Grab some popcorn, sit back, and enjoy this lovely trailer put together by the fine folks at The History Press about the book. I think it looks great. They even used my picture of the naughty ladies with the stripey socks!
Less than a week to go, and I can’t wait! Reserve a copy today, or you can wait to see me and buy one from me in person.
Later!
Check this dude out:
Meet Orlando Camilla Hanks (not the most prepossessing name for a Wild West outlaw). He went by “Deaf Charley” due to his habit of cocking his head to one side to favor his good ear. He was a brief but very valuable associate of the consortium of outlaws headed up (sort of) by Butch Cassidy and “Kid” Curry who congregated around the Hole-in-the-Wall country in Wyoming (better known as the “Wild Bunch.”) Fittingly, his only known photo is this mugshot, lovingly taken as he entered the Deer Lodge penitentiary in Montana in 1894.
I love this photo…I’ve always said that he looks like someone who would enjoy playing with something until it breaks. The prison haircut does nothing to dissuade that impression.
Those of you who know your history understand what the connection is between this fella and Nashville. Those who don’t are in for a treat: check out my new article in the October issue of the Nashville Retrospect to learn about Hanks and the merry chase he led around this quiet Southern city some one-hundred-and-fifteen years ago.
He had some post-mortem coolness that he really didn’t deserve. He showed up in the 1979 western Butch and Sundance: The Early Years (Days), played by the uber-awesome Brian flippin’ Dennehy.
Supporting cast or not, he even ended up with his own action figure!
And if anyone is looking for the perfect Christmas gift for me this year (hint, hint).
Talk to you soon. Big things getting ready to happen ’round here.
For those of you interested in the book, here’s a chance to get a little preview.
I’ll be speaking at Fort Negley in Nashville on Tuesday, September 27 at the meeting of the Sons of Union Veterans. There will be a business meeting beginning at 6 PM, followed by my presentation at 7 sharp…or as sharp as my notoriously wonky PowerPoint presentations ever go.
The subject will be some of the little-known nastiness that took place at the end of the Civil War in the winter of 1865, when a mixture of bored troops, criminal elements, whiskey, women, and resentful citizens came together in a lethal mix that unleashed one of the city’s worst crime waves before the twentieth century.
The program is free and open to the public, so come on out, say hello, and get a big welcome from the friendly folk of postwar Nashville!
Bad Boys, Bad Boys…Whatcha gonna do?
BTW, if you like the story about Jesse Bryan that I posted, you ought to come out to see the Nashville City Cemetery’s annual tour on October 15, from 3:00 to 7:00 PM, with the last tour leaving at 6.
Interpreters will be posted throughout the cemetery, portraying a selection of those interred there, and the theme this year revolves around some of the more tragic figures in the cemetery, as well as some of the…naughtier ones, shall we say? Should be a lively lineup.
And one of those on the roster is Mr. Bryan, who I’ve already blogged about, so you can hear the rest of his story – or at least his version of it 🙂 As an added bonus, you can come see me there as well – I’ll be on hand to sign my book and meet and greet, so come on out and see me after you enjoy the tour!
…With apologies to Paul Harvey.
One of the frustrating things about writing a book is that often you find stuff about the subject only after it goes to press, and too late to insert into the manuscript. A prime example is the following tale, which only surfaced after the writing was done.
Jesse Avritt Bryan was born in 1815 and raised in Clarksville, Montgomery County. His father served in Congress but died when Jesse was only a youngster. He later became a partner with his brothers in a mercantile firm, and was quite popular – if touchy. “he was of a proud and sensitive nature,” one friend later wrote, but one that “could not brook aught of insult.” This sensitive nature got him into serious trouble in the summer of 1838 when he was 22.
Somehow he ran afoul of the starchy Marius Hansbrough, a 37-year old fellow Clarksvillian. Hansbrough was married, and his first and only child – a daughter – had been born earlier that year. He’d also apparently had a few hard knocks to deal with – in 1832 while he was attending a celebration of Washington’s birthday at Shelbyville, Kentucky, a cannon had exploded and his right arm had to be amputated from the resulting damage. In 1836 he had partnered up with G.A. Davie and purchased the Washington Hotel on the public square, the most prominent hotel in Clarksville. It would end up being a house he never left.
Exactly what their beef was is unclear, but one account says that Hansbrough had – correctly or not – interpreted some action on Bryan’s part as an insult. So angry was he that Bryan was later informed that Hansbrough had gone hunting for him with a bowie knife until his friends intervened. However, rather than meet with Bryan to settle the issue, he chose to shun the youngster and snub him. For over a year the two tiptoed around the ticking time bomb between them.
