Butch Cassidy & The Sundance Kid

Thanks to True West Magazine for this content – the original post can be found here

Butch & Sundance & Pike & Dutch

Butch & Sundance & Pike & DutchHow two films from the summer of ’69 changed Westerns forever.

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Director Sam Peckinpah’s legendary choreography of (l.-r.) Ben Johnson, Warren Oates, William Holden and Ernest Borgnine’s “walk down” in the The Wild Bunch iconically set up the film’s violent climax.
— Courtesy Warner Bros. —

Every period picture, consciously or not, reflects two periods, the time in which the story is set, and the time the film is made. Half a century ago, in the summer of 1969, the tumult of the times was inescapable. The “Summer Of Love” of 1967, when hippies and flower-power and LSD were supposed to save the world, had been followed by the ghastly 1968, with the assassinations of Martin Luther King, Jr. and Bobby Kennedy, riots at the Chicago Democratic Convention, the seemingly endless Vietnam War and, good or bad, the election of President Richard M. Nixon.

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In The Wild Bunch, director Sam Peckinpah juxtaposed Pike Bishop’s outlaw brotherhood against the railroad company’s notorious bounty hunters (standing l.-r.): Strother Martin, Bill Shannon, Robert Ryan, Bill Hart, L.Q. Jones; (kneeling, l.-r.) Buck Holland, Paul Harper and Robert “Buzz” Henry.
— Courtesy Warner Bros. —

Out of this maelstrom came two Western movies. Each was directed by a TV-trained World War II Marine veteran, each budgeted at the then princely sum of about $6 million, and fictionally recast and enlarged the legendary story of Butch Cassidy’s Hole-in-the-Wall Gang, a.k.a. The Wild Bunch. At the box office, Butch would earn $102 million, four Oscars and three more nominations. Wild Bunch would earn $638,000, two Oscar nominations, and no awards. Two of the finest films of the 20th century, their popularity today is far greater than when they were made, and their influence on films released since is incalculable.

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Director Sam Peckinpah (above, center in chair) employed six cameras, including on a barge with a crew on the river, to capture the stunning—and very dangerous—stunt of the bridge (top) blowing up and the men and horses falling into the river in The Wild Bunch.
— Photo by Paul Harper, courtesy of Nick Redman and Jeff Slater —

Although the two stories have remarkably different tones, the historical inspirations for the plots are remarkably alike. In the early 1900s, an outlaw gang learns in the midst of a hold-up that they’ve been set up; a railroad magnate has spent a small fortune to assemble a super-posse to track them down and kill them. The posse in Butch is a faceless enemy. In The Wild Bunch they are a big part of the story, led by former associate Deke Thornton (Robert Ryan). The gang flees south of the border. In Bunch, the gang stays together, goes as far as Mexico, and becomes involved with revolutionaries. In Butch, the gang splits up in the U.S., and Butch, Sundance, and Etta flee all the way to Bolivia, and restart their criminal careers.

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The Wild Bunch bridge set.
— Photo by Paul Harper, courtesy of Nick Redman and Jeff Slater —

The longer gestation was for Butch. Novelist, playwright and screenwriter William Goldman started researching the life of Cassidy in the late 1950s. He wrote his first drafts while teaching at Princeton. As he recalls in his book Adventures in the Screen Trade, “The Wild Bunch consisted of some of the most murderous figures in Western history. Arrogant, brutal men. And yet, here running things was Cassidy. Why? The answer is incredible but true: People just liked him.” Goldman loved that while Sundance was a brooding killer, Butch had never even injured anyone during his outlaw career. Goldman had already had success in Hollywood with 1966’s Harper, the Paul Newman detective film, when producer Paul Monash bought the Butch script for $400,000, the highest price paid for a screenplay at that time. It’s frequently been called the best screenplay ever written. It won the Oscar.

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Despite being sick during much of The Wild Bunch’s production, veteran actor Edmund O’Brien (left) with leading man William Holden gave one of his greatest and most memorable performances as the wily outlaw Freddie Sykes.
— Courtesy Warner Bros. —

The Wild Bunch was the brain-child of stuntman and Marlboro Man-model Roy Sickner. While not a writer, he’d worked in many Westerns, including Nevada Smith and Peckinpah’s ill-fated Major Dundee. He had an idea for a Western about some outlaws who move down to Mexico to escape the law, and get into more trouble. Though more about action than plot and characters, Peckinpah was encouraging, as was Sickner’s drinking buddy Lee Marvin, a big star since his 1966 Best Actor Oscar for Cat Ballou, who attached himself to the project. Katy Haber, who worked with Sam Peckinpah in various production roles on eight movies, says the story really took shape when Sickner teamed up with young screenwriter Walon Green. “It had been a Civil War film, but it was Walon Green who placed it in the Mexican revolution.” Green, a Beverly Hills kid, had visited Mexico on a nature program as a teen, and fell in love with the country and its people. He went to college in Mexico City, and absorbed the nation’s history. Though then a writer with no movie credits, he had talent and knowledge, and when he teamed with co-writer Peckinpah, they shaped the screenplay into something magnificent.

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The Wild Bunch movie poster.

Sam Peckinpah was on shaky ground when The Wild Bunch came along. Ride the High Country had been a sleeper hit, especially overseas. But his follow-up, Major Dundee, with 42 minutes slashed from Sam’s cut, was not the film he meant it to be, and it bombed. Next, he began directing Steve McQueen in The Cincinnati Kid, but was fired after a week for filming an unscripted nude scene. He was hired to write and direct Villa Rides!, but when star Yul Brynner complained that Villa wasn’t coming off as heroic enough, Peckinpah was replaced by writer Robert Towne and director Buzz Kulick. He hadn’t directed in two years.

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Actor Warren Oates (above, right) receives direction from director Peckinpah during the filming of The Wild Bunch’s iconic and violent conclusion. Oates was a favorite of the director, co-starring or starring in four of Peckinpah’s pictures
— Courtesy Warner Bros. —

George Roy Hill also had his troubles. Robert Crawford Jr., who would produce eight movies for Hill, and describes himself as “Sancho Panza to his Man of La Mancha,” recalls, “George got fired off Hawaii three times. And he was let go in post-production on Thoroughly Modern Millie.” But unlike Peckinpah’s situation, “Millie was a terrific success. So was Hawaii, and his agent then sent him Butch Cassidy.” Paul Newman and Steve McQueen had been cast as the leads, but with Newman as Sundance. “George [tells] Newman, ‘You’re not right for Sundance. You should be playing Butch.’ Newman says, ‘This is kind of comedy, and I don’t do comedy well.’ George said, ‘No, this is a tragedy, and you’ll be terrific as Butch.’ He convinced Paul to take Butch. McQueen said, ‘That’s great, but I don’t want to play Sundance.’” It may seem surprising that Robert Redford wasn’t the natural choice for Sundance, but until Butch made him a star, he was considered a light comedy actor, not a dramatic lead.

