Archive for August, 2015

Getting Back in Touch: Reawakening the Senses

Thursday, August 27th, 2015

GETTING BACK IN TOUCH

Reawakening the Senses

by Jesse Wolf Hardin

www.PlantHealer.org

“The aim of life is to live, and to live means to be aware, joyously, drunkenly, serenely, divinely aware.” 

-Henry Miller

The first step in expanding and deepening our awareness is not developing the power to see far but to feel close, the necessary reinhabitation of our resensitized bodily selves in the present lived moment.  Whatever our individual variations on torpor, escape or turning away, our healing, growth and satisfaction hinge on our re-embodiment.

Come To Our Senses by Jesse Wolf Hardin www.PlantHealer.org

To be fully alive on this planet we must first “come to our senses.”  We experience the world and our place within it through not just our minds or even our emotional “hearts,” but through a unity of our entire being including our sensate creature bodies.  Oneness with the world begins as neither concept nor sentiment… but at the exact physical point where our bodies make contact with the living world we’re an integral part of, where our sensitive fingertips graze the velvety surface of lover’s skin or a particularly attractive leaf, where tasty meals and attentive tongues meet, where our bodies press into the giving ground that is both our mortal destination and terrestrial origin.  

Bodies evolved not simply as containers and vehicles for spirit and will but as receptors for the receiving of sensory information, as well as transducers (from the Latin transducere: “to lead across”) passing this information on to our immediate others, our community and culture.  In addition, it’s important to realize the planet as a living whole feels and experiences through its sentient constituent parts, responding and making adjustments according to the sensations and signals bodily, emotionally and energetically transmitted.  As the potentially most sensitized species on earth to date, our inherent purpose would seem to be to honestly and unreservedly experience, to awaken every sense and be maximally conscious and aware, to empathize with other beings to the utmost degree and then act to help further, heal and make better.

Some texts speak of how the senses “report” to the decision making mind where all input is processed, prioritized and stored.  But while they posit the brain as the exclusive housing of whatever constitutes human consciousness, in truth our awareness courses throughout the entire body in a shifting, informed chain of cell and hormone, communicative enzyme and electrical impulse.  We feel through the complex symbiosis of emotion and instinct that we sometimes call the heart, through the five physical senses of touch, taste, smell, hearing and sight, and those unmeasured faculties like intuition and precognition that scientists have lumped together as the “sixth sense.”  Those capacities labeled “extrasensory” are in actuality intrasensory and ultrasensory.  And when we are fully enlivened – fully residing within our awakened bodies – the result is nothing less than revelatory: a great revealing of hidden pattern and process.

Backlit Darner

Even the most extraordinary of sensory perception begins with and is predicated on our being – quite literally – in touch.  Touch is a primary aid to reconnection, a tool for the mending of the tether, a reminder of what is most palpably real.  It’s a fundamental way that we read the details of the world we’re immersed in, reinforcing our connection to all that is and thereby reinforcing our sense of place and belonging.  It’s also a way in which we express to those things we touch that we acknowledge each as a distinct and valuable part, and that we appreciate them as well.  Flesh to rock and fur, being to being.  Its importance is indicated by our very language.  When something affects us at a deep level, we call the occurrence a “touching” one.  When we start to feel detached from someone, we might say that we’re “losing touch” with them.  Someone suffering from a disorienting mental breakdown is said to have “lost touch with reality.”   Touching is the way we verify the sometimes contradictory messages we pick up through the eyes, testing any potential mirage with our inquisitive probing hands.  

Our skin is the flexible, permeable membrane that sheaths our organs.  It defines us as a form discernible from the interlocking forms that surround us, at the same time that it connects us to the world through the receptors in every inch of its sensitive surface.  This tactile sensitivity includes specific receptors for pain, temperature, and tactile stimulation from firm pressure to the stroke of a feather on a normally clothed stretch of skin.  Chemoreceptors, thermoreceptors and mechanoreceptors transmit information through sensory nerves leading up through the spinal cord and into the brain, where they are primary processed in the parietal lobe of the cerebral cortex.  Together they help the mind create a touch map, an image telling us where our immediate bodies end and the larger earthen body of which we are a part begins, sensing gravity and ground and thereby determining posture.  These amazing modalities make it possible for us to experience the air against our face as gentle pressure, temperature, wind in motion, or even pain if it blows hard enough.

