Time might cloud understanding of news reports from over 140 years ago, but items from the pages of the 19th Century Las Vegas (New Mexico) Gazette still catch my eye.

Hiding today from the 21st Century heat, I resumed my occasional research on croquet in territorial New Mexico. This was related to my ongoing interest with the Billy the Kid croquet controversy of 1878, or at least the Billy the Kid croquet photo controversy of 2015. (See previous posts. Links below).

BillyTheKiddetail

Photo blowup from original photo shown by Kagin’s and National Geographic special in 2015.

I did not find the advertisement I was seeking, reportedly offering croquet equipment for sale at Chapman’s general store in Las Vegas, New Mexico, in 1878. But I did find evidence that croquet was being played in the rough-and-tumble territory even before The Kid and fellow Regulators allegedly were photographed with mallets and balls — and a dandy striped cardigan in the Kid’s case — a couple of months after the Lincoln County War.

Screenshot_2019-07-03 31 Dec 1969, Page 1 - Las Vegas Gazette at Newspapers com(1)

For example:

“The person who picked up the glove on the croquet ground, west of the Catholic Church on the first day of this week, can have the other by calling this office,” the Las Vegas Gazette reported on June 19, 1875.

And, in Cimarron, 90-some miles away, gunplay at the St. James Hotel apparently wasn’t the only game in town in 1875. “Three full sets of croquet are kept constantly running at Cimarron,” the newspaper reported without much other explanation on July 24.

I discovered that the Las Vegas Gazette of the late 1800s, under editor J.H. Koogler, is full of other remarkable information.

If you are curious about the effect of historic land use practices in Sandoval County, for instance, you might find this July 24, 1875 item of interest: “Judge Otero, of Bernalillo, has just finished shearing 140,000 head of sheep.”

Without attribution, and with no clear context, the Gazette also reported that day that, “San Francisco, Cal., confirms one-third more liquor than Chicago .”

There were other notes that now offer historical insight:

“John D. Lee of Utah has turned states evidence and will make a full confession of all he knows in the Mountain Meadows massacre.”

“The wives and children of 60 Kiowa and Comanche Indians, captured on the Staked Plains, are to be transferred to St. Augustine, Florida, at government expense, where their husbands and fathers are now confined.”

The most curious report in the July 24, 1875 edition might be this one-line and possibly libelous statement under the heading General News:  “Robert Dale Owen is crazy.”

A few years later, the famous New Mexico lawyer-politico and reputed land acquisition specialist Thomas Benton Catron made this appearance in the July 13, 1878, edition.

Catron offered a $150 reward for a trunk that fell off a stage between Cimarron and Las Vegas, on the way to Santa Fe, sometime before April, 1878. He said the trunk weighed between 70 and 80 pounds and was stamped with his name and the words “Santa Fe, N.M.” The reward notice continued with Catron — in a possible precursor to the 21st Century Forrest Fenn treasure hunt — saying the trunk contained just a “number of deeds, of conveyance, Notes, Drafts &c.” that were “only of importance to me and my clients.”

I have not dug farther into the pages of the Las Vegas Gazette following the  loss of Catron’s trunk, but I’m guessing it probably was not returned, especially the deeds it contained.

There are many ads for general merchandise retailers, as well ads for lawyers, doctors and dentists. My favorite might be the ad for J.H. Shout, M.D.,  “wholesale and retail dealer in Drugs and Medicine.”

“All classes of fine liquors constantly on hand,” Dr. Shout’s ad noted.

Terse but dramatic reports from the chaotic Lincoln County War, father south, pepper the Gazette’s 1878 editions.

“The Dolan and Riley party seem to have the upperhand in Lincoln County; the McSween party has taken to the mountains.” the Gazette reported on July 13.

“Hell is popping around here,” said a letter to the paper, dated July 5, 1878. “Peppin is sheriff by appointment of Gov. Axtell. Buck Powell is duly appointed deputy sheriff, and is out with 13 men. McSween is in the field. He and some 15 to 20 men are at Chisum’s ranch … Numerous shots were fired; nobody hurt.”

Neither item mentioned that a bunch of people had already been killed, including Lincoln Sheriff William J. Brady and Deputy George W. Hindman in what have been called assasinations on Lincoln’s main drag on April 1 — one of the gunmen in the mix, the ubiquitous Billy the Kid.

The Kid also was around for the conclusive, five-day Battle of Lincoln, starting on July 15. Things had quieted down enough by September 1878 for the Kid and pals to supposedly pose for the croquet photo at the Tunstall Ranch, but other reports have them selling stolen livestock about the same time several hundred miles east in Tacosa, Texas.

billy the kid in texas

By the way, the Las Vegas Daily Optic, continuing today as the Las Vegas Optic, was founded in 1879, the year after the Lincoln County War.

I have run across more evidence of long-simmering Texas-New Mexico tensions, once again involving Billy the Kid — and this time Roy Rogers, too.

After a photo of Billy allegedly playing croquet emerged in 2015 — or a photo of someone wearing a cockeyed hat like The Kid — the Fort Worth-Star Telegram sniffed in an editorial: “Billy the Croquet Kid? Not much of an outlaw.”

BillyTheKiddetail

Expanded portion of photo handled by Kagin’s and featured in National Geographic TV special.

My own view is that the murderous Kid is highly overrated as a New Mexico legend. But he keeps cropping up. I keep writing about him too, but mostly because of the croquet scandal.

