy.

Got back into the office at around 2:30, worked on several articles, lined up a staff photo for next Tuesday. Went over new circulation numbers. We have dramatic increase in outlets we will be in. Our next issue, Feb.-Mar., will have almost double the number of copies on newsstand. This is a great victory and took over three years to make happen. Everyone very excited, except for that one ex-partner. No kidding.

"No matter how much cats fight there always seems to be plenty of kittens."
—Abraham Lincoln

December 11, 2002
The air feels wet and cold. It’s overcast. Started a fire in studio stove. Kind of grumpy today. Irritated at my production staff, not finishing their work, leaving early, being sickly.

I’m such a weenie. Our cat, Big Tom, jumped up on my chair and here I am on my knees on the floor, typing this so as not to disturb His Royal Purr-ness. What a Wuss!

“Everyone appreciates a full day’s work, especially if they’re paying for it.”
—Every small business owner who ever lived.

December 10, 2002
Got a small Christmas tree on Sunday ($45 cash). Kathy decorated it. Looks very nice.

Jana and I went to lunch today at Tonto Bar & Grill ($15 cash). She told me she was in the Palace Bar on Whiskey Row in Prescott last weekend and as she was leaving she said she heard a cowboy at the bar say, “You know what the three big Cowboy lies are, don’t you?” Jana said she hung back, waiting to hear the answer. “I won the belt buckle at a rodeo, the pickup is paid for and I was just trying to move the sheep into the barn.” I laughed til I cried (you had to hear Jana, Miss Urbane Liberal, tell it).

Had a long Image Review meeting with Gus, Meghan, R.G., Jana and me, trying to find images for the “50 Defining Moments of the Old West.” Then went right into looking for images for “50 of The West’s Most Western Towns.” Took several hours as we combed our archives, my postcard collection and our collective brains. Tedious stuff, but I like it.

Gun wrangler Phil Spangenberger came by around five. He just got back from working on the new movie “Hidalgo,” a $100 million story of a pinto horse. Amazing. Going to be a big one. Disney made a mint off of the animated Spirit Horse movie and John Fusco (who wrote Young Guns) wrote this one also. Supposed to be out next summer.

I’m trying to develope a new style of illustration where I mimic old photographs, but it has a misty movement. (Here’s my first rough sketches.)

“Everyone has talent at 25. The difficulty is to have it at 50.”
—Edward Degas

December 9, 2002
Had a very nice weekend. Took a big nap yesterday. Really felt good.

Peaches made it safely home from her coyote sprint yesterday. Her speed has saved her on numerous occasions. Bit as she gets older, well, I don’t think we can take her out on long walks.

Chis Simcox is in the news down in Tombstone. He bought the Tombstone Tumbleweed newspaper and has created a Civil Homeland Defense effort for local vigilantes to stop illegal immigration at the border. In today’s paper is a photo of him walking into the O.K. Cafe for a meeting yesterday (see photo). This is the cafe where Bob McCubbin and I first discussed buying True West back in 1998.

Cleaned half my studio, need to finish this week. I’m trying some new techniques for Classic Gunfights and I’ll share those tomorrow.

“[Country Music’s] essential message is that life is difficult and so are most of the people we meet, including those we marry.”
—George Will, in Newsweek, writing about Buck Owens

December 8, 2002
Went for a walk this morning and Peaches got attacked by two coyotes. We were coming back down the hill by Barros’ and Peaches took off out across the desert to avoid a house where the dogs are rather aggressive. About two minutes later, here comes Peaches back to the road about fifty yards ahead of us, and right on her heels is a big, rangy coyote and another one about ten yards behind. We, of course, started yelling, but they were not deterred and soon Peaches disappeared around a bend in the road with both coyotes in hot pursuit. Kathy took off running and screaming and I guarded the back trail (I was in my slippers, okay?). The noise and the excitement brought out Chuck Van Horn from his horse arena and he and I had the following exchange:
“They’re getting real nasty,” Chuck says, shaking his head.
“Brazen, really,” I say, walking past, hoping he doesn’t notice my fluffy slippers.
“Got any guns down at your house?”
“Yes. A Winchester and a Colt .45.”
“Well, if you need any help...”
“I think we can handle it, but thanks.”
“Maybe they’re riled up because they saw those slippers.”

Cut my finger yesterday while slicing a lemon to put in the pancake mix (you combine the lemon juice with baking soda and it makes them extra fluffy, like my slippers). I was trying to cut and talk long distance with Bob Brink in Florida. He was telling me he has hired us a sales rep for Santa Fe. I kept talking like nothing was the matter and dripped blood in the mix (made it a nice pink) and on my slippers (made a little Playboy bunny logo on the toe, see photo).

“Tragedy is when I cut my finger. Comedy is when you fall into an open sewer and die.”
—Mel Brooks

December 7, 2002
Kathy and I took trash up for recycling this morning. Went by True West and Abby was there printing out the magazine for Monday proofing. Went to Foothills Photo and got film ($7 cash) and groceries ($57 house debit).

I cleaned off the floor in my studio. I counted 76 sketches, washes and paintings of the Daltons, not counting the six I actually ended up using. That’s not a very good batting average. Ha.

It felt good to get the tractor running (here’s a photo of my grandpa in 1974 riding it like a Norweigan prince).

They’re filming a movie outside, south of the house. Jeff Sherman is doing a scene from his indie film, “Nowhere, Arizona.” Got two actors and a two-man crew. I went out and watched some of the “dailies.” Interesting process. Even more tedious than painting.


“In anything at all, perfection is finally attained not when there is no longer anything to add, but when there is no longer anything to take away.”
—Antoine de Saint-Exupery

December 6, 2002
Did it. Finished all the art at 11:30 this morning. Did three more Dalton vingettes and a spot illustration for $10 Words From A $2 Cowboy. Went up to office and gave the scans to Gus, he shoe-horned everything in and we moved around several images to make it all fit, handed off to Meghan and she put her eagle eye on it, found some errors, she passed off to R.G. who nipped and tucked, and at about five o’clock we were done. Faxed all nine pages to Lue Barndollar in Coffeyville, Kansas for her approval. Robert is PDFing the files even as you read this.

Joe Yager came by at 10 this morning and cleaned out the carburetor on the John Deere (Series B, 1940) and we got it started. The sounds of that thumping takes me back to being a kid at grandpa Bell’s farm every time. Somewhere Al Bell is smiling.

The cover illustration I spent seven days on was just okay (I panicked and did a bunch of line shot items to give to Daniel). We sent the whole mess home with him on Wednesday, and yesterday afternoon he sent up the finished results. I held my breath as I went to look at it on Robert’s computer. And the verdict is—it is wonderful! Gus said it’s the best cover he has ever seen on True West. I agree. I’m not supposed to do this (we don’t even go to the printer until Monday), but here’s a sneak peek:

Allen Fossenkemper read my title ideas and offered several of his own. A couple have potential: KO'd at the OK Corral, and Hokie Pokie at the OK Corral. Funny.