Caring hands

The word “touch” originally meant contacting by “striking,” but in the evolved sense it implies an entirely different kind of contact, gentler, slower so as to pick up and transmit a greater depth of information and meaning.  We are linked to that which we touch, held by that which surrounds us.  We come to know the world through this touching, and the world comes to know us in the same way.  Touching is the act of contact and acknowledgment.  We touch with our eyes and are touched in return.  We touch the rest of the world we’re a contiguous part of with our ears and tongues and nasal passages as well as the surface of our skin.  “Contiguous” means touching… continuously!  Our inquiring minds might conclude that all things are interconnected, but it is only through our heightened senses that we can experience all things touching at once.  We can open to this by paying attention to the feel of air molecules as we stand in a subtle breeze, envisioning the great body of air simultaneously touching us and the birds above, touching at once everything that exists on and within the planet, touching the soil that in turn touches its ground dwellers, eventually coming to touch the earth’s molten heart.  

In the case of our eager and delicate mouths, they easily sense the touch of the spoon and swish of the tongue, distinguish the pleasant crispness of an apple or waffle from the luxurious smoothness of whipped potatoes or gentle waves of soup, the lovely Winter chill of ice cream and fresh pepper’s Summer heat, the curious coolness of mint and the pleasant burn of chili.  In addition, they can taste!  It’s generally accepted in the West that chemoreceptors – in the soft palate, pharynx and epiglottis as well as the tongue’s myriad tiny buds – are able to discern at least four distinct taste categories: sweet, sour, bitter, salty.  To this, Asian healers have traditionally added a fifth, umami or savory (think msg), and herbalists including Kiva Rose sometimes cite fattiness and pungency as others.  Neuroscientists and psychophysicists have additionally suggested metallic and water, combining with the rest of the core categories to create every known and possible flavor. 

It’s been found that South Americans, Asians and Africans are among those races with a generally heightened sense of taste, while 75% of Europeans and EuroAmericans have decreased sensitivity, and that women often have greater inherent capacity than do men.  This is in part due to a higher number of fungiform papillae, raised mushroom shaped bumps whose top surfaces are packed with taste buds.  It may also be due to a culturally reinforced degree of attention and focus that is more intense in the case of certain cultures… and a somewhat more sensitized gender.  These so-called “super-tasters” are an inspiration for all of us to greater tune into, stimulate, develop and test the capacity we’re born with.

Perhaps the most intimate of all ways of connecting, we taste by taking into ourselves the flesh of plant and creature, fruit and seed.  We are rewarded for the degree that we attend and focus, by the melt of soluble dairy fat and the tang of citric acid, the earthy depths of gravy and sweetness of the garden yam.  And yet, taste is an ability animals and humans alike developed not just to provide pleasure but to help us discern what is or isn’t wise for us to eat, to select what tastes like it will provide us with the nutritional elements our bodies request and require, and at times to instinctively recognize those flavors indicating ingredients which could either kill us or make us ill.  No wonder then, that someone is considered “tasteless” who doesn’t know clever from offensive, and we say they have “no taste” if they fail to notice when their clothes’ colors clash.  And we are likely to exclaim “it stinks” when either a movie or a dish of food is too objectionable to take in.

The nose makes contact with the larger world in ways only slightly more removed.  The scents it pulls in and takes the measure of are not abstract symbols, representations or stand-ins like the written word or computer code, but rather, actual elements of the bodies of loved ones and strangers alike, the unpleasant flotsam bubbled forth by fermenting compost, the miniscule airborne appetizers reeled out by whatever steaming cuisine trolls for our attention and enthusiasm.  Through the damp nasal passages and across our over 12 million olfactory receptors pass telltale molecules shed by the bodies of friends and flowers, or more accurately launched like agents of each thing’s being and expression, announcing its presence, and often if not always offering to communicate something to us.  We each draw in hormone laden perspiration containing useful information like sexual excitement or receptivity, anger or fear, whether or not we are awake and embodied enough to discern a message and its implications.  At the very least, the ability to smell has evolved in order to help us discern, meaning not only what to move towards but also what to move away from.