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The “Wild Bunch” in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid posed for posterity on location in Utah. They are (l.-r.) Timothy Scott, Robert Redford, Ted Cassidy, Paul Newman, Dave Dunlop and Charles Dierkop.
— Courtesy 20th Century-Fox —

Katharine Ross, who would play Etta Place, recalls, “The first script I got was called The Sundance Kid and Butch Cassidy.” She was a natural for Westerns. “I started riding when I was seven.” One of the last of the contract players at Universal, she’d guested on many Western series, and her first feature-film role was as James Stewart’s daughter in the anti-war Western Shenandoah. “I really got that because of the Gunsmoke I did that Andy McLaglen [who would also direct Shenandoah] directed.” She got the role of Etta in part because she’d become a star, and an Oscar nominee, for her wonderful performance opposite Dustin Hoffman in The Graduate. Also, as Hill noted in his audio commentary on Butch, “She came on the picture basically because I thought she was the sexiest girl I’d ever seen…just ravishingly beautiful.”

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Director George Roy Hill’s production of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid features dangerous and dramatic stunts, such as the dynamiting of the railroad express car.
— Courtesy 20th Century-Fox —

As the Wild Bunch script evolved, Lee Marvin began to have real doubts. Pike Bishop was becoming more and more like his character in 1966’s The Professionals, plus same locale, same uniforms; he didn’t want to be typed. When he was offered $1 million to co-star with Clint Eastwood in the musical Paint Your Wagon, he took it. That gave William Holden the chance to give the performance of his career. Fifty, but looking far more world-weary, Holden had been giving repetitive performances in mediocre films; he’d been convicted of manslaughter after a drunk-driving accident in Italy. He knew Pike Bishop’s desperation, when all you have left is pride. He wasn’t the studio’s first choice, but Peckinpah held firm. “You know, Ernie Borgnine wasn’t their first choice either,” Haber remembers. After his Oscar for Marty, he’d squandered his talent on dross like McHale’s Navy. “But Sam was emphatic. Proof is in the pudding in the film—that relationship was brilliant.”

Most of the rest of the cast was made up of Peckinpah regulars, all doing exceptional work. Among the gang were Warren Oates and Ben Johnson, both on the eve of stardom, as the Gorch brothers. As Paul Seydor, director of the Oscar-nominated The Wild Bunch: An Album in Montage, says, “Tell me another movie in which you believe two men are brothers more than in The Wild Bunch.” New to the Peckinpah fold was Bo Hopkins as Crazy Lee, the first of the Bunch to die, but about the last still living, and currently preparing to star in Hillbilly Elegy for Ron Howard. It was an unforgettable time in his life because, he says, “I got to work with my heroes. Bill Holden got me into two pictures. Ernest Borgnine became like a father to me till the day he died. Robert Ryan helped me do my first interview, because I didn’t know what to say.” He remembers preparing for the scene where he holds the railroad customers hostage, forcing them to march and sing hymns, “and Dub Taylor stayed up all night with me, helping me sing ‘Shall We Gather at the River,’ ’cause I hadn’t memorized the whole song.”

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The historic romance between outlaws Etta Place and the Sundance Kid was forever defined by actors Katharine Ross and Robert Redford in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.
— Courtesy 20th Century-Fox —

Between TV and movies, L.Q. Jones appeared in practically everything Sam Peckinpah did, here teamed with Strother Martin as bounty hunters who came off like a degenerate Abbott and Costello. Edmund O’Brien, Oscar-winner for The Barefoot Contessa, has a delightful turn as Freddy Sykes, a geezer who recalls Walter Huston in Treasure of the Sierra Madre, one of Peckinpah’s favorite films. L.Q. recalls, “Eddie was so ill all the way through the picture that I spent two weeks at Eddie’s place seeing they were feeding him right, that he was doing what the doctor told him to. Sam spaced his shooting out so Eddie didn’t have to work two days in a row. He was sweating blood, but he was getting the work done.” Remarkably, O’Brien would recover, and live another fifteen years.

Another great performance was delivered by Emilio “El Indio” Fernandez as Mapache, the terrifyingly erratic rebel leader. A unique figure in Mexican history, Fernandez was a star actor, director and a convicted killer. L.Q. remembers, “He was also a military hero for Mexico. He came in one day to get me, and I was studying at my Spanish. He loved it, so after that, every day I came to his place so he could teach me some more Spanish. But I was petrified of the man, because the first day on the show, he tried to kill a waiter for giving him the wrong food.”

katharine ross robert redford butch cassidy and the sundance kid bicycle ride true west magazine
Katharine Ross’s Etta Place and Paul Newman’s Butch Cassidy’s bicycle ride through the outlaws’ homestead hideout is one of the most iconic and light-hearted scenes of the comedic and iconic
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.
— Courtesy 20th Century-Fox —

The music from the two films could not have been more different. Jerry Fielding composed the score for Wild Bunch and five other Peckinpah films. W.K. Stratton, author of The Wild Bunch, the definitive book on the film, notes, “Jerry went to Mexico and researched the actual music that was being played during the revolution and then wrote his. The Wild Bunch has 85 minutes of music in it.” Fielding’s score was Oscar-nominated. Hill wanted a contemporary feel to Butch Cassidy, and that included the score by Burt Bacharach, which was focused on three lyrical music sequences. Crawford reveals that when Hill gave them the rough-cut to work with, he’d cut the famous bicycle scene to Simon and Garfunkel’s “59th Street Bridge Song,” a.k.a. “Feeling Groovy.” Bacharach would win Oscars for the score and the replacement song, “Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head.”

Ross reflects, “[One] of the most memorable parts, for me, is the bicycle ride. [It] was done with a very long lens and, and the only direction we got was whether we were going left to right or right to left across frame. So we were left to our own devices; it was very improvisational. It is very uncomfortable riding in an orchard on the handlebars
of a bicycle.”

That wasn’t the only uncomfortable situation for Ross on the shoot. She was watching cinematographer Conrad Hall, who would win the Oscar for Butch, shooting the sequence where the super-posse bursts from the train. “I was going with Conrad at that time.” He invited her to operate one of the cameras. “It was the last shot of the day. There were six cameras, and I was on camera six, an Arriflex on a McConnell head, just panning along. George Roy Hill decided to sit near the camera I was operating, but he never said anything. Back at the motel, the production manager said, you have a very angry director on your hands. I got banned from the set except when I was working.” Considering how male-dominated the Camera Union was at that time, Katharine Ross may very well have been the first woman to be a camera operator on a Hollywood movie.

