Very Interesting Day!

Yesterday was a very interesting day!  The pundits were all waiting for the decision regarding the constitutionality of the Affordable Health Care Act to come down from the Supreme Court.  Well, in general, the law stood and it took the conservative chief justice to make it happen.  It seems appropriate to quote some old west wisdom here: "You never can tell which way the pickle's goin' to squirt."  I'm still shaking my head over Romney's pronouncement that he will stop the law if elected to the presidency; this law is similar to the one he promoted while governor in Massachusetts.  This haggling is one of the reasons why I have never run for President. :)

The Bismarck Tribune sent another book for me to review, and I am enjoying it.  Hard Country by Michael McGarrity covers the time frame of 1875 to 1918.  About one-third of the way through, I find myself wanting to read on to see how it ends.  The author writes very clear, easy-reading sentences that flow in a satisfying way.  A picture of the author on the dust jacket does not ring a bell.  He is from Sante Fe, and if he was in Albuquerque attending the Western Writers convention, I don't recognize him.

I am in contact with the descendants of the man who is the subject of a re-print autobiography I am tackling.  Mary's family lived on the ranch next to his south of Raleigh.  He was a contemporary of Custer and Sitting Bull.  He said Sitting Bull loved little kids, and one day the author's little four-year old nephew was with him when they ran into the now-famous chief.  Sitting Bull extended his hand and shook the boy's hand who did offer his, but when they finished shaking the boy ran around to hide behind the man's legs.  Another story tells of how Custer's dogs ran loose in the countryside and scared away the deer and elk that the woodchoppers working on the river depended upon for venison.  One day the dogs got shot, and, of course, nobody knew anything about it.  These stories are the reason I like the book so well, the people are human, not the mythic figures they have become in today's books.  The publication date is a few months in the future, and I will advertise it at that time.

Pretty Lobelias

On Monday morning we were out of here by 5:30 am and drove to Lisbon to visit with my mother in the morning.  Then we headed to Fargo to be with my son who requested our presence as the builder of their new house did a walk-through.  It's big, lots of rooms, and will keep them in comfort for many years to come.  I filled our gas tank in Fargo where gas is .30 cheaper than we pay.  Why?  That question gets asked many times here, but we get no satisfaction.

I'm always glad when I have an excuse to go to the state archives library and do a bit of research.  I did so again today and found some good "stuff."  These projects get me in contact with interesting people, both historical and contemporary.  Maybe I've bit off to much to chew but what the heck.  Someone asked me in Fargo yesterday when I plan to retire.  I replied, "I plan to die with a pen in my hand."

It's too hot to get out and mow the grass, but who cares?  I'm staying in with my central air conditioner.  That lets me stay in and read another book that I received from the Bismarck Tribune.  It's a good Western, and it reads well.

 

 

Maltese Cross Blossoms

Bob Dylan wrote a famous song some years ago, "The Times They Are A'Changin'"  I think they have changed and left me behind.  Last evening I went to Subway to buy a supper sandwich and felt like I stood out.  Here was the scenario: the man ahead of me was fully tattooed, the man behind was was tattooed, the girl behind the counter taking my order wore a ring in her lower lip that made her lisp so I couldn't understand her, the next employee down the line needed a shave and wore a long ponytail, and the cashier was overweight.  Well, darn me, they all probably thought I looked queer.

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One of the great contemporary historians is David McCullough whom I have enjoyed reading over the years.  He has a son with "Jr." behind his name.  He made some news lately when he gave a commencement address and said, "You're not special."  That lifted some eyebrows, and he prepared himself for lots of negative criticism.  Quite the contrary, he received mostly positive comments in his emails, the count: 700 in support, only 4 negative.  The latest Newsweek magazine carries an article he wrote.  The jist of the whole episode: get out there and earn your "special status."  Graduating from high school doesn't put you there.
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Ole walks into work, and both of his ears are all bandaged up.  The boss says, "What happened to your ears?"  Ole says, "Yesterday I vas ironing a shirt ven de phone rings, and I accidentally answered the iron."  The boss says, "Well, that explains one ear, but what happened to the other ear?"  Ole replies, "I tried to call da doctor in the other ear."

