Dac Crossley's Western Blog

Just Don't Answer the Telephone

Here in Georgia, the political season is open season on liberals, and it has fired up. TV ads, recorded telephone messages, yard signs, all the hoopla of the primaries.

Georgia is a red state. Candidates jockey for the pole position, trumpeting their dislike for anything Obama and making promises they obviously can’t keep. Our little Clarke County may be the only dot of blue in Georgia. We’ve been gerrymandered out of significance.

The good news – our dreadful Representative, Congressman Paul Broun, has decided to run for Senator and he’s lagging behind. Broun is the one who denies evolution (“lies straight from the pit of hell”). He serves on the House Science and Technology Committee. He plays to his strength in the hinterlands, so we may yet see more of him.

But I’m drawn to political events in Mexico, a century ago, when their revolution spilled across the Rio. Between 1910 and 1920 a succession of saviors arose, promising support for the oppressed common man. Madero, Huerta, Carranza, Orozco, Pancho Villa, Emiliano Zapata, and others all took a shot at leading Mexico. Each of these revolutionary saviors, once they entered Mexico City, became the oppressors they’d vowed to displace. The aura of the Capitol and its wealth drew them in.

The best of the lot seems to have been Zapata. He understood the problems of the peons, and the loss of their village lands to the rich. Zapata was fluent in the native Nahuatl language (Marlon Brando played him in a movie). His was an army of peons. Presidente Carranza had Zapata murdered.

Perhaps we expect too much of our politicians. After all, there are no easy solutions, no quick fixes. Once in office our representatives must confront the inertia of their political parties, the enormity of our governing institutions, pressure from lobbyists large and small. I think society progresses more rapidly than our government does. And that’s a good thing.

Let’s strive to keep our equilibrium until elections are done.

And don’t answer the telephone.

Dac Crossley
April 29, 2014

“The struggle of man against power is the struggle of memory against forgetting.” - Milan Kundera.

The Day of San Jacinto

Do they still celebrate San Jacinto day in south Texas? When I was a boy – well, schools didn’t close but everything else did.

On April 21, 1836, the little Army of the Republic of Texas marched across the plain of San Jacinto and surprised Santa Anna’s Mexican Army. It was a rout. All over in eighteen minutes. And it was on that day the famous phrase first echoed across the prairie: “Remember the Alamo.”

The Battle of San Jacinto has been named as one of the most significant ones in American history, perhaps in the history of the world. It assured the creation of a separate Texas, and it accelerated the westward expansion of the United States. It gave legitimacy to the short-lived Republic of Texas, and made possible its eventual annexation to the US.

Controversies about that battle continue to entertain us. The “Yellow Rose of Texas” myth, for one. A dead woman on the battlefield? The ridiculous figure who turned out to be Santa Anna himself, disguised as common soldier to avoid capture. Sam Houston shot off his horse (Saracen?) and continuing to fight, wounded in his ankle – but his left or right ankle? My historian mother, Eugenia Baird Crossley, had an armful of exciting stories about San Jacinto.

A persistent question – what did Sam Houston have in mind, as he led his army on a frantic retreat across east Texas? Mixed among civilians in the "Runaway Scrape." His officers kept counseling him, “Stand and Fight!” He refused to do so, and until the end of his life Houston never revealed what his plans might have been. Did he intend to escape across the Sabine River into US territory? Was he seeking a suitable battlefield? My mother told me that the Texas army kept growing as it moved through the little towns. Maybe so.

And why, finally, did Houston attack there, at San Jacinto? What did he see, what made him decide to roll the dice at that place?

So many stories of the battle, one of the crucial ones in the western hemisphere. I recommend Stephen L. Moore’s history, “Eighteen Minutes,” for a good read on San Jacinto day. For a shorter version, try the Handbook of Texas Online with plenty of detail.

And please, in Texas, it’s “Jay-cinto” with a hard “J.” No soft “Hay-cinto” for us!

Remember the Alamo!

Dac Crossley
April 21, 2014.

“No good story is quite true.” – Seneca.

The Day of San Jacinto

Do they still celebrate San Jacinto day in south Texas? When I was a boy – well, schools didn’t close but everything else did.

On April 21, 1836, the little Army of the Republic of Texas marched across the plain of San Jacinto and surprised Santa Anna’s Mexican Army. It was a rout. All over in eighteen minutes. And it was on that day the famous phrase first echoed across the prairie: “Remember the Alamo.”