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Robert Reford (left) and Paul Newman’s Sundance Kid and Butch Cassidy realize they are pinned in by the posse and only have one chance of escape—leaping into the river a hundred feet below—one of the awe-inspiring stunts of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.
— Courtesy 20th Century-Fox —

Lucien Ballard was Peckinpah’s cinematographer on The Wild Bunch and eight other shows, and his work was phenomenal. Notes Seydor, “He would set up four cameras and they would often be shooting at four different speeds.” This was particularly crucial for the elaborate shoot-outs at the beginning and end of the film, for which Peckinpah and editor Lou Lombardo masterfully alternated between standard speed and various degrees of slow motion, to make the viewer hyperaware of the destruction and slaughter. No action-film since The Wild Bunch has not been influenced by Ballard’s photography and Lombardo’s editing.

While the leads in both films die in the end, the filmmakers deal with it very differently. Peckinpah showed it in brutal detail. Hill did not want to see his heroes torn with bullets, and decided on a freeze-frame, with the audio of gunfire continuing. While the Wild Bunch’s last few speeches were dramatically terse, Butch and Sundance, even when mortally wounded, kid each other rather than talking about their dire situation.

Crawford remembers the first preview of Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid in San Francisco. “People were laughing right up to the end of the movie, when they were all shot up, and about to charge out. Everybody was elated, all the applause, all the executives saying, ‘It’s a winner! It’s wonderful!’ And George was that little guy with a cloud over his head. And he looked at me, and said, ‘They laughed at my tragedy.’”

Henry C. Parke, Western films editor for True West, writes Henry’s Western Round-uponline. His screenplay credits include Speedtrap (1977) and Double Cross (1994), and he’s done audio commentary on a fistful of Spaghetti Westerns.

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The Comanche and his Horse

Thanks to True West Magazine for this content – you can check the original post here https://truewestmagazine.com/comanche-horse/

The Comanche and his HorseThe acquisition of the horse in the 1600s brought immediate and sweeping changes to the Plains Indians.

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Comanche tribe members with their horses.

The acquisition of the horse in the 1600s brought immediate and sweeping changes to the Plains Indians. For the first time it gave them a wide range and mobility for hunting and military might. It brought about the most glorious period in their history. The Comanche were the first to acquire the horse referred to them as their “God Dogs.” They built an entire culture around them.

The Comanche became expert ropers and popular way to capture and break a young horse was to rope him, choke him to exhaustion and while the horse was down on the ground the captor would then blow his breath into the nostrils of the animal and remove the “wild hairs” around its eyes. A headstall or hackamore, a loop was placed around the jaw and tied at the neck. The horse would then be attached to a gentle mare. The warrior would then handle him enough to get him used to being around humans. After a few days he would be turned loose to be free but would remain with the mare, following her everywhere she went. When it came time to ride the handler would take the horse into deep water or a sand-bottomed creek to mount. This served to take some of the starch out of his bucking and make the landing softer if the horse succeeded in unloading its rider.

Capturing and breaking a wild horse was good but the Comanche was also an excellent horse thief and stealing them was developed into an art. Getting horses by plunder and especially under dangerous conditions gave the warrior an opportunity for valor and prestige. The Comanche raided for other plunder and scalps but more often than not he preferred to go on horse-stealing forays.

There were a lot of ways to break a horse and over time the Indians adopted some of the methods of the white man and vice versa. Kindness rather than cruelty was always the most effective way to break a horse.

They also practiced selective breeding, gelding the inferior males and breeding the best stallions with their mares.

Rival Plains Indians tribes noted the Comanche affinity for his mounts in their campfire stories noted that in time of danger a Comanche would bring his favorite horses into the tee pee and make his wives sleep outside. They also claimed that when a Comanche copulated with his wife he would mount her from behind and whinny like a stallion.

Artist George Catlin, who was one of the first to write about them wrote: “A Comanche is out of his element and comparatively almost as awkward as a monkey on the ground without a limb or a branch to cling to; but the moment he lays his hands upon his horse his face even becomes handsome and he gracefully flies away like a different being.”

William Blakemore, an Englishman spent eight years with the tribe left this description: “On foot slow and awkward, but on horseback graceful, they are the most expert and daring riders in the world. In battle they sweep down upon their enemies with terrific yells, and concealing the whole body with the exception of one foot behind their horses, discharge bullets or arrows over and under the animal’s neck and accurately. Each has his favorite war-horse which he regards with great affection and only mounts when he goes into battle. Even the women are daring riders and hunters, lassoing antelope and shooting buffalo.”

Boom Town Belles

Thanks to True West Magazine for this content – you can check the original post here https://truewestmagazine.com/boom-town-belles/

Boom Town Belles in the Old WestWhat kind of reception did the traveling sideshows or circuses or drama/theater groups receive?

Old West Theatre Performers Boom Town Belles True West Magazine
Lotta Crabtree.

What kind of reception did the traveling sideshows or circuses or drama/theater groups receive?  Were any of these financially successful?

They were very popular in the entertainment-starved West and the good ones made a lot of money. Shakespearean plays were always popular as was “Uncle Tom’s Cabin.” Citizens in the mining towns had money to spend and they loved to show the eastern cities how sophisticated and up to date they were.

Pretty women because were the most popular and many became very rich. Caroline Chapman was one of the first real actresses to head west. Following her first performance in San Francisco the audience carpeted the stage with poke sacks filled with gold.

Maria Eliza Rosanna Gilbert from Limerick, Ireland took the stage as the exotic Lola Montez. She could spin whoppers as good as any prospector. She had the dark, sultry beauty and exquisitely molded features of the women of Spain.  So, she invented a line of Spanish ancestors and a fraudulent girlhood spent in Seville. Another whopper she told was that she was the illegitimate daughter of Lord Byron.

In California, Lola became quite rich doing her famous “Spider Dance.” She performed the dance in Spanish costume with full, short skirts and flesh-colored tights.  The dance began with Lola wandering on stage then becoming entangled in a spider’s web. Suddenly she discovered a spider, (made of rubber, cork and whalebone) on her petticoat.  Attempting to dislodge the bug, she shook her petticoat furiously. On examining her skirts, she discovered other spiders and she shook her skirts with similar fury, revealing her tights.

During the 1850s this was daring to make the rowdy audiences shout “Higher! Higher!” as Lola searched beneath her skirts for the evasive spiders.  She’d kick a leg high into the air as if to squash a spider on the ceiling, and then she’d kick the other.

Finally she succeeded in shaking off all the spiders and stamped them to death on the floor.  Thunderous applause greeted her as she took her bows. She then stripped a silken garter off a shapely leg and tossed it into the audience.

In the mid-1850s Caroline became so annoyed with the attention given Lola Montez and her Spider Dance, she decided to burlesque the dance.  Her uproarious performances transformed Lola’s act from high sensuality to low comedy.

