Official Blog of Wild West Magazine

Yakking with someone in St. Louis last week, I mentioned that Deb and I planned on the morrow to take in both Jefferson Barracks and Grant's Farm, each a national historic site and each a place we had somehow managed to miss over our extended lifetimes. We did make Grant's ("Gateway to the West," 1.26.07) but Jefferson will have to hold for another day. But anyway, the individual in question admitted that, life-long history-lovin' St. Louisianan that he was, each place was a place he had never visited. I was amazed. I'm always amazed. In Washington, we spoke once with a historian who--although a D. C. denizen of long-standing--confessed that he had never been to Ford's Theater. Considering that Ford's just happens to be the scene where one of the most significant events in American history occurred, I found that even more amazing. Our friend and fellow Philadelphian, Carol Neumann, said she was stopped recently by a man on a downtown street and asked, in that inimitable Philly accent, "Hey, Yo! Whez da Liberty Bell at?" I am amazed right off the chart.

Yes, I am always amazed by these comments from people who have visited Tombstone, the Little Bighorn and even such remote and inaccessible sites as the "Hole-in-the-Wall," yet have never found the time to visit a significant spot just a stone's throw from their digs. Amazed, that is, until I consider myself.

In the new issue of Wild West Magazine is a nifty piece on the Dalton Gang. I can't wait to read it. Even if one knows nothing at all about the Daltons, this bunch of bank robbing brothers have name recognition that ranks right up there with the James, the Youngers, and the Clantons.

And yet, while I have been to Northfield, Minnesota (scene of the James/Younger demise), and Tombstone, Arizona (scene of the Clanton eclipse), I am ashamed to say that I have never been to Coffeyville, Kansas (scene of the Dalton departure), even though it is right here in my own home state.

Now, unlike the fellows in St. Louis, D. C. and Philadelphia that I mentioned, Coffeyville is not just around the block from my home here in Topeka. It is 150 miles away. But the fact is, I have been in that area many times. I suppose we all travel under the premise that "Hey, what's the rush? I have plenty of time. It's right here! I'll eventually get there." Baloney! As I write, I also vow that the next time I pass within 50 miles of Coffeyville--regardless of the rush--I am driving over, having a quiet cup of coffee, then visiting one of the most significant Wild West sites on the map, Coffeyville, Kansas--scene of the Dalton defeat.

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Scripts that Rock!

Tombstone

(Scene: Saloon. Early morning. Quiet. In the all-night poker contest about to be concluded, Ed Bailey and friends have been taken to the cleaners.)

Ed Bailey: That's it, Holliday. Are you in or out?

Doc Holliday: Five hundred. Must be a peach of a hand. (to Kate) Oh, thank you, darlin'. Kate! You're not wearing a bustle. How lewd.

Ed: Come on, Holliday, you in or out, goddammit?

Doc: Why, Ed Bailey, you look like you're just about ready to burst.

Ed: Come on! Come on, show!

Doc: Well, I suppose I'm deranged, but I guess I'll just have to call. Cover your ears, darlin'. . . (shows hand) Isn't that a daisy?

Ed: Why, you son-of-a-bitch!

Bystander: Damn, Bailey, just settle down!

Ed: Shut up! (to Doc) Take your money and get out,'cause I'm tired of listenin' to your mouth.

Doc: Why, Ed Bailey, are we cross?

Ed: Them guns don't scare me.' Cause without them guns you ain't nothin' but a skinny lunger.

Doc: Ed, what an ugly thing to say. I abhor ugliness. Does this mean we're not friends anymore? You know, Ed, if I thought you weren't my friend, I just don't think I could bear it (places his pistols on the table). There. Now we can be friends again.

(Ed jumps Doc but soon discovers that the card-slick has more up his sleeve than aces. A dagger puts Ed out of his misery)

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Double-Take