Friday, May 26, 2017

On The Road to Past Predictions

May 26, 2017
   On the road to Bishop, California for the Mule Days parade. My wild man partner, Ken Amorosano, decided to come along and insisted on bringing his RV and his car. Here we are yesterday morning at six, ready to hit the trail.



BBB, Ken Amorosano and The Mighty Moho (38 feet, plus the Lexus=50 feet)

   We were headed for Earp, California to film two segments for a documentary we are working on. First stop was along the Colorado River. According to local lore, Wyatt Earp liked to walk across the railroad trestle bridge in the background to eat rhubarb pie at a cafe in Parker, Arizona. Earp preferred the California side of the river because he still had a murder warrant out on him for the killing of Frank Stillwell in March of 1882.


The Colorado River from Earp, California, looking back at the railroad bridge to Parker, AZ.

   I told Ken I wanted to do a drone shot flying over Wyatt Earp's campsite and the crazy guy went out and got a drone pilot's license and bought one. It ain't easy and, in fact, we had to clear the flight over the river with the FAA because it's near the Parker airport.


Drone pilot Ken Amorosano with his Phantom 3 Drone

   This was taken out at the Wyatt Earp campsite near his Happy Day Mine. I visited here on October 14, 1995 and it was the most pristine Old West site I had ever visited. There were still nails in the tree where Wyatt and Josie set up camp and you would have sworn he just left.

   I remembered I had written down specific directions to the camp in my Franklin Daytimer where I kept copious notes. The site is up a wash about 6 miles west of the Earp post office and unless you know where to turn it is very hard to find.

   So, on Wednesday, I went upstairs in my studio morgue and pulled out the binder with 1995 on it Not only were the map directions there but I saw many other notes about my efforts to complete my revised Billy the Kid book which I was working on at the time. Here are a couple entries:

September 5, 1995
   Worked all morning yesterday on corrections for Billy II manuscript.

September 19, 1995
   Gave Tommy another drum lesson (we've set up the rum in the breezeway). Another generation of neighbors moans into the night.

September 20, 1995
   I've got hemorrhoids. I imagine it's because of stress from the Chris deal (Billy book).

October 2, 1995
   We need to make a decision on the length of Billy II. Currently, as we have laid it out, we are at 12 sections, or, 192 pages.

October 3, 1995
   The verdict is in for O.J. We'll find out today at 10 a.m.

October 11, 1995
   Tired. Stressed. I weighed last night—163—less than I weighed in high school.

October 17, 1995
   It's 6:57. I've been waking up with headaches and a slight fever every day.

October 23, 1995
   I don't know how much more discouraged I can get. I owe everybody. Pam Eckert  (the framer for my failed art show) called yesterday crying. She absolutely needs her money. I called Betty Radina and asked if I could borrow $2,300. She said yes. I sure owe her.

October 24, 1995
   I'm in a big hole. A fucking Grand Canyon hole. Crashed yesterday morning. I have no energy. I'm worried about my health. My stomach is in constant low grade pain. Ulcers or cancer..

   Turns out it was a hyper-active thyroid and it took a year-and-a-half to cure (or, at least go into remission). The second edition of Billy was finally published at 192 pages and here's what my son Tommy found out about it on Goodreads:

Father Goose,
   Your "66 Kid" book has a rating of 3.83/5. Not bad at all Father.

   Your Illustrated Life and Times books however are CRUSHING it in the ratings.

Doc Holiday- 4.11
Wyatt Earp- 4.21
Classic Gunfights- 4.29

and...

Billy the Kid- 4.5!

That's a ridiculously high rating. I've read Graham Greene books that I loved and were rated around 3.6. Just saying.

End of Tommy's comments. One more Franklin Daytimer entry from the same time period:

December 22, 1995
"Stayed up reading Time and Newsweek until 10:30. Fascinating article on the Internet. It's coming real fast and I need to get on. I have a hunch I will do well on line."

   And yes, I spelled it as two words: on line.

Wednesday, May 24, 2017

The Goose Is Loose: Mojave Woman With The Blue Arms

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




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

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

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



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


Daily Whip Out: "Topock Birth Canal"


Daily Whip Out: "Macho Mojave"

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


Daily Whip Out: "Red Striped Macho Mojave"


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

Tuesday, May 23, 2017

Dirt Track In-din Steering Into The Skid

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

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

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





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

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

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

Monday, May 22, 2017

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

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

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



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



Wayne Brazell, center, with two unidentified cowboy pards.