It’s said that for an animal like a dog, the world is a complex web of smells more vivid than the information gathered by the eyes, and that we can only distinguish a small fraction of as many scents as they do.  Even so, researchers have found that the average human can recognize up to 10,000 different scents, and even a mother with her senses permanently dulled by tobacco smoke can often distinguish her newborn from others by its smell alone.  Except in rare cases of hyposmia (inability to smell, usually caused by physical trauma), our inability to process these messages are a result of suppression and neglect more than physiological shortcomings.  Anyone who has ever suffered the congestion of a common cold, however, can attest to how bland meals can taste without the additional sensory input of the nose.  For a reason to credit the human nose, we can consider the example of a perfume maker whose focus and passion has led to better smelling, which in turn has deepened and broadened their perception.  And people born blind have often developed their other senses including smell to a degree the sighted folks may never know.  Researchers, seekers and shamans who have ingested psychedelic mushrooms or peyote have on occasions reported a stunning increase in discernible odors, an attention-wresting vividness described as almost overwhelming in the moment and sad to leave behind.  Each of these cases would indicate a natural human capacity for intense sensing that we can potentially arouse, exercise and thus maximize.  Plant Healer Girl www.PlantHealer.org

And there are more reasons for this deliberate development as well.  Think about how a particular floral scent can summon the visage of a past lover whether welcomed or not, or the way the smell of leather can so readily trigger reminisces of childhood rides on oiled saddles.  More so than any other sense, smell is closely interlinked with the limbic system, those parts of the brain like the amygdala and hippocampus that process emotion and associative learning.  The olfactory bulb that sorts sensation into perception is an essential organ of memory, mood and behavior, and any awakening and growing of this sensory capacity could deepen associative recall, tightening the weave of information and reflection, intensifying feelings to the point that they become hard to ignore and not tend, overall increasing our vital experiencing of life and this world.

So it is with the sense of hearing, so often taken for granted.  How often do even the most aware of us begin to ignore the music in the background, until the wondrous vocals and quaking strings seem to fade out into unnoticed and unremembered background noise?  Learn to block out the roar of jets over our heads, and in that way miss out on the conversations between wind and trees?  Or ignore the telling tones of the highway rushing past until the sound of screeching brakes causes us to stop in our tracks?  

Admittedly, not all sounds are even available to us, depending on how quiet they are or what pitch.  Higher ultrasonic and extremely infrasonic frequencies are out of our reach, making us naturally oblivious to the echolocation calls of bats as well as the deeper rumblings of signaling elephants.  There is, however, a wide range of audio frequencies that we can hear, from 15Hz and 20,000Hz, through which means anyone without hearing damage can powerfully discern, learn from, respond to, and thoroughly enjoy the world.  Sounds not only warn us of dangers before they get too close for us to react, and allow for complex communication between us that would be impossible without words, but they also describe the ever changing environment we live in and pass through, and afford us the pleasure of a planet’s native music, the rhythm of a drumming rain on a tin porch roof, the singing insects, the “shush, shush” that tall wild grasses make as they brush against each other to get our attention.  The laughter of children and the sweet sobbing of a woman who has loved and lost.  All sound is but a vibration in air or water that in turns vibrates the tiny bones in our ears and sends signals – like our other senses – to our lapping brains.… and then vibrates our feeling beings and spirits.  We can tune-in with our ears to the aural magic of all that surrounds us, practice hearing all the layers at once even when someone is talking to us, and quiet our own talking minds at times to fully give way to the tides of a favorite melody coming through the stereo speakers.

It is sight that I mention last, exactly because it is the sense we tend to use most when “looking” at the world, to the neglect of the rest.  And because it’s the way of perceiving that we can do from the greatest distance, while what we need is to literally come closer.  We say “I see” when we understand something, as if “seeing were believing.”  Visual perception, like all perception, is subjective.  What we perceive depends on not only the strength of our eyes and ability to notice, but also the subjectively developed perceptual patterns that we fit information into, and the belief systems or preconceptions that we harbor.  It’s not just culturally impressed standards but also subjective temporal attitude that determines whether we find a boyfriend or girlfriend beautiful or not.  A person in love may see only beauty in their partner, but once there are hard feelings between them, the same face may seem to hold no attractive features.  We’re not just talking about interpretation here, but the facts of what we consider we’ve perceived, just as ten witnesses to a crime may tell ten different versions of what happened even if they didn’t know the victims and had no preexisting bias.  Any stage magician can tell you that what the audience sees is what the entertainer suggests they see, directing focus, utilizing distraction, making hay of their existing assumptions and raising expectations.