Last Thoughts on ABQ

I have many good memories of the Western Writers Convention in Albuquerque.  The two gentlemen pictured contributed to them.  Estleman, wearing the hat, writes in two genres: western and crime fighting and has published over 70 books and 200 short stories..  He was present to receive the Owen Wister Award which is a lifetime achievement honor not given often.  His two main character subjects are Amos Walker, Private Investigator, and Page Murdock, Old West Marshall.

L. Q. Jones presented an energetic, well-experienced personality and was very interesting to boot.  I caught the two of them in this shot; I had the camera and took pictures earlier.  Then, when I went to download them from the memory card, I discovered the card was still in the laptop.  So I put the card in my camera and hurried downstairs to take more pictures, this one being the result.  A half  dozen of us stood around listening to him talk about his movie making experiences of being in over 150 movies and tv programs.  Often playing a bad guy character, he was in films such as Battle Cry, Ride the High Country, Major Dundee, The Wild Bunch, The Ballad of Cable Hogue, and Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid.  He worked many times with the director Sam Peckinpah and told stories of how hard he was to work for, yet a genius at what he accomplished.

A great story he tells dealing with Peckinpah was this.  They were filming The Wild Bunch and driving in Peckinpah's car in a very rough district in Mexico.  Peckinpah tells his driver to stop in front of this seedy bar.  L. Q. grabs him by the shirt to stop him from going in, but he gets away.  So Jones and Ben Johnson follow him in and see Peckinpah order a beer, take a drink, spit it in the bartender's face, and say, "You've been pissing in the beer again." and the fight is on.  Jones and Johnson are fighting off the offended crowd and realize Peckinpah is no longer in sight.  Turns out, he went out, got back in his car and left, leaving them there.  I don't know how that story ended, but I would not have wanted to be with them.

The strength of the convention was the sharing and camaraderie.  Everyone was easy to talk with, and an upstart like me could learn a great deal.  People would ask me what it was I wrote.  I'd always reply a variety of things such as many blog entries, a couple books of poetry, some book reviews in the Bismarck Tribune, etc.  Just enough to be eligible as a member.  I hope to add many short stories to the collection before the next convention next summer in Las Vegas.

The End

Today, Saturday, June 16, the convention ends with an awards banquet.  It will be good to get home, especially since Mary told me on the phone that she made rhubarb pie.  I asked the gentleman above if he was a Mexican military man.  He said, "I beg your pardon, sir, I am a Confederate officer!"  Then he went about showing me all the parts of his uniform.

There are so many prolific, good writers down here that I hope some of it rubs off.  I am inspired and anxious to get home and start researching and writing again.  Of course, there are lots of wannabees like me running around, but then we hope to change that - if I should live so long.

Tomorrow is a long wait for my flight in the evening hours, so I have plenty of time to read and write in my down time.  I'll collect my thoughts and write a summary of my experiences on the next blog which will be Wednesday.  I'm taking a few days off from it.  See you then.

Friday in ABQ

I sat at the same table at the Thursday night reception and auction as this gentleman.  There were a dozen or so people who came dressed in some period costume, and the winner gets a free registration at next year's convention.  He didn't win.  A family of three, the man and their boy dressed as gamblers and the lady as a dance hall girl, won the contest.  I didn't get a good picture of them.  They raised over $5,000 at the auction which will be used to fund scholarships for college students to continue their studies in western history.

Today's schedule proved not as entertaining as yesterday's, but maybe it was more important.  The topics dealt with dealing with editors, publishers, marketing, etc., in other words, the business side.  We signed up for meetings with representatives of these specialties to be held tomorrow, Saturday.  I picked two magazines where I think my stories might be the best fit.

Tomorrow evening is the highlight of the convention: the awarding of the Spur Awards for the many different categories that have been judged.  Needless to say, I didn't have anything entered.

Another Day in ABQ

Here is a picture of a man named Max Evans, the man who wrote The Rounders, The Hi-Lo Country, The Ballad of Cable Hogue, and many others.   This convention is dedicated to him for the great body of work he has written.  A panel discussion this morning had him up front with several supporting panelists, and it was great to listen to the stories, especially the one surrounding movie-making. Some of the names appearing with him were L. Q. Jones, a character actor who has appeared in about 150 films; Peter Ford, the son of Glenn Ford; a lady I don't know her name but is the daughter of Slim Pickens; screen writers, etc.  