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


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

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

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


   




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


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




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




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


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


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

—Historian Leon Metz

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

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

BTW, his wife is buried in Alamogordo.

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

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


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



Saturday, May 20, 2017

Grandkid Takes Old Man to School

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

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

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


Weston's Daily Whip Out: "Shamrock"

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


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

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



Thursday, May 18, 2017

Comebacks On The Circle of Life

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




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

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



I just woke up Grandma and Grandpa! 

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



Look Grandpa Ha ha, I'm upside down!

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

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

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

Monday, May 15, 2017

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

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


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



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

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

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

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

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

Sunday, May 14, 2017

The Last Lily & The Lesson of Worth

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

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



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

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


"Lily Louise"



The Last Lily

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

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

Saturday, May 13, 2017

Hating Needles From Memory

May 13, 2017
   I don't know if it's because I'm Norwegian or if it's because I'm from Kingman, but I have always hated Needles, California. I'm not alone. Growing up in Kingman, most of my friends hated Needles as well. Charlie Waters always liked to say it is "the armpit of America." Other friends compared it to lower extremities. Of course, it didn't help that when we were in high school Needle's teams humiliated us in all four major sports (football, basketball, baseball and track) and the Needles kids had a reputation—at least to us—for being really wicked, you know, in a loose, Lutheran kind of way.

   Imagine my shock, when I met a former Needles High alum at the U of A and he confessed to me he and his friends always thought Kingman girls were the most wicked!

I guess the ass is always greener.

   Anyway, I have found myself obsessed with the damn place for the past couple months because when Olive Oatman was a captive of the Mojaves, she spent four years parked right on the future site of the town of Needles, California. That is just crazy, ironic.


Daily Whip Out: "The Needles From Memory And A Little Boost From Thomas Moran"

   In two weeks, I'm traveling to Bishop, California to be the grand marshal in the Bishop Mule Days parade, and—I thought I would never live to say this—but I am rerouting my trip so I can go through Needles. I intend to spend some quality time there, researching and painting the area.

"My ancestors were Puritans from England. They arrived here in 1648 in the hope of finding greater restrictions than were permissible under English law at that time."
—Garrison Keillor, major Norwegian and Lutheran 

Friday, May 12, 2017

Bob Boze Bell's Hat Rules

May 13, 2017
   Here is a public service and I am just the guy to give it.


THE HAT RULES

Hat Rule #1: "Do not touch my hat!"

   Let's get this straight: a cowboy hat is not a toy. It is not okay to touch a cowboy's hat, or put on a stray cowboy hat lying around a bunkhouse or a truckstop. It is not okay to grab it off a cowboy's head, and it is absolutely forbidden to say, as you reach out, "Gee, what's that made of?"



"Do not touch my hat."


Exception: A fiance may touch a cowboy's hat once—on the honeymoon—but that's it. Also, a grandchild may do whatever they want to a cowboy hat, short of sleeping in it. It is, after all, just a hat. I know that doesn't seem fair, but that's just the deal. 

Hat Rule #2: "Do not wear your cowboy hat in mama's house."

   There is no more disrespectful thing you can do, short of killing the family dog, than wearing your cowboy hat inside your mama's house. This includes all your friend's mama's houses, as well. This even includes mamas from other nations. Moms are sacred and every cowboy knows it. Don't do it.

Exception: You may wear your cowboy hat when you are forced to enter the house of your ex-wife's mother. You know, the one who never thought you were good enough to marry her daughter. If you do, though, you must be prepared to fight your ex-wife, her mother and whoever is sleeping with the two sluts at the time of the entry. That's a hard trade off, but it's usually worth it.


Hat Rule #3: "Wearing Hats Indoors Is Complicated. "

   Many cowboys have been in the armed services where it was drilled in to them to take off their lid when they are indoors. This wasn't true in the Old West where you see cowboys wearing hats in saloons and dining halls, but today is a different deal. When in doubt—Doff it.

