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.

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 

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

   

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

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

The Secret to Staying Married

May 10, 2017

   For most married guys, the four most dreaded words in the English language are:

"We need to talk."

   When we hear this we interpret that statement to mean: "You are in for a long listen."

   Fortunately, I actually like to talk AND I am married to a woman who allows me to say my piece, and then some. 

   And, as you may know by now, Kathy is tired of going to Old West history conferences where me and my history pals argue for three days about the color of Tom McLaury's hatband.

"Is That Tom McLaury standing by that post next to the Harwood house?" 

"Yes, the guy in the silver hatband."

   Recently, in couples therapy (a partial payback for all those history conferences), I found out I have been somewhat of an asshole on this aspect of our marriage, and that perhaps I should pay her back for 37 years of this  "historic" abuse.

   So, I went to a "Hold Me Tight" workshop in Tucson a couple weekends ago with Kathy and here is what I learned:

   We all get caught in "demon dialogue." You know, stuff like this:

• "How many times do I have to tell you to close the gate? We could get sued if a kid fell in the pool."

• "You make all these promises and never follow thru."

• "You sure are smart for being so damn dumb."

   The problem with these statements (besides being true) is that they are "you" statements. Stop using "you" statements. It is accusatory and fans the flames of argument. Own the statements: "I'm concerned if we leave the gate open, we might get sued." Or, "I sure think someone is pretty smart for being so damn dumb."

   Also, There's a huge difference between, "You don't listen," and, "I don't feel heard".

"I have commenced to fight. Perhaps it would be better if you departed."

   Turns out the secret to staying married is no secret: it's hard work! And, like any work, if you are going to be successful, you need the right tools. Like these:

The "Turning Towards" Tool: I'm watching a game when Kathy comes home and tells me there's a pretty sunset and I should come out and look at it. I don't want to do that, I'm watching an important game, for Pete's sake! If I ignore her and keep watching the game, that is "turning away." If I put the game on pause and go out and look at the god damn sunset, that is turning towards. This applies to everything and happens probably a dozen times a day with every couple. Turn towards her and you will be much happier, and so will she!

The Right Apology Tool: I am a dirty dog when it comes to admitting I'm wrong. I can rationalize like a mo fo, evade like a stealth bomber and flee like an artist who goes out to his studio and paints as if there is nothing wrong. Turns out there is only one kind of apology that works. That's when you express regret, sadness and shame, and you say these actual words: "Your pain hurts me." I did this merely as a rote exercise—because I was forced to by the moderators—and was floored at how good it felt, both giving and receiving it.

The Just Be There Tool: Guys want to fix stuff. So when our women get upset and show any emotion we immediately go to, "Okay, how can I fix this, so I can go back to watching the game?" Instead, it turns out, "you don't have to fix anything, you just have to be there." I know, this seems crazy-goofy, but it's dead-on-true. Shut up, actually listen and show compassion (okay, you can fake this last one, but it works!).

There's more, of course, but, trust me, if you do half of these you will be happier than me having to go to all these damn conferences for the next 37 years.

Here's one of the workshops in San Francisco: Hold Me Tight!

"Did you hear about the Norwegian who loved his wife so much he almost told her?"

—Kevin Thorson, a fellow Norwegian

The Charge of The 21 Vaqueros

May 9, 2017
   Went home for lunch to work on a lead illustration for the June Classic Gunfights. It involves 21 armed vaqueros tracking Apaches who had killed one of their beeves in the northern part of Sonora, Mexico. What they perhaps didn't know is they were going up against a dead shot Apache armed with a single-shot Springield rifle. Oh, and he was known in that neck of the woods as Jeronimo (the Spanish saint is San Jeronimo, who the G-Man was nicknamed after, when Mexican soldiers cried out to San Jeronimo to protect them every time the Apache warrior leapt over barricades to single-handedly kill them.)

Daily Whip Out: "The Charge of the 21 Vaqueros"

   Had a very ambitious version of this scene going—with excellent photo reference—which I worked on most of the weekend, but I finally gave up on it, late Sunday afternoon.

Daily Whip Out: "Vaquero Charge Failure"

   Sometimes having good art reference can be a curse rather than a blessing. It's painful to let this one go, but then so is working a good scene to death. Hopefully I learned something from the experience, but as Archibald says, even learning can be painful.

"There's only one thing more painful than learning from experience, and that's not learning from experience."