Many names were dropped throughout the say such as directors Sam Peckinpah, Martin Scorcese, Joel McCrea, Randolph Scott, Slim Pickens, etc.  They discussed who were the best horsemen in Hollywood and two names agreed on were Glenn Ford and Ben Johnson. At that point Slim Pickens daughter stood up and said don't forget my dad.  Apparently Slim Pickens did some bull fighting with Brahmas that no one else would tackle because after a couple of passes on the cape that breed wisened up and got the bullfighter.  Not Slim, he could outguess the bull.

Peter Ford said his dad Glenn Ford was not the best father, and when it got time to teach the birds and the bees he hooked young Peter up with a bunch of stuntmen who took him to a pornography show.  His dad left Peter's mother for Rita Hayworth.

So many movies were mentioned that it makes me want to go back and see them again.  Slim Pickens was in Blazing Saddles and his daughter laughed as how there was something in it to offend everybody.  A picture of that nature could not be made today without a howl arising from some offended group.

Max Evans had a hard-scrabble beginning and finally settled on being an artist and said he was doing pretty well at it when he got the notion to start writing.  His wife reacted to that saying "We just got so we could eat, now we're gonna start starvin' again!"  I like his style.  I went up with a couple of his books to have him autograph.  People were coming at him from every direction, but he knew where I stood in turn and ignored the others to honor my request.  Great gentleman!

Santa Fe, NM

Today two busloads of convention attendees rode to Santa Fe to soak up some of the history in and around that city.  It's a lot different from Albuquerque which is sprawling out for miles.  Santa Fe is smaller, more compact, and more touristy.  The high desert really shows up between the two places.  It's brown except for the scrubby bush growing much like weeds.

Commuter trains connect the two, double decker cars.  We passed two of them and from what we gathered the service is well used.  We passed a sign indicating a turn-off to Las Vegas, NM and the man with a microphone explained that at one time that was really a tough town.  He spoke of the guy who was practicing his fast draw and an errant bullet killed a bystander.  He said, "Oops, that was an accident."  Some time later, he was drawing and shooting again, this time killing another person.  "Oops, doggone, that was an accident."  The sheriff arrested him and a lynch mob came for him at night and hung him from a windmill, there being no trees around.  The next morning his body still swung there and had a sign attached: This was no accident. 

I've visited with a couple of interesting foreigners attending the convention, one, a Scotchman living in England.  His interest is with the history of Apache Indians and as we talked I asked him if he knew what Manifest Destiny meant in this country.  Oh, yes, he teaches Western American history in a university.  He seemed to know more about it than I.

The other fellow was Japanese.  I don't think he speaks English well, but I asked him the Japanese were interested in our west, too.  He nodded that they did.  I said I'm interested in your Samurai.  The man he was sitting with seemed to be able to converse with him well in the Japanese language and told me that he can trace his lineage back two thousand years as he is a member of one of the historic Samurai families.

The altitude takes some getting used to.  For a flatland North Dakotan to come here takes some getting used to.  Albuquerque is about a mile high and Santa Fe was around 7,500 feet high.  Thursday we get down to attending speakers and meetings.

Day One, Albuquerque, NM

 

I fluttered in here on a flying culvert.  It's the first time in this part of the country for me, and when you look down from the plane's window, it looks very brown, a typical appearance according to the cab driver.  I took this picture of the Sandia Mountains from my hotel window, the seventh floor of the Marriott.  The occasion: a convention of the Western Writers of America, and I'm here because I'm a member.  I also hope to pick up ideas, make contacts, tour Santa Fe tomorrow, and hear some good entertainment.  I hope to write daily, but this place wants a $1.95 an hour to be on the internet. 

Airtime from Bismarck to here can't be much more than 2 1/2 hours, but there's always fooling around in these airports.  My plane was delayed about an hour in Denver.  I don't know much else, and if I think I can afford it, I will blog again in a couple of days.