Took Carole to lunch at Pei Wei ($17 cash). Fun talking about petty stuff with her. I’d be petty about someone in the office who is driving me nuts, then she’d be petty. Theraputic, really, since we have to act so “mature” around the troops. Well, at least she does.

The javalina gang struck last night at 1:30. They’re more casual now. Kind of a Happy Hour crowd. They know how to open the gate, they walk around, destroy a few plants, stink up the place and stroll out. Peaches of course, going nuts in the studio. Said goodnight and went back to bed.

“A dog always barks louder at his master’s door.”
—Bernie Poochlander, I think

December 5, 2002
Trying to finish all the artwork for Daltons Debacle. Have about six pieces to go. Spent all day in office yesterday trying to wrap up loose ends. R.G., Meghan, Gus and I have been slaving over this Classic Gunfight piece for weeks now. Hard to believe how many hours go into some of these articles. Also created a new page with Gus developed by Jana called Living in the 1880s (Dan did logo). Went through one of my Punch annuals from 1882 and we picked out several items we are going to highlight under the heading “Nothing New Under The Sun.” For example, the term “La-di-da” which you may think was started by “Annie Hall” is in a cartoon from Sept. of 1882. An anti-smoking cartoon describes the horrors of cigarettes, there is a women’s rights cartoon, the lies of photo retrouching. And the drawings are magnificent. That is fun, finding and creating those kinds of things.

We are going to be increasing our print run significantly on this next issue and Carole, Bob Brink and I lined out costs. Banta came in with a very good bid on the increase issues.

Got photos back from Sunday’s shoot ($32 Sue debit) and we are trying to pick one for our Christmas card (here’s my two finalists). John Beckett did a great job.

Came home at five and heated up spaghetti. Wanted to bail into art, but ran out of gas. Went to bed at eight, woke up at two, got up at three, made a fire in stove and bailed in on Dalton images. Started at the end with an overview of death alley. I feel good.

"I know that you believe that you understood what you think I said, but I am not sure you realize that what you heard is not what I meant."
 —Robert McCloskey, State Department spokesman

December 4, 2002
Yesterday I finished six black and white gunfighters on scratchboard (worked from about four until 8:45 am) and hurried up to office at nine. Staff meeting went well. We are adding 1,600 new outlets for the magazine and that will help everything and everybody. Now to pay for it. Need to go over numbers with Carole and Bob Brink this morning.

Added another page to Classic Gunfights (that makes it 9 pages, the largest ever). I certainly have the art to fill the holes. Need to finish. Daniel came around 11:30, went over cover ideas and elements. I’m counting on him to hit a home run with this one.

Went to lunch at El Encanto with Gus, Abby, Meghan, Robert, Carole, Jana and Daniel ($10 cash). Sat outside. It was kind of cool, so they brought us a heater, but it was fun to sit and chat about everything. Went back and Daniel critiqued the issue (Jan.) and had high praise for the design, etc.

Jana has scored a coup with a new Mountain Meadows Massacre article that claims Brigham Young did it. She is in touch with the Mormon Church about a rebuttal (they are writing a counter book). Very controversial, and I want True West to be part of that conversation.

Ran out of gas at about 4:30 and came home to take a nap. Got a disturbing call from one of Deena’s ex-boyfriends at 5:30. Kathy and I drove down to Tempe. Deena’s house is a total pit. Roommate passed out on couch. bare walls, Subway cups all over table, tv on floor. Exactly as my college apartments always looked. Took her out for dinner at the Vine ($35 cash). Good talk with her. She’s very honest and a good kid. I wouldn’t go back to that part of my life for a million dollars. Okay, maybe $1.5 mil. No, not really, because even if I had the money I would blow it because I was too naive and stupid. Better make that $16 mil.

Got home at 10:30 and went right to bed. Everyone is sick, and I’m trying not to get it. Still need to finish about seven more pieces of art for this issue. Want it to be good.

"You couldn't get a clue during the clue mating season in a field full of horny clues if you smeared your body with clue musk and did the clue mating dance."
—Edward Flaherty

December 3, 2002
I’m in an art frenzy. Painted ten shooters yesterday on big watercolor board, very complicated design, no pencil rough, just painting figures right onto the board. This is cover art for “50 Guns That Won The West.” Very nerve wracking, workiing without a net. Got to keep leaping into the dark. Went into the office, fixed several problems, met with Bob Brink regarding bingo cards (return ad cards in the mag), came home at 11:30 and started painting again. Worked non-stop for about four hours, finished two big cover goauches by five, but, as I stepped back they both look weak. Panicked. Broke out the scratchboard and did ten images after dinner (in case Daniel hates the goauche versions, he can build a cover with the line shots, or so that’s my fantasy).

Woke up at three this morning, fretting, worrying about a weak cover, finally got up at four, did three more pen and inks on Essdee scratchboard. Really hanging out. I’ve done about thirty images so far, none are working.

“If you're not failing every now and again, it's a sign you're not doing anything very innovative.”
—Woody Allen

December 2, 2002
Great morning. Talked to Tommy (who came in at three, had to get up at seven to go to work at El Encanto). Kathy has mapped out the courses he needs to graduate and there were some rough bumps in there (college level algebra) which made him and I groan (I’m not even in college but just the saying of the word out loud makes me ill). Went for a walk with Kathy and Peaches. Peaches got in a huge fight with Amie (Ratcliff’s dog who ambushed her as we walked by their stable), then she got into it with the two dogs of our neighbors down the creek. It was a real Yuppie dog fight.

Got a bunch of ideas on the walk, mostly about a time travel story I’ve wanted to do since the mid-seventies. What would happen if some history nut actually went back in time to 1881 Tombstone? I’ll bet it would be very funny. I’m thinking that OK needs to be in the title. Maybe No Way OK, Bad Karma at the OK Corral, Key word: OK, Kickin’ It at the OK Corral, Kickboxing at the OK Corral, OK Killers, D Day at the OK Corral, I’m Kidding OK?, Killed at the OK Corral, Historical Enema a the OK Corral, Emenem Is OK By Me (the rap version), OK By Me, French Kissing at the OK Corral. I’m only half-joking, hey, how about—Half-Joking at the OK Corral? Hmmmm, not quite there, but I’ll get it eventually. I want to tell the story of all the crazy, nutso, history goonballs I know and how they have so little clue about what really happened (and when I need extra accurate reference I can go look in the mirror).

I think I may have saved the florescent orange shooters piece (11:59). Hopeful, but need to move faster. Oops. No, didn’t save it, but ruined it.

Progress, but still too slow. I am still working on cover shooters and I wanted to finish by noon, so I could shift gears and knock out the other Dalton illustrations, but here I am plodding along (1:24). Sigh. Got to keep attacking. Painting very good, but I’m a long way from any goal (2:13). Got to shower and get ready for John Beckett coming at 4:30 to take our family Christmas card photos.

