Welcome to Hell, Population Two, Little Ol' Me And A Melting You

June 20, 2016
   First day of summer. Not sure I am ready for the heat. That was a joke. Yesterday it was a record 118 degrees. Four people died over the weekend from hiking! Hard to believe anyone would even attempt it. Just walking from the house to the studio was like walking through a blast furnace. Can't imagine what it was like being here in the old days. Well, actually I can. There was no AC in cars back in my day and evap coolers were few and far between. One of my fondest memories of growing up in Kingman was sitting in front of the window with the air evaporative cooler at my grandmother's house on Jefferson Street. It was only cool right there at the point of entry and the rest of the house was stifling, but, oh was that one spot heavenly. Also, the banging rhythms of that old box takes me back.

Searing Bridles On The Yuma Stage

   I was reading about a stagecoach journey from Prescott to Yuma in the 1870s and as the team descended down out of the Bradshaw mountains into the Salome—Quartzite area, the coach pulled into a stage station and the stage hands, who changed out the teams, could not touch the metal bridles without burning their hands. They had heated up that much. Imagine how that tortured those horses.

   It was 93 degrees in Flagstaff and 102 degrees in Prescott. The Yuma-Blythe corridor hit 120s.

   Of course, some of my earliest memories are of heatwaves moving across the rippling highway with rivers of undulating air crossing the road in the distance:

Daily Whip Out: "Heatwave Hitcher"

   The rippling horizon still eludes me as an effect. For one thing, it doesn't bend the near stuff, only the horizon.

I remember going by a desert house near Happy Valley Road in north Phoenix. My roommate, Charlie Christie had an aunt and uncle who were living in a homemade rock house up in the lava beds on the west side of I-17. This was in 1966 and we were on our way back from Kingman to the U of A in Tucson and he wanted to stop and say hello. It was June and very hot out. I remember the old couple (probably in their early sixties) were readers and their house was full of makeshift bookcases and the books were almost steaming it was so hot. When we pulled up they were sitting in the narrow shade on the northside of the house, panting. They looked miserable. I wondered how long they would survive out in this heat.

It was 85 degrees this morning at 5:30 and by 9:30 when I went into work it was already 108. The only positive is, it keeps the riff raff out, at least in the summer. Nice easy drive to work. No cars. Ha.

"Welcome to Hell, population two, little old me and melting you. . .local attraction the heartbreak sea. . .a dry wishing well, welcome to hell."

—Mudcrutch, Tom Petty's new/old band on my new favorite song, "Welcome to Hell"

On The Road With Father Bell

June 17, 2016
   Thinking about my father today. Thankful for all he gave me. He loved road trips and he passed that on to me, and both my kids, in turn, love the road as well, so that is a blessing, to me. He was truly a man of the road, and as I say in my book, he was The 66 Kid.

Al Bell's Mobiloil Station, Peach Springs, Arizona, 1946

And, we have a new father visiting with us, that would be this guy:

Tommy Bell and his parents in Thailand, 2014

   He and his lovely bride Amy flew in from Thailand this week and we went over to Grandma Betty's yesterday so she could meet her great granddaughter:

Great Grandmother Betty Radina and Harper

Harper's mother is an amazing cook and I got a total treat this morning:

Father's Day Huevos Rancheros via Amy Pothong

   Great treats and great kids. One of the benefits of being a dad.

"Becoming a father is easy enough, but being one can be tough."

—Wilhelm Busch

Ben Johnson Knew How to Set A Horse

June 17, 2016
   Went home for lunch to pay homage to a rodeo champion who made horseback riding look so natural. 

Daily Whip Out: "Ben Johnson Knew How to Set A Horse"

   Some of the old Cowboy stars were accomplished horseback riders, but very few could "set a horse" as if they were one with the animal. Cowboy actor Ben Johnson was one of the best ever. He was discovered when he doubled Henry Fonda in Fort Apache and he went on to star in many Westerns, winning the Academy Award for best actor in Last Picture Show (1971). He died of a heart attack at age 77, while visiting his mother, Ollie, at Leisure World in Mesa, Arizona.

" Life is like a wild horse. You ride it or it rides you."
—Old Vaquero Saying

Fifty Shades of Zig Zag Canyon

June 16, 2016
   The story of Lost Adams Diggings is a classic treasure hunting tale. An In-din called Gotch Ear ('cause his ear was all "gotched up") claimed he knew where there was a hidden canyon with enough gold lying around on the ground to load a pack horse. After he gets a group of teamsters and miners all worked up, he leads them to the hidden canyon.