The Battle of San Jacinto has been named as one of the most significant ones in American history, perhaps in the history of the world. It assured the creation of a separate Texas, and it accelerated the westward expansion of the United States. It gave legitimacy to the short-lived Republic of Texas, and made possible its eventual annexation to the US.

Controversies about that battle continue to entertain us. The “Yellow Rose of Texas” myth, for one. A dead woman on the battlefield? The ridiculous figure who turned out to be Santa Anna himself, disguised as common soldier to avoid capture. Sam Houston shot off his horse (Saracen?) and continuing to fight, wounded in his ankle – but his left or right ankle? My historian mother, Eugenia Baird Crossley, had an armful of exciting stories about San Jacinto.

A persistent question – what did Sam Houston have in mind, as he led his army on a frantic retreat across east Texas? Mixed among civilians in the "Runaway Scrape." His officers kept counseling him, “Stand and Fight!” He refused to do so, and until the end of his life Houston never revealed what his plans might have been. Did he intend to escape across the Sabine River into US territory? Was he seeking a suitable battlefield? My mother told me that the Texas army kept growing as it moved through the little towns. Maybe so.

And why, finally, did Houston attack there, at San Jacinto? What did he see, what made him decide to roll the dice at that place?

So many stories of the battle, one of the crucial ones in the western hemisphere. I recommend Stephen L. Moore’s history, “Eighteen Minutes,” for a good read on San Jacinto day. For a shorter version, try the Handbook of Texas Online with plenty of detail.

And please, in Texas, it’s “Jay-cinto” with a hard “J.” No soft “Hay-cinto” for us!

Remember the Alamo!

Dac Crossley
April 21, 2014.

“No good story is quite true.” – Seneca.

South Texas and the Runaway Scrape

April rains bring flooding here on the Georgia Piedmont. My thoughts turn to springtime in south Texas and roaring creeks. And swollen rivers and the Runaway Scrape.

It was the spring of 1836 and General Sam Houston waited in Gonzales, Texas with his undisciplined little army. He planned to join forces with Jim Fannin’s troops up from Goliad. But two Mexican men soon arrived from San Antonio with reports of the fall of the Alamo. Then came Alamo survivor Susanna Dickinson, telling Houston that Santa Ana’s army was on the road to Gonzales.

The fall of the Alamo hit Gonzales between the eyes. Every family had sent menfolk to the fight. The town fell into despair. “Burn it!” said Houston, and they did, leaving nothing for the Mexican army. Thus began that rout known in Texas as the Runaway Scrape.

The Texas army beat a long, controversial retreat to the northeast. Civilians joined in along the way. This forced migration grew into a severe test for the women of Texas. They gathered up what few belongings they could carry and herded their families along as fast as they could, in wagons, carriages, on horseback or afoot. Homes were abandoned, doors open, supper left on the tables. In the headlong flight families became separated. Lost children were picked up and carried along by strangers. Long lines waited for the ferries across the swollen Colorado and Brazos rivers. People pushed ahead as best they could.

The women of Texas showed their mettle in the Runaway Scrape. Able-bodied men marched with the army. Their women took charge, urged children and elderly relatives to keep going, bartered for food, cared for the sick. Rosa Kleberg (yes, that Kleberg family) sent her husband and brothers to the army, and marched east with her children, her aged father and a few neighbors. On horseback, carrying her infant daughter Clara, she herded their cattle across the swollen Brazos.

News of Houston’s victory at San Jacinto brought the Runaway Scrape to a halt. Now it was the task of the Texas women to organize a return to their homesteads and to pick up their lives from among the ruins.

A hundred and fifty years later, I find Texas women to be strong, resourceful, full of grit, the same determination that saw them through the Runaway Scrape. The men of Texas fought the battles that liberated their new country. But in many ways, it was the labors of the women that gave birth to the Republic of Texas.

I believe my historian mother would agree with me.

Dac Crossley
April 14, 2014

“We relish news of our heroes, forgetting that we are extraordinary to somebody too.” – Helen Hayes.

Arizona – The Land of Milk and Honey?

I've been talking with Marja McGraw, a well-known writer of mystery novels. I was a guest on her blog last week. Today she's guesting on mine.

Marja is a well-known writer of mysteries. Check out her latest - "Death Comes in Threes" - on Amazon, and visit her home page: www.marjamcgraw.com.