Took a shower, got the inspiration to do a different cover idea (a shower miracle), with a center broadside. Came over and quickly did a layout, measuring where the logo will go and having the center piece line down the middle. Put an orange background (or course), located a number of shooter reference photos.

Deena, Tommy and John Beckett arrived at about the same time (4:30). John shot us in the back yard (see digital image taken by Ken who is also a shooter and came with John), gave them the tour and paid John ($100 cash). Then had turkey dinner with kids. Very nice. They talked about all the dates they’ve had recently, not a real big problem I had in college.

Helped Kathy clean the kitchen, had a decaf espresso and started on the images of gunfighters going down the left side of cover. Got four in, including Wyatt Earp. So-so. Not sure it’s working.

Watched the Sopranos at seven. Second to last episode of season. Fun, really good. The kid, AJ is just a riot. Farting on his sister, just so real and funny. Tried to go back to work but it’s too late (8:20) really behind the eight ball now. I’ve squandered four days and finished almost nothing. Jesus Fucking Christ! Very angry with myself.

"History is a set of lies agreed upon."
—Napoleon Bonaparte

December 1, 2002
Dedicated all of yesterday to art. Got untracked around 10 and did rough sketches, working loosely. Forced myself to stay on task, did about ten or fifteen gesture drawings. At noon, I shifted gears and created a florescent wash of orange (found the tube of paint which I had bought on a fluke, it was drying out so I cut it open with an exacto knife and dumped the drying lumps on my palate and went to town). Had a great florescent orange group of shooters, but then put in regular orange and yellow behind it and it killed it (12:53). Discouraged.

Put in a florescent orange wash, picking around sky until it was about half in, really underplayed it, then mixed up a complimentary blue-green and mixed it in, wet into wet. Clouds started to float, real potential happening, not sure what to do with it Hit the usual culsdesac(1:13 pm).

Crappy! Crappy! Crappy! Too much florescent orange, went too far as usual. (1:33). Focus wandering, fevered mind is going sideways, thinking of other designs, mutations. torn between following them and buckling down and just finishing the damn thing.

Saved it, or at least part of it. Went back to painting faces, got a real good Okie oldtimer nailed off of one of Bob McCubbin’s images (Jan. TW, number 41 from Top 50 photos, guy next to door, on left).

I’ve got a little rhythm going, but I’m running out of gas. Went for a quick walk, very soggy out. Got back in water (metaphorically), did another portrait. Looks quite good. May have overworked it. Shit!

Quit at five and had a piece of pumpkin pie. Sat on patio and enjoyed the sunset. Going to take a break. Closed my eyes but mind teeming with ideas and methods. Got up, went for a walk with Kathy and Peaches. Came back, got out my Essdee scratchboards and did a shooter (Tommy from the reference photos I shot). Decent image. Quit at seven and watched TCM’s Western Film Fest. It’s Clint Eastwood night, so I saw the end of “Pale Rider,” and “Two Mules for Sister Sarah.” Music was fantastic in Two Mules! They created this donkey bray from musical notes, and it had almost a rap rhythm. Just genius. The film was supposed to be a vehicle for Liz Taylor, but she backed out over money or something, so they got Shirley McLain. Clint was very good. I didn’t remember it being that good when it came out (1970) but I was a snotty college kid who knew everything. It really held up, great story of a prostitute pretending to be a nun Very clever and inspiring.

Got to finish all art tomorrow. I feel confident.

“If Columbus had turned back, no one would have blamed him. Of course, no one would have remembered him either.”
—Some guy I can’t remember (probably because he turned back)

November 30, 2002
Need to take my own advice: draw every day without hope, without despair. Got bogged down yesterday. Got film of the boys as Daltons, looks good (see photos) plus bought three rolls to shoot finished art ($43 something, Sue debit), came back to office and met Eric H and Dan who are movie grads and want to make a Western. They had a two minute trailer they had produced and it was very professional. Shot in Cinerama, letter-box, wide screen, with a musical score (swiped from Legends of The Fall). Very impressive. Eric works for Dustin Hoffman’s company and Dan is a Hollywood shooter. Both are young and full of piss and vinegar and that’s what it takes to make it out there. What they may not have is a strong enough dose of maniacal deviousness that seems to be a prerequisite in H-Land. Unfortunately, it’s a trait many people from the midwest don’t have (I would include myself on that list).

Worked until around six, didn’t get much. Hanging out. Started raining around six. Went over and met Rebecca and she drove us down to Deer Valley 30 to meet Kathy (who was coming from shopping all day with Deena) and see “Frida.” ($16 cash). On the way down Rebecca told me the horror story of her previous tenants who destroyed her house, walked off with three lamps, etc. I was cringing because we were the ones who got the tenants for her. Ouch! Movie was pretty good. I enjoyed it from an artist’s point of view. There were a gaggle of lesbians sitting in the back of the theater and they were hooting and rooting at the dance scene with Salma Hayek and Ashley Judd. It was like we were at a sporting event and they were rooting for their “team.” Ah, the blurring of lines between venues. Welcome to the new millenium. Afterwards we drove down in the rain to Manuel’s for a late dinner ($27 cash). We were hungry for Mexican food because in the movie they were eating all the time, and it looked so scrumptious (Rivera allegedly loved mole and it looked magnificent).

"Anytime a person goes into a delicatessen and orders a pastrami on white bread, somewhere a Jew dies."
—Milton Berle

November 29, 2002
Good, productive day yesterday. Made bacon and pancakes for Tommy and Jake at about 11, Then outiftted them as Daltons and shot off five roles of film. Tried to get shadows going in the right direction, shot some off the roof to get a downward perspective (I’m doing the images for the Phase Three Map of the gunfight and want to get the angles and perspective right. I also had Jake as Grat Dalton with $1,100 worth of currency stuffed in his vest (which really happened). I folded up newspapers and padded him out, then stuck several real twenties and a hundred, sticking out the top. Created a sweet effect. Shot off roof of him getting it in Adam’s Apple, then him slumped in the middle of the alley (of course, Peaches took it as an invitation for some major petting and ran up and jumped in his lap). Got some good stuff. Can’t wait to see it.

We took off at two to go to grandma’s for Thanksgiving dinner. Stopped at Superpumper and filled up T’s truck ($25 something, house account), and vacuumed out all the broken glass ($1 in quarters, someone tried to steal his stereo in Flag last week). Took off out 101, got to grandma Betty’s at about 3:30, Nick and Debbie, Kathy and Justine already there. Deena, Brad and Carol, EJ and ‘Cedes came after four. Ate at about 4:30. Great spread, Went around the table and told what we are thankful for. When it got around to Brad’s turn he said he was thankful he didn’t have javelinas in his back yard and he didn’t have to chase them in his underpants. Everyone looked perplexed but I knew exactly where he got that. Ha.

After dinner went for a walk around the block. EJ got real excited about coming out to “trap the javelinas.” He’s 9, had a pad of paper and was trying to figure out a plan, kept asking me what their weaknesses are (they have trouble seeing, that’s why they charge, uh, they’re short, they smell). He was so excited. Wants to come stay with us so he can see them.

