image of Wyatt Earp
Sidekick
“Taciturn black characters have been the sidekick
for too long--it’s time for us to take the lead.’
Paul Robeson.
My name is Bart Jason. I know you never heard of
me, but I’ll tell you what, I led a hell of a colorful life.
I’m looking at a 1950 Cadillac sitting in my Los
Angeles driveway. I’ve just celebrated my 75th
birthday, which is special since I was born in
1875 in Seattle.
My Dad was a lumberjack and my Mom was a
school teacher. I was 14 when the “Great Seattle
Fire” happened in 1889. We sat on our farm on
Queen Anne Hill and watched the inferno for two
long days. I grew up loving boxing and Western
pulp magazines. Kit Carson, Wyatt Earp, Wild Bill
Hickok, and Bat Masterson were my heroes. Being
young and left-handed I really adored Billy the Kid.
They were all heroes to me.
In 1896 they struck gold in the Yukon. Seattle became
a new metropolis as the kicking off spot for Alaska.
Alaska called out to me for years. I worked hard and
saved up a stake, and finally in 1900, I boarded a
steamer for Skagway. I made it to Dawson City, nearly
drowning when the overcrowded ferry capsized on the
Klondike River. Then I heard about Nome, the new El
Dorado, and soon I was hell bent north.
Nome was two blocks wide, and five miles long, feeling
a lot like Deadwood. I found out plenty quick that only
the Saloon and brothel owners were getting rich. The
first two story building in town was the Dexter Saloon,
a first class gambler’s den, with a clean brothel up-
stairs. Being 6’5” tall, and handy with my dukes, I got
a job as a bouncer immediately. I nearly shit myself in
delight when I found out the owner was Wyatt Earp. His
wife, Josephine, ran the brothel. Wyatt took a liking to me
right off, treating me like his son. All the swells visited the
Dexter. I got to meet Jack London and Rex Beach.
In 1908, the Earps moved to Tonopah, Nevada and
opened up another Saloon. I tagged along with them.
So in 1911, we all moved to Los Angeles, California.
We raised horses and oranges. By 1920, Wyatt had
become friends with a bunch of the silent movie
cowboys, especially Tom Mix and William S. Hart.
He was quite a celebrity with that crowd. John Ford,
Harry Carey, Buck Jones and Ken Maynard were all
guests in his ranch house. I became a stunt man and
a wrangler.
I was 54 in 1929 when Wyatt passed away at 80.
He had a real Hollywood send-off. Then came the
Depression. I was damn lucky to be entrenched
with the drugstore cowboys, so I stayed employed
through the worst of it.
Yeah, probably you never heard of me, but I’ll bet
you would like to sit with me on my back porch in
Tarzana, sipping cold beer, and looking at my
tattered scrapbooks.
Glenn Buttkus
Posted over at d'Verse Poet's Pub
13 comments:
Always the guy in the picture standing silently to the side has the greatest tale never told -- you did it here.
Would I ever!! This is a gorgeously woven narrative poem, Glenn!💝 I love the intricate details which give the reader a glimpse into his colourful life, from "Western pulp magazines," to "the Great Depression," I felt as though I was walking, witnessing right through his eyes. An awesome rocking of the prompt! *applauds*💝
I think I have some distant connection here. My aunt married an off-shoot of the Earp family tree. Your tale was a fascinating read.
Love the voice in this and the fact that we now finally have the tale of Bart Jason! 👏👏
Would have told us all a great story of course. Good one Glenn!
Glenn, if ever a screenplay needed to be written about anyone, it's Bart Jason. You as as consummate Western writer, would be the perfect one to do it. The time is right, my friend!
I was captivated by your tale and by the voice of Bart Jason, Glenn. I would very much love to hear more of his stories. Fine work on the prompt!
The narrative voice of the sidekick came through loud and clear in your words, and your character emerged as large as his colourful life. I enjoyed the historical background, the names from the Wild West I remember from childhood, and the description of the saloon. I think you must have been a gunslinger in a previous life, Glenn.
Your story is captivating Glenn!
Where would the world be without the unknown bystander who keeps all the tales... you please let me share a beer with someone like this.
I'll bet he has even more tales to tell
This is your element bro! Splendid Glenn, simply splendid writing. This was so damned engaging that I was thoroughly bummed when it ended, This was a grand slam, completely over the laundry beyond the left field fence. ‘Course — that only makes sense if you’re a Cincinnati Redlegs fan whose familiar with Crosley Field. If not, well — I’m sayin’ this was great!
If you told me Bart Johnson is real I would believe it - and I'd definitely want to hear more of his stories.
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