Finally, on August 4, 1838, Jesse Bryan walked into the Washington Hotel and met Marius Hansbrough face to face. He greeted the older man in a friendly fashion, but Hansbrough coldly told him that he wouldn’t associate with someone who was out to assassinate his character. An argument ensued which ended with Hansbrough threatening to “wring his nose” and “cut off his ears” if Bryan ever angered him again.
At that, Bryan stormed off and procured a bowie knife before heading out to find his adversary. On the sidewalk in front of Barksdale & Cromwell’s store they met and Bryan said he supposed Hansbrough was “prepared.” Almost immediately the fight began. Apparently Hansbrough raised his riding whip with his good left arm and tried to hit Bryan with it. Bryan slashed the upraised arm, but the cut did no damage as the sheath was still on the blade. He flung the sheath into the street and struck again, this time stabbing his target in the ribs on the left side.
Bryan fled while Hansbrough was carried back into his hotel and a doctor was summoned. Sadly, nothing could be done to stop the internal bleeding, and he lost ground rapidly. At 10:45 PM on Sunday, August 5th, Marius Hansbrough died.
Bryan was later apprehended and tried for the killing, but apparently he was acquitted on grounds of self-defense. However, this wasn’t the last scrape he would become involved in. His next fight would also involve a posh and popular hotel, this time on Nashville’s Public Square. And once more, it would be a duel to the death involving guns, knives, and a secret weapon. What happened?
You can find out in the pages of my book…
I’m back after an unexpectedly long hiatus. My apologies. However, we’re just getting started.
The book at the heart of this whole brouhaha is coming soon (see the snazzy cover below). Street date is October 3rd, and I’m in the process of getting ready for a whole bunch of appearances and talks and signings in the upcoming weeks, so I hope to get to meet and talk to a bunch of you soon. So watch this space. More to come very soon.
This time I promise 😉
P.S. – If you want to pre-order, you can do it here.
NOTE: My apologies, this was supposed to be posted back in May with a short disclaimer saying that it would be a while till my next post. That being said, since it has been that while, let’s find out the end to that last saga, shall we?
Anyway, it’s 1881, and to catch everyone up to speed, Milt Yarberry, dangerously erratic gunman and constable of Albuquerque, NM Territory has just managed to blow away his romantic rival Harry Brown and get away with it. He continued in office for several weeks and managed not to kill anyone else until the afternoon of June 18, 1881.
On that evening, while Milt was talking with a buddy on the porch of a house, someone fired a shot, probably in a fit of drunken high spirits. Yarberry rushed to the scene and asked who had done it, and when a bystander pointed out a man walking away, Milt unlimbered his .45 Colt and opened up, firing four shots. The man collapsed and witnesses said Milt rejoiced, saying, “I’ve downed the son of a b-—!”
A coroner’s jury established that the deceased, Charles D. Campbell (ironically a Tennessee native like Brown), had been hit by three shots in the chest and the back. Yarberry’s testimony was that Campbell, a railroad employee who was something of a drinker, had pulled a pistol and threatened him and that he had fired – as always in such cases – in self defense. However, the bullet hole in Campbell’s back raised eyebrows, despite Yarberry’s contention that Campbell had spun around when shot and taken the final bullet in that location. For the record, Campbell, though a drunk, had little reputation for violence and no pistol was found on the deceased, although admittedly it might have been removed by a rubbernecker at the scene.
Arrested and tried, Yarberry’s case divided the community of Albuquerque. He had both friends and enemies in the community, and the testimony at the trial was far from clear as to what had happened on that street in the dark. In the end the jury found Milt Yarberry guilty of murder in the first degree, and set his punishment as death by hanging.
Yarberry made an abortive escape attempt but was recaptured, an event that sealed his guilt in some minds. He resigned himself to his fate, playing his fiddle and bragging to the press from his jail cell. He eventually confided to his closest friend, Sheriff Perfecto Armijo, that his real name was Armstrong and that he was born in Arkansas.
On February 9, 1883 he was marched to the gallows – reportedly the same contraption whose construction he had overseen as constable. He made a speech from the platform, and made the cryptic statement that he was being hanged not for killing Campbell, but because he “killed a son of Governor Brown of Tennessee.” When the mask was drawn over his face, he made his final statement: “Gentlemen, you are hanging an innocent man!”
Innocent or not, the mechanism that sprung the trap was put into gear, and moments later the man who lived as Milton J. Yarberry shot upwards and died. Today, he lies in Albuquerque’s Mount Calvary Cemetery. An impressive tombstone was placed at his head, paid for by his friends.
It was later stolen, and no trace of it exists today.
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