Drizzling out this morning. Good excuse to have a fire in stove. Need to run film up to Foothills Photo at 9. Kathy and Deena are going shopping with the hordes. Tommy is painting a friend’s house. I hope to finish some good artwork today.

“My life has no purpose . . . my life has no direction . . . no aim . . . no meaning . . . and yet I'm happy . . . I can't figure it out . . . What am I doing right?”
—Charles Schulz

November 28, 2002
Worked hard yesterday afternoon trying to wrap up the Dalton art. Finished one piece, six to go (sigh). Slow going. Went back into office at five. Robert is concerned. No cover yet. He’s being very patient. I assured him I had a good one coming. It’s very late and the pressure’s on. This is right about when I start to wake up. Ha.

Last night, Tommy came down from NAU with his college gang: Jake from Oregon, JJ, Robert Chenalt and Katie Hickox came crashing into the house about sunset. Loud and proud, lewd and rude. I got pizza and buffalo wings at Barros’ Pizza ($44 cash) and we all watched the U of A vs. NAU basketball game. Of course the kids were expecting their school to get clobbered (Wildcats are ranked number one in the nation), but those scrappy Lumberjacks held their own for the first half and in fact led for much of that time. Always fun to joke and watch b-ball with my son. I’m a lucky dad.

Kathy spent the night at her mama’s to help her with today’s turkey. What a sweetheart. So, being alone, I rented porn off the dish ($9.99). Of course I hated it-loved it, hated myself for renting it. I know one thing: I would be so miserable being single because left to my own devices I’d probably be bunking with Robert Downey, Jr. How’d I get so lucky to find a compassionate, liberal partner? I’m just a lucky, stinkin' javelina and that’s the main thing I’m thankful for today.

"Liberals feel unworthy of their possessions. Conservatives feel they deserve everything they've stolen."
—Mort Sahl

November 27, 2002
Fun day yesterday. Carole got a Thanksgiving spread of cold cuts, pasta, potato salad, ham, turkey, beef, pickles, cucumbers, refried beans, hot sauce and pumpkin pie. We met in the conference room at noon and had a feast and it was delightful. Jana was in the house, so we laughed and laughed. Dave and Doreen Daiss came with their son (he’s 30).

Ted landed TNT, and we talked about dealing with a certain problem client, who is a pain in the tootie (as Carole would say).

Worked all morning on finishing the Dalton Raid copy for Classic Gunfights. Finally finished tweaking all the cutlines and layout after lunch. Left around 2:15 and came home to do artwork.

Got a good wash going on the Dalton disguises. They supposedly wore fake whiskers and almost everyone in Coffeyville recognized them anyway, so the disguises couldn’t have been that good. It’s a bit of a challenge to illustrate this: how do you make a mustache and goatee look not real? Let me tell you, it ain’t as easy as it sounds. In fact, I’ve been bending the shape and tone of it to make it unreal and I’ve created some of the best looking Real mustaches I’ve ever painted (see sketches).

Worked until around 5:40. Went over to the house and built a fire in the fireplace, and started cooking. Made a batch of spaghetti and cooked salmon for Kathy.

Warning: major negativity ahead. If you are depressed or off your meds, do not read.
Everything conspires against “history.” Almost nothing is remembered accurately. Photographs are lost, destroyed, misidentified. Oldtimers make up windies, eye-witnesses can’t agree two seconds after the event. The fix is in: you can’t retrieve the past, or the truth. It’s all an approximation. I have vivid memories of the 1950s, but of course they are from the perspective of a kid. Last weekend when I was watching the film “Far From Heaven,” which is an homage to Fifties movies, I was constantly nitpicking the cars. Too shiny, too new, too Classic Car Show. I’m guessing that some car group was invited to the movie set to show off their cars. So you had all these cherry autos lined up and down the street, with several ‘57 T-Birds parked prominently. I realize Todd Haynes (the director) was doing the idealized Fifties, but it still bugs me. It’s just false, faux, fake, a cheap abberation. It’s ultimately depressing. Why do we try? What difference does it make?

“The great enemy of the truth is very often not the lie –deliberate, contrived, and dishonest -- but the myth –-persistent, persuasive, and unrealistic.”
—John Fitzgerald Kennedy

“The world is full of cactus, but we don't have to sit on them.”
—Old Vaquero Saying

November 26, 2002
I actually saw Bill Tilghman move last night! Pretty amazing. When I did my last book, Bad Men: Outlaws & Gunfighters of the Wild West, I came across the nugget that the Old West lawman Tilghman (played by Sam Elliott in “The Last Town” which was on tv a couple years ago) had made a movie called “Passing of The Oklahoma Outlaws” and in it, he used some of the actual outlaws he was up against, like Arkansas Tom and Henry Starr. I became very interested in finding a copy of this movie but when I canvassed my friends and experts they all told me, “No copy has survived.” And one of them added something about rotting canisters in the basement, etc. So imagine my surprise when one of our subscribers told me he had a copy. At first I was quite skeptical because we are always getting these wild claims, like, “I’ve got baby pictures of Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday in a playpen together. Wanna see’em?” And then they send ‘em, and they’re so fake, or wrong, you hate to tell ‘em, but when you do, they end up hating you and threatening to kick your ass, but that’s another story.

So, I kind of shined it on, and told the guy to send me copy of the film, never really expecting to get it. Lo and behold, yesterday in the mail I got a packet from Tommy Phillips from Choctaw, Oklahoma. I came home, popped it in the VCR, and there he was, the legendary Bill Tilghman, re-enacting the gunfight at Ingalls (the Classic Gunfight that’s in our current issue). Needless to say the hairs on the back of my neck were standing on end. One of the many surprises is how big the hats were. I have always believed the big Tom Mix style sombreros didn’t come into fashion until the mid-twenties, but here they were bigger than watermelons in 1915! And with the Tom Mix crease.
I finally went to bed around 10, and Kathy said to me, “What’s wrong? The short hairs on the back of your neck are standing up.” I said, “I just saw Bill Tilghman move.”
Kathy grunted, “You crazy Old West nuts.” She should know. She’s a therapist.

“The ancients have stolen all our best ideas!”
—Mark Twain

November 25, 2002
Did a bit of artwork yesterday morning, but not enough. Hanging out as usual.

Kathy and I left at 2:30 and drove into Scottsdale. Met Deena at Earl’s for brunch ($43 cash), then went over to Camelview Five and couldn’t decide whether to see “Far From Heaven,” the fifties homage from Tod Haynes, or the Mexican subtitled, “Crimen Padre Amaro” (Crimes of Father Amaro). Finally chose “Far From Heaven” ($18 cash, plus $3.60 for popcorn, no butter, and a bottle of water). Movie was okay. Julianne Moore was quite good, but it really dragged in the middle, and was kind of limp and sappy. We had seen the previews to the “Padre” movie before our movie started and when we got out I asked Deena what she thought of “Heaven” and she said, “I just kept thinking, ‘we could be seeing that priest have sex with that girl.’” Kids today.