Psychedelic Eye

Our visual system responds not to vibrations but to photons of light, the graduations of light and dark that created forms are perceived by photoreceptive cells on the retinal membrane.  The resulting neural impulses are processed hierarchically in the cerebral cortex, assigning prominence as well as meaning, deciding what is to be further assessed and what can be safely ignored.  It is that aspect of visual perception that we can best and most beneficially develop, making more and more of those decisions conscious, consciously choosing in the moment what should be focused on, remembered or acted on… with less and less visual information being discounted.  And increasing what we actually see is fundamental to the development of related visualization, realistic projection and foresight. One’s personal revelatory “vision” of the world, of their true self and their calling, is for whatever reasons only as vivid and accurate as the signals they perceive from the existing communicative world.  For that, we must remove the blinders of denial and dogma, illusion and denial, wholly seeing and feeling and living again!

removing the blindfold-72dpi

Before we try to reconfigure reality, we must first learn to wholly notice, clearly perceive and discern what is, undistracted by any delusion or projection.  It is up to us to come back to our senses, and in that way come back to the interactive world we are meant to be response-able, proactive, and joyous participants in. 

Woman Shimmer Sunset 72dpi

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Good Cops, Bad Cops –Exposing the Wyatt Earp Myth

Monday, August 3rd, 2015

Good Cops, Bad Cops

Exposing the Real Wyatt Earp: “The Fighting Pimp”

(OK – we’ll ask him to keep on his britches!)

by Jesse Wolf Hardin

As a naturalist, ecophilosopher, and booster of folk herbalism, I have many readers who are perplexed about my simultaneous interest in history with all its militarism and violence, treachery and injustice… and I say, not only because it is a fascinating collection of dramatic and consequential tales, but because of what we can learn in the process about ourselves, our culture, government, and popular icons.

Lawmen of the Old West Unmasked banner-72dpi 

Part I: Police Shootings, Unworthy Heroes, & Honorable Peacekeepers

In these days when the news is filled with reports of police shooting unarmed citizens, it seems important to remember that not all cops are bad.  Nor, as we are becoming more and more aware, are they all good like we may have been told when we are kids.  I have been beaten by police for no reason at environmental demonstrations, and had them bear false witness against me, and yet the rural county where we live has had a number of honorable sheriffs that we could trust to respect the people as well as do all in their power to protect us.  It was the same back in the days of the “Old West,” with there being many seldom remembered lawmen who bravely and honestly stoop up for the common folks, alongside a number of badge wearers who used their power to literally “get away with murder.”  It seems crucial that we measure every lawman as an individual, regardless of the fairness of our established laws… and that we take great care as to who we claim as our cultural heroes!

It is kind of crazy to imagine things ever are or were as simple as “good” and “bad,” white hat and black.  Western lawmen were human beings like the rest of us, making hard choices in difficult situations and fast changing times. Whether we respect their choices or not, we have to sympathize considering all they faced and dealt with.  Whether known as sheriff, marshall, deputy, ranger, policeman or peace officer, those who wore a badge found themselves caught between the demands of a city council or state government and the practical realities of hard-bitten frontier towns where freedom and opportunism were both worshipped and defended.  Many received no pay other than a percentage of any money that those they arrested might be fined, contributing to the most honest officers having to moonlight at a second job, and others to turn to protection rackets or other crimes.  Those who received salaries, usually made less than the not only the saloon-keepers but even the saloon sweepers, a monthly wage no better than that of the cowpunchers they rode herd on come Friday and Saturday nights.  Their work could best be described as weeks of boring tasks, punctuated by moments of high drama and sometimes deadly confrontation.  For these reasons and more, very few of even the most famous lawmen actually spent that many years wearing the star.  While some like famed Jeff (Jefferson Davis) Milton could boast of lifelong lawman careers, they were the exceptions.  Wild Bill Hickok, for example, served only a few stints between less officious gunslinging, while our subject, Wyatt Earp, worked only as a policeman in a couple of Kansas towns and for less than 3 years, other than being temporarily deputized by his brother Virgil in time for the O.K. Corral gunfight.

