Photo-finish Friday: hello, goodbye

 

Here's my last hello-goodbye to LA. The move transpired on Monday and the boxes in the garage are slowly getting unpacked. O, for the day when everything would fit into a Volkswagon.

The snap above is from the days when home used to be an apartment near Venice Beach. It's just sunrise and the crowds have not yet descended. That's my shadow at the bottom (in sweats, not a tent). Behind me are the last yards of Washington Boulevard before it arrives at Venice Pier. In the far distance are the Santa Monica Mountains rising above Malibu. At the far right is the life guard station, where we went to vote on election days.

The pier itself I'll miss. A fishing pier rather than an amusement pier, it was for walkers and fishermen and their families all day and into the night. The sighing of the surf and the ocean breeze were a constant solace, and you could lean on the railing watching surfers, who were a never-ending lesson in patience. Venice was not a great surfing beach, but they'd be out there tirelessly waiting, waiting for The Wave, living in hope, undiscouraged. The blissful, unhurried masters of doing nothing.

Photo-finish Friday is the bright idea of Leah Utas over at The Goat's Lunch Pail.

William R. Lighton, Uncle Mac’s Nebrasky (1904)

William Rheem Lighton (1866-1923) grew up, as one source says, “mostly in Nebraska” during the early decades of statehood. He appears as himself in this novel, though only as the “Billy” to whom the Uncle Mac of the title tells his tales. These all occur in the 1850s and 60s around Omaha and along the Platte valley.

A young man given to adventuring and little thought of risk, Mac gets himself involved with horse thieves, Indians, homesteaders, and even John Brown and the Underground Railway. He works for a time as a freighter between Omaha and San Francisco. During the war between the states, he spends some time in the U.S. Cavalry, escorting prairie travelers and providing protection from the Sioux.

The book is a character sketch of a man remembering the good old days. Each chapter is a different episode or collection of them. What they add up to is his main argument, that the pioneers in the territory did just fine without “civilization.” They were basically trustworthy, self-sufficient folk who didn’t need rules and laws to run their lives.  

Book illustration by W. H. Dunton

Code of the West. Mac himself is a living example of that breed, “staunch, fearless, strong, steadfast.” Being a man of the outdoors has made him healthy in body and mind. Whether in a fistfight or giving a man the coat off his back, “the need of the occasion is his sole guide in conduct.” Desiring neither wealth nor power, he has lived “for the pure joy of life itself.”

Like Will Rogers, he seems never to have met a man he didn’t like. People are mixtures of good and bad, he says, which seems to be what the good Lord intended. Even a horse thief has a “native sense of integrity.” His first story is about being deputized to bring in a half-deadbeat by the name of Turk Wesley, who’s been running off horses from the local Pawnee.

Mac gets his man but is unlucky enough to get shot in an exchange of gunfire with the Indians. Honoring the code of the West without a second thought, Turk takes the wounded Mac to a settlement where there’s a doctor. Problem is, Turk has been thieving from the folks there, too, so he knows he’s taking a big risk. When Mac recovers weeks later, he learns that the residents have caught Turk and he’s met his end. A “born fool,” Mac says, but not without integrity. 

Crime in early western fiction

Cover, 1902 edition

This may seem like a stretch, but the early western novel is more than a little about crime and criminals. I’m talking here specifically about the flood of novels that followed the huge popular success of Owen Wister’s The Virginian (1902).

The scores of writers of these westerns are unknown today except for Zane Grey. Most of them (again, with the exception of Grey) are as good as Wister. Many had long careers in the pulps and in hard cover, their stories often made into Hollywood films.

The essential themes of the western are on full display in The Virginian, and that includes an interest in the criminal mind. Wister’s imitators followed suit, inventing the genre as they went. So let’s start with Wister.

Trampas, the villain of the novel, qualifies on many counts as a sociopath. The historical West had its share of misfits, which is often how they got on the frontier in the first place. And Wister, writing from first-hand knowledge, didn’t have to dream up this bad guy.

