October 22, 2004
Got a call from Jeff Hildebrandt at the Westerns Channel and he has ordered another batch of True West Moments. I told him '’d come up with some new angles and he suggested that I put it out here, because, as he puts it, the people who read this are "pretty darn creative."

One of the bits we're thinking of doing is in all of the old Westerns where the cowboys come riding into town, they invariably dismount in front of the saloon, throw their reins over the hitching rail and go inside. As one of the TW Maniacs mentioned to me recently, "How long do you think those horses would actually stay tied that way?"

This afternoon a video crew and I are driving down to Tombstone to film that exact experiment on Allen Street. Dave Daiss is bringing over some horses from Sonoita and we're going to video them riding up and tying off in front of Big Nosed Kate's and then I'm going to start counting, "One thousand one, one thousand two. . ." and we'll tape this a couple of times to see what happens. That should be fun, especially with a bunch of tourists in loud pants walking around.

Another bit we may do is to tabulate just how many Wyatt Earps and Doc Hollidays there are in town. Everyone wants to dress up and walk the streets, but hardly anyone wants to be anyone else besides Wyatt and Doc. So, it might be zany to walk down the boardwalk with the camera and say, "Great outfit, who are you?" And after a dozen hits of "Why ah'm Wyatt Earp," I turn to the camera and say, "Tombstone, the town with only two men." Or, something like that.

We are also going to be shooting a bunch of gunfights (the black and blue plaid shirt shooting for example) around Fifth and Allen, the deadliest intersection in the West. And of course tomorrow night, Sir John Martin is going to be opening the Oriental Saloon for one night. That should yield some interesting images.

Got any ideas for True West Moments? Just go to the top of the page and click on contact me. Thanks, and I’ll give you credit if we use one of your ideas.

"The best audience is intelligent, well-educated, and a little drunk."
—Alben Barkley?

Bob Boze 7:46 AM

October 21, 2004
We got a drenching today. Really rained hard, starting about 11 this morning. The Tom Cat called from Flag and said it's really snowing up there. Major snowstorm. He's hunkering in.

Our video shooter, Mike Pelligati, is coming in from Utah from a shoot up there, and he got caught in the storm. He was supposed to be in here by six, but his wife just called (7:44 p.m.) and said he's still trying to get home. We were supposed to go to Tombstone in the morning but I told him we could go down later.

Worked on several projects, called the Former Texas Rangers Foundation. Trying to mend a bridge there, our relationship was fire bombed by a certain convicted felon who pretty much pooped on everything. Made some headway. I understand their position completely.

At lunch I went over to Mad Coyote Joe's house and visited with him. He's pretty drugged up, but seemed in good spirits. We laughed about his condition and the slim alternatives. I brought him a get well card from the staff and a couple of True Wests to read on his many visits to the porcelain ravine. He's a tough guy (ex iron-worker) and I imagine it will take more than a 12 inch intestine that went totally septic, to stop him.

Talked to Alan Huffines in Texas about an article we want to do on the history of cowboy gear. He's quite the expert.We also talked about a screenwriting seminar where the director of the Alamo (Alan was one of the historical consultants on the film) was asked about the future of the historical epic and he responded, "I think I killed it."

At 5:30 I had a speech at the Buffalo Chip Saloon for the Cave Creek Merchants Association. It's for the Cave Creek Wild West Days, November 3-5, and as soon as I got in there I knew it was going to be a tough room. Lots of noise, band warming up, too many civilians (patrons who were there for the music not the speech), and the PA was muddy. When the director went up to make an announcement you couldn't even understand him. Now this is where I don't understand Bill Kurtis at the WHA speech. I have been doing these for twenty years, I assume Bill has been doing these kind of talks for 30. I immediately scratched any idea of doing a regular speech, because it's not going to work at all. I went to plane B, and this is my nuclear reactor, got to get their attention plan. Of course it involves Led Zeppelin.

Paul introduced me (it sounded like this: "Wha-ba-we-cha-ba-bo-be-da-Cave Creek-ba-dah-shanda-ba-didon-Bob Boze Bell!" So I went up and grabbed the mike and announced that I would be doing a song off of Led Zeppelin's third album, something called "Whole Lotta Love." (funny looks, because they heard "ba-bo-be, cha-wha-Led Zeppelin!") I twirled the mike, a la Roger Daltry, then crouched down and let fly with, “Waaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyyyy Down Insiiiiiiiii-iiiiiiiide. . .Woman-woman-woman-woman-woman. . .You-ah Neeeeeee-ad. . .Loooooooooooooooooove.” It seemed to work. I got their attention, went into a short speil about Cave Creek being a wild town (hoots) and badder than Tombstone (hollars), come out to the Cave Creek Wild West Days! Goodnight!”