Lotta Crabtree was a pretty, red-haired Irish lass whose girlish innocence on stage made her rich. Whatever she lacked in talent she made up in image—a lamb among wolves and pure as the driven snow. She had an overprotective stage mother who, fearing they might steal the heart of her meal ticket, kept the wolves away.

As Lotta grew older, she took a fancy to smoking fancy cigarillos.  She also introduced gaminelike bits into her performances—showing off her knees by pulling off her stockings, rolling off divans with a flurry of lifted petticoats and wearing the briefest skirts.  She is believed to be the first actress to smoke on stage and the first to expose her bare legs on stage. She was the Shirley Temple of her time.

For thirty-five years, Lotta was the perennial little pet of the Western theater, and when she retired at the age of forty-four she still wore her red curls.  She lived alone with Mother, who had saved most of Lotta’s enormous earnings. After Mother died, it was too late for romance in her life. When Lotta died in 1924, she left behind a fortune of four million dollars that went to charity.

Adah Isaacs Menkens innocent appearance belied her wild and wicked lifestyle. Mark Twain wrote about her appearance in Virginia City in the play “The Mezappa” where she rode across the stage on a horse in a flesh-colored bodystocking that made her appear nude. Afterwards her adoring audience showered the stage with gold and silver.

These are but a few of the talented women who came west to “mine the miners.”

The Name Who Redeemed The Hamer Name

Thank you to True West Magazine for this content – you can check out the original post here https://truewestmagazine.com/john-fusco-highwaymen/

The Man Who Redeemed The Hamer Name Screenwriter John Fusco makes good on his pledge to set the record straight on the takedown of Bonnie & Clyde.

John Fusco The Highwaymen True West Magazine
John Fusco, on right, shakes hands with Frank Hamer Jr. outside the former Texas Land and Cattle Steak House, in Austin, Texas, with a pledge to “do right by my daddy.”

The story of The Highwaymen, the new Depression-era Western from Netflix, has been a thirty-year obsession for author John Fusco.  “Those old photos of Barrow and Parker, leaning on their stolen 1932 Ford V8 Sedan, downright haunted me.” His investigation revealed that the real Bonnie and Clyde were the antithesis of romantic Faye Dunaway and Warren Beatty, and the real hero of the story was the Texas Ranger who ran them down. “As I researched, I became fascinated by Frank Hamer, one of the greatest lawmen of the 20th century, and I was really disturbed [by] his portrayal in this classic movie.”

Hamer is the lawman the outlaw duo capture, photograph and humiliate in the press, motivating him to hunt down and kill them. It never happened: Hamer and the Barrow gang never ‘met’ until the brief moment when Hamer tried to get them to surrender before opening fire. “[He’d] been shot 17 times over the course of his career, had killed over 50 men. He’d patrolled the border on a horse, with a Winchester. He was an old-time Ranger, in an era that had passed him by.” That is until Texas Governor “Ma” Ferguson (played in Highwaymen by Oscar-winner Kathy Bates) reluctantly asked Hamer to come out of retirement to get the Barrows.

John Fusco The Highwaymen True West Magazine
John Fusco.

 The story simmered on the back burner until fifteen years ago, during the shooting of Fusco’s Hidalgo in the Mojave Desert. “Producer Casey Silver asked me what my passion projects were, and I told him about Frank Hamer. Coincidentally, we were staying at Whiskey Pete’s Casino Hotel where the actual Bonnie and Clyde death car was on display.” Silver was quickly onboard.

Fusco wanted the cooperation of the family, but the Hamers, who’d won a settlement from Warner Brothers for defamation, weren’t talking. “Frank Jr. like his father had been a Texas Ranger, one of the last of the flying game wardens, hunting down poachers from a Cessna plane. I happened to have a few game warden contacts; I did ride-alongs in three states.” They interceded for Fusco, and a meeting was set.  At a lunch of mostly bourbon, Fusco convinced 86-year-old Frank Jr. of his righteous intentions. “We walked out into the sun. He said, ‘I only ask one thing: to do right by my daddy.’ He had his friend take a [picture] as we shook hands, and he said, ‘Here’s our contract right here.’”

Fusco’s initial dream-cast to play Hamer and partner Maney Gault were Robert Redford and Paul Newman. Redford got the script first. “He said, ‘Don’t send the script to Paul. I’m going to bring it to him and I’m going to make sure that we do this. After Butch and Sundance and The Sting, [this] will be a perfect last one for us to do together.’” Newman signed on, and the new pairing was the talk of Hollywood. Sadly, Newman was soon too ill to work, and the deal fell apart.

John Fusco The Highwaymen True West Magazine
Scenes from the forthcoming (pictured above and below) “The Highwaymen,” starring Kevin Costner as Frank Hamer and Woody Harrelson as Maney Gault.

Fast-forward a dozen years, to Netflix, where Fusco is writing and producing the Marco Polo series, and Casey Silver is making Godless. Director John Lee Hancock had long been a supporter, “We knew there had been interest from Kevin (Costner), and Woody (Harrelson) had been circling it for quite a while. Casey called me and said, ‘You’ve got a relationship with Netflix; I do now.  What about taking Highwaymen to them?’ And bingo: they were on board and we were off to the races.”

Fusco grew up on his father’s farm in rural Connecticut, dropped out of high school to ride the rails, then got a G.E.D., and went to NYU Film School. Screenwriting teacher and Oscar-winner Waldo Salt took Fusco under his wing. “He had hoboe’d with Woody Guthrie. We were kind of kindred spirits. He got behind my work and I just idolized him.” His Bachelor’s thesis script became the 1986 movie Crossroads. Then Fusco defied all his agents’ entreaties to do something commercial, and wrote a Western, although, “A Western had not made money since Butch Cassidy.” Young Guns was a hit, as was Young Guns  2, beginning the genre revival that lead to Dances With Wolves, Tombstone, and Deadwood.

John Fusco The Highwaymen True West Magazine

“Working with the ‘Young Guns’ was great,” Fusco recalls, “but working with the ‘Old Guns’, that was the career highlight. We were casting Lawrence Murphy. I said I wrote it as Jack Palance and everybody looked at me like, he’s still alive? And so they reached out. He’s retired, he’s happy, he’s not reading anything. I said, don’t give up. Tell him this Western’s being made with all these young guys, and we want the old guard, the icons of the American Western to take on the ‘brat pack on horseback’. He read the script and came out of retirement. From there he’d go on to win an Academy Award. I think of being down on the Mexican border during Young Guns II, drinking tequila with Kiefer Sutherland, Emilio Estevez, Lou Diamond Phillips, James Coburn, and Christian Slater. James said, ‘You know, that Emilio, that’s the best (expletive) Billy the Kid there’s ever been.’ He said, ‘I played opposite Kristofferson. Kris is a good actor. But he was a pacifist. He never aims his gun directly at anybody. But Emilio, he just breathes life into the character. That’s what made me want to do this.’”