They Grow and Bloom

 

Our yard started blooming in color again.  Mary told me she she'd like to spend all of her time out there in the dirt.  But what about me, I ask?  Every year the same wascally wabbits make trouble.  Who was it, Elmer Fudd that walked around all day on the hunt with a shotgun?

This is a bit of a stretch, but those oil wells keep growing and blooming, too.  I caught an item from a tv reporter that I thought interesting.  He said in Williston, in less than one hour, he counted license plates from 29 different states.  Likewise, lots of different ones can be found in Bismarck and Mandan.  I sure hope good fortune comes to all of the citizens of this state when the legislature meets.  On Tuesday's election one of the measures deals with throwing out the property tax.  I don't think it will fly because so many organizations have come out against it.  One of the problems is that out of state land owners wouldn't have to pay tax, either.

I need to get out and mow the yard again this morning.  I try to tell myself that it's good for me, it's exercise, but those mornings when my joints are stiff and my muscles ache, I wonder if I shouldn't just have another cup of coffee.  It reminds me of my old poem written with my favorite seven syllable lines:

My hair turns white like the snows
of late fall.  Memories drop
like leaves to the page searching
for words to express themselves.
Language limits, though, and scenes
cannot be retold as they
occurred.  Imagination
encroaches in some of them
wanting to cause amendment.
But in the end I can't doubt
the acts that have brought me here.

Wired

 

Barbed wire as we know it was patented in 1874.  Indians called it Devil's Rope, others called it thorny fence.  It changed the wild west to something more manageable.  Wire was the cheapest way to build a fence, not wood, not stones.  It's been used in pastures, prisons, battle fields, and protection.  I wonder how many pants and shirts I've torn holes in through the years, and I still wear a scar on a finger from the time I lassoed a calf too big that ran through a fence and dragged me with it.

In the famous novel All Quiet on the Western Front the man telling the story says, "We have to go on up to wiring fatigue."  I didn't know what he meant until a few pages later when he tells this, "Two men hold a roll and the others spool off the barbed wire.  It is that awful stuff with close-set, long spikes. I am not used to unrolling it and tear my hand."  Luckily, I've never been on a battlefield to experience men hanging from it who got snagged and shot.

Millions of horses were used and many died on those same battlefields.  That same book tells of the suffering of the horses, such as, "The cries continued.  It is not men, they could not cry so terribly.  'Wounded horses,' says Kat.  It's unendurable.  It is the moaning of the world, it is the martyred creation, wild with anguish, filled with terror, and groaning.  We are pale.  Detrich stands up. 'God!  For
God's sake!  Shoot them.'  He is a farmer and very fond of horses.  It gets under his skin."

...

 

Thirty-eight years ago today the wife and I had quite the experience, that is later on in the day I could call her my wife.  Yup, today's our anniversary, so I will be extra nice and take her out to supper tonight, probably the Texas Roadhouse.  I must have chosen well because the years have sure passed by fast.

Another Day in Mandan

I always wanted to take a picture of this old granary building that stands on Highway 27 near the Sheldon corner, and when I had my camera with me not long ago I took it.  The countryside still holds a lot of these structures, at one time very useful, and now obsolescent, weathering away to eventually fall under the weight of snow.

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Yesterday morning as I typed away a message came up on my Skype program that Ann-Marie was video calling, that is Ann-Marie Eriksson from Sweden.  She regularly reads this blog so I want to say "Hello" to her.  We've now talked twice by Skype since they returned from their visit here.  Modern day technology still wows me.

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When was it, twenty years ago, that "Dallas" played weekly on tv?  Well, it's coming back for a few weeks with three of the originals, J.R., Bobby, and Sue Ellen.  The first show has Bobby visiting J.R. in an assisted-care facility.  Interesting.  Apparently, the battles will come from their two sons.  I will watch it, at least a time or two.
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I planned to write a bit today about my Civil War class last night at the Osher Institute, but alas, I went and no one was there.  I emailed the coordinator and she phoned back apologetic saying that class had been cancelled due to low enrollment.  Apparently UND person in charge of the program didn't think to notify me.  Such is life.
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I drove by the Bobcat manufacturing plant in Bismarck the other day and saw a sign in front advertising for assemblers @ $12 an hour.  Before they closed the plant down a couple of years ago people made a living wage out there, now it's $12 an hour.  It seems in the same vein as the election in Wisconsin yesterday.  The votes supported the governor who took worker rights away.  We're becoming a nation of haves and have-nots with not much of a middle class left.