Got home at seven. Mighty wet out.

"Just because your voice reaches halfway around the world doesn’t mean you are wiser than when it reached only to the end of the bar."
—Edward R. Morroww

Bob Boze 7:45 PM

October 20, 2004
Vegas wasn't all sleaze. On Saturday afternoon, Kathy and I walked up the Strip to a branch of the Guggenheim Hermitage Museum which is housed in the Venetian Resort. An artshow, "The Pursuit of Pleasure" ($24 for two, cash) had original paintings by Degas, Picasso, Rodin, Titian and my hero, Diego Valazquez. The show was wonderful, although it was housed in a particularly small space (especially when you walk through the rest of the casino and witness the mega-opulent, high ceilings and rococo-meets-deco trimmings). Another unfortunate Vegas attribute rubs off on the walls: when you are looking at a wonderful Valazquez painting called Luncheon, which Diego painted when he was 19 (ca 1617-18), a guy in the foreground is giving a thumbs up, in fact he’s looking right out at us and in the Vegas environment it seems jarringly modern, almost as if the guy is saying, “Hey Babe, nice rack!” Another painting shows a bawdy woman with her left breast peeking from behind a loose blouse, and once again, in the Vegas surroundings it takes on a seediness you wouldn’t expect. Of course this may be my own personal baggage (given the fact I saw too much naked ego at a history conference mere hours before).

This area of the Strip has all of the new instant landmarks like the pyramids, Paris, France, New York, New York, all jammed together. This prompted Thom Ross to quip, "Imagine some poor Las Vegas kid in geography class. 'So where is the Eiffel Tower?' 'Right next to New York, New York.'"

From the Venetian, we walked across the street and took in the Monet show at the Bellagio ($22 for two, cash). Once again they make you walk all the way through the casino, even past the Keno section, until you get to the "art gallery", which, once again, was in a particularly small space by Vegas standards, almost like it's in the tin shed out back.

The Monet stuff was spectacular, especially Grainstack (Sunset), 1891, which was, and is, undeniably genius. Maybe there's hope for Vegas yet.

Of course, after this much culture we were ready for the 99 CENT MARGARITAS!!!! which were really bad (in plastic cups, mostly Slurpy surup). And when did Subway get into casinos? That was jarring.

By four, we were back on the road heading for Kingman. Stayed at the former Holiday House, now the Knight Inn ($45 cash) and ate at the Dambar Steakhouse ($37, cash, includes tip). Ran into an old Kingman High classmate, LeRoy Butler, who owns the True Value Hardware Store (yes, the one where Timothy McVeigh worked). He was there with his entire family, many grandkids. He bought us a beer.

Got back to Cave Creek at about ten on Sunday morning. I felt like I had seen and heard and learned a ton from our decadent trip to see the underbelly of academia.

I got a great quote from Tom Carpenter, who says he stole it out of a recent Farmer's Alamanac:

"Radical historians now tell the story of Thanksgiving from the point of view of the turkey."
—Malcolm Cooley

Bob Boze 5:35 PM

Bonus Blog, October 19, 2004
As promised, here's the Mountain Man toast (which I got from a former WHA president). And here's what the former pres said:

"The chief objection to the traditional installation, I am certain, is directed at the Green River knife mounted on a plaque that reads: '[incoming President's name] / Head Harr-lifter of the Western History Association / [dates].'"

"The toast itself, accompanied by goofy hand gestures, is inoffensive:"

Here's to the chiles whats come afore,
And here's to the pilgrims whats come arter!
May your trails be free of griz
An' your packs full o' plews
And fat buffler in your pot.
WAUGH!!!

"Silly of course, but fun, and hardly worthy of protest."

Well, that's easy for you to say, as a member of the Waugh family, I'm deeply offended!

"You can never step in the same river twice."
—Heraclitus (although you can't say the same thing about manure.)

Bob Boze 4:19 PM

October 19, 2004
Oops, squared. As Will Shetterly has pointed out, it’s the Papago, not the Pima, who were derisively tagged "the bean eaters." And speaking of losing all credibility, I just returned from a walk with a current ASU student and she is livid about my remarks in yesterday's blog. And, for the record, not that I would cave in to such a childish display of school envy, but (always wait for the "but" and then disregard everything that came before it) I get to sleep with her and I really want this sexist tradition to continue.