Exceptions: In some parts of the country, if you enter a restaurant, it's okay to wear your hat at the counter, but not in a booth. This can be dicey if you see someone you know at a table when you are sitting at the counter, with your hat on. If you approach your friend at the table you can say hi and keep your hat on, but if you sit down, the hat must come off. This is known as the "heading-towards-the-door" rule. It is perfectly acceptable to wear your hat, as you cross the dining room towards the door, but do not dilly dally, or the hat must come off.

An Exception to The Exception: While everyone agrees the hat comes off in church, it is okay to wear your hat in Cowboy Church, but then it comes off for the Lord's Prayer.

Hat Rule #4: "The Dance Floor Dilemma"
In the old days, cowboys wore their hats to dances and never took them off, especially while struttin' around the dance floor. But, so many fights broke out when hats got bumped during dances that there are still places—mostly in Texas—where there is a hard and fast rule that you must take your hat off while dancing.

Exception: When a cowboy and a cowgirl are both wearing hats and it's time for a grinder, it is considered appropriate to leave both hats with a babysitter back at the booth.



Bonus Hat Rule: If you are in a cantina, drinking tequila and playing cards with
banditos who call themselves Los Muertos, do not make fun of their sombreros.


Hat Rule #5: "Cowgirls Can Get Away With Murder"

   Most of the hat rules cowboys adhere to are not applicable to a pretty cowgirl.

Exceptions: there are no exceptions to this sexist and ridiculous rule.


"So Sue us."


Bonus Hat Rule: If a cowboy insists on you adhering to these hat rules, try and keep a wide berth. He is probably a "Hat Nazi," and should be avoided at all costs. Who needs all these damn rules anyhow?



Beware of Hat Nazis: They think their hats don't stink.



How Long Did It Take Indian Captives to Be Assimilated?

May 12, 2017
   When we try and picture Olive Oatman as she probably appeared during her captivity with the Mojaves, we tend to think of her as Nancy Drew out on a lark—you know—like this:




Daily Whip Out: "Olive Oatman As Nancy Drew"


    In reality, when she was brought back to Fort Yuma after five years of captivity, by one account, the commanding officer had to be shown the light skin "behind her ear" to determine if she was, in fact, a white woman. She also had trouble speaking and appeared very discombobulated and made several requests to go back.


Daily Whip Out: "Spantsa"


   Which brings up an interesting question: how long did it take captives to assimilate to In-din culture? Well, let's take a look at a couple examples:



A C.S. Fly photo of Apache captive, Santiago McKinn

   This photo, which is part of our upcoming coverage of all the Fly photos taken at Canyon de los Embudos, in March of 1886, shows the young New Mexico boy, Santiago McKinn (he was either 11 or 12). He looks miserable and forlorn, but when he was liberated by the American soldiers who felt sorry for him, a strange thing happened. First off, the boy refused to leave the Indian camp, so the chief, Chihuahua, had to personally deliver him to Fort Bowie. When Chihuahua left, the boy "acted like a wild animal in a trap." He was defiant, refusing to speak in any language but Apache and he demanded to be taken back to the Apaches. Santiago had been a captive for only six months and according to Crook's staff, was "absolutely Indianized."

   At the other end of the spectrum, Cynthia Ann Parker was "liberated" after 35 years of being with the Comanches—and giving birth to the last great Comanche warrior Quanah Parker—and she was so unhappy she starved herself to death. That's how much she enjoyed coming back to the "civilized" world.

   Here's an excerpt from  Lieutenant A. W. Whipple's report, during his railroad expedition in 1853: "I have mentioned, that before leaving Beaversville [in current day Oklahoma], [Jesse] Chisholm placed at my disposal a Mexican boy named Vincente, from Parras [Mexico]. That place was surprised by the Comanches, including probably his parents, murdered; and himself, with a sister and several others, taken away as captives. For many years he was a slave among the Comanches, taking care of their horses and performing other services. Wandering about with them from place to place, he learned their language, and the signs they employ in conversing with other tribes. At length he was seen and purchased by Chisholm when on a trading expedition. He gave for him goods to the value of two hundred dollars. The sister was married to a Comanche, and is yet living with them against her will. Vincente is probably sixteen or seventeen years of age, but not larger than a well-developed lad of eleven. He has an oval face, black eyes, Spanish features, and a pleasing expression; he speaks English, Spanish, and Comanche. It is easy to see that his character has been formed among the savages, for he displays in a marked degree the apparent indifference and obstinacy peculiar to the Indian race."