Daily Whip Out: "Mickey's Mexican-American Poncho In Zig Zag Canyon"

   The Lost Adams Diggings treasure mystery is best known as told by the renowned folklorist J. Frank Dobie in his classic book, "Apache Gold And Yaqui Silver" (1928) which has been reissued by the University of Texas Press, Austin. There is a connection to True West as J. Frank and our founder, Joe Small, were good friends, as is evidenced by this unflattering photograph of Mr. Hand-In-His-Pants:

Fred Gipson, J. Frank Dobie and Joe Small in the 1950s

   As the Lost Adams Diggings story goes a group of 22 anglos were led by Gotch Ear from central Arizona (the story starts near Gila Bend with Adams losing all his horses) in August of 1864 and traveling northeast, they rode past Fort Wingate, which is near Grants, New Mexico. The gold party proceeded on, riding on past the "Pumpkin Patch" and then, two hours later they came to to a high spot where two sugar-cone shaped mountains appeared straight ahead to the northeast.

"Those piloncillos, [cones shaped like sugar loafs]" Gotch Ear said, "are beyond the canyon of the gold. They mark it well always. Soon we will go down."

Behind a boulder, they were led by Gotch Ear through a "secret door" which marked the entrance to the canyon and a narrow trail. Adams later claimed it was the roughest trail he ever rode and it made a perfect Z, thus the name it became known by: Zig Zag Canyon. Finally they halted beside clear running water, just below some falls. The men saw a whole bunch of gold lying in the gravel by the water. Gotch Ear was paid off and he left. The next day the Apache chief Nana with 30 warriors showed up and told the white eyes they were okay to dig in the canyon below the falls, but whatever they did they were not to go above the falls.

   After loading up with riches beyond belief for several days, a couple of the men got greedy (imagine that!) and decided there must be even a richer amount of gold above the falls, which they did find, with nodules of gold "as big as turkey eggs." Everyone was killed by the Apaches except for Adams and a guy named Davidson, who escaped and made their way to Fort Apache (which wasn't a fort yet) where Adams shot some Apaches, escaped in the middle of the night and rode to Los Angeles where he got married and then wouldn't shut up for the rest of his life about his incredible, lost diggings. Oh, and he could not remember how to return to Zig Zag Canyon.

   Fast forward to last weekend when the Top Secret Writer dissed my usage of Zig Zag Canyon as the location of the cave where the Apache Kid was hiding. When I mentioned this to artist Thom Ross and Rusty York, Rusty asked me if I had read the book "Zig Zag Canyon," which he claimed spelled out the actual location of the lost diggings and that it was not in northern New Mexico, but near Clifton, Arizona. Written by a mutual friend of ours, Ron Feldman, Rusty said all the clues line up in the book.

   So, yesterday, after picking up Tommy, Amy and Harper from Sky Harbor I made a detour to Scottsdale so I could pick up the book from Shelly Dudley at Guidon Books. Last night, I finally got a chance to take a look and opened the book at random and here is what I found: "Dancing Horse, her mind muddled by sleep, was alarmed by Mangas' [the famous Apache chief Mangas Coloradas] rough urgency. Nevertheless she responded obediently to his need. Her graceful, supple body possessed surprising strength. This night she thanked the spirits for that."

   Okay. Not exactly what I was expecting. Perhaps Ron's co-writer, Mic McPeherson, is treating this like a novel in this part of the book and then when they get closer to finding Zig Zag Canyon it will turn into a bonified treasure hunt? So I jumped to page 231, with the chapter head "Breakthrough, 1989." And here is how this chapter begins:

"Ron rose and walked to the bedroom door. The dim light of the hall threw gentle shadows on Jayne's body as she slept under the thin blanket in the waterbed they had recently purchased. He enjoyed watching the even rhythm of her breathing. He undressed quietly into bed, cuddling. He was happy she had foregone her bedclothes. It wasn't long until he felt a strong need."

Ron isn't alone. I feel a strong need to find Rusty and wring his neck.