Kathy Radina (Masters in Counseling degree, 1983 from ASU, currently a continuing education student at ASU West) wants me to divulge that I (Robert Bell, five years, Fine Arts College, no degree, U of A, 1965-2004) think I’m funny, when I’m really not that funny.

"Don’t jump on a man unless he's down."
—Finley Dunnea

Bob Boze 7:34 AM

October 18, 2004
Ooops, myself. Yesterday I left out part of the pronunciation of Tonoho O'odham. It is actually pronounced Tone-oh-hoe-Oh-od-ham, certainly a mouthful for any anglo, but especially one from Kingman who has trouble with the word indigenous (literally: Indian-genius)

Hey, we've got a new reader's poll up. Please go fill it out. Thanks.

More news from the Vegas Venting. From behind the scenes a strange scenario has begun to emerge that may help explain some of the more bizarre behavior at the Friday night banquet. According to my sources it involves a hated school and, of course mountain men.

And don't forget good, old-fashioned American scalp hunting.

Evidently, there is this tradition among the Western History Association tribe of giving a big, ol' nasty looking Green River knife to the incoming president along with the recitation of something called "The Mountain Man Oath." Even among its practitioners and longtime adherents, the oath is conceded as being "hokey" but they are quick to add it’s "harmless."

And don’t forget "humorous." A word that strikes terror into the hearts of the humorless.

The incoming president, Peter Iverson (from crappy Arizona State University) is on record as being embarrassed by the Mountain Man Oath. He thinks the oath is racist and he allegedly demanded that the tradition be stopped with him. He also allegedly had a speech in his pocket, in case the dreaded scalp hunting knife of the dreaded Anglo-Europeans was unsheathed in his general direction.

There was even a rumored plot that involved unlikely conspirators; Robert Utley and Patty Limerick (who caused her own waves back in 1992 at this very gathering with the publication of her book, Legacy of Conquest which ironically started the march towards the kind of scholarship the banquet terrorists espouse, but unfortunately for them, Patty had recently said, "In 1992 I was a young Turk and today I’m just an old turkey," and it was rumored that she was planning, in fact, to grab the knife and present it, blade first, towards Iverson, from the crappy school in Tempe).

Of course this is just rumor and I know none of the people on the other side and it would be ridiculous on my part to make snap judgements about students at a crappy school like ASU, so I won’t go there.

Or, at least, very far, there.

While Bill Kurtis was regaling us with his sensitivity towards “Honeys” with big racks, the ASU undergraduate terrorists, were downstairs getting worked up. Too cheap to buy tickets to the banquet, they were going to come up and storm the bastille and save the day, during the dessert portion of the program (which is free), if and when the knife might appear.

But the politically incorrect blade did not appear. Instead, a painting by the sensitive artist Thom Ross (see yesterday’s posting) was given to the outgoing president.

But you see, the terrorists had worked themselves into a frenzy. They were going to demand a seat on the bus for Rosa Parks even if there wasn't a bus to be had. So they jumped on the "Sweetheart" comment and the insensitivity towards Swedish-Native-Americans and the rest passes for history.

Footnote, ibid.; and ARCA, 48. For the record Bob Boze Bell is not a member of the Western History Association and he has never even seen nor read the Mountain Man Oath but you can be damn sure that as soon as he gets the oath, he will print it right here so we can all decide if it is in fact, racist.

"The goal of all inanimate objects is to resist man and ultimately defeat him."
—Russel Baker

Bob Boze 8:11 PM

October 17, 2004
As is often the case when history strikes, I had no clue of what was happening when it was happening. I didn't see the bared fangs, the cocked guns, the inflamed egos and the politically correct self-righteous indignation. Or, it's more accurate to say I saw it but didn't realize the import until it was almost over.

Now I realize how Addie Bourland felt at her sewing machine shop across the street from Fly's Boarding House in Tombstone. Now I get the confusion on Division Street in Northfield, and the conflicting accounts at Coffeyville and the Little Big Horn. I also get why no one can agree on who won the presidential debates.

It was Friday night, closing in on 9 p.m. and we were in the banquet room high atop the Riviera Hotel & Casino, in the Penthouse, with spectacular views of all the high rise hotels on the Strip. There must have been 800 of us seated at big, round banquet tables with a long dais running the length of the room on the north wall. Paul Hutton looked beatific at the podium, making necessary announcements and glib side remarks. He was guiding the evening with an even keel, his 17 years of experience and his quick wit making him a calming and delightful master of ceremonies.