Wyatt Earp as we like to think of him – and as he may have looked during his time in Tombstone

Wyatt Earp as we like to think of him – and as he may have looked during his time in Tombstone

It is the image of Wyatt Earp and the O.K. Corral gunfight – or more accurately, the fight in a back alley near the O.K. Corral – that defines the western lawman for most people today, as popularized by early sensationalist dime novel biographer Stuart Lake, featured in dozens of books in the years since, and burned into our memory thanks in part to the highly inaccurate movie Wyatt Earp and more so due to the powerfully acted but also fictionalized film Tombstone.  We are comforted in this case, by the notion of a brace of officers standing up for law and order and protecting the innocents with an air knight-like nobility and fitting panache, unintentionally setting off a firefight with their well meaning enforcement of sensible gun control laws.  Less comforting is the reality of two contending politicized factions of part time criminals and full time hustlers vying for control of the town of Tombstone, using an unpopular and seldom enforced ordinance against carrying guns as the excuse to confront a handful of cowboys who were already saddling up their horses and on their way out of town.  There is something creepy about the Marshall pinning badges not only on Wyatt but on the colorful lawbreaker and killer Doc Holliday in order to carry out what many testified to be more of an execution than fair fight.

In the “days of yesteryear”, and to some degree in these modern times as well, things like right, wrong, justice and law enforcement in the American West were anything but clear-cut.  Instead of the proverbial black-hatted bad guys and white-hatted heroes, upon close inspection what we find are more like the gray hats of complex people acting on agendas that sometimes appeared – to certain vested interests, in specific situations – as being either dangerous threats to the community needing to be removed or else its brave defenders upon whom civilization itself seemed to depend.  Not only were they judged differently depending upon the circumstances, but many at one time or other worked both sides of the fence.

The job of lawman may have been underpaid but it provided potentially valuable inside information and special advantages sometimes contributing to officers branching out into extortion, or hanging up their badges altogether in exchange for a potentially more lucrative career of crime.  Whether they were praised or reviled for their forays outside the law depended on the situation and context, and just who was doing the appraising.  The bounty hunter Tom Horn was treasured by the well financed and often European cattle barons that hired him to both punish assumed rustlers and enforce their monopoly on grazing, but was hated by the small struggling homesteaders whom he primarily targeted.  The respected lawman Sheriff Henry Brown of Caldwell, Kansas, was awarded a gold plated, presentation model Winchester rifle by a grateful citizenry for his services, but then took this same rifle with him on a botched robbery attempt on the bank in nearby Medicine Lodge.  At the same time, experience as a gunslinger and lawbreaker were excellent qualifications for the post of sheriff, and it often required bending or ignoring the fine points of law and order to get the job done.  In the cases of Hickok and the Earps, town managers were more than happy to overlook their zealous use of their Colt’s revolvers to bludgeon or shoot the miscreants undeniably making life difficult for law abiding folk.

Wyatt Earp is a perfect case in point, our collective memory of him being one of a brooding anachronism with a flat brimmed hat and drooping mustache, a reluctant hero and near magician with a gun.  More often and more accurately he was a gambler and provider of womanly flesh, a man whom many contemporaries referred to as the “fighting pimp”.  He can neither be wholly lionized, nor vilified, being more than anything typical of any of the “sporting men” who joined with the countless other opportunists who came west in search of riches and adventures.  What distinguished him and others of his ilk, was a degree of hard-headed determination and a willingness to kill.  But even given his various shooting scrapes, the primary reason we remember him is for the exaggerations and outright fabrications about his experiences that started with the release of those dime novels while he was still alive.

Part II: Wyatt Earp Myth & Reality

“This is the West, sir. When the legend becomes fact, print the legend.” (from The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, 1962)

Like many of you, I grew up watching a fictionalized Wyatt Earp played Hugh O’Brien on TV, a morally spotless good guy always looking out for everybody but himself.  To the contrary, the real Wyatt was in many ways a self serving and self aggrandizing scoundrel.  

No matter what the books say, Wyatt was no angel, and he never carried a long barreled "Buntline Special" revolver either.

No matter what the books say, Wyatt was no angel, and he never carried a long barreled “Buntline Special” revolver either.