Trampas is a cauldron of barely contained rage. Meanwhile, he can competently hold down a job as a cowboy – not an easy occupation. Still, engaged in a continuing battle of wits with our hero, the Virginian, he carefully avoids open conflict. He backs down when challenged with "When you call me that, smile" [Illustration at left].

Wister, Harvard-educated and from a prominent Philadelphia family, is curious about what makes such a man. In the characters of Steve and Shorty, he shows how two men are corrupted by their association with Trampas.

Both descend into thievery out of weakness of character, stealing horses and rustling cattle instead of working at an honest living. Steve, though he’s the Virginian’s long-time friend, is captured and hanged. Shorty could make a career of handling horses, which he has a gift for, but he's lured by Trampas' promises of easy money. Trampas then shoots him dead as the two men flee from the vigilantes, but with a single horse between them [Illustration below].

So far, the story has two elements that make it a western on the one hand and crime fiction on the other. It’s a western because it takes place on the “lawless” frontier. I put that word in quotes because there were in fact two kinds of law out there: duly constituted and something called the code of the West.

“Doc” (1971)

Yet another western about Doc Holliday, this one is both really good and really awful. Smack in the middle of early 1970s revisionism, it celebrates the famous friendship between Holliday and Wyatt Earp and then trashes it.

The amazing production design is way ahead of the script in its all-out effort to be true to history. You could believe at times you’re watching Deadwood, the sets, costumes, and the lighting look so authentic. The use of background music is nicely minimal, and the Mexican musicians playing in the saloon give Tombstone the feel of a real border town.

Plot. The script itself makes enough passing references to actual people and events to suggest an underlying familiarity with them. But the screenwriter slices and dices what’s known into a curious mix that’s plausible only for anyone who doesn’t give a hoot about history. [Bill Crider correctly notes that "Doc" was the work of writer Pete Hamill, who was a well respected journalist and novelist, about whom more can be learned here.]

Holliday (Stacy Keach) is on his last legs and - given violent coughing fits -  knows it. He and Kate Elder (Faye Dunaway) team up after he wins her from Ike Clanton in a card game. Crossing a desperate stretch of desert, the pair go separate ways once they get to Tombstone. He's there to meet up with old friend Wyatt Earp. She quickly finds work as a prostitute and wows the saloon crowd.

The movie shifts gears abruptly as Doc rents a house and decides to make an honest woman of her. Their scenes together are warmly lighted with the glow of Hollywood romance. Dunaway is her stunning self and doesn’t miss a beat. Big Nose Kate Elder would surely have been pleased and proud by her portrayal in the film - if not a little puzzled by the Better Homes and Gardens domestic side of her that love ignites.

Doc Holliday, before 1881

In the script’s defense, it should be said that it clarifies the medical background that provides Holliday with the title “Doc.” He was trained as a dentist, as he explains to Kate, and with a grin and a wink, the screenwriter has her ask his opinion of a gold tooth in her mouth.

And fair enough, they portray Wyatt Earp (Harris Yulin) as less than the admirable lawman of legend. He walks and talks tough as a law-and-order man, but he’s got plans to make a fortune in Tombstone. He intends to partner with his old friend Holliday by granting him free rein as a gambler. With his skill and his reputation, he will draw business like flies to a picnic.

Only Sheriff Behan in town is an obstacle, and Wyatt intends to put him out of office and take the job himself in the next election. In his efforts to this end, he enlists the help of the Clanton gang, who first beat the crap out of him and eventually back out of a crooked deal Earp masterminds. Their falling out leads to the gunfight at the OK Corral, in which the entire gang and Morgan Earp are shot dead.

Old West glossary, no. 13

Montana cowboys, c1910

Here’s another set of frontier terms garnered from turn of the century novels and stories I’ve been reading. Definitions were discovered in various online dictionaries, as well as searches in Cassell’s Dictionary of Slang, Dictionary of the American West, The Cowboy Dictionary, The Barnhart Dictionary of Etymology, and The Shorter Oxford English Dictionary.

arc light = light produced by an electric arc inside a bulb filled with gas, e.g. neon, argon, or xenon. “The man drew out a cigarette case that flashed in colors from the nearby arc-light.” Will Lillibridge, Ben Blair.

bad cess to = may evil befall. “‘Red Slavin, bad cess to him!’ and her eyes regarded her questioner with renewed anxiety.” Randall Parrish, Bob Hampton of Placer. 