I was pleasantly surprised to find that she's a westerner - altho not a Texan.

-- Dac.

I live in Bullhead City, Arizona, which is in the northwest part of the state. We live within walking distance of the Colorado River, and we have mild winters, hot summers and very little rain. In other words, I live in the desert, although thankfully we’re near a river.

I’ve seen the temperature as high as 128 degrees, and in the winter I’ve seen it get down to freezing (rarely). There’s an old bumper sticker which reads, “Bullhead City – Chill Factor 110º”. The heat rules here.

We have roadrunners who will eat out of our hands. Factor in critters like white desert iguanas, scorpions, snakes and tarantulas, and you know you’re in the desert – and yet we love it.

Most people wouldn’t associate the desert with mysteries, but believe me when I say there are plenty of places, things and people who would fit into a mysterious story.
For instance, there’s a Pass not far from here that reeks of mysteries. It’s hidden, not easy to find. There are caves once used by American Indians. One is black from smoke and it’s where the Indians cooked. Another one’s walls are covered with paintings. There’s an interesting overhang in the Pass. People have left dates written in pencil, sometimes accompanied by names. They date back to the early part of the last century. Because they’re on the underside of the overhang, they’ve remained legible. And there’s a rock that looks like an Indian princess. Legend says that the Indians may have hidden from the Cavalry in the Pass. It’s a fascinating place, and we treat it with care so nothing will be lost.

I hiked with a mapmaker for an archaeologist and we discovered all kinds of Indian artifacts, along with a very old shoe, probably dropped from a covered wagon in days gone by. Again, we treated this area with care, not removing anything we found.
We sometimes use our ATV (All-Terrain Vehicle) and ride out on the desert. We’ve found caves, watched animals like burros and Big Horn Sheep, and nearly broken our necks on some of the steep trails.

As a mystery writer it’s easy to imagine finding a body (new or vintage) in the desert. Or maybe a character could hide out in the hidden Pass. Imagine being chased by bad guys as you cross the desert in your ATV. Could a roadrunner lead you to a clue in someone’s yard or in the desert? The ideas are endless.

Contrary to what some people seem to think, there are mountains in Arizona. In Old Murders Never Die, I created a fictional ghost town in the Arizona mountains where a character and her partner became stranded. There are some huge, empty spaces between towns all over the state. Why not put a ghost town in one of those areas – someplace where the characters couldn’t easily walk away and find another inhabited town.
In Southern Arizona you’ll find Tombstone, the site of the OK Corral and the infamous shootout, along with other great historical sites. It’s a state full of history, excitement, and of course, heat.

Life is good, and so is Arizona.

Suddenly Springtime

Maybe that’s why they call it “Spring?” Some years it crashes in on us. Suddenly it’s there and winter is only an unpleasant memory. This has become a “suddenly” year in Georgia, here on the Piedmont. This winter was a bitter one; not all that desperate but cold enough and for too long. Then, sudden warm breezes and blooms. Spring is most welcome, thank you.

There have been other years, when winter dragged on and on, and no amount of wishing would bring the springtime. My second year at Oak Ridge National Lab when I floundered because couldn’t do anything right, that was certainly one of them. I wished for green, wanted to photograph green, anything. Tennessee winter hung on. Then, that spring my daughter was born.

Some of us will remember the winter of 1942, when we were all uneasy, wondering what would happen to us. The War. The news was bad, vague, battles in places unheard of. I sat in Miss Hayes literature class and stared out the window at dreary winter. Eternally gray. And she caught me.

I failed to memorize the poem, “Ode to a Skylark.” Miss Hayes, a frustrated thespian, sentenced me to stay after school. My friend Charlie Saunders told me, “Ashton, just ask her to help you with it. She won’t keep you very long.” Wisdom from experience. I’ve never appreciated Shelly.

From that literature class, however, I do remember one line from some forgotten, nameless poem:

“Let us whirl with the golden spoke-wheels of the sun.”

Somehow it summed up my hopes for that winter, that soon the tedious winter must give way to springtime, that all would be well. What might be the source of that line? I wish I could bring back that poem, recited so forcefully by Miss Hayes. Could it be some distorted translation of Omar Khayam? To my mind, that one line has come to stand for the hope of Spring's rebirth.

And now it’s finally here. Join me; let’s glory in it. Don’t let it slip away!

Dac Crossley
April 2, 2014

“I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet.” – Jack London.