Mike & Donnie Pence were members of the Jesse James gang. The Pence brothers are ancestral cousins of Gov. Mike Pence in Indiana. Today Gov. Pence signed SB101, Indiana’s “right to discriminate” law. Old history has come around again. The solution is to declare liberty for all, and boycott Indiana.
Those Pence people have seemed somewhat flaky to me. When Bud and Donnie came riding through Kentucky with Quantrill, Jesse & Frank James, and the Younger brothers in 1865, Maj. James Bridgewater chased them into a deadly shootout on a bleak winter night outside Harrodsburg. Eight men were killed. Bridgewater’s wife was Bud and Donnie’s cousin! It appears that even among family, the Pence penchant for discrimination was OK.
Today, following the signing of the bill by Gov. Mike’s Pence, I have decided to boycott the 5th Annual Authors Fair in Indiana. I’ve submitted my resignation. Since SB101 is state law, I will boycott Indiana entirely. Ever since Arizona legalized bigotry with its notorious “papers please” law, I have boycotted Arizona.
The history and people I write about are devoted to social justice. As an author, so am I. If I disrespect my subjects and their beings, as Arizona and Indiana disrespects the people its laws target, I as a creative artist becomes a target also, as does the brand of my art. Bigotry, when supported, diminishes not one person or one class, but everyone.
Upon my liberty and for the liberty of others, I will stand up against such bigotry and put my art, my money, and my livelihood where my mouth is. I have never forgotten “with liberty and justice for all.” That spells equality.
In the words of Jesse & Frank’s cousin, Daniel Lewis James, who wrote The GreatDictator with Charlie Chaplin, “Speak. You must. It’s our only hope.”
With rapid changes in internet technology, and the pressing need to expand publishing to platforms that are more mobile friendly, now seems a good time to update the availability of those preciously endearing lookalike photos. We’d like to ensure they can be enjoyed everywhere.
The thought also has occurred; why not expand the lookalike galleries, to better show the unique characteristics that are common, not only within the gene pool of the James family, but also among those who are key relevant figures to the James family saga?
In my recent articles, here about Henrietta Younger and about Clell Miller in the James-Younger Gang Journal, the physical characteristics that appear in their family photos as genetic, are very evident. They recur generation after generation. In fact, they are so arresting that they remind us something additional should be done to mine this overlooked category of interest.
In Jesse James Soul Liberty, I advocate the recurrence of genetic personality, behavior, and character that permeates the James family, through each and every generation. That identity is the James family’s very soul of personhood, their quintessential identity that has eluded Jesse James historians from the start. The genes that form this very soul of behavior, character, and personality, are the same genes that form the family’s physical features. The continual evolution of that physicality compels the same attention as does the family’s personhood. This is true now more than ever, as our study of the James family turns increasingly more toward DNA, family genetics common heritage, and their underlying implications for heredity and health.
My article “Hey, James Family, Send Me Your Ears” is an excellent example of reader interest in this subject of lookalike photos and family genetics. This story shows up in the daily statistics as a web page of continual interest bearing a very high visitor count. The stats indicate Stray Leaves may be overlooking a key parameter for assessing the identity of the James family.
History books often rely upon illustration for telling stories. Illustrators lean heavily toward attention grabbing techniques that insert invented details. Those details may appear dramatic in rendering and succeed in securing a reader’s focus, but seldom are they historically accurate. Such illustrations skewer historical fact. Nowhere is this more evident than in every reality TV program ever produced. Note: I said reality TV program, not documentary history or documentary film.
However, an historic photo that is reliable and true does not distort history, unless, of course, the photo is fraudulent. In fact, when relevant and factual images appear together to tell a story, the image enhances history and the understanding of it. The history is rendered better. An illustration may enhance a reader’s imagination, but the use of a photographic image does the same with accuracy and reliability. Of course, this does not pertain to photoshopped images.
An underlying goal of Stray Leaves and of Jesse James Soul Liberty is to dispel mythologies. A primary objective is to wipe out the chronic myth-making or fictionalization and revisionism that plagues the history of Jesse James and stalks his family. Here, we identify and call out the fraudsters and con artists who lie. We put media on the chopping block, when media feeds the public pabulum instead of the nutritious sustenance of truth and facts. In every effort, we intend and strive to be historically accurate and correct, whether it be in the hundreds of thousands of genealogical details appearing in the SURNAMES database, the history featured in our stories or in blog posts or commentary.
A decision has been made. As our SURNAMES genealogy research formerly expanded beyond the core of the James family alone to include research into their in-law families, and by a third-level extension to include research into those individuals who form the social communities of the James, the James family lookalike galleries now will be expanded to include those additional levels, too.
Watch for the upcoming post “Cole Younger’s Lookalike Gene Pool.”
It makes no sense at all though if I show up in front of my audience all hot to trot only to find that my audience needs a warm-up.
I hate losing ten minutes of precious presentation time, or lose content from either of my two talks: “From Bodice Ripper to Jack the Ripper, How To Write a Family History Everyone Wants to Read,” and “How to Publish, Sell, or Give Away a Family History Everyone Wants to Read.” I want my audience jazzed from the moment they walk into the conference room.
My solution is to grab their interest with the following video that will arrest their attention the moment they walk in the door.
As the audience takes their seats, this video already is at work relaxing the house and setting the tone for my talk. If everything goes as expected, the video is building anticipation, excitement, and readiness for my moment to appear. In fact, I can play the same video after my talk, and have them dancing out the door.
Next, I just have to find a way of keeping the attention of anyone who takes a potty break.
Viewers of this video may recognize some of its images. They were used first in banners appearing on the Facebook page for my book Jesse James Soul Liberty, Vol. I. My own book cover appeared in the box “My Book Here.”