John Fusco The Highwaymen True West Magazine

“There are projects that get offered to me, and I’ll say to my wife, I just can’t find my way into this. She always says the same thing to me: think of it as a Western. As soon as I do that, I’ve got it. The Western’s in my blood and it always will be. I’ve been reading True West for years, and it’s such an honor being [named] True Westerner of the Year, it’s just so meaningful to me, as is The Highwaymen. After this 30-year dream of telling the story of Frank Hamer, I’m making good on my word, and helping to keep the interest in the west and the Western going.”

Jack Swilling

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Jack Swilling might well be called Arizona’s “Forrest Gump” because seems to have had a penchant for being involved in a number of historic events in Arizona’s early history.

In 1858 he was a prospector at Gila City, site of the first gold rush. When Tonto Apache and Yavapai Indians raided the new camp, Jack was elected leader of a group of rangers whose mission was to protect the prospectors.

A couple of years later he was in Pinos Altos, New Mexico, where miners were being attacked by Mimbres Apache under the leadership of the great chief Mangas Colorados. Jack was elected lieutenant of a militia group who called themselves the Arizona Rangers.

During that time the Civil War broke out Southern forces from Texas invaded New Mexico and the rangers were drafted into the Confederate Army. Lieutenant Jack Swilling joined a force of some 100 Texans who arrived in Tucson and created the Confederate Territory of Arizona. Jack was familiar with the land and proved invaluable assisting the Texas guerilla tactics along the Gila River trying to impede a Union force of some 2,000 troops from California who were coming to retake Arizona.

The Union forces vastly outnumbered the Rebs and in a few weeks, drove them out of the New Mexico Territory. Jack remained in New Mexico where he was recruited by the great mountain man and explorer, Joe Walker, to guide them into the unknown central mountains of Arizona.

Walker’s party was looking for gold in an area where few white men had ever dared to travel. At Pinos Altos, near today’s Silver City, New Mexico, they encountered Jack’s old nemesis, Mangas Colorados and his Mimbres Apache. During a parley, Jack managed to get the drop on the old chieftain and turned him over to the Union troops occupying New Mexico.

Following the encounter with the Mimbres Apache Jack would guide the Walker party up the Hassayampa River where, in 1863, they discovered rich deposits of gold that led to the founding of Prescott a year later. That same year Arizona became a territory and Prescott was chosen to be the capital city.

Jack also became a founder of another rich gold strike near the Hassayampa, Wickenburg. He was also with the party that found gold at Rich Hill, a few miles north of Wickenburg. It was the richest single gold strike in Arizona history.

Then in late 1868 he led another group into the Salt River Valley. This time they weren’t looking for gold but for farm land. With mining camps and military post springing up there was a great need for farm products. They cleaned out the ancient canals originally dug by the Hohokam Indians some 1,500 years earlier and by 1870 a new community rising out of the ashes of an old civilization the future capital city of Phoenix was born.

Jack Swilling is a name that goes almost unrecognized by Arizonans today. Much of what is known about him today comes from tall tales, lies and half-truths. He was a tall, powerful man, brave, generous to a fault, a wonderful family man and for the most part was respected by his contemporaries. Swilling was the stuff of legends and certainly deserves a better place in history.

Cole Younger

Thanks to True West Magazine for this content – the original article can be found here

https://truewestmagazine.com/cole-younger-american-outlaw/

 

Cole Younger, American Outlaw The toughest outlaw who ever lived.

Cole Younger True West Magazine
Illustration of Cole Younger.

Cole Younger has to be the toughest outlaw who ever lived. In addition to having 11 slugs in his body, Cole had to guide his horse with his knees after a Northfield Raid defender shot away the reins to his bridle with birdshot. Pursued by more than 1,000 farmers hungry for the reward ($10,000), Cole and his two brothers were captured at Hanska Slough and taken to nearby Madelia, Minnesota.

After a two-week run in the constant rain, utilizing old newspapers as bandages on multiple wounds and wading through swollen rivers, the outlaw leader finally removed his boots.

“And then my toenails fell off….”

—Cole Younger, remembering his capture on September 21, 1876

What follows is how all this came down.

Cole Younger True West Magazine
“Those gentlemen will bear watching.” —Francis Howard, who follows the duster-clad riders across the iron bridge.
— Illustrations by Bob Boze Bell —

The Battle of Northfield: James-Younger Gang vs Townsmen of Northfield

September 7, 1876

t’s just past 2 p.m. when three horsemen, wearing matching white linen dusters, dismount in front of the First National Bank in Northfield, Minnesota. After tying their reins to hitching posts, they stroll to the corner (see Phase One map), sit on some dry goods boxes and exchange pleasantries with several locals.

Two more horsemen, also wearing linen dusters, approach Division Street from the south. Several minutes later, three more horsemen, dressed in matching dusters, cross the iron bridge and stop in the center of Mill Square. The three men seated on the corner stand up, walk back to the bank and then go inside.

Two mounted men, who came from the south, pull up in front of the bank. One of them, Cole Younger, says under his breath, “You’d better close the door,” and the riders both dismount. His partner Clell Miller leads his horse to the bank door and shuts it. In the middle of the street, Cole scans the roadway while pretending to tighten the cinch on his saddle.

Cole Younger True West Magazine
This shows a rarely published image of the Northfield battlefield, taken in 1876, the year of the attempted robbery. The view looks south on Division Street, straight into the scene of the fight. The Dampier House is on the left, with the third-story windows from which Henry Wheeler fires. On the far right is the staircase that A.R. Manning and other citizen shooters use to their advantage. Note the many wagons and lack of saddle horses.
— All photos courtesy Northfield Historical Society unless otherwise noted —

Several townsmen are suspicious of all these uniformed strangers, and one local, J.S. Allen, walks to the bank and looks in the window. His suspicions confirmed, Allen turns to go alert the other citizens when he is confronted by Miller, who has just closed the door. Grabbing Allen by the collar, the outlaw says, “You son of a bitch, don’t you holler.”

Allen breaks free and runs up the boardwalk, shouting, “Get your guns boys. They’re robbing the bank!”

Cole immediately mounts his horse and pulls his revolver, firing it in the air as a signal for the three horsemen in Mill Square to come quick—the gang has been discovered.

At almost the same instant, those outside hear a shot from inside the bank. The three horsemen from the square pull their pistols and ride into the engagement, firing and yelling at bystanders to “get in.”

Miller grabs the reins of his horse to mount up. As he steps into the stirrup, birdshot pellets fired by local Elias Stacy hit Miller in the face, and he falls backward to the ground. Another townsman, A.R. Manning, aims his single-shot Remington rifle and hits Bob Younger’s horse, which is tied in front of the bank. Struck in the neck, the animal drops in its tracks.