Writing this on the fly. Yesterday’s band quote should have been “Tighter than a gnat's ass stretched over a rain barrel.” And, of course, I found a better quote for yesterdays entry:

“Those who danced were thought to be quite insane by those who could not hear the music.”
—Giuseppe Mazzini

November 24, 2002
Yesterday I finally got in the water with artwork. Did a big background painting in late morning, then took a nap, had lunch, came out and finished it off, shot it, then finished off Dalton’s riding into town enveloped in dust. Still not the image I had in my mind’s eye but I need to keep moving. Took a shower, came out to dining room table and whipped out a batch of multi-cultural shooters (see sketches). Felt good. Need to stay loose.

Did several things last night I haven’t done in a long time. Kathy and I had two beers before we left to go up to the Buffalo Chip Saloon (to save money and no, that’s not one of them). Great honkytonk in Cave Creek. It was Dan Harshberger’s 55th birthday party and his wife Darlene invited us and three other couples to come out and have dinner and dance. Had the prime rib special, then the Pat James Band got up on stage and proceeded to rip out a really tight set of excellent Country music. No banter, tuning, or silence between songs (like the many bands I was in where we would talk about what song we should do next, argue about the key it's in, get in a fight, break up, leave the stage, take a piss, come back, make a temporary truce and play the second song of the night, with half the band in the wrong key). These guys (four piece) were as tight as a mosquito’s ass stretched over a rain barrel.

It was fun to watch the dancers. There is the basic Texas Two-Steppers, but there are some new variations, very baroque. It appears they have blended some line dance movements into the steps. It was beyond me. And then there are the urban couples who took a class and do the whirlybird turns (Kathy and I are in that group). And I noticed a new hand style (to me) where the guy puts his right hand on the woman’s shoulder, instead of around her waist, and the woman puts her left hand on his forearm. Then there’s the guy who learned how to do the dances in a very rote way. You can almost see him counting. He has no rhythm and kind of looks like he’s taking an SAT test. And then there’s the old guy, who doesn’t give a shit what you think. He’s out there doing some high school Pony of Frug, clappin’ on the wrong beat (most white people clap on the wrong beat and as a recovering drummer, it drives me nuts). He’s just havin’ a great time, dancin’ with everybody at his table, and he does the same dance whether the song is fast or slow, swingtime or a waltz (when I grow up I want to be him!). But my favorite dancers are the Country people who literally are Country. The guys look like they broke both arms and legs and it pains them to move, except to do a shuffle from the ankles down and they periodically twist their wrists, barely, in a simulation of a roper’s dally. Their women do all the work, gliding and sliding, moving backwards, ducking under his barely extended arm, as if to say: “I’m bakin’ a cake, I got a baby in my arms, I got to fix the sink, but I’m here for you Honey, makin’ you look like the studhoss you are.” Yahoo! It’s a thing of beauty, and a mighty fine metaphor for the American West to boot.

Tom Chambers was in the house (former Phoenix Suns star). His wife is so good-looking it should be illegal to go out looking like that. In fact, I don’t miss that part of nightclubbing (seeing all the women you can never have).

Finally, my eyes were burning so we said our goodnights. As we walked out into the cool Cave Creek night, I said to Kathy: “Well, that was fun, but I’m fried. What time is it?” Kathy laughed. It was 10:30.

"You don't have to hang from a tree to be a nut."
—Old Vaquero Saying

November 23, 2002
Yesterday morning I saw in the paper the ad for the new Bond movie “Die Another Day.” (see ad). Believe it or not this is very close to the cover concept I have been working on for the next issue. To prove it, I’ve also scanned my Franklin daytimer entry for November 20 (three days before the Bond campaign began). How could this happen? I believe it’s creative combustion. We are all reacting to the same news, headlines and atmospheric conditions. So there is bound to be some duplication of ideas when creative minds get to turning (add to that the copying and stealing and you've got a tidal wave). Either way, it’s a strong concept and I want to get some finished art cranked out this weekend.

Strong day in office (Friday). Totally redesigned the Dalton Classic Gunfights piece, moving images around and writing cutlines to fit, shoehorning in all of the fascinating tidbits. For example, the town hero, John Kloehr, was a modest man and for days after the Coffeyville fight strangers would come up to him and ask his name and he would often say “Jim Spears,” so he wouldn’t have to keep repeating the story. One of the strangers who asked turned out to be a Winchester Arms rep, and so the company sent Kloehr a beautiful rifle with a hand-scrolled inscription to Jim Spears.

Went to lunch with Carole, Robert, Gus and Sue at Tuscan Cafe ($6.36 cash). Talked about the new reader’s poll stats that Carole extracted. According to a large percentage of our reader’s comments, they want more Native American stories. This is at odds with our newsstand stats, where Native American covers have consistently been our weakest sellers. What does this mean? Someone offered that perhaps it simply means they want articles about Native Americans in the mix of the magazine, just don’t put it on the cover. Hmmmm.

Ted talked to Tom Selleck’s office. He got the mags, was quite impressed and is going to be out of the country for two weeks, but when he gets back we will talk. All the females here are ready for that.

Spit In The Sky And It Comes Back Dept.:One of our former employees tried to get a job at a competing national magazine. We heard they passed because of “inconsistencies in the resume.” Call me petty and immature, but this makes me very happy.

Wrote up Emmett Dalton’s bio, utilizing the hed: Life After Death Alley. Worked until around six. Got tons of reference for the cover illustration, loaded up and came home.

“You can use all the quantitative data you can get, but you still have to distrust it and use your own intelligence and judgment.”
—Alvin Toffler

November 22, 2002
I’m running a photo of the Renegades ( a loose knit group of my history nut friends) in front of the Condon Bank in Coffeyville, Kansas in the next issue. I wanted to put the exact date of the photo and fortunately, I have a very useful tool. Since 1994 I have used a Franklin Daytimer and I keep a morgue of every year since then. I knew the photo was taken sometime in 1998 so I grabbed the binder on my lunch hour and started flipping pages. In addition to finding the actual date (August 30, 1998 at 9 a.m. and I bought four postcards for $1 at the Defender Museum), I also found the exact date when I began to think seriously about buying True West.

I had a booksigning in Tombstone and Bob McCubbin drove over from El Paso to hang out with me. After the signing and dinner, Bob told me he was retiring and wanted to invest in something. He offered to perhaps help me print my books. I immediately said, “Let’s buy True West and make it work.” The date was May 25, 1998. Later that summer, the first opportunity to buy the magazine came up, but Bob backed off and said he was never serious about it. A year later, all that changed and here we are.

The other book that changed my life is “The Artist’s Way.” In it the author tells about how she would wake up and have coffee and think to herself, “I don’t feel like writing.” So she wrote that down. When she wanted to complain about the cold in her studio, she wrote that down. Whatever she was feeling, she put it in her journal, until it became a habit and words flowed easily. The moral being, “Write every day, without hope, without despair.”

