Wild Turkeys taken at the former World Headquarters of The Institute
Happy Thanksgiving !
Happy Thanksgiving! It’s that day again, a day to relax even if you’re cooking, a day to lay on the couch after the big meal, watch the game, stuff your face yet again, crack the wishbone with someone you love, or your old enemy if you still have a score to settle, listen to Uncle Skids dumb jokes, watch Aunt Pheeb smack him for his language, join the kids playing video games, go for a walk if you’re with those that can’t stand the thought of pigging out on the one day you can, and most of all give thanks for all you have, or in some cases all you don’t.
Do whatever makes the day meaningful for you even if it’s having a TV turkey dinner in front of the tube alone, it’s ok, really. Me, I’m going to spend it with friends that I love, hope you do too.
First there is a low whistling sound as if something thin and dangerous is cutting through the air. Then a sharp cracking, staccato-like report that is as loud as a Colt 45 discharging next to your ear. That is the unmistakable sound of one of the deadliest weapons used in the old west, the whip known as the Blacksnake.
Originally used to keep cattle under control during a cattle drive or to move some of the larger, meaner bulls from one place to another, they often became a deadly weapon in the hands of a skilled operator. The small diameter lash at the end of the whip, called a cracker, made the rifle-like sound of the whip cracking, by breaking the sound barrier as the whip reached the end of its trajectory before being pulled back, completing the cycle.
Actually the whips used in the image above are really bullwhips, being a whip with a short wooden handle that the whip itself is braided around, rather than a whip that has no handle just 6′ to 12′ or longer of flexible braided bull hide as supple and sinuous as the snake it is named after.
If you were hit by the lash it could lay open the skin as if you were cut by a knife. Many movies were made with the whip being one of the hero’s or villian’s primary weapons, along with their trusty pistols, with the most notable being Lash Larue who was famous for using a 18′ bullwhip. Many a villain was brought to heel by the expert use of his bullwhip. After a Saturday morning at the Bijou boys would go home and practice with a piece of rope trying to emulate their hero.
The whipmaster above is showing tremendous skill by using not one but two bullwhips to demonstrate the weapons unique characteristics. This takes enormous skill as the whip can strike the operator as well as its intended victim if it wasn’t kept under absolute control. It wasn’t unusual to see a vivid scar running across a beginners face as they tried to master the weapon.
Most of the altercations in Wichita were handled by the use of pistols or shotguns but occasionally you would hear the report of a different kind of weapon and that would be the Blacksnake. An exotic weapon to be sure but deadly none the less.
There was a time when the law was spread pretty thin in the west and some would-be desperados, bandits, outlaws, rustlers and those with just plain bad attitudes took full advantage of the situation.
Good god-fearing people trying to do the right things and live in a law abiding way were taken advantage of and suffered at the hands of these no good criminal types until they finally had enough. To fight this lawlessness they banded together and formed a group called Vigilantes or Regulators to take the law into their own hands and protect themselves. These groups or individuals had no real legal standing other than Might makes Right and sometimes were as bad as the criminals they brought their heavy handed justice to.
Usually the Regulators would ride out and capture and administer western justice in the form of a swift hanging, or shooting whoever they thought were scoundrels, on sight. However sometimes the use of a Regulator was perverted and misused by a wealthy rancher hiring a fast gun as a Regulator to protect his holdings. That meant that anybody who even looked cross-eyed at his stock, or crossed his fences, or used water that wasn’t theirs or decided to free graze their herds across his land on the way to market, were fair game and could be and usually were, shot on sight by his Regulator.
Regulators have a mixed reputation with some folks thinking they were a good and necessary organization, used to uphold what little law existed by removing the bad elements as necessary, while others saw them as just as lawless and murderous as the bad men they were regulating. This was especially prevalent thought with the sheepmen and farmers moving in to share the west who often bore the brunt of the Regulators wrath.
Regulators usually only lasted as long as there was no legal law in an area and soon disbanded as real law enforcement moved in. Whether you thought killing somebody was justified or not, you couldn’t just kill them because it felt good. If you did, whether you were a Regulator or not, then you went to jail or were hanged just a like a common criminal. Being a Regulator soon quickly fell out of favor.
Regulators may or may not have been a necessary evil but the men who chose this profession were a hard lot. Quick to dispense their form of justice, they were tough, single-minded men that served a purpose during those lawless times in the old west.
Out of the fiery pages of western history come tales of the Last Stand. Written in blood by the men who participated in them, they tell the stories of good men of principle, or bad men of none, or a mixture of both that stood up for what they believed in and fought it out to the death.
There have been some pretty famous last stands, The OK Corral where it turned out to be not so ok for many of those who were there. The Alamo, where there was a huge last stand resulting in the loss of many men of principle and just bad luck, that had their day, and of course there was that whole Custer thing.
Wichita had its last stand also, in fact many of them. Almost every 15 minutes of the weekend of The Age of The Gunfighter event at the Old Cowtown museum, there was a last stand reenacted by willing gunfighters who went out into that dusty street under the blazing sun and fought it out.
What we see above is the pinnacle of action that occurs during the fight, when men are paying with their lives, willingly or unwillingly for that one moment of glory. In a moment it will be over until the next batch of marshals, desperados, innocent bystanders and curious onlookers take the stage. The Last Stand, try your hardest not to be in one they usually don’t end well.