"The unique blend of Feldman's storytelling and McPherson's detail sparks this story, the first in a series."
—Back cover blurb for "Zig Zag Canyon"

More Norskys On The Loose: Carl Sophus Lumholtz

June 15, 2016
   Last Saturday afternoon, I was at the private party for Paul Andrew Hutton's book premiere at Marv Kaiser's beautiful home in Williamson Valley, north of Prescott, Arizona. Among the several dozen guests was a Scandinavian gentleman who had a pronounced Norsky brogue, which I immediately recognized because my grandmother, Minnie Hauan Bell, was from Norway and she had that peculiar way of talking, perhaps best encapsulated in the cliche phrase that Garrison Keillor sometimes pokes fun at: "I'spose," (I suppose). It may sound goofy and sing-songy to some, but it lands on my ears as pure poetry.

   But I digress.

   When I mentioned to the Scandinavian and his American wife that I was kind of amazed that not one, but two different Norskys had traveled deep into Mexico in search of lost tribes in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century respectively, she scoffed, and rolling her eyes, said, "It doesn't surprise me at all. Scandinavians are EVERYWHERE."

   Must be the Viking blood.

More Tales of Norsky's On The Loose

Carl Sophus Lumholtz, 1881

   This dude pranced across much of Arizona and two-thirds of Mexico shooting photographs (he had a Kodak with him in 1890!) and taking specimens. Oh, and the dog's name is Apache. 

   Before he went in search of the mysterious cliff dwellers, he lived with cannibals in Australia for four years (which is when the above photo was taken). He found them loving people who, upon grilling, ahem, they admitted to him when it came to eating, anglos were kind of tough, but Asians were delicious. This is a line I have to attribute to Richard Grant, who allegedly was quoting Lumholtz, in Grant's magnificent Sierra Madre book, "God's Middle Finger," which I just bought two extra copies for my kids at Guidon Books in Scottsdale, today. 

   But I digress once again.

   Because of his Australian experience he came to the U.S. on a speaking tour and after charming his east coast hosts, he proposed a search for the lost tribes who inhabited the cliff dwellings in the Southwest and Mexico. More than a few "subscribers" put up $1,000 each and one in particular, who he refused to name (Carnegie?) put up the lion's share of cash. After being funded, Lumholtz was subsequently officially sponsored by The American Museum of Natural History in New York. And in the summer of 1890 he traveled to the Southwest and visited Zuni, the Navajo Nation and then proceeded to Mexico City to meet privately with the President of Mexico, General Porfirio Diaz who met with him for an hour in the Palacio Nacional. He was granted free passage for his baggage and the privilege of a military escort whenever it was deemed desirable. In other words, he was going to go in style. He brought barrels of honey, which he enjoyed eating daily and he also brought along his library.

   So where did he choose to start this epic expedition? Why Bisbee, Arizona Territory, of course, although he had a heck of a time getting the necessary mules, donkey and horses. Carl complains a certain Arizona character who posed "as a gentleman" actually raised his prices and then "delivered unbroken animals." Much time was lost, he tells us, because the unruly mules "persistently threw off their packs and had to be subdued and reloaded."

   Trying to find good men for the journey was just as difficult: "to select the right ones among the cow-boys and miners of the border lands is most difficult." And yes, he spelled cowboy with the hyphen, as in cow-boy. He also disliked another aspect of Bisbee: in order to "get away from the cramped little village and its unsavoury restaurant, I established my first camp four miles out of it in a commodious and pleasant opening, where we could do our own cooking." I would have thought that in 1890 Bisbee would be teeming with restaurants, but evidently not.

   Lumholtz also disliked the rough cow-boys he hired, saying the men "did not work at all well with the Mexicans. They generally considered themselves vastly superior to the latter, whom they did not recognise as 'white men.' Personally, I preferred the Mexicans, who were obedient, obliging, and less lawless than the rough, mixed-white citizens of the American Southwest." After one of the cow-boys offered to "get rid of" a custom-house official south of the border, Lumholtz had had enough and he "gradually weeded out this unscrupulous element among the men, and replaced most of the American with Mexican muleteers, who are far superior in that particular line of business."

"The [Apache] raiders had made themselves absolute masters, and so bold were they that one time a certain month in the year was set apart for their plundering excursions and called 'the moon of the Mexicans,' a fact which did not prevent them from robbing at other seasons."

—Carl Lumholtz, explaining the devastation and "ignorance" in the northern reaches of the Sierra Madre

Norwegians Tracking Apaches In Zig Zag Canyon

June 15, 2016
  We were going over the final proofs of our Mickey Free graphic novel excerpt to run in the next issue of True West. The Top Secret Writer made it clear he did not like the name Zig Zag Canyon, which I had come up with for the name of the place where the Apache Kid is hiding. 