Angold arc lamp, 1898

benedict = a newly married man, especially one who has been long a confirmed bachelor; from the character in Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing. “Your prediction sounds a bit strong from one who is himself a benedict.” Will Lillibridge, Ben Blair.

bulge = an advantage. “Of course them fellers has got the bulge; they kin starve us out, maybe they kin smoke us out, and they kin sure make things onpleasant whenever they git their long-range guns to throwin’ lead permiscous.” Randall Parrish, Bob Hampton of Placer.

duck on a/the rock = a children’s game of tag involving the pitching of stones at a rock. “‘Let's play duck on the rock,’ suggested Florence.” Will Lillibridge, Ben Blair.

fandango = a ball or dance. “We’ve got them fellers roped and tied, gents, and they simply won’t be ace-high with the ladies of this camp after our fandango is over with.” Randall Parrish, Bob Hampton of Placer. 

Meadow lark, 1919

fill your tea-kettle = bird song. “The meadow-larks, singly or in pairs, announcing their arrival with a guttural ‘tuerk’ and a saucy flit of the tail, or admonishing ‘fill your tea-kettle, fill your tea-kettle’ with a persistence worthy a better cause.” Will Lillibridge, Ben Blair.

ginger = enliven. “He tried to ginger things up a bit when he was new here.” Will Lillibridge, Ben Blair.

Jehu = a king of Israel known for riding his chariot furiously; a coach or cab driver who drives fast or recklessly. “She sat comfortably ensconced in the back seat of the old, battered red coach, surrounded by cushions for protection from continual jouncing, as the Jehu in charge urged his restive mules down the desolate vally of the Bear Water.” Randall Parrish, Bob Hampton of Placer.

overhaul = to catch up with, overtake. “I didn’t know that we’d fail to overhaul you.” Hamlin Garland, The Moccasin Ranch.

owly = cranky, uncooperative, negative. “Every minute is valuable now. The outlook is owly.” Hamlin Garland, The Moccasin Ranch. 

Pasteboard book cover

pasteboard = thin card stock produced by pasting together three or more sheets of paper; used for playing cards. “The man at the left, tall, gaunt, ill-kempt, flicked the pasteboards in his hand to the floor and ground them beneath his heavy boots.” Will Lillibridge, Ben Blair.

plead the baby act = plead ignorance or inexperience as an excuse for a mistake or wrongdoing. “Of course I believe ye. Not that you’re any too blame good, Bob, but you ain’t the kind what pleads the baby act.” Randall Parrish, Bob Hampton of Placer.

pre-emptor = someone who acquires or uses land without permission. “Three months dragged out their slow length before the pre-emptors could file and escape from their claims.” Hamlin Garland, The Moccasin Ranch.

rack-a-bone = an emaciated person or animal, a skeleton. “I was on my way to the store, but when I saw his old rack-a-bone team, I turned off to see you.” Hamlin Garland, The Moccasin Ranch.

scantling = a timber of relatively slight width and thickness, as a stud or rafter in a house frame. “Bailey went out to the front of the shanty to look at the lantern he had set up on the scantling.” Hamlin Garland, The Moccasin Ranch. 

Shot tower, by Jesster79

shot tower = a building formerly used in the production of shot, in which molten lead was dropped from a great height into water, thus cooling it and forming the shot. “Hills twenty, thirty miles away rose like apparitions, astonishingly magnified. Willows became elms, a settler’s shanty rose like a shot-tower.” Hamlin Garland, The Moccasin Ranch.

straddlebug = tripod commonly constructed of three planks of wood with a settler’s name attached to notify others that a plot of land was being claimed. “And so at last they came to the land of ‘the straddle-bug’ – the squatters’ watch dog – three boards nailed together (like a stack of army muskets) to make a claim.” Hamlin Garland, The Moccasin Ranch.

strawboard = a coarse yellow cardboard made of straw pulp; used in hardcover bookbinding. “Mr. Demilt had written to his firm explaining the advantages of starting a straw-board factory in Fairfield.” Henry Wallace Phillips, Red Saunders.

tidy = a small covering, usually ornamental, placed on the backs and arms of upholstered furniture to prevent wear or soiling; an antimacassar. “It’s more fun than working red poppies on tidies – that’s about all they’ll let you do back East.” Hamlin Garland, The Moccasin Ranch. 