Cole Younger True West Magazine
This 1876 photo offers the most famous view of the bank and gunfight site. Note the lack of a hitching rail in front of the bank (which is how the site has been re-created today). Instead, the street has several hitching posts (see two behind buggy). These posts spread the outlaws’ horses away from the bank entrance and may help explain why Bob Younger runs to the back of the staircase (some historians speculate he was trying to get to his horse). As Bob attempts to draw a bead on A.R. Manning, he is shot by Henry Wheeler. Using his single-shot Remington rifle, Manning kills Bill Chadwell and Bob Younger’s horse, and he wounds Cole Younger in the hip.
— Remington rifle, below, courtesy EMF Co. —

Four horsemen ride back and forth, firing at any who dare to show their face. Instead of cowering, the locals come out with everything they have: Flintlocks, fowling pieces with mismatched ammunition, birdshot plunkers, frying pans and rocks. One pesky storekeeper even aims an empty pistol to draw fire and taunt the brigands.

A Swede named Gustavson, who doesn’t speak English, comes out of a cellar saloon and is shot in the top of his skull after failing to respond to one robber’s command. (He dies several days later.)

Suffering from his face wounds, Miller remounts and pulls out his pistols. As he turns his horse to ride up Division Street, he is hit again, the bullet severing the outlaw’s subclavian artery, and he falls to the ground in a heap.

Cole rides over to Miller and dismounts. Cole sees the blank stare of death stamped on Miller’s bloody face. As he leans over Miller, a bullet rips into Cole’s left hip.

The elder Younger grabs Miller’s two revolvers and remounts. Birdshot and buckshot whistle past his ears as Cole again rides to the bank door and pleads for the boys to leave. “I could not imagine what was keeping them so long,” Cole later says.

Hearing the incessant firing from the street and the multiple pleadings of Cole, the robbers inside the bank become increasingly desperate. (See “Inside the Bank” sidebar.)

Seeing a chance to escape, teller Alonzo Bunker dashes out the back door and is chased by Charlie Pitts. Firing twice, Pitts hits Bunker in the shoulder, but the banker escapes. With their plan unraveling at every turn, the outlaws finally heed Cole’s third call and prepare to leave.

Outside, A.R. Manning bravely steps from behind the stairway at the corner of Scriver’s and takes quick aim at outlaw Bill Chadwell (a.k.a. Stiles). Chadwell topples from his horse, shot through the heart. (Manning is also the one who shot Cole in the hip.)

“For God’s sake come out,” Cole pleads from the doorway of the bank, more desperate than ever. “They are shooting us all to pieces.”

Cole Younger True West Magazine
America’s most famous outlaw brothers were photographed together for the only time in this image, taken after the Civil War, at the beginning of their outlaw careers. Fletch Taylor, a former guerrilla, stands far left, Frank sits center and Jesse stands left. Concerning hardware, Frank James states that he prefers Remington pistols because they are the “hardest and surest shooting pistol made.”
— Courtesy Robert G. McCubbin Collection —

Pitts, Bob Younger and Frank James finally emerge from the bank. The last robber to leave climbs on the counter, turns and fatally shoots a stumbling, semi-coherent Joseph Heywood in the head.

Bob runs to the corner to confront Manning and several other townsmen. (Some sources claim Bob is merely heading for his horse, which has already been shot dead by Manning.)

While Bob plays hide-and-seek with Manning through the openings of Scriver’s stairs, an upper-story shot from across the street rips into Bob’s right arm, breaking the bone at the elbow. Undeterred, he deftly shifts his pistol to his left hand and continues firing.

As the others flee, Cole rides directly into the line of fire to pick up his little brother. A bullet severs one of Cole’s bridle reins, forcing him to guide his mount with his knee and hand. As he turns his horse for Bob to climb aboard, Cole is hit in both the side and shoulder. His hat is also shot off. Another bullet rips away the back of his saddle. (One account reports Cole urges his brother to run, then picks him up a block away.)

The six wounded men give a meek rebel yell as they head south out of town. Although they have survived the Battle of Northfield, their painful ride has just begun.

Six Factors that Unhinge the Raid


The matched outfits (white linen dusters) immediately arouse suspicion among the townspeople.


Hardly anyone in that part of the country rides saddle horses (most use buggies or wagons); so the sight of eight, uniformed horsemen draws attention.


At the time of the shoot-out, it is hunting season, and many guns in Northfield are loaded and waiting. As Adelbert Ames later says, “Every old musket, shotgun and pistol was drawn from its hiding place.”


Although Jesse James and his men chose a rich target, they strike when too many locals are on the streets. Cole Younger later writes, “I remarked to [Clell] Miller about the crowd and said, ‘Surely the boys will not go into the bank with so many people about.’”


In the south, where most of the James-Younger heists were committed, the poor locals didn’t have much compassion for banks. Consequently, the posses that chased the gang gave up easily. But in Northfield, the outlaws encounter fierce resistance. Why? Everyone who shoots at them has money in the bank.


In later years, Cole admits that, unbeknownst to him, Charlie Pitts, Bob Younger and Frank James had drank a quart of whiskey before entering the bank. He concludes that their drinking was the “initial blunder at Northfield.” When the three robbers enter the bank, teller Alonzo Bunker smells the “stink of liquor” on them. The three bank employees undoubtedly feel they are dealing with three slow-thinking drunks, and in fact, they are. Once you consider the robbers’ actions inside the bank, in the light of being drunk, it all makes sense.

In the end, what can go wrong, does. What worked before, doesn’t. In seven short minutes, the lottery-driven dreams of Missouri’s premier outlaws are blasted to kingdom come in a hail of mismatched, ugly bullets.

Cole Younger True West Magazine
This bank interior photograph, taken after the robbery, shows the open vault at right; the door Alonzo Bunker runs through is at upper left. During the robbery, the wall clock stops at 2:10; it has never been reset.

Inside the Bank

Precious seconds turn to minutes as the three hapless bank robbers inside the bank become stymied by three bank employees playing dumb like a fox.

First, the robbers demand to know who is the cashier. But because the official cashier is out of town, all three employees honestly answer in the negative. Their response throws off the outlaws from the start, and things will only become worse.

Bookkeeper Joseph Heywood tells the bandits the safe is on a time lock and can’t be opened. It’s a lie. All the robbers need to do is turn the latch and the safe will open, but they never even try.

When one robber starts to go inside the vault to check it out, Heywood slams the door on him, bruising the outlaw. When the outlaw leader threatens him, Heywood yells at the top of his lungs, “Murder! Murder! Murder!”