   "Why not?" I asked, defensively. 

   "I don't know," Hutton said, standing his ground: "it just sounds too modern."

    "I got it from J. Frank Dobie, who was writing about a famous lost mine described as being in 'zigzag canyon' which dated from the 1860s."

    "Okay. I've just been J. Frank Dobied," Hutton laughed, using the revered historian's name as a verb.

So Zig Zag THIS Mo Fo!
  Here's the Norwegian explorer Carl Lumholtz, describing his Sierra Madre expedition in 1890: "On December 31st we moved up a steep zigzag trail. . ."

   In addition to the Lumholtz book, "Unknown Mexico, Volume I", I'm reading "The Apache Indians: In Search of the Missing Tribe" by Helge Ingstad (another Norwegian) and in the introduction, his daughter Benedict, tells of him coming to Phoenix and getting a job as a cowboy from Vic Householder (the Householder name is prominent in Mohave County) and from there he is introduced to the Guenther family at the White River Mission on the the Apache Reservation. "Dang," I expostulated to Hutton who went to Pinetop with me in 2006 to meet Pastor Guenther. "Wish we would have known this when we met Guenther."

   Why did the Apaches separate from the Northern Athabaskans roughly 1,000 years ago? The circumstances of the Apaches' ancestors' departure from the north are controversial with some Apaches maintaining they have always been in the Southwest. Others claim the mischievous behavior of one family's dog brought about the split. Figures. Dogs have started more wars, at least in my neighborhood.

   It turns out Helge Ingstad talked on the telephone with Grenville Goodwin, but they never met. Both were self-taught ethnographer and anthropologists.

High in the Sierra Nacori on the hunt for the Apache Kid's daughter;

left to right, the old Apache Yahnozah, the Yaqui Indian Mora and Helge Ingstad, 1937.

"The urge to fight lies deep within them, and they wander far and wide on raiding parties, the terror of the permanent-dwelling Indians. The Apaches are always ready to fight. From when they are young they are trained to endure severe hardship and depravation. Their strategic plans are laid out with the utmost care, and in battle they know no mercy."

—Helge Ingstad, Norwegian explorer and self-taught ethnographer

Al Sieber at Gettysburg

June 13, 2016
   Took another run at an earlier effort to illustrate a certain character from the Mickey Free story who was wounded in Pennsylvania at a significant battle. 

Daily Whip Out: "Al Sieber at Gettysburg, Redux, 06.13.16"

Got up this morning and knocked out a vaquero scene.

Daily Whip Out: "Big Sky Roper"

"I let my hands do the talking. Then my brains catches up. I'm hearing it after it happens. . .My hands are in front of me a lot of the time."
—Eric Clapton describing his approach to guitar solos, in Rolling Stone magazine

Off The Grid & Mickey Free In The Can

June 13, 2016
   I was waiting for Kathy last Friday, as we were getting set to leave for Prescott and the Paul Hutton book signing extravaganza, the next day at Peregrine Book Company. So, to kill time, I sat down to noodle some paint, without any ambition, intention or direction.

Daily Whip Out: "Off The Grid"

I often do boxes, or simulated frames when I'm doing Old West style illustrations, so it makes some sense that when I uncouple my brain and let it go where it wants to go, all those greased grooves would naturally slide into multiple boxes.

Had a ton of fun in Prescott with many of my Old West compadres, including Robert Utley, Thom Ross, Rusty York, Paul Hedren and Brian Dippie. The entire weekend was hosted by Marv Kaiser, who promised Hutton a big book signing with all his friends if he completed the book. Four years later, Paul did just that and we had a record setting crowd at Peregrine Book Co. on Saturday with standing room only. Big dinner on Saturday night at Marv's country club and then many lies were told into the wee hours. Got home Sunday and crashed. Got up this morning and got back to business, whipping this out before I came into work, to put the finishing touches on our Mickey Free coverage.

Daily Whip Out: "The Chase"

Daily Whip Out: "Mickey Free In The Can, 6•13•16"

"Fiction is truth's older sister. Obviously. No one in the world knew what truth was till somebody had told a story."

—Rudyard Kipling

Lookout When Mickey Free Brings Takeout!

June 10, 2016
   Mickey Free was known far and wide as The Trickster and he loved to fool with everyone he met. Here he is arriving in camp with takeout. 

Daily Whip Out: "Mickey Dumps Three Headless Rattlers On The Fire."