So I customized my Franklin Daytimer to have that component. I get up at six, drink coffee with Kathy, solve life, come out to the studio and turn on the computer, light a fire in my stove, walk out to the end of the driveway and pick up the paper (The Arizona Republic), and thank Robert Urich (the actor was born on the same day as me, December 19, 1946, and he died earlier this year, so every day I thank him because it is an extra day he didn’t get to have.) Then I sart writing. Whatever comes into my mind (as if you hadn’t noticed).

“Forget past mistakes. Forget failures. Forget everything except what you're going to do now and do it.”
—William Durant

November 21, 2002
We’re growing so fast it’s giving us cash flow fits. Carole and I worry about it, going over the spreadsheets and P&Ls, fretting, mulling and moping. Bob Brink comes in, takes a quick look at the numbers and puts it all in perspective: “You’ve come a long way from last year Kid,” he says sitting on the couch in my office. “We are going to be fine.” Amazing what that calm confidence does for me. I feel like a little kid in a fun house and my dad is holding my hand and saying, “Calm down it’s just trick mirrors.”

We are still trying to determine if the shotgun in the new Western Monte Walsh is the same model as the shotgun Carey Seaman used at Coffeyville against the Dalton Gang. Ted got ahold of Tom Selleck’s office yesterday and they confirmed it is an 1887 Winchester lever-action shotgun that Shorty (George Eads) uses in the movie. Tom Selleck himself is supposed to call us today. Everyone is thrilled about this, especially the women.

Gus and I are still struggling with layout on Classic Gunfights. Printed out what we have and did sketches and moved stuff around. I woke up this morning with several ideas on how to make it work.

Gus and Meghan finished the javelina piece for High Sonoran Style magazine and Abby did a quick half page ad to plug Christmas stuff. Tom will pick up this morning.

Took off a tad early and went up to Bashas’ for groceries ($78 house account). Came home and cooked a pasta-salmon dinner for Kathy. She came home at 6:30 and we had a nice meal with wine. I’m usually such a selfish little javelina, I occassionally just want to pretend to be a good husband and partner.

"If I only had a little humility, I'd be perfect."
 —Ted Turner

November 20, 2002
The Dalton Raid has expanded to eight pages. It’s a monster. Going to be very strong. Several never before published photos.

At the staff meeting yesterday morning we discussed bleedover, which is our term for the increasing problem of ads bleeding and blending into editorial. It’s not just our problem. I’ve seen awful examples in Vanity Fair, Time and Newsweek, where the blurring of lines between editorial and advertising creates an irritating mess for the reader’s eyes. Our worst example of this is in the January issue, pages 46 and 47. A house ad, with the same background color as the page of photographs on the right hand page, really obliterates the barrier. It doesn’t help that an ad for American Photograph Archive is also on the left hand page and is too close in style to the editorial photos on right. I want there to be a nice, clean demarcation between ads and editorial, and I’m increasingly leaning towards simpler, white backgrounds on editorial pages, just to distance them from advertising. Daniel leans towards putting color backgrounds on editorial and I think we need to be very selective in doing this.

Had lunch at Pei Wei with Jana, Carole, Robert and Gus (I bought Jana and Carole’s lunch, $26 cash). Sat outside. Just beautiful out. Jana told about her secret project involving “bull”. Going to be a blockbuster.

R.G. had to fly to his mother's funeral in Ohio. We are going to send flowers.

I need to produce a doubletruck for Tom Tumus’s High Sonoran Style magazine, so I came home after lunch and patched together the javelina biker gang entries from this journal, tacked on a lead, and emailed it back to the office for Gus to lay out. Now to find some decent javelina art. I considered luring the actual gang into our front yard with treats and then taking photos from the roof, but Kathy thinks I’m nuts for making this a Cecil B. DeMille production and she’s right. I may just grab a photo of the little hippos out of a book and call it a day. It would be cool though, and then I could scan the photos and put them up here for all to see. Wouldn’t you love to see the little twits who have been terrorizing our neighborhood? Ha. Of course you would.

"The nice thing about egotists is that they don't talk about other people."
 —Lucille S. Harper

November 19, 2002
Office copies came yesterday. Got a bucket brigade going out the back door and unloaded about 3,500 January issues into the mail room. UPS guy had to call headquarters to get a release on us helping him (some new union deal).

Went over paper costs with Bob Brink. We were considering a lighter stock but the price break isn’t there.

Came home for lunch and did sketches for Dalton spread and cover. Got a good likeness of John Kloehr, the hero of Coffeyville. Need to translate it to big board today.

Worked hard on writing my editorial. Got several photos from home. Brought back my new video player. Robert Ray hooked it up to his computer and we fast forwarded the Monte Walsh tape to the place where George Eads as Shorty, pulls out what appears to be an 1888 Winchester shotgun. Captured four frames, chose one, Robert scanned it. Called Phil Spangenberger to confirm shotgun model, but he’s in Utah “teaching 50 guys in six hours how to handle firearms,” his wife Linda told me. I asked what movie he is working on and she said “Hidalgo,” which is a film we are touting in the very same issue. That led me to retitling my editorial “Coffeyville Connections,” and rounding up all of the if-I-saw-it-in-a-movie-I-wouldn’t-believe-it coincidences.

We got attacked last night by the Javelina-Hippo-Hos at about midnite. Peaches was barking, Kathy woke me up, we went out in our underwear but they had struck and left. I couldn’t go back to sleep. Mulled all of the work I need to do. Tried to turn my mind off, but the more I tried the more awake I became. Did come up with the subhed: “Life after Death Alley.” I became worried I would forget it, and decided I should get up and write it down, but the very fact that I should get up, was enough to bring on sleep. Ha.

“Make use of trouble. One of my favorite tricks for flipping my mind over to the optimistic side is to ask myself the question: "How can I use this?"
—Steve Chandler, "100 Ways to Motivate Yourself"

November 18, 2002
“There are two myths about javelinas,” Conrad Storad told me yesterday. “One is that they are pigs, and the other is that they are rodents.” Conrad should know. He wrote a book called, “Don’t Call Me Pig.” I met him at a book luncheon at the Four Seasons Resort yesterday. The First Book organization had a pretty amazing lunch and mini-book fair for 11 authors and we all gave short talks about how we became writers, etc. Well, if they’re not pigs and they’re not rats, what are they? “They’re peccaries,” Conrad told me, “and their closest relative is the hippo.” Amazing. We are being attacked by nephews of the hippopotamus. Who’s going to believe that?!

Had another no show on art. Got back from the book fair at about three, then had to go to a baby shower at four. One of Tommy’s best friends, Raf, is going to be a papa. Raf’s girlfriend is a pro snowboarder from Vermont and she is three months pregnant. Great food and fun catching up on all the “kids today” stories.

Did come home and do some sketches for cover ideas. Hope to knock something out this week.