Perhaps trying to shut him up, a robber cold-cocks Heywood with a pistol. The robbers then drag him inside the vault and try making him open the safe, but he’s unresponsive. The bandits even fire a bullet next to his head (the shot heard outside) to scare him, but it doesn’t work. Pulling a knife, one robber threatens to slit Heywood’s throat and then nicks the bookkeeper’s neck, but Heywood still won’t, or can’t, respond.

After teller Alonzo Bunker escapes, the thwarted outlaws get ready to leave empty-handed. A frustrated Bob Younger scoops up $26 and some change off the counter.

“The last robber to leave the bank,” Frank Wilcox later testifies, “leaped upon the cashier’s desk as he was leaving, and while he stood there, turned and shot Heywood as Heywood was staggering about the room in an effort to prevent himself from falling.”

Three Phases of the Gun Battle

Phase One

As the gang crosses the iron bridge, two by two, the townsmen begin to take notice. Frank James, Bob Younger and Charlie Pitts tie their horses in front of the bank and walk to the corner to sit on dry goods boxes. As soon as they see the Jesse James-led trio arrive in the square, the men get up, walk to the bank and go inside.

Phase Two

After J.S. Allen sounds the alarm, Cole Younger fires his warning shot, and Jim Younger, Jesse James and Bill Chadwell begin riding the perimeter of the square, demanding that bystanders “get in.” Within moments, the locals begin shooting at the riders.

Phase Three

As the seconds turn into minutes, the mounted riders are driven from Mill Square by gunfire directed at them from the Dampier House and from armed locals by the hardware stores. Choked off from the only bridge crossing, the gang retreats south out of town. They outlaws eventually cross a bridge in Dundas.

Aftermath: Odds & Ends

One of the mysteries surrounding the bank raid is where were the sheriff, the city marshal or lawmen of any kind? Local tradition says the chief of police hid in a dry goods box in the back of a store and didn’t emerge until after the battle. This legend has been disproved by author and researcher John J. Koblas, who adds, “There really weren’t any sheriff types in Northfield. It is believed the chief of police, Elias Hobbs, was involved in the battle.”

In their haste to flee the bank, the outlaws left behind a duster and a grain sack with the initials H.C.A. (What the initials stood for has never been solved.) In the street, the citizens found two dead men, a single spur and two pistols, one of them being an ivory-handled Colt .45. Bob Younger’s dead horse yielded a fine saddle (illustrated here), which is now prominently displayed in the Northfield Museum.

After the Youngers were captured at Hanska Slough, a Faribault doctor extracted the ball that was still lodged in Cole Younger’s hip and gave it to A.R. Manning, the man who had fired it. Manning carried it as a good luck charm for the rest of his life.

Cole Younger True West Magazine
“He’s our prisoner,” Cole Younger told a farmer the gang met on the road. “We’re taking him to jail.” “You’re going the wrong way,” the farmer said, pointing toward Faribault.
— Illustration by Bob Boze Bell —

Strange Stops on a Wayward, Wet Journey

South of Northfield, the gang paused along the banks of the Cannon River to cleanse their wounds. A local man, Philip Empey, came by with a team of gray horses, hauling rails. The robbers waylaid him and stole one of the horses for Bob Younger. As the gang rode across the Dundas Bridge, several locals yelled at them. One asked, “What are you doing with Phil Empey’s horse?”

In Dundas, eyewitnesses confirmed that one of the outlaws (probably Cole Younger) cursed at the others for not following orders and for being drunk. As the gang rode by, a St. Paul drummer (salesman) remarked, “If Sitting Bull was after you, you’d ride a little faster.” (George Custer’s final battle, June 26, was recent news.) One of the bandits heard the remark and pulled out his pistol, sneering, “Get in there, you son of a bitch.” The salesman got “in.”

A half-mile beyond Dundas, the gang stopped at a farm and asked for a pail of water. As Robert Donaldson procured a bucket, he inquired about the wounded rider. He was told the injured man had been shot by a “blackleg” in Northfield, and that the gang killed the assailant. The farmer asked the name of the man they killed. One of the men yelled, “Stiles,” which was outlaw Bill Chadwell’s alias.

A farmer driving a wagon crossed paths with the gang and noticed Cole and Jim Younger were riding on either side of their brother Bob, while holding him in the saddle. The farmer asked if the wounded man is a prisoner. One of the gang assured the farmer the man was their prisoner, and that they were taking him to jail. The perplexed farmer told them they are heading in the wrong direction. One of the outlaws turned, saying, “Oh no! We’re taking the right way.”

The gang traveled 11 miles in two hours. Beyond Millersburg, the men stopped a farmer and stole his horse, then stopped another farmer for his saddle, but the girth on this saddle broke, spilling Bob Younger into the road. Bob was once again put up to ride behind Cole, and the men kept going.

Responding to telegraph messages, 15 men from Faribault arrived in Shieldsville, ahead of the gang. Unfortunately, they retired inside Haggerty’s Saloon for some liquid courage and left their guns outside. The gang rode into town and stopped at a pump to take water for their horses and their wounds. Someone from inside the saloon tried to come out, but the gang buffaloed them and rode off shooting as they left.

The Faribault posse pursued the gang on the Old Dodd Road, firing at them as they ascended a hill. The gang returned fire. Charlie Pitts was thrown from his horse. As Pitts remounted, his saddle cinch broke, and he fell again. Pitts jumped up behind Bob Younger (whose horse was being led by Cole), and he and the rest of the robbers disappeared into the “Big Woods.”

A torrential downpour moved through the area. Heavy rains would continue on and off for two weeks.

Former Civil War Union Gen. Edmund Pope was put in charge of the robber roundup operation. He established command headquarters at Eagle Lake, and he stationed law enforcement officers, troops and volunteers on picket lines from the Wardlaw Ravine to the Waseca County line.

Surrounded near German Lake, the gang abandoned its horses, tied them to trees and took only their bridles. The men then slipped through the picket lines on foot and escaped.

On September 12, Faribault posse members found two of the outlaws’ horses about five miles north of Lake Elysian. They also found five saddles.

Two or three miles from Mankato, the gang discovered a deserted farmhouse and holed up for two days and two nights. Although they had slipped through several dragnets, they traveled less than 50 miles in five days.

Rewards for the robbers reached over $3,000 a man, and many in Minnesota and Iowa came down with “robber fever.”

The rain continued to fall. Old-timers claimed it is the wettest two weeks in memory. All the streams were swollen, bridges were out and the entire area was a quagmire. The weather worked in favor of the robbers because their tracks were immediately wiped out by the rain.

On September 13, a farm hand was kidnapped and forced to show the outlaws the way through Mankato and across the Minnesota River. “After about a mile,” Cole Younger later recounted, “we turned him loose.” Although the kid promised not to rat them out, the farm hand went to the sheriff and told all.