   I wasn't happy with the first set piece on the pinecone series, so I took another run at it this morning before I came into work:

Daily Whip Out: "Pinecone Series #6"

   Yes, I am so ridiculous, I could rework every single scene in the Mickey Free graphic novel, but it all goes to the printer on Monday.

"Imagination was given to man to compensate him for what he isn't. A sense of humor was provided to console him for what he is."

—Horace Walpole

Who Let The Dogs Out? Emilio Let The Dogs Out!

June 9, 2016
  Went home for lunch and dashed off the last big set piece for our Mickey Free extravaganza.

Daily Whip Out: "Emilio Let The Dogs Out!"

In our story, the head of the Sonoran rurales, Colonel Emilio Kosterlitzky imported Russian Wolfhounds to help track outlaws and Apaches. They were very effective. The real Kosterlitzky utilized hounds as well, we just can't prove, or verify, they were Russian Wolfhounds imported from The Mad Russian's homeland.

   One guy he did not catch is this bad boy:

Daily Whip Out: "Doroteo Arango"

When the pinecone boys got back from their run up the mountain, they placed their pinecone on the pile and only then could they spit out the water they carried in their mouths for the entire endurance test. Some of those boys got a little green.

Daily Whip Out: "Pinecone Series #5"

"The profession of book writing makes horse racing seem like a solid, stable business."

—John Steinbeck

Pinecone Proving Ground

June 8, 2016
   The 66 Chick is flying in today from Bangkok, which is a 30 hour run, with a 13-hour-leg from Tokyo to LAX, then a one-hour hop on Southwest to Phoenix. Assuming she can sit up, I'm taking her to her favorite Mexican food joint in downtown Phoenix and plying her with birthday margaritas. This assumes she'll still be awake when we leave terminal 4.

   Finished six paintings this morning. Five were pulled from my discard file and tweaked. This is part of a sequence in the Mickey Free graphic novel which we have expanded from eight pages to ten. 

Daily Whip Out: "Pinecone Proving Ground #1"

Daily Whip Out: "Pinecone Proving Ground #2"

Daily Whip Out: "Pinecone Proving Ground #3"

Daily Whip Out: "The Pinecone"

Pinecone Proving Ground

   The task was simple. Each boy in training to be an Apache warrior gathered at the river bank at dawn and took a gulp of water and held it in their mouths. Then the entire group ran towards the blue ridges of the Graham Mountains. It was not only a race, but the goal was to snatch the first pinecone they could find, then return to the river, drop the pinecone at the war chief's feet, and spit out the water, proving they ran the entire way breathing through their noses. No wonder Apache warriors could run 75 miles a day and not break a sweat. Simply Ingenious training.

"I would love to be remembered as a man who won the heavyweight title three times, who was humorous, and who treated everyone right. As a man who never looked down on those who looked up to him, and who helped as many people as he could. As a man who stood up for his beliefs no matter what. As a man who tried to unite all humankind through faith and love. And if

all that's too much, then I guess I'd settle for being remembered only as a great boxer who became a leader and a champion of his people. And I wouldn't even mind if folks forgot how pretty I was."
—Muhammad Ali

Mickey Free: Third Time The Charm?

June 7, 2016
   Today is the birthday of my 66 Chick. Happy birthday Kathy Sue. She comes home tomorrow after a month long babysitting stint in Thailand. And prior to that she did a three month stint in Turkey for the Department of Defense. The parents of that baby, are following her and will land here in Phoenix as well, on the 12th. A road trip is mandatory and much road food will be consumed.

   Last night, the Top Secret Writer finally sent me his notes on the Mickey Free story. And, as usual, they are excellent with a few bone-headed exceptions. Hey, if two guys agree on everything, one of them is unnecessary.

Daily Whip Out: "Mickey Rat"

   This is our third run at the Mickey Free story to be published in the magazine. The first, in 2008, was an ambitious, convoluted, graphic novel-style opus that crashed because it was an overcooked mess. Or, so says one of the authors whose initials are BBB.

On the other hand, it was the Top Secret Writer—Paul Andrew Hutton—who made the hopeful remark, "We may get him yet," (see June, 2016 True West magazine) that prompted me to take another swing at this incredible story and see if we could somehow, some way, make it work in a history magazine.