—Archibald Macleish

If Drunkards Could Fly

May 8, 2017
   We are wrapping up a very ambitious cover story on the legendary photographer C.S. Fly who took all those amazing photographs of Geronimo and crew at Canyon de los Embudos (Canyon of the Funnels) in March of 1886. Thanks to Tom Jonas and the Arizona Historical Society we are printing all 18 of the glass plate negatives Fly took at Embudos with explanations of how each one happened and who is in them.

   There are some jaw droppers in there. I have been looking at these photographs for at least forty years and I never knew you can see the "store" the notorious Tribolet set up to sell liquor to the Apaches.

Fly's photograph #183 at Canyon de los Embudos has a notation on the back

stating Charles Tribolet's "store" is visible.

   Of course, it was Tribolet's sale of liquor to the Apaches which unhinged the negotiations. Naiche became so drunk he shot his wife in the leg. When officers went over to the the Apache camp to investigate, they reported the grass was on fire and several of the warriors were riding mules backwards and they were all "drunk as lords."

   Geronimo and Naiche were still drunk the next morning and bolted back into the mountains, leaving Crook holding the bag (he lost his job over it). The renegades took off on another killing spree, killing over 30 "civilians," including cowboys, herders, freighters, vaqueros, women and babies.

   It pains me to say this, but these "human tigers" acted more like a biker gang jacked up on speed than freedom fighters, fighting for their homeland. The Apache Chief Chihuahua was also at Embudos and he camped away from Geronimo and his crew because he knew they were bad boys and up to no good. Chihuahua was tired of the fighting and he wanted to settle down. Unfortunately, after Geronmo and Naiche went on their killing spree, all the Chiricahuas were sent to Florida.

   It gets worse.

   Fly had a drinking problem as well. In fact, Fly died of "acute alcohol toxicity," He separated from his wife not long after he took these iconic photos because his drinking became so bad. It's doubtful he ever made much money on the "copyrighted photos" of Geronimo.

   However, the widely published photographs made the G-Man famous and he became a national celebrity, riding in Teddy Roosevelt's 1905 inaugural parade. Because he was so recognizable, he began signing his autograph for a quarter a shot, and he amassed $10,000 in the bank before he too, died from the effects of drinking when he fell of his horse after a night of carousing into a cold stream and passed out. He died of pneumonia several days later. He was 79.

   When the esteemed historian Robert Utley was asked about the prevalence of drinking among the Apaches and Geronimo specifically, he stated, bluntly, "They were all drunks."

   It wasn't just the In-dins. Here's what Frederick Remington had to say about the army chasing Geronimo: "Youngsters full of enthusiasm, old men full of whiskey."

   All of which brings up a serious question: if you took the alcohol out of the equation how much of the senseless killing would have been avoided? I'll put it this way: we would have a lot less to talk about on the pages of True West magazine. And that's sobering.

"If drunkards had wings, the sky would be cloudy all day."
—Old Vaquero Saying

Postscript
   Last Friday I was at the grocery store in the milk department, when a guy came around the corner with his cart, spied me and said loudly, "I've been a subscriber for five years now and I just have one question for you Mr. Bell." I placed the milk in my cart and said, "Shoot."

   "How in the hell do you find all the stuff you put in every issue?"

If You Seek A Good Story, Stop Seeking!

 May 7, 2017
   Spent the weekend working on The Great Western and Olive Oatman stories. They are related and will be part of a big packaged, cover story feature in the September issue of True West.

Seeking A Good Story
   The story is there, I know it's good, but how do I tell it in a compelling way? Here are a couple theories I poached from Adam Gopnik:

• Having two emotions at once is better than having one emotion repeatedly.

• We all have "mixed emotions," anchored in our soul's harbor. "They bang hulls inside our skull."

• In good stories there is a placement of opposites in close relation. "There is also the balancing of opposites, the rhythm of assertion and counter-assertion, the sudden questioning turns, life living is role playing. . ."

—Adam Gopnik

• What is needed is a conscience speaking through contradiction. Sounds easy, but we must have a knowledge of our own absurdity but it should not diminish the importance of our witness.

Daily Whip Out: "Dr. Bugs"

   So, I seek to tell the complicated story of Olive Oatman in all her contradictions. But I get bogged down in too many aspects of the story, too many ideas and images (see Dr. Bugs, above). It doesn't help that I'm doing the drawing and writing. The biggest criticism of our Mickey Free project was perhaps best critiqued by Vince Murray who said that it "had too many moving parts." It was confusing and convoluted. Not sure how to strip it all down, but I do know one thing:

Daily Whip Out: "Dammit, I just want to tell a good story!"

   I wonder if ol' Hermann has the answer?