A posse jumped the gang near Minneopa Falls, but they escaped, barely. The gang left behind “part of a roasted chicken, some green corn, a hat and a rubber overcoat.”

Near Rush Lake, the robbers decided to split up. Jesse and Frank James
stole a horse and headed west, while the Youngers and Pitts headed southwest on foot.

At the edge of Linden Lake, a father and his son were milking cows out on the road (the driest place near their farm). When two of the outlaws, Jim Younger and Charlie Pitts, passed by, the boy, Oscar Sorbel, told his father he thinks the men were the Northfield bank robbers, but his dad was not convinced. “No,” Ole Sorbel replied. “They was nice men.” Oscar watched the two men disappear into the timber. After warning three neighbors, Oscar took the harness off a draft horse and rode the seven miles to Madelia, spreading the news.

Two separate posses converged on Hanska Slough and successfully blocked the Youngers’ escape route.

Cole Younger True West Magazine
This scrapbook example, with rope border, shows six of the eight robbers: dead Clell Miller and Bill Chadwell (from left, top row), dead Charlie Pitts and wounded Cole Younger (second row), and wounded Jim Younger and Bob Younger (third row).

The Six Who Won’t Get Away

Photographs of the captured Younger gang members will be widely sold for four bits. This photo collage of dead and captured robbers (right) will be printed as cartes de visite and collected and sold throughout the United States.

Lost Photo Mystery

Thanks to True West Magazine for this original content- you can check out the original post here https://truewestmagazine.com/crooks-scout-john-campbell-cooley/

Lost Photo of Crook’s Scout Discovered? An unseen stereoview by John Campbell Burge opens up the discussion.

John Campbell Burge Cooley Crook Scout True West Magazine
Does this John Campbell Burge stereograph, taken circa 1882, depict Corydon E. Cooley?
— All photos Courtesy Collection of Jeremy Rowe Vintage Photography, VintagePhoto.com —

John Campbell Burge is one of my favorite Territorial Arizona photographers. Though his work is less common than other early Arizona photographers, Burge had a fine touch with his stereoviews, capturing motion and the personality of his subjects, and creating aesthetically pleasing scenic images.

This is a brief story about a stereoview by Burge that I’d never seen before.

John Campbell Burge Cooley Crook Scout True West Magazine
Cooley shaking hands with an American Indian.

The “New” Burge Stereoview

Burge was an itinerant photographer. His first studio was the Phoenix Gallery on Montezuma Street in Prescott, which he opened in April 1881. He moved his operation briefly to Phoenix that summer, before returning to Prescott that fall.

In early 1882, he moved his studio to Globe and traveled throughout eastern Arizona to the mining communities and the San Carlos reservation.

In 1885, he moved to Flagstaff and formed a partnership with James Hildreth. Burge made images of northern Arizona for several years before moving east—first to Kingston, then to Deming, New Mexico Territory, at the end of the 1880s, then on to El Paso, Texas, in the 1890s.

John Campbell Burge Cooley Crook Scout True West Magazine
Cooley in later life.

The image of his I’d never seen before was on a yellow Burge mount, and it depicted a camp scene of six individuals, in front of a lean-to under the shade of a large cottonwood tree, with a seventh figure in front of a tent at the rear.

Three of the American Indians wear shell coats, and one wears a backpack. Three men, including the only white in the scene, lean on rifles. A young woman draped in a blanket kneels at the base of the tree. The individual on the right leans against a branch, posed to create a separation with the background to enhance the stereo effect.

The white gentleman wears a medal and is shaking hands with an older Indian who wears a headband. The photographer’s imprint on the mount is the only identification available, but the man looked familiar. A search of relevant figures in Arizona Territory at the time located a comparison image for Corydon Eliphalet Cooley. 

John Campbell Burge Cooley
An earlier view of Cooley can be seen in Dudley Flanders’s 1874 photo, showing Cooley in a white shirt, standing at far right in the rear.

Could This Be Cooley?

Cooley was born on April 2, 1836, in Loudoun, Virginia, and served in Company C of the 1st New Mexico Cavalry during the Civil War. His unit served on garrison duty and engaged in operations against Indians and Confederate forces in Arizona and New Mexico Territories. During the war, Cooley became knowledgeable with central and northeastern Arizona Territory, and the White Mountain Apaches who lived there.

After the war, Cooley located his home base, Cooley’s ranch, about 10 miles east of Camp Apache in Arizona Territory. Cooley’s special connection with the Apaches came to the attention of George Crook soon after the general arrived in the territory. Crook hired Cooley, whose relationship with the Apaches proved invaluable in recruiting scouts and guiding troops as they attempted to contain uprisings through the territory.

In 1874, Dudley Flanders took a stereo photo of Crook with his Apache scouts at Camp Apache. Cooley appears at the right group of men, standing at the rear, in a white shirt. Unfortunately, he moved during the exposure, so his face is blurred in the image, but he also has a beard and wears a hat similar to the man in the Burge image.

Burge took his stereo about eight years after the Flanders stereo, while Burge was working out of his studio in Globe, which places it during Crook’s second Apache campaign. Cooley retired from his service with Crook in November 1882 and returned to his ranch. If the stereo can be definitively dated before that date, it would increase the likelihood that Cooley is the scout depicted.

John Campbell Burge Cooley Crook Scout True West Magazine
After the Civil War, Cooley settled his ranch 10 miles east of Camp Apache in Arizona Territory, as shown in this photo taken by Timothy H. O’Sullivan. Cooley developed close relationships with the Apaches that led to him recruiting them as scouts for U.S. Army Gen. George Crook.

An Ongoing Challenge

Identifying individuals in historical photographs without provenance or definitively identified copies for comparison is an ongoing challenge. Understanding the format, mount style and information embedded within the image, as well as the context of the photographer who created it, provides extra ammunition for identification.

Unfortunately, the Burge image provides little information about the location where it was made. The subjects appear to be scouts in a camp with both an Apache-style lean-to and what appears to be a military-style tent at the rear behind the tree.

The white gentleman I believe to be Cooley is wearing a badge. Since the badge provides little detail, it does not aid in identifying the image or individual. Cooley was, however, appointed sheriff of Yavapai County in 1877, so if this is a sheriff badge, that could further increase the notion that this photograph depicts him.

A comparison with the Flanders image  and later images of Cooley shows a least a believable similarity in terms of facial characteristics, beard and style of head gear.

In the end, though, identification often boils down to beliefs.  Hopefully, this Burge stereo will encourage a lively discussion about the process of researching potential attributions.

Do you believe that the white scout in this image is Cooley?

Jeremy Rowe has collected 19th-century and early 20th-century photographs for more than 30 years. He has written several photography books and has curated museum exhibits, including a permanent one at Talking Stick Resort in Scottsdale, Arizona. He is emeritus professor at Arizona State University and a senior research scientist at New York University.