This time, Hutton and I decided to tell it like a story teller would tell it. And, thanks to John Langallier, who brought us the Unsung ex-slave James Young, we had our narrator. There-in lies the conflict between myself and the distinguished professor. He postulates—correctly—that the ex-slave was most likely illiterate and would not use a word like "polygamy," or, as Hutton puts it: "Did this guy go to Harvard?" Actually, when confronted on this point, Hutton said, "It was not just polygamy as a word—it was the sentence ("polygamy then raging in the US") which was inauthentic for any human save an academic to write. This is NOT dialect, it is plain spoken language like real people use."

Daily Whip Out: "Mr. Jim or Mistah Jim?"

A solid point for the professor. But, I bridle at using, instead, his suggestion: "The Mexicans don't fret over how many wives a man had like folks up in the States did."

So, I've got two little birdies on my shoulders. One of them says, "I am a professor of history and you must be authentic in your dialogue." And the other little birdie—The 66 Chick—says, "Yuck! Stop it with the dialect. It's embarrassing."

I live with one (about half the year) and I depend on the other to add poetry to the effort. On the surface, they seem like diametrically opposed ideas, where the Mark Twain will never meet, but I think another Paul may have the answer:

"I try to get all the opposites into the same song, if I can."

—Paul Simon, whose new song "Cool Papa Bell" is my current fave tune

Ali vs. Superman and tooth decay

June 6, 2016
   I have some talented friends, Allen  Barra being one of them. Here's a wonderful piece  he wrote on Ali:

DID YOU KNOW

06.04.16 4:48 PM ET

The Secret History of Muhammad Ali in Ten Rounds

Magician, attempted R&B and Broadway star, adversary of Superman and tooth decay—Ali was full of surprises.

Allen Barra's Ali

When Owls Attack

June 6, 2016
   Had some fun this weekend staying in and channeling some of the outside heat into paintings. As Mickey Free, Tom Horn and James Young headed into Zig Zag Canyon, a huge storm rolled in spitting lightning everywhere. Rolling in under the canopy of these electrical arcs comes a very big owl, gliding in for the kill.

Daily Whip Out: "When Owls Attack"

Slaughter's Insurance
   Found out over the weekend from John Langallier that Texas John Slaughter's weekly poker games were not at his ranch house, but in Bisbee. Well, that changes everything. Took another run at James Young standing guard outside, this time on Main Street in Bisbee.    

Daily Whip Out: "Slaughter's Insurance"

   Also took a run at a Mormon beauty:

Daily Whip Out: "Hannah Hill Hood"

"A smile is like a shield; it freezes your face into a mask of muscle that you can hide behind."

—Jennifer Egan, from her amazing new short story "Black Box"

Throwing Down On Thoreau

June 5, 2016
 Got a snippy email about yesterday's True West Moment in the Arizona Republic:

RE:  A True West Moment 4 June 2016 -- Thoreau

Thoreau, New Mexico was never named for Henry David Thoreau.
It is correctly pronounced Threw. \"The train goes threw (through) here.\"
—blissjoy42

Dear Blissed Out,

   I can buy the train going through Thoreau, and I can even buy it if someone threw out the correct pronunciation, but I think if you look it up Thoreau was named for a guy named Thoreau, and he pronounced it Tha-row. Now if you'll excuse me I've got to go thoreau up.

BBB

The Wickenburg Route 66 Show Is Up

June 4, 2016
   Took a drive over to Wickenburg this morning to see the new Route 66 Show which just went up on May 28th. Here's a nice shot of Tim Prythero's "Al Bell's Flying A" in the display case and yes those are actual cars behind it. They tried to get a tear drop trailer in the door but the axle was three inches too wide. A very ambitious show and my hat is off to Mary Ann Inga who curated the artwork and ephemera.

Tim Prythero's "Al Bell's Flying A"

Here's a shot looking the other way. Most of my artwork is on the far wall.

Burma Shave And Retro Car Days

"Roadside Ruins"

   

   Of course, the piece de resistance for me is this big puppy:

Al Bell's Mobilgas Station In Peach Springs gets the blow-up treatment

   Dan the Man Harshberger did the blow-up work and hand-tinting color job on this. Looks iconic, as it should. Thanks Dan!

"A photograph is a secret about a secret."

—Diane Arbus

Slaughter's Insurance

June 3, 2016
   Texas John Slaughter used to play poker on Wednesday nights and he often carried a large wad of cash to these Cochise County affairs. Taking no chances, he brought along his black bodyguard, Jim Young, to stand guard outside with a scattergun. 