My most recent thoughts, though, involve a pre-croquet example of Kid fascination and a talking horse. I am never sure how unidentified flying thoughts actually enter my air space,  but I think these might have occurred after I caught a glimpse of the 1938 Roy Rogers flick, “Billy the Kid Returns.” Billy the Kid Returns poster

The title is tricky title because The Kid has already been shot dead by Pat Garrett and the plot really revolves around — it almost hurts me to say — good guy Roy being mistaken for bad guy Billy.

At any rate, I managed to scribble down this conversation between Roy Rogers and his talented palomino mount, Trigger. The snide implication is clear: Texas is always bigger and badder.

“What do you think of these New Mexico bad men, Trigger?” Roy asks.

Trigger shakes his head and neighs.

“You’re right,” Roy says. “They wouldn’t make common chicken thieves back in Texas.”

After being reminded of yet another Texas-related New Mexico put-down, make note of this: Both Trigger and the movie hail from California.

I now  look forward to finding the 1940 film “Billy the Kid in Texas,” wherein, according to Wikipedia, “Billy the Kid runs into his old friend Fuzzy in a wide-open Texas town” and the Texans end up electing Billy sheriff.

Happy trails, New Mexico.

I have been thinking about this photo, too, on this Father’s Day, a family photo from the 1930s. It’s my father, Bob Robertson, and his father, Homer W. Robertson, helping my father’s older sister, Marcella Jean, who suffered from cerebral palsy. Marcella couldn’t walk on her own and had trouble speaking, but her mind and eyes remained sharp through her 65 years, and she maintained just enough coordination to read the newspaper, laid open on the floor, by swiping the pages with her toes. She lived her whole life at home. She loved her family. She also loved Elvis.

Scan 33

The last thing I read last night, sitting up late, waiting out the wind, was Larry Calloway’s account of his trip with a daughter to Mississippi. He called it “A Tale of Two Stairways.”

The superficial reason for the title was his discussion of two circular staircases. But Larry usually climbs higher. The staircases both make two complete turns, each a double helix. One staircase is in the Natchez mansion of a one-time slave owner, built before the Civil War. The other is the “Miraculous Staircase,” built after the Civil War, for the Sisters of Loretto at their chapel in Santa Fe.

Loretto Chapel staircase

My own mental wanderings this morning — a little more complicated than usual —  included god, destiny and DNA. I stumbled across a double helix in an illustration of the DNA molecule. It resembles, of course, a spiral staircase.

DNA double helix

Larry linked the two wooden staircases in a piece that seems mostly about slavery and maybe the spirals of history. I enjoyed it, as I do anything he writes. I have to note I appreciate things in an unlearned way, with no more mental discipline than my easily distracted blue heeler, Cowboy. But Larry usually sends me up another spiral staircase or two, anyway.

But go wind your way up the stairs yourself. Larry is always fun to read. You can start at http://larrycalloway.com/.

My sisters use the word “scratchy” to refer to mild irritability. I often find myself scratchy in June and I blame it on the weather.

Here’s a note I wrote on the morning of June 1, grateful for coffee gifts, old and new, but grumpy about the atmosphere.

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Saturday morning: Thank you, Hope and Susan. I am at the moment drinking my regular Whiting Coffee from Albuquerque (in the “Fresh Roasted” bag at rear) but your gifts are helping to keep my spirits up, after a glorious May, on this prototypical first day of June: Heat, smoke and gunfire echoing up the Las Huertas drainage from the Santa Ana Tribal Police shooting range. I am already covered in summer-onset bug bites but hoping for afternoon rain

Sunday morning update: Don’t judge the weather by the cloud cover: No rain yet; long sleeves and pants for bug deterrence on last night’s walk; face mask for gusty winds; 45 percent humidity, ugh. Whoever coined the “dry heat” wisecrack wasn’t around here in June. I will dance when the monsoons arrive. For the time being, I am, of course, blaming high pressure from Texas.

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These are called mammatus clouds, photographed Sunday afternoon. They didn’t deliver. Typical pre-monsoon posing. All hat and no cattle. But is that a funnelito descending at right?

Tantalizing but distant.

I am a little consoled by familiarity with high desert oddness. Placitas, New Mexico, gets an average of 11 inches of rain a year. A place I used to live, at the foot of Mt. Tom, north of Bishop, California, in the Owens Valley, gets about 5. Both places lie at the foot of big mountains and near big rivers.

 

My favorite discovery so far this rainy day is that Willie Nelson wrote and originally recorded “Crazy” for his 1962 debut album, “Crazy,” the song soon made more famous by Patsy Cline.

willie nelson 1961 2 .jpg   Willie Nelson, 1962:

pasty cline 1962.jpg    Patsy Cline, 1962:

I am a late learner, so please forgive me, those of you who have known this forever.  I was still suffering through junior high school in Santa Fe in 1962, my only knowledge of love maybe a couple of lingering crushes from Acequia Madre Elementary School a year or two earlier. I don’t believe I acquired a transistor radio until later in the 60s.

I AM NOT GETTING SAPPY. It’s just that I like both versions of “Crazy” and was happy to discover the relationship of the recordings. And I don’t often listen to music anymore — too much CNN has has fried something upstairs or I’m still recovering from newsroom cacophonies, or both — so I don’t know how this happened.

But I also note this Willie Nelson quote from Wikipedia, saying that Patsy Clines’ version of “Crazy” carries “a lot of magic.”