Wyatt was born March 19, 1848 to a family that locals came to call the “fighting Earps,” since anytime the father and brothers weren’t fighting other folks they could likely be found brawling amongst themselves.  When he got his first law enforcement job as constable of Lamar County, Missouri in 1870, he was heard to brag about how the badge made it possible to do as he liked without any more worry about being thrown in jail.  A year later he had quit and moved on into the territory of the Cherokee, where he and a friend named Edward Kennedy were pursued, arrested and fined for rustling horses.  By 1874 he could be found with his brothers Jim and Morgan and their mistresses in the then rowdy cow-town of Wichita, Kansas, where he made money gambling in the saloons and managing a stable of prostitutes… several of whom registered for business using the Earp last name.  It was for kicks, it’s said, that he joined local officers in tracking down a wanted miscreant, when the act of emptying their prisoner’s pockets of $148 for “expenses incurred” reminded him of the extracurricular opportunities law enforcement work could provide.  Wyatt then got hired as a Wichita policeman himself in 1875, his performance described by the Wichita Weekly Beacon newspaper as “unexceptionable,” the most exciting incident he was involved in being his dropping of his revolver on the saloon far and being barely missed by his own bullet.  Later that year he was arrested and fined for pummeling his boss’s main rival during the election campaign for city Marshall.  The Earps moved out of town two weeks after his dismissal, prompted by the city council issuing a warrant for their arrest as vagrants.

Not exactly the best start for what would be a future righteous legend.

Soon after being run out of Wichita, Wyatt Earp worked two short stints as deputy of of Dodge City, possibly shooting one fugitive in the back during a chase, clubbing dozens of rowdy party-goers with the butt of his sixgun, and putting a bullet in the leg of a Texas cowpoke in the course of enforcing the ordnance against carrying guns in town.  Resigning his post, he fatefully chose the silver mining town of Tombstone for his next attempts to strike it rich with as little effort as possible.  It was there that he and his brothers came into conflict with an equally roguish band of part time rustlers who called themselves simply “the cowboys,” with the Earps being both romanticized and provoked by the self proclaimed champion of “law and order”, Tombstone Epitaph editor John Clum.

In March of 1881, the Benson stage was robbed by someone with insider information, and Wyatt came under suspicion.  Years later his brother Virgil’s wife wrote that she had hidden the masks and disguises they used, but regardless of the facts, things were heating up for what would be the shootout upon which much of Wyatt Earp’s future fame will be predicated.  In June, the then Mayor Clum appointed Virgil the town Marshall, who in turn temporarily deputized Wyatt and Morgan Earp as well as the always “game” Doc Holliday.  By October 15th things had heated up between the contending parties and their respective political bases, beyond the point of hope for a peaceful resolution.  It was ironic, many would agree, that the gun toting, often lawbreaking Earps would again use the enforcement of early, widely resented gun laws to spark the confrontation that everyone had been so long expecting.

On that infamous afternoon of October 26th, word had gone out that “cowboy” faction members Ike and Billy Clanton, Billy Clairborne and Tom and Frank McLaury were armed and gathered in the aforementioned alley, saddled and ready to ride out, though clearly making a point of taking their time.  As was indicated by later trial evidence, of the five cowboys only Billy Clanton and Frank McLowry were “packing iron”, while all three of the Earps and Holliday were carrying. The fight apparently went down much as dramatized in the movie “Tombstone,” other than the ridiculous fanning of a dozen rounds into the nearby Fly Photography Studio: Virgil yells at the cowboys that “I want your guns,” as Wyatt draws his Colt and Doc jabs his shotgun menacingly at Tom McLaury.  The spunk Billy Clanton pulls his revolver in response, as an unarmed Tom McLaury struggles to get his Winchester 1873 rifle out of the scabbard on his horse.  Somewheres up to 30 shots are fired in a space of around 25 seconds or so, a wild melee in which Sheriff Behan pulls Billy Claiborne to safety, the troublemaking Ike Clanton runs, Billy Clanton shoots at Wyatt, Wyatt shoots at the more formidable Frank McLaury, and Earp exchange shots with F, and Doc putting two loads of buckshot into Tom as his horse spins out of his grasp.  The fight ends with the thrice-shot and quickly bleeding-out teenager Billy Clanton hollering for more bullets as he clicked his emptied revolvers, and a dazed Morgan Earp and puckish Holliday now armed with a Colt handgun, facing down a wounded Frank McLaury who bravely asserts “I’ve got you now.”  “You’re a daisy if you do,” Holliday is reported to have replied, as he and Morgan simultaneously drop him dead.  Scorecard: The McLaury brothers and Billy Clanton, deceased.  Doc Holliday, a flesh wound to the hip.  Morgan, a round in the shoulder.  Sheriff Virgil Earl, a .45 caliber hole through is right calf.  Wyatt, unscathed and movie-poster proud.  Later, Wyatt and Doc are both arrested, and then freed in November.  Judge Spicer felt obliged to drop charges in part because they hadn’t gunned down the despised but unarmed and retreating Ike Clanton.