Daily Whip Out: "Slaughter's Insurance."

   "We are minor in everything but our passions."
—Elizabether Bowen

Paging Morgan Freeman

June 2, 2016
   Today it is very dicey for an anglo writer to portray a black man in a work of fiction, but ultimately, I couldn't resist, because Jim Young is the perfect narrator for our Mickey Free story. He lived until 1936 and could have been interviewed about his days in Tombstone (he knew Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday) and Jim also worked as a bodyguard for Texas John Slaughter and would accompany Slaughter to his Wednesday night poker games where the old cowman would bring plenty of gambling money. Young's job was to sit out on the porch with a sawed-off shotgun and discourage any poker pot bandits. No one ever challenged Jim. Two things loom large on my to do list: do not put dialect in his mouth and try to avoid overt racism in the story. Not an easy task since Jim was known affectionately—and perhaps not so affectionately—around Tombstone, as "Nigger Jim." My fall back position is, simply make him sound intelligent and human, and when in doubt, channel Morgan Freeman.

Daily Whip Out: "Jim Young With A Pinch of Morgan Freeman"

I also tried to stay true to the photograph of Young, below:

Jim Young, 1920s

And, as for the color scheme, I poached from a certain Dutch guy:

Daily Whip Out: "Patience Van Gogh Poach"

"If you're going to steal, steal big."

—Old Vaquero Saying

Into The Darkness We Went

June 2, 2016
   After Mickey, Horn and Young made it through the big fire they entered a scorched landscape where random fires chewed on the ridges at a leisurely rate.

Daily Whip Out: "Into The Darkness We Went"

   We rode through miles of soot until we looked like gray ghosts.

"Most people never run far enough on their first wind to find out they've got a second. Give your dreams all you've got and you'll be amazed at the energy that comes out of you."
-—William James

What The Hell Are Galway Sluggers? Leave It To Gay To Find Out!

June 2, 2016
   I knew if anybody could find out what the term "Galway Sluggers" means (see previous post on Mickey Free at the White House) it would be Gay Mathis. And here is what she found:

April 15, 1888--The Saint Paul Globe from Saint Paul, Minnesota · Page 21

SMUGMUGISM REIGNS Now Is the Horse-Clipper Used With Telling-Effect Upon Local Beaux-- Whiskers Through Which Boreal Blasts Have Soughed and Sighed Are Shorn--Fashion Says That a Young Man With a Beard Ought to Be Tabooed, But Old and Young Who Are Level Headed Stick to Their "Sluggers."

Matt Breen would probably go into retirement were he shorn of his Galway "sluggers." Matt possesses the unique distinction of flying the only genuine sluggers in the Northwest, and he is certainly proud of the honor. Byway of explanation, the name Galway "sluggers" is given to those whiskers which crop out from under the chin, completely filling the angle between the chin and neck. In order that they may have their best effect the upper lip and upper part of the chin must be cleanly shaven. Matt Breen owes his success in life, in a large measure, to the happiness and comfort residing in his Galways.

—Gay Mathis

Mickey Free And His Galway Sluggers

June 1, 2016
   One week away from going to press on the Mickey Free story. Mickey lived out his life in the Fort Apache area and passed in 1914. So he lived to see Arizona become a state. Amazing. Yesterday, I did a color sketch of him in old age, taken from the last known photo of him (1901):

Daily Whip Out: "Mickey Free Geezer"

   One of the strangest episodes in the infamous scout's life is that he visited the White House and shook President Grover Cleveland's hand. According to a newspaper, the Washington Star, "Mickey was adorned with conventional 'Galway sluggers'. . ." In Allen Radbourne's book on the life of Mickey Free, he comments this "added materially to his Celtic appearance." So, are Galway sluggers a blouse, a blanket, pants, or shoes? Not sure, but want to know.

   Meanwhile, in Paul Andrew Hutton's new book, "The Apache Wars," The Top Secret Writer adds this quote from the Star: "the half-breed who interpreted into Spanish wore a soiled calico shirt and a pair of blue overalls and as he had only one eye, his appearance was not prepossessing."

   My ultimate goal here is to amass all of this incredible information into a big, fat graphic novel, the likes of which has never been seen. Gee, I wonder if any Pulitzer Prize winning authors agree with this idea?

"I love the idea of a Mickey Free graphic novel."

—T.J. Stiles, winner of two Pulitzer Prizes, the latest for "Custer's Trials"