After diner, Paul and the outgoing president, Iris Engstrand, walked to the east end of the room where they turned on a second microphone and began to hand out plaques and awards. One of the winners was Eric V. Meeks who won the Bolton-Kinnaird Award for the best article on Borderlands history. Iris read the title of the article, "The Tonohono O’odham, Wage Labor, and Resistant Adaptation, 1900-1930" and as might be expected she tripped over the pronunciation of Tonohono O’odham ( a tribe in central Arizona who used to be called the Pima but since that was a derisive title, meaning "bean eaters" put on them by their enemies, they changed their name to their current handle which is pronounced Tone-oh-ode-ham).

Another category went to Pekka Hamalainen for the piece "The Rise and Fall of Plains Indian Horse Cultures." He wasn't in attendance and Iris quipped that at least he wasn't there to hear her mangle his name.

Bill Kurtis, of CBS and Cold Case fame, was the keynote speaker and he was introduced with some fanfare, by Paul, who extolled Kurtis's 30 plus years of broadcasting experience. Bill got up and began regaling us with stories of his stellar career (he is credited with breaking the Agent Orange story, thus saving many lives). However, it became rather obvious that he had no prepared remarks, and unlike our editor, RG, Bill was just riffing out the windows ("Over there," he said pointing at the Hilton out the window, "I was on the 17th floor doing an interview with Mohammed Ali and he said to me, 'If I jumped from here, then would they believe me?' and then I knew how serious he was and how deeply he cared about being a Muslim."). Unfortunately Bill looked out the west window (ironic, no?) and saw something that reminded him of doing a story on a sex club (The Paradisio?), which elicited this remark, or close to it: "So we’re doing this story on this sex club and this waitress comes up to me in her birthday suit, and says to me, 'Mr. Kurtis, I’d really like to get into graduate school,' and I said, 'Honey, you can graduate right now if you want to!'" And I’m hearing this and I'm thinking to myself, "Bill, I never graduated from college but is that really an appropriate remark to make to a room full of female Phds?”

I noticed several people get up but I thought they were going to the bathroom. Of a sudden, Bill gets a startled look and gazes over our heads to the back of the room and says, "It looks like some people got past security," and we all turned, and witnessed a glum looking group of people filing in and lining up against the back wall. Bill made a quip about the dessert buffet afterwards and I thought it must be people from another conference crashing our party and anxious to get at the dessert trays.

Bill finished his remarks and Paul Hutton put a nice cap on the remarks and evening and we all got up to leave. Suddenly, a discombobulated voice comes over the PA, "We protest the sexist remarks made by the speaker and also the insensitive mispronunciation of indigenous people's names." There was more, but we couldn't figure out where it was coming from. Groups of people milled about and it was like being at a rock fight on a playground, I was looking around to see where and why it was happening. I finally saw a woman who had apparently commandeered the awards microphone. She finished and got down. A knot of mostly women were behind us cheering her on.

We looked at each other and several said, "What just happened?" No one could figure it out. Kathy in her direct way, walked over to the knot of women and said, "What exactly are you upset about?"

They reiterated their position that Bill Kurtis had made totally sexist and inappropriate comments about women and that there was a lack of sensitivity about pronouncing Native American names. Most people left, but many, like ourselves began to try and figure out what just happened. We compared notes, but the more we drank the less we knew.

Meanwhile, Thom Ross, the artist comes over and starts riffing on the seriousness of the scene and the charges: “Okay, you want sexist remarks, how about this? John Wilkes Booth got his man. The guy who got Garfield got his man, the guy who got McKinnley got his man, Lee Harvery Oswald got his man, John Hinckley got his man, but Squeaky Fromm and that other woman they missed. She couldn’t even hit Gerald Ford! They’re 0 for 2.” Several people, including Kathy looked at him quizzically, “What is your point Thom?” Thom shrugged. “It may be a sexist comment, but men are better shots.”

I was suddenly very glad that Thom wasn’t the keynote speaker. Hey, no matter how bad it is, it can always be worse, eh?

Now here’s the kicker to the evening. The person they thought was Native American—Pekka Hamalainen—is actually Swedish. Ooops.

“There will be a rain dance Friday night, weather permitting.”
—George Carlin?