Dissatisfied with the ruling, cowboy compatriots ambushed and shotgunned Virgil Earp first, crippling him, and then blew away Morgan Earp as he bent over a billiard table.  One of the suspected shooters was Frank Stillwell, who contrary to the movie version was at work at the stock yards in Tucson and not stalking the Earps when he first had his legs shot out from under him, and then suffered two loads of buckshot and four rifle rounds to the torso.  Earp and friends put five holes in a second suspect, Indian Charley, before he could get away from the area, and the third suspect Pete Spence promptly asked Sheriff Behan to place him in protective custody.  Satisfied at having taken the law into their own hands and extracted revenge, Wyatt and Doc left Arizona… but not as triumphant lawmen, as fugitives with warrants out for their arrest and a reward on their heads.  For Earp, the O.K. Corral shootout was the historical high point from which he slowly spiraled down into a life of increasing irrelevance and personal desperation.

The Wyatt of comic book fame shot the guns out of bad guys hands... the real Wyatt was a bully and bushwhacker happy to put some lead in a nemesis' back.

The Wyatt of comic book fame shot the guns out of bad guys hands… the real Wyatt was a bully and bushwhacker happy to put some lead in a nemesis’ back.

Hugh O’Brien aside, Wyatt never ever wore a star on his chest again.  Instead, in the ensuing years he travelled around the West with his brother Jim running confidence schemes and real estate scams that bankrupted unsuspecting rubes, and Wyatt was actually arrested a number of times including in Alaska and in Idaho on two counts of claim jumping.  His notoriety won him honored work as referee of the world champion boxing match in 1896, a bout which he ended due to a foul he called against contender Fizsimmons, a judgment it was commonly believed was made because of bets Wyatt had placed on opponent Sharkey.  As late as 1911, at age 63, Earp was arrested again for vagrancy and for bilking tourists in a bunco game. 

Wyatt Earp, 1923, not exactly a happy camper.

Wyatt Earp, 1923, not exactly a happy camper.

Wyatt spent much of his later period trying to get film star William S. Hart to publish his autobiography and make it into a movie, but Hart found problems with the manuscript’s veracity.  Stuart Lake held no such reservations, and printed his pack of colorful lies under the title “Wyatt Earp: Frontier Marshall.”  70 years later there have been several imaginative programs and movies made about his life, with little understanding of or attention to the complexities and twists of this most famous lawman/outlaw.  

 In the end, it was no shootout that did him in.  The year of the stock market crash, on January 3, 1929, Wyatt Earp died as he had lived: a “pain-in-the-arse”… not from bullet wounds, but from prostate cancer!

Wyatt Earp old and pissed off 72dpi

Part III: Mixed Bags & The Highest Standards

“Don’t shoot!  I can’t breathe!” -Recent protest chants against police injustices

After 2015s incidences of citizens being killed for sassing the cops or trying to run, we are left wondering what is different now and in the days of the Wild West… if anything at all.  The famous/infamous Wyatt Earp never suffocated any black men for selling loose cigarettes or drivers for reaching for their keys like officers were accused of this year, but he damn sure shot unarmed men in the back who dared to be so disrespectful as to try to run away.

Then, as now, we are largely left with what we as a collective people seem to desire more than truth: the hope that can only come from an excitingly portrayed legend.  The truth, to the degree that we are willing to listen, is that we humans are all a mixed bag of qualities and faults, and that America’s chosen heroes are often not the best examples of laudable character.

And the truth is that of all the people on this planet, the ones we should be holding to the highest standards of all are those that we have as a society permitted to carry a badge and a gun.

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Books on Western history and culture by Jesse Wolf Hardin are available for sale at: www.OldWestScribe.com

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