There are two days that are important to me. Memorial Day, where I think about friends both here and gone, and Veteran’s Day, where I think about all the friends I don’t know that gave their lives both figuratively and literally for you and I and our country.
I went into the service as a young man of seventeen and came out a weary old man of twenty-one. War will do that to you. During that journey I made hard and fast friends who are in my thoughts this very day nearly 55 years later. Fewer now that time is catching up with us and those folks are beginning to fall by the wayside.
Patriotism is a strange bedfellow. Everyone says they have it and I’m sure in their minds they believe that they sincerely do. I believe they do too, however it seems that for those who served and those who waited at home to see if their loved ones would come back whole and at peace with themselves, it may be slightly more intense. It’s not a value judgement on those that for one reason or other did not get a chance to serve it’s just how I see it. Your mileage may vary.
Some of the most patriotic people I know are our Native American brothers and sisters that served in the armed services. They have, like all other Americans that served, been in active service of every conflict we’ve had, fighting and dying alongside their brothers in arms for our country. One of my most memorable experiences was marching with the veterans in the opening ceremony of the Shoshone Bannock tribes’ powwow at Ft Hall, Idaho. It was the first time since my service that I had participated in any memorial service and it was and is one of my most gratifying memories.
The image above is the Color Guard that marches in every parade and ceremony that the Crow tribe holds. It is a stirring sight to see these groups parade in honor and celebration of their service and the service of all other members of the Armed Services regardless of race, creed or nationality.
I salute you veterans, and I thank you for your service.
There were good people in the town of Wichita. Probably more than we thought were there. We’ve heard about the ones that weren’t so good, and the ones who were borderline good with a dash of bad thrown in. But not all that much about the good folks. The ones who did good things out of their need to bring some sort of balance and harmony to the town just because of who they were.
Such was Florence Nightshade, known as the Angel of the Night. Not much is known about her background, she just showed up one day on the morning stage and by the time night fell she was out roaming the mean streets of Wichita offering solace to all who needed it. Rumors were rampant about her. She was a nurse from back east who after suffering a terrible loss in her own life came west to Wichita to help those in need, some said. Others said she once caused a death due to being inebriated on the job and swore to make up for it by tirelessly ministering to those most in need no matter what their station in life was.
Whatever her reasons she was always the first to show up after a shooting, helping the wounded and saying a quick prayer over the dead. Many a expecting mother knew her as the one who brought their child into the world when the town Doc was too drunk or sitting in on a winning hand in the saloon and couldn’t be bothered.
Most people never wondered about why she was so quiet. She kept to herself and never socialized preferring to wander the streets doing her work. Mercy was dealt by her hands and her heart and there were legions who survived their wounds only because she was there when they needed her most.
One day however she was gone. No one saw her leave. No one knows where she went. Some said she wandered off into the prairie to die from a hidden disease, others said she was abducted by terrible men. Others said she went to a little border town near the Mexican border that had even more killings and knifings than Wichita. Wherever she went we can assume she is still tending to those in need at a new place in desperate need of an Angel of the Night.
Being a marshal in a town like Wichita meant long hours and the risk of becoming dead at the hand or hands of those who made a career of flaunting the law. During its heyday Wichita had more than its share of those individuals. It took a strong man to face the daily dangers of the streets of Wichita and for very little pay.
As marshal, Wyatt Earp was just one of those men. Much has been said about Wyatt in books, magazines, and film and most of it was true, however some small points were left out such as how he supplemented his meager pay with other forms of income.
There was the levying of fines against those individuals for the apprehension and inconvenience of having to smack them along side of their heads with his pistol due to their uncooperative nature. The fine for this would be adjusted of course, to reflect the number of times they had to be hit on the head for Wyatt to get his point across and for their ultimate compliance. But this activity entailed a certain amount of risk on the marshal’s part so something less dangerous and more lucrative was desired.
Which brings us to Gambling. Wyatt definitely was involved with gambling as it was the easiest and least dangerous of his daily activities. It was also the most lucrative. Gambling in and of itself is not inherently dangerous, however it is terribly unforgiving of fools. And though fools did abide in great numbers in Wichita they mainly kept to doing things that were confined to the disadvantage of their ownselves and rarely involved great numbers of innocent bystanders. There were exceptions however, such as the half wit who got drunk and drove a team and freight wagon through a parade of temperance demonstrators, running over several of the ladies and scattering the rest like a flock of chickens because he didn’t like their singing. That was unfortunate but tensions ran high regarding that subject. There were fines aplenty for that little escapade.
However back to gambling. Wyatt’s favorite game of chance was the Faro table. He was good at it and it basically paid his wages during his term as marshal. Shown here, Wyatt sits at his Faro table, arms open and outstretched like a spider enticing its prey into its web. Both the wary and unwary entered willingly, ultimately offering up their hard earned gains to the game. It was rare that Wyatt ever to had to shoot some objectionable fellow in the eyeball during one of these games but as was mentioned before, fools did abide in plenty in Wichita and the unfortunate situation did develope occasionally, but not often as it was bad for business.
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