"When someone seeks," said Siddhartha, "then it easily

happens that his eyes see only the thing that he seeks, and
he is able to find nothing, to take in nothing because he
always thinks only about the thing he is seeking, because he
has one goal, because he is obsessed with his goal. Seeking
means: having a goal. But finding means: being free, being
open, having no goal."
—Hermann Hesse

Boze Boots & Dr. Bugs

April 6, 2017
   Found an old photo of myself taken in March of 1980 when I was hot on the trail of the Wyatt Earp-Curly Bill shootout site in the Whetstone mountains. First stop was Tucson where I picked up my custom-made Boze Boots by John Weinkauf, then on down to Rio Rico where Kathy and I stayed. She took this photo of me wearing my new boots.

BBB Wearing Custom Boze Boots by John Weinkauf

   Someone asked me if I still have them. Yes, I do:

Boze Boots front and center in my studio

Back to Dr. Bugs
  Came back around to the little known (in my history circle, at least) "Dr Bugs." I am quite intrigued by him and have some new things to say about him in my ongoing quest to find the truth behind the Olive Oatman story. As a matter of fact, he's just coming into view:

Daily Whip Out: "Fleshing Out Dr. Bugs, Phase I"

   If you want to read about his background and how he relates to the Olive Oatman story, you can read it right here: The Strange Case of Dr. Bugs.

   "The appearance of things change according to the emotions,

and thus we see magic and beauty in them, while the magic
and beauty are really in ourselves."

—Kahlil Gibran

Big Guns On The Colorado

May 5, 2017
   Paul Andrew Hutton has written a wonderful history piece for True West on The Great Western, the amazon-sized, two-gun fightin,' frontier female who founded Yuma. Noodling pulp cover ideas. 

Daily Whip Out: "Big Guns On The Colorado"

"She always packed two pistols and she shore could use 'em."

—Jeff Ake

Last Light On Las Gaviotas

May 4, 2017
   It was our last night at Puerto Penasco, otherwise known as Rocky Point. Today it's a wonderful resort, but we have to thank the Army Corp of Engineers for creating a paved road to this rugged outpost in WWII so that, in case California was taken over by the Japanese, we would still have access to a sea channel.

   Fast forward to last night, and Kathy and I enjoyed a nice evening on the front porch of our rented condo at Las Gaviotas.

Kathy Sue enjoys a nice cabernet on the deck of our condo, #441, at the Gaviotas

Great little cove of condos, in the gooseneck of Sandy Beach.

Mother Goose On The Town

Here's a photo of the beach way back in the old days:

An aerial photo of Sandy Beach back in the day. The gringo settlement at bottom,

left, is known as Cholla Bay.

  This photo hangs in the fish restaurant up on El Capitan, overlooking the bay. This is how Sandy Beach looked back in our day. Kathy first came down with her family when she was 13, in 1963. And I first came down in 1974, with the Ds, and Sandy Beach, that long stretch of open sand at mid to top right, was nothing but sand. Not so today. See high rise hotels in first photo, above (looking the other way).

   "It's a funny thing with documentary films. You want them to feel as entertaining and as gripping as a fictional film. With a fictional film you want it to feel as realistic as a documentary film."

—Jonathan Demme

Olive In Shadow

May 4, 2017
   Last morning in Rocky Point. Wanted to see if I could channel the Sea of Cortez into an image that is haunting me.

Sandy Beach Whip Out:

"Olive In Shadow"

Rock And Roll And Profound A-Holes

May 4, 3017
   I've met a few rock stars in my day, including Alice Cooper, Billy Gibbons of ZZ-Top, Glen Frey of the Eagles, one of the guys in Chicago and the manager of Spirit. A couple of the guys, above, were super nice, but I have to say I agree with this assessment:

". . .rock and roll is contingent upon a certain degree of danger and recklessness, and thereby a little monstrousness is somehow expected, shrugged away, nudged offscreen. It’s hard to outrun this fantasy. My record collection is overflowing with degenerates, pederasts, convicted murderers, probable rapists, and hundreds if not thousands of profound assholes. I suspect anyone who has ever owned or operated a stereo has made a similar series of queasy compromises."

From the New Yorker, of course.

Daily Whip Out: "You Talkin' to Me Like You Know Me?"

Hat Rule #28: When there's a hat on the roof, you have to eat there!

May 3, 2017
   On a road trip to Mexico. Staying in Rocky Point at Las Gaviotas (The Sea Gulls). No, matter the time of day, I'm always out prowling around for good huevos rancheros.