Weary Willie (far right), 1898

Weary Willy = tramp character created by British cartoonist Tom Browne (1870-1910). “I'm not a Weary Willie. I prefer to earn my dole first.” Will Lillibridge, Ben Blair.

yellow boy = gold coin; originally a gold guinea. “There’ll be another yellow boy waiting when you come.” Randall Parrish, Bob Hampton of Placer.

Image credits: 
Weary Willie, lambiek.net

All others, Wikimedia Commons:
Meadow lark illustration from The Burgess Bird Book for Children by Louis Agassiz Fuertes (1874-1927)
Pasteboard prayer book cover by By Wikipedia Loves Art participant "shooting_brooklyn"

Coming up: “Doc” (1971)

Charles Gramlich, Killing Trail

Thanks to Louis L’Amour for inspiring Charles Gramlich to turn his hand to the writing of western stories. He brings to life a sharp sensibility for L’Amour’s kind of hero, with a clean, elegant style of writing. Like his heroes, it never fusses over niceties or formalities and cuts, without apology, right to the chase.

Which is not to say his stories are all about chases. But there’s an unrelenting forward movement in them, an intensity that doesn’t let up. The man at the center of each story is driven by determination – to survive, to repay injustice, maybe even win the heart of a woman.

Most of the time, this means going it alone, against all odds. To journey with a Gramlich hero is to know the loneliness of the solitary horseman on a perilous mission. At almost any moment, he can kill or be killed. And for the most part, there is no one to miss him or even bury him should he fail.

Gramlich's stories navigate well the broad stream of western fiction that pits the lone gunman against villainy and treachery. The values he upholds are the uncompromising ethic of free men defending the rights of honorable men and women to live freely in the world. Where violence is used to subvert those rights, violence inevitably must come to the rescue.

These stories capture that world without a single misstep. Reading them, you take pleasure in the writer’s mastery of the genre. If you haven’t yet treated yourself to Gramlich’s way with a western story, you can find Killing Trail now for both the kindle and the Nook.

And prepare to read them just one at a time. They have that kind of impact.

Coming up: Old West glossary, no. 13

Photo-finish Friday: hello, goodbye

 

This is our last Friday in West LA and the second to last hello-goodbye. I snapped this not long ago while waiting for the No. 1 Culver City bus (Fairfax to Venice). It's the back of a bus stop bench, decorated to a fare-the-well by taggers. I would translate if I could, but I don't know the lingo.

Travel by bus in LA is probably like nowhere else in the world. About the only thing you can confidently say about bus passengers is that they are never from Beverly Hills. After that, there are a million and one different stories, one for every person who's ever had to get somewhere without a car.

Ear plugs are handy most hours of the day. Besides people yakking on cell phones, there's in-transit TV, ear-piercing beeping each time the front entry platform gets lowered and raised for folks in wheelchairs, and the automated recordings before, during, and after every stop: "Stop requested; please use rear exit"; "Approaching Sepulveda Boulevard and Santa Monica Boulevard"; "Please have fare ready."

The cheerfully pleading tone of that last one always put my teeth on edge. And riders forever shunned the rear exit in favor of walking back to the front, to block the way for any passengers getting on.

But if you ignore all that and pay attention, you can witness things that are rife with human comedy (and the occasional melodrama). Like the guy across the aisle from me once who tried talking to the guy behind me, who was having one of those off-his-meds one-sided conversations. And he just kept on talking to himself, until the first guy got angry and finally said, "How come you'll talk to somebody who isn't there, but you won't talk to me?"

I will miss those moments. . . but not much else.

Photo-finish Friday is the bright idea of Leah Utas over at The Goat's Lunch Pail.