   Finally, back to the Olive Oatman story, when the soldiers at Fort Yuma finally got wind of a "white woman" in the hands of the Mojaves, they sent a courier with a note asking about a woman who was by then called Spantsa. According to modern day Mojaves, the name means "rotten vagina," or "sore vagina," which implies she was either hygiene challenged, or very sexually active.

"Nothing is permanent. What has gone on in the past looks like having been in a dream."
—T.N. Pandit, anthropologist






   

Thursday, May 11, 2017

Geronimo's Killer Boots

May 11, 2017
   One of the joys of my job is finding stuff that, to my knowledge, no one has seen before. Here's a discovery my production manager, Robert Ray, just made ten minutes ago. We are putting the finishing touches on our big Fly at Embudos package, which not only showcases all 18 exposures the legendary photographer made during the peace negotiations between General Crook and Geronimo, but we are also covering the bloody raids that happened after Geronimo and Naiche bolted into the mountains.

   Just to give you a baseline, here is what Geronimo looked like at Embudos:


Geronimo at Canyon de los Embudos in March of 1886

   Notice the calf-high moccasins, coat and headgear. The G-Man and his Apaches raided extensively for more than four months after this photo was taken, killing more than 60 "civilians" by my count, on both sides of the border. 

   One of the weirdest raids took place northwest of Nogales, Arizona when the Apaches raided the Peck ranch, killing Peck's wife and their baby and his hired hand, but then sparing the life of Artisan Peck who was wearing red underwear. The Apaches were going to kill him when Geronimo came up and said, laughing, "Mangas Coloradas," which is Spanish for "Red Sleeves," but it's also the name of a famous Apache chief who went by the handle, Mangas Coloradas. Apparently, Geronimo was amused by this and let the guy live. However, they stripped off Peck's clothes and took his boots.

   In September, Geronimo and Naiche finally surrendered to General Nelson Miles at Skeleton Canyon, and before they were shipped east, this photograph was taken of the two at Fort Bowie:


Naiche and Geronimo at Fort Bowie, September 1886

   Okay, check out the G-Man's new headgear, coat and pants, but where did he get those fancy boots? From Artisan Peck, perhaps? Or, someone who may have had the initials "I.W."?


An intriguing stamp on Geronimo's right boot top. Robert Ray sees "I.W."

Or, is it the initials of a vaquero they killed? I am going back through Ed Sweeney's masterful book, "From Cochise to Geronimo: The Chiricahua Apaches 1874-1886" which lists many of the victims of the last Apache raids, before the surrender. So, we'll see what shakes out.

   In the meantime, several have made the point that the boot top insignia is probably a maker's mark. In other words, the maker of the boots carved, or attached his logo on the boot top. Also, someone pointed out that Naiche and several others who surrendered with Geronimo, are later seen at a train rest stop wearing similar boots, which would point towards the Apaches, including Geronimo, buying new boots from the fort Sutler store at Fort Bowie. All intriguing and each one is possible.

"We were afraid. It was war. Anybody who saw us would kill us, and we did the same thing."
—Naiche, explaining their attitude about everyone they met in the summer of 1886






Wednesday, May 10, 2017

Al Sieber and Tom Horn Cropped Out of Famous Geronimo Photo

May 10, 2017
   If you read my recent post on Geronimo at Embudos, you might be interested to see another peek at some of the Fly photographs. Here are three of them from the article (with my hand notes on who to call out in a redesign):

Tom Horn and Al Sieber captured at Embudos.

Here's a blow up of Horn in his white shirt. It's a tad blurry but you can still make out his brawny, big-shouldered cowboy stance. He appears to have his left hand on a rifle.


A blow-up on Tom Horn (photo #184) standing among his Apache scouts.

   At the top, is photo #186, which is Fly's first exposure during the negotiation between Geronimo and General Crook. According to Paul Hutton, Tom Horn and Al Sieber are in this photo as well, but, as you can see, his angle wasn't good and all we see are hats and the back of heads. Of course, like any good photographer, he pushed his way through the crowd to take his second shot and that is the one that is the classic, and the one which we lead off the feature with.

C.S. Fly's famous photograph #176

    Horn and Sieber were cropped out, forever.

   "History is a cruel trick, played on the dead by the living."
—Old Vaquero Saying