Hat Rule #28: If there's a hat on the roof, you have to eat there.

   Had the huevos rancheros and a shot of tequila. Okay, actually two shots of tequila. The food was good, but by that point, who cares?

   Got a nice little, old-school condo overlooking Sandy Beach. Did a sketch of Cholla Bay Peak at sunrise:

Daily Whip Outs: "Cholla Bay Peak at Sunrise" and "The Head of Talking Rock"

And here's the view from our deck, where I am painting:

The view from Las Gaviotas out towards Las Palomas (where we stayed last month).

   Heard a report that American Cowboy magazine is shutting its doors and I hate to hear that, but we got a nice email yesterday which makes me smile and gives me hope:

"My dad is 80 years old and I've given him a lot of gifts but I can say without hesitation that this is probably his favorite gift ever.  I was so afraid that he wouldn't want a magazine especially since he's been blind in one eye for 2 years and reading would be difficult . But he gets excited with every issue. Both he and my mom have told me that he reads it cover to cover. For as long as he is alive I will give him this magazine.  He enjoys it so very much. Your magazine allows me to give him something that he truly appreciates. So thank you!  I don't think I could ever top this! "

Thank you,

Cheryl Martinez 

Lorenzo Oatman's Psychedelic Death Trip Along The Gila

April  28, 2017
   When we last saw Lorenzo Dow Oatman, 14, he and most of his family had been stuck down by Yavapai war clubs on a ridge overlooking the Gila River. Two of his sisters, Olivia and Mary Ann had been taken alive and he had been left for dead after being thrown off a cliff (or jumping himself to ward off the blows).

Olive and her brother Lorenzo photographed, probably on the same day, in 1856.

   Five years later, he and his only surviving family member, Olive, sat for lengthy interviews with Royal B. Stratton, a charismatic Methodist minister and writer, who intended to tell their ordeal in a book, which ultimately became "Captivity of The Oatman Girls," a national best seller.

   Here is Lorenzo's first person account of what happened to him after his attackers left him to die:

   "I soon determined in my mind that I had either fallen, or been hurled down to my present position, from the place where I was first struck down."

Lorenzo as illustrated in the "Captivity of The Oatman Girls"

   A decent illustration of Lorenzo looking back up to the bluff where the stripped wagon stood. One nitpick: the wagon tongue would have been facing the other way, to the west, the direction they were traveling when they were attacked.

The actual ridge Lorenzo was looking up at.

   "I thought at times (being, I have no doubt, partially delirious) that my brain was loose, and was keeping up a constant rattling in my head, and accordingly I pressed my head tightly between my hands, that if possible I might retain it to gather a resolution for my own escape. . .I had no strength to walk, my spirits crushed, my ambition paralyzed, my body mangled. . .I grew sick and faint, dizziness shook my brain, and my senses fled. . .I was conscious of emotions and thoughts peculiar and singular, aside from their relation to the horrors about me. At one time (and it seemed hours) I was ranging through undefined, open space, with paintings and pictures of all imaginable sizes and shapes hung about me, as if at an immense distance, and suspended upon walls of ether."

Daily Whip Out: "Lorenzo's Psychedelic Death Trip"

   Eventually he stood to walk, but not far, before passing out again. He was harassed by wolves, who he said, came right up him. One can only imagine their morbid delight in finding the smorgasbord on the ridge. When someone finally went out to see about burying them, they found bones and body parts strewn all over the flats atop the bluff.

  Heading east, Lorenzo retraced the family's route in the direction of Maricopa Wells. On the afternoon of the second day after the attack two riders approached from the Pima villages and they gave him a little food and water. With some effort and help, Lorenzo returned to the Pima villages. He finally reached Fort Yuma on March 27, 1851, over a month after the attack. He was treated by the camp physician, Dr. Hewit, who not only took the boy under his wing, eventually the doctor took Lorenzo with him to San Francisco, where they arrived on June 26, 1851. Bouncing around California from there, Lorenzo never gave up hope of finding his sisters and he was eventually reunited with Olive back at Fort Yuma, exactly five years and four days after the fateful attack on the Gila.

   Quite a lot had happened to Olive in the interim and much of it is shrouded in mystery and conjecture, but it is a story which I plan on telling in graphic detail. Why? Because I am motivated by the following sentence:

"Much of that dreadful period is unwritten, and will remain forever unwritten."

—Royal B. Stratton

   I am also inspired by the advice a certain songwriter gave to John Mellencamp:

"Go where they aren't."

—Bob Dylan