It's already June!

Twenty, maybe twenty-five years ago, I procured a short book that I recognized for its rarety.  I am glad I did because it is full of great stories about this area we now live in.  The title - Paha Sapa Tawoyake - is pretty meaningless to anyone who doesn't speak "Indian."  I don't either, but I recognized its author, William V. Wade, as an old-timer who experienced many adventures here while this was still frontier.

In Wade's own words the book was "Written in 1926 at the Anchor Ranch, Cannonball River."   Born in 1851 in Plymouth, Massachusetts, he made his way west to St. Cloud, Minnesota 1n 1870 and ended up freighting with oxen for a time and made his way to Fort Rice, about twenty miles south of here.  He got to know the historical characters we read about in the myths and legends and told stories about them.

One story he was about Nigger Tom at Fort Peck who was quite a good hunter, went off one day to bring back game by himself, and was accosted by ten Indians led by Sitting Bull.  Tom thought they had good intentions, but Sitting Bull said the sun was in his eyes and wanted the nice hat Tom wore.  Another said he wanted his shirt, and so on.  He was soon stripped of his clothes, and then the Indians brought out some paints and decorated his entire body with pictures and signs.  After an exhaustive run back, he rested before he was able to tell the men at the fort why he came back as a painted up nude.

Another story related as how Custer, when he came to the area, brought a pack of hunting hounds with him that succeeded in driving off all the wild game in the area so that the locals couldn't hunt anymore, so they shot two of the dogs that were caught away from Custer one day while they were chasing a deer.  Custer got very upset about that but could never determine who did the deed.

He told how he and  another's horses ran off from them when they were 50 miles from anywhere, their powder got wet, and they only had a shot apiece in their rifles with which they did shoot one scrawny deer - which did not last long.  One of them caught a mouse which made the other aghast, "You're not going to eat that?"  No, but they used it for bait and caught catfish with it.

In 1876 in Bismarck he watched a man who had arrived from the east and was dressed up in finery including a top hat.  As he walked down the street the saloons had emptied so the men could watch a dog fight.  Most of them wore pistols and one of them wise-cracked, "Shoot the hat, boys."  This didn't scare the slicker who took off his hat, set it on the ground and said, "Try your luck, my friends."  That's just what they did, and after the shooting stopped a number of holes could be seen ventilating the hat.  Afterwards he bought them drinks and told them how he would wear it back east and tell them of the good time he had in Bismarck.

Great stories.  These guys lived much differently than we do.

Spelling

I've always considered myself a good speller, so I enjoyed keeping tabs on the just completed national spelling bee.  Especially fetching was the little six year old girl who did get eliminated but just making it there was spectacular in itself, let along making it through a couple of rounds.  What is there in some brains that lets some excel at such young age, or at any age, for that matter?
 

I lifted a book from my shelf that I've owned for awhile - Man's Unconquerable Mind by Gilbert Highet - which contains a passage that is appropriate to this:
"Day and night, from childhood to old age, sick or well, asleep or awake, men and women think.  The brain works like the heart, ceaselessly pulsing.  In its three pounds' weight of tissue are recorded and stored billions upon billions of memories, habits, instincts, abilities, desires and hopes and fears, patterns and tinctures and sounds and inconceivably delicate calculations and brutishly crude urgencies, the sound of a whisper heard thirty years ago, the resolution impressed by daily practice for fifteen thousand days, the hatred cherished since childhood, the delight never experienced but incessantly imagined, the complex structure of stresses in a bridge, the exact pressure of a single finger on a single string, the development of ten thousand different games of chess, the precise curve of a lip, a hill, an equation, or a flying ball, tones and shades and glooms and raptures, the faces of countless strangers, the scent of one garden, prayers, inventions, crimes, poems, jokes, tunes, sums, problems unsolved, victories long past, the fear of Hell and the love of God, the vision of a blade of grass and the vision of the sky filled with stars."