“Love your parents--and change yourself.”
—Steve Chandler

November 17, 2002
Yesterday I woke up with big plans. I was going to attack the Dalton paintings with new vigor. I had the right reference, the right tools and the right attitude. Of course, I failed miserably. And as the third and fourth botched paintings went on the floor (I’m so vain I can’t even throw the failures in the trash!). I tried to keep at it, but I just couldn’t muster the energy.

I did what so many men do. I fed the chickens, got water for the dogs, built a fire, took a nap, seduced my wife, ordered a pizza, drank two beers and watched three Westerns in a row. (Not necessarily in that order.)

The javelina biker gang attacked again last night. I stayed up late watching TCM’s Western film festival and saw three Gary Cooper classics: “The Westerner,” “The Man From The West,” and “High Noon.” All were excellent and I had forgotten how tight the script was on “Noon.” I sort of remembered the people in the church being a parody of Christians (it was after all, written by a Communist), but they were not caricatures. They were logical and their arguments were sound, and they didn’t all agree, just like real Christians. The whole thing was brilliantly executed, told in real time, a much deserved classic. As Robert Osborne put the finishing touches on the whole deal, I put Peaches in the studio and locked up. As I went to bed (11:40) I heard her barking and thought to myself, “Good luck you lousy Javelina. You got nothing. Ha, ha, ha.”

Somehow, they broke into the garage. Either they rigged up some sort of electronic nose button, that the leader could activate by pushing his snout onto the radio hog’s backpack, thus making the garage door open automatically so they could come in, quickly, in teams, do their damage and leave, activating the garage door on their way out so that they left no trace of their devious entry, or else some idiot left the garage door open to begin with.

I tried to sell Kathy on the former, but I think she saw through my weak premise. I had locked the side door to the garage (where I could have seen into the garage to view the open door), and I had secured all of the surrounding yard gates, but I had failed to look in the garage itself. I might as well have put up a neon sign that said, “Idiot on duty. Come on in and help yourselves!”They made a complete mess of everything. I’d like to say they ate the tires off the Ranger, but they didn’t need to. They had a literal feast before them with large industrial bags of chicken, dog and cat food lined up in a row, ready for the taking. It must have been a real Saturday night Luby’s experience for the whole family. I picture them today, lying in some dusty lair, with homemade toothpicks in their snouts, laughing. “What a loser.” they snort. “He can’t even paint!”

"No one laughs at a reputation. Laughter is purely a voluntary reaction. You might like someone, you might like a million things they've done, but if they don't say something that you truly find funny, you'll die out there."- Jerry Seinfeld, on his doing live stand-up again

November 16, 2002
Yesterday morning, I had a great call to IPD, our bookstore distributor. They are going to increase our draw there significantly. We already have a very respectable 60% sell-thru at Barnes & Noble and our IPD rep assured me it will be no problem to increase our presence in all the chains. Now I have to be paitent until the payoff from the expansion trickles down to us (which will probably be sometime in the middle of next year).




Hans Olsen asked at Jana’s dinner party on Thursday night what an “Oddfellow” is (he was flown, expenses paid, to one of their lodge meetings in Detroit or somewhere). I told him I think it is a secret club, or a service group like the Elks or Moose Lodge, somewhere between Kiwanis and Masons. I believe the founder rationalized that most extraordinary men are “odd,” so he decided to start a group that would celebrate that “oddness.”. My connection to the Oddfellows is that they sponsored my Little League team when I was growing up in Kingman. We were the Oddfellow Yankees, and, yes, it seemed pretty odd to me and my teammates at the time. Plus, the damn cumbersome name, was sewn on the backs of our jerseys and for a skinny kid like me, it took up most of my back (see photo). I remember very well when I went to get my first uniform (1957) at the Oddfellow’s Hall in downtown Kingman (see photo). The room where the uniforms were being handed out was on the second floor, far left. The uniforms were wool which I remember being quite sratchy, not to mention warm— each of us on the team became a walking sauna in the Arizona summers, when our seasons played out. However, I was so excited to actually have a baseball uniform I wore the ensemble home, including the rubber cleats. I think I would have slept in it, but my mother chased me down and took it off me. Thus ends today’s odd discussion of the Oddfellows


"In skating over thin ice, our safety is in our speed".
—Ralph Waldo Emerson

November 15, 2002
Still trying to shoehorn in all the great maps, photos and graphics into the Dalton piece. Gus and I rammed and jammed all day. We got a packet from Lui (pronounced Lou) Barndollar in Coffeyville, with three photos of Death Alley. One I had never seen before. It’s of a crowd around the side of a shed with the Dalton gang bodies in their coffins, leaning up against the wall. Really spectacular. Article is going to be great.

We got our office copies of January issue on Wednesday. Bob McCubbin’s 50 Most Important Photos piece is really strong. Great photos (they should be, we flew to Santa Fe to scan the originals) and layout. I predict issue is going to sell quite well.

Came home for lunch and Kathy had told me she left the tv on because she is going to come home after dark and I won’t be there. She called me at work, to warn me, and remind me not to turn it off. So I come in the door, and within six seconds I’m sucked into a soap opera. It’s evil and insidious (the genre and the show!). Some hunky guy comes trotting into a back patio with his shirt off (imagine that!) and a real pretty girl is waiting for him and she wants to know about another couple but you can tell they are going to get involved, maybe in the next ten or twelve seconds. I’m kicking myself because I’ve got to eat, take a shower for the dinner party in the evening, grab some items out of studio, feed the dog and cat and get back to work to finish layouts, but here I am sitting in the kitchen eating a bowl of pinto beans, and I hear them talking seductively, and I’m raising up to see over the kitchen half-wall like some housewife in a bathrobe eating bon bons on the edge of the sofa. I finally get done eating, go into the bedroom to take a shower, and Kathy has the damn thing on in there, so now I’ve got a towel and I’m nude, standing by the bathroom door going, “Make your move, Brad! Make your move!”

Worked until six, drove into Phoenix to attend a dinner party at Jana B’s house. Great time with Hans (his 50th birthday party) and Gina Olson, Russs and Wendy Shaw and Christa. Kathy couldn’t come because she had late clients. Jana told a wonderful story about soap operas (after I told the above anecdote). Two college roommates meet twenty years after graduation. They catch up on their different lives and then one says, “Remember how we watched ‘The Bold & The Beautiful' every day? Do you still watch it?” And the other roommate says “No, I had kids and my career leaves me with no time. I haven’t seen it since we left college. It’s hazy, but I remember some guy named Victor and Amber were thinking about having an abortion.” And the other roommate says, “Yes, well now it’s later that same day and...”

Locked myself out of my pickup. Had to call AAA ($10 tip). Got home at 11. Long day.

“I don't say we all ought to misbehave, but we ought to look as if we could.”
—Orson Welles

November 14, 2002
Still struggling with Dalton’s Coffeyville Raid. Too much stuff (good art) for five pages. Gus and I roughed in the layout and it’s too tight. So I moved around an Alamo piece in front of the book and liberated another page to add to Classic Gunfights, which will make it a six pager.