Bob Boze 7:59 PM

October 16, 2004
We held our roundtable discussion in the Capri 101 room. Appearing with me were, the chair, Paul Hutton; the very zany artist Thom Ross (more on him later); our very own Johnny D. Boggs; Paul Hedren of the national park service; and William Heath of Mount Saint Mary's College.

Our topic, Beyond the Academy: Bringing the West to the Public.

I thought it went well. However, after all of us had talked too long and taken several soft ball questions, the youngest person in the room (a young man who looked to be in his mid to late twenties) raised his hand and chided us, telling us he was disappointed in the roundtable because we didn't talk about writing on the internet. We sat there like old men without a clue. And the session was over. Kathy later asked me why I didn't engage him and I said, "Because I had already yakked too much." But I knew instinctively this is where the session should have begun. As I told the gathering during my ten minute dissertation, when I took over the magazine, the problem with our younger writers is that they were all in their sixties (our first reader’s poll showed the average age at 67!). We bemoan not knowing how to attract young people to the field and here is one and we don't know what to say to him. Ouch!

It gets worse.

Keep in mind I am an outsider. I have never been to a Western History Association Conference. I have never looked academia in the face. Frankly, it is a chilling sight. For one thing I heard over and over how the new history being taught at the University level boils everything down to three things: race, class and gender.

"I hate narrative history," was how one student described the issue to me. Let's see, that would include exactly every single thing I love about history. This same student told me they want to get past all of the old school hokum (I assume that means all the racist, misogynist, capitalist propaganda) and "analyze" history, presumably so they can rectify all of the wrongs done to them, especially to their race, their class and their gender.

I also heard on more than one occasion that these same firebrands were incensed that an anglo, from the Arizona Historical Society, had the temerity to give a talk on Apache lifeways.

While I understand the desire to be a bit territorial about "our" history (often Billy the Kid expert Fred Nolan, who is English, is bashed with the admonition, "Why don’t you stay home and write about your own country."), isn't it in fact racist to criticize someone on their ability to talk intelligently about a subject based on their race?

Coming next: Showdown at the Kurtis Sexist Corral.

"I come from a stupid family. During the Civil War my great uncle fought for
the west!"
—Rodney DangerfieldT

Bob Boze 4:40 PM

October 15, 2004
Vegas is Kingman with money. If someone approached a 1950's style travelling carnival and the Kingman city council and said, "Here's $2 billion dollars, go build something groovy," Las Vegas, Nevada is what you'd get.

I have a long history with Vegas. Vegas is where we arrived on the train from Iowa in 1954. Vegas is where we went for Luther League retreats. Vegas is where my parents went for fun (I spent many an hour sitting in the Fremont "waiting room," just off the casino, people watching). Vegas is where I went to see the dermatologist. Vegas is where I bought my drums (Ludwigs, zebra toms) and took drum lessons, Vegas is where I twisted on the same stage with Chubby Checker (at the Sahara,1962), and immediately after the show Rick Ridenour and I got in a cab and asked the cabbie to set us up with "two babes" and he looked in the rear view mirror at us sitting there in our matching-short-sleeved-white shirts, narrow ties and matching flattops (we were both 15) and said, "No, thanks." He dropped us off at Ripley's Believe It Or Not where they had bumper cars (not exactly the kind of ride we had in mind but, hey, it was definitely cheaper and the rides lasted much longer). Vegas is where I saw the Beatles (1964). Vegas is where we cruised (from the Blue Onion to the Union Pacific Train Station and back. Repeat all night).

You might think with all of that history I would have an affinity for Vegas, but I can't stand the place. Well, that's not exactly true. Whenever I first get there, it's very exciting in a testosterone, glandy store kind of way (NUDE BULL RIDING! • COLD BEER & DIRTY GIRLS!! • GIRLS OF YOUR CHOICE DIRECT TO YOU IN 15 MIN.! • 99 CENT MARGARITAS!!!) which, if you wear a cowboy hat is kind of major groovy. For about six hours. And then it starts to wear on me and after about the 12th hour I'm actually thinking, “You know, if Al Quaida used a dirty bomb on the Strip, it wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing.”

Kathy and I got to Vegas at four P.M on Thursday. I was excited. We were attending our first Western History Association Conference at the Riviera Hotel & Casino. I was on a round table discussion for Friday and we were booked for three nights. Little did I know, the stage was set, the battleground was being prepped for one of the most vicious, petty and ridiculous showdowns in all of history. Or, at least, history conferences

"The world is a madhouse, so it’s only right that it is patrolled by armed idiots."
—Brendan Behan{

Bob Boze 1:46 PM

//////