Bruce Boxleitner called last week and said he can’t do any work on our Cole Younger video project (his wife is Melissa Gilbert and she is pres of Screen Actor’s Guild). He wants to play Cole Younger, but unless it’s SAG he can’t touch it. This puts us in a weird position because we have the commitment of a Western star and yet we can’t get the project to the next level. Need to be patient, it will happen. He also told me Melissa has been filming a new ABC Western, Then Came Jones. Lots of tv Westerns in the pipeline, maybe six or seven. As many movies. Evidently, it’s a post 9.11 deal. We’ll see if they stick.

Carole and I went to lunch at El Encanto yesterday (she bought). We’re struggling with cash flow, we’re growing almost too fast, and she really takes care of us. Discussed certain employees who are in our rotating dog house.

Got a fire in the stove this morning. A bit nippy out (for Arizona, probably in the low 60s, ha.)

Kathy has been antsy about both our kids. Deena is a senior at ASU and needs to get an internship and Tommy just needs to get a job to help support his college lifestyle. It looks like both are going to happen, and that makes her very happy (and in turn it makes me happy because she’s not unhappy.)

“I have always felt that too much time was given before birth, which is spent learning things like how to breathe in and out with your husband (I had my baby when they gave you a shot in the hip and you didn't wake up until the child was ready to start school), and not enough time given to how to mother after the baby is born.”
—Erma Bombeck

November 13, 2002
Strong day in office yesterday. Finally finished first draft of Dalton Raid on Coffeyville (seven pages!). Spent most of the late afternoon pruning it to fit in five pages. Good exercise, because it forces you to study every line for content. Does each paragraph and sentence propel the narrative to the goal, or is it superfluous? If only some of our freelancers would do this. A few of our older writers (okay, it’s one and he lives in Tombstone) refuse to write for us anymore because we have the gall to edit their precious words. When I interviewed Mrs. Joe Small (the founder’s wife), she told me the magazine started to lose readers when “the footnote crowd took over.” And speaking of the footnote crowd, Jim Dullenty, a former editor in the early eighties, has sent me two different letters demanding a retraction and clarification on dubious sources. He primarily attacks the Doc Holliday issue (November-December, 2001) where we cited a newspaper article that supposedly told of Doc Holliday’s final days. The source looks increasingly suspicious but we are waiting for clarification. I intend to run part of Jim’s letter (it’s too long, see above), in an upcoming letters to the editor.
We are also working on a feature called “True West Comes Clean,” wherein we will own up to all of the goofs, gaffs and outright cons we have published in the past fifty years (except for the Jim Dullenty years, which were perfect). We will deal with this alleged bogus Doc source there, among other egregious crimes, no doubt worthy of a firing squad.

Went to lunch with Jana, Robert, Gus and Meghan at Satisfied Frog ($15 cash). Afterwards, I drove by Clantonville (our old office). Lots of memories, mostly bad. Glad we’re out of there.

Met Kathy at five and we went down to Pei Wei for dinner ($17 cash), then over to Target to get a new VCR ($97 Sue debit) so I could watch the sneak preview of Tom Selleck’s new Western, Monte Walsh (TNT sent us an advance copy). Then got groceries at Bashas’ ($98 house account), came home, hooked up the new VCR and watched the movie. Took notes (it was cool to be seeing this before anyone else, but ultimately it felt like I was doing homework). It’s going to run on TNT in January. It’s a remake (Lee Marvin and Jack Palance were in the original). Funny line: William Devane introduces the corporate bean counter to his cowboys (Selleck and Keith Carradine) and tells them the dude is out West for two weeks to learn “cowboyin’”. Carradine’s character quips dryly, “What’s he gonna do the second week?”

“The easiest thing for a reader to do, is stop reading.”
—Some dead editor, I think for the Washington Times

November 12, 2002
Windy out. Feels good. Went for a walk with Kathy. Big staff meeitng this morning. Lots to talk about. Jim Dullenty, a former editor, is demanding a retraction on our Butch & Sundance issue. More on that tomorrow.

What do you do when you discover your Grandma was a babe? It’s a tough one. It kind of knocks the props out of your vision of the universe, if you know what I mean.

My grandmother on my father’s side, Minnie Hauan Bell, could speak Norweigan fluently. Her favorite sayings were, “What in the Sam Hill?” and “Heavens to Betsy.” I think she also was fond of saying “Uff-dah,” but that may have more to do with me being a faithful listener to Prairie Home Companion than actual memory. She told me that when she was little, her mother told her and her brothers to be good or else “Jesse James will come to get you, and he can ride down the center of the road with his reins in his teeth and shoot coffee cans off the fence posts.” She told me that little family tidbit back in 1984 and I thought it was so great because the actual Jesse James came thru that part of Iowa (Winnebago County) in 1876 when they tried to rob the Northfield Bank, and the idea that Norweigan parents would use that incident to keep their kids in line, as a kind of Boogie Man, is nothing short of fantastic.
I remember Grandma Bell as a great maker of breakfast. She would start my grandpa (and me) out with an orange, a half a grape fruit, then a bowl of Grape Nuts and then she brought out a platter of bacon, ham and “lacy eggs.” We called them lacy because she fried them in the fat from the bacon on high heat and they got real brown and lacy around the edges. My Grandfather ate at least three of these eggs and bacon and ham every day, and I guess the high cholesterol finally got to him because he konked out at 92. Minnie, who stayed right with him in the egg department, lasted until her mid-nineties.

I spent a glorious two weeks with my grandparents in 1971. I hitchhiked from Arizona back to Iowa for my cousin’s wedding and stayed on to go fishing. Every day, my Grandpa would bring out the tackle box and two poles and we would drive in his ‘64 blue Ford to a different lake to go fishing. Sometimes we’d slip over into Minnesota (five miles north), and other times he’d show me some secret little lake behind a corncrib, down some rutty road. Grandma packed us cheese sandwiches on homemade bread. And of course coffee. Not your mamby pamby coffee, but coffee you can stand pencils in. When we got home, Carl and I would clean the bullheads out behind the garage and then Grandma would fry them up for dinner (what we call lunch in the West). We did this every day for two weeks and I never got tired of it!

Anyway, I’m doing a book on Cole Younger and I intend to use her Jesse James quote and I wanted a photo of my Grandmother when she was younger to go along with the quote. So I emailed my cousin Dr. Mike Richards and his wife Ann (who’s wedding we went to back in 1971), asking if his mom, my Aunt Doris (my father’s older sister), had any photographs of Minnie when she was young. About a week later, I got a packet from Des Moines, and inside was a photo of a very young Minnie Hauan. She’s a babe! The right photo is how I remember Grandma Minnie, and the left was taken when Minnie was about eighteen or nineteen.

"Time may be a great healer, but it's a lousy beautician."
—Old Vaquero Saying