Since I change Facebook banners often, I had plenty of banners from which to choose. The ones I selected for use in this video chiefly reflect upon the content contained in my talks.
The following is a preview of what readers can expect to find in THIS BLOODY GROUND – Volume II of the Jesse James Soul Liberty quintet, scheduled for publication in 2015.
While history recognizes Henrietta Younger-Rawlins as a sister to the notorious Younger brothers, history has ignored Retta’s husband A. Bledsoe Rawlins. When Retta married A. Bledsoe Rawlins on April 2nd of 1894, two families whom Frank and Jesse’s grandfather John M. James had known as his neighbors in Kentucky, were brought together in a union destined to be both comfortable and natural. The two families had known each other for over 100 years, through at least three generations.
When Retta’s young but aristocratic grandfather, Col. Charles Lee Younger, arrived on the Kentucky frontier at Crab Orchard, no one could mistake the young man for what he was. Col. Younger first appeared as the dutiful son of his father, John Logan Younger. But the untamed and wild frontier of Kentucky soon transformed him into the man he was destined to become, as the destiny of many of Col. Younger’s new neighbors also was being constructed.
The elder Younger was crippled. John Logan Younger had suffered “a rupture” while serving at Valley Forge in the 12th Regiment of Gen. George Washington’s Continental Army. John M. James, then a wagoner and spy for Washington, was there, too, suffering from a bullet wound. Valley Forge was where the alliance of the James-Younger families first aligned. Despite his disability, John Logan Younger continued in military service until discharged in January of 1779. He and John M. James then migrated with a Traveling Church of rebel Baptist preachers, arriving on the Kentucky frontier around 1782. Also among those rebel preachers were the brothers Moses Owsley and William Miller Bledsoe. According to pension papers, the elder Younger was a farmer, but now he was “unable to follow it.” He was in need of an income. More importantly, he needed his youngest son’s help. Col. Younger arrived to assist his older brothers, Lewis, Peter, Henry, and Isaac. The Colonel brought the company of his Indian woman.
Nothing on this bloody ground of Kentucky wilderness could be achieved alone. The land Col. Younger tried to farm, also forced him into taming and protecting it. Around Crab Orchard, Col. Younger found himself among the surveyors and cabin builders from Fort Harrod, Abraham and Isaac Hite. From Harrods’s Fort, their cousin Col. John Bowman repelled the Shawnee back into Ohio territory with his brothers Isaac, Joseph, and Abraham, all grandsons of Hans Jost Heydt and Hite cousins. The Bowman brothers were renowned as “The Centaurs of Cedar Creek.” The bonds formed here among the Hite, Younger, and James families would strengthen across two future generations, when the grandsons of John M. James and Col. Charles Lee Younger produced the explosive identity of the James-Younger gang in the Civil War era.
Nearby at Cedar Creek in the shadow of Col. William Whitley’s station, John M. James was acquiring land adjacent to his neighbors, the former Marylanders Thomas Owsley and Johannes Vardeman. Daniel Boone hired Vardeman as an ax man to blaze his Wilderness Road. John M. James was captain of a militia protecting it from Native-American assaults.
An early arrival at Cedar Creek, William Whitley became mentor to all of these men. Whitley perfected the principle of fighting the enemy on its home ground. When he did, Whitley always returned with the finest horses the Indians could breed, excellent enough to attract the eyes of Col. Younger and John M. James, who became gambling turfmen of horse racing at Whitley’s Sportsman’s Hill. Here the personality for racing and risk entered the DNA of the James-Younger gang.
As the rebel preachers, led by the rabid Elijah Craig, fanned out across this new frontier, ferociously founding churches in all the future Kentucky strongholds of the James family, Rev. William Miller Bledsoe married Craig’s niece, Elizabeth Craig. When she died giving childbirth, Bledsoe married Patience Owsley, a daughter of Thomas Owsley, John M. James’ adjacent neighbor. Bledsoe initiated a religious revival, expecting to seed the meetinghouse at Cedar Creek as the first Baptist church of Crab Orchard. Through the power of four hundred conversions, Bledsoe made his move.
The expectation of the upstart preacher John M. James to build a house for the Lord was eclipsed once more. John had occupied himself too much with ushering and settling migrants, furnishing supplies for them, and keeping an eye for more land to acquire, and perhaps a town he could found for a church of his own. For now, the ministry of others shadowed the fervor of John M. James. He vowed, someday his fervor would be unleashed.
As a teenage miscreant, Jerry Vardeman, a son of Johannes Vardeman, played fiddle for balls in William Whitley’s attic. After eloping with a daughter of John M. James, Jerry was brought into the fold of the Cedar Creek Baptist Church, later succeeding William Miller Bledsoe as its pastor. From his 4,000 converts and an abundance of other churches he preached among, Rev. Jeremiah Vardeman culled money necessary to supply Frank & Jesse James’ father, Rev. Robert Sallee James, with 7 slaves, and $20,000 in additional funds to buy James Gilmore’s farm and found William Jewell College in Clay County, Missouri, installing one of Vardeman’s converts, Robert Stewart Thomas as its first president.
When William Miller Bledsoe’s son was born, Rev. Bledsoe looked at the infant and commented, “He looks like a Bledsoe,” pronouncing the word a as the letter A. The boy was nicknamed “Honest A. Bledsoe,” to become the future namesake of A. Bledsoe Rawlins.
Prior to the Civil War, A. Bledsoe moved to Texas. He purchased the headright of Capt. Roderick A. Rawlins, who later became his son-in-law. In 1865, A. Bledsoe was elected Chief Justice of Dallas County, but was unseated in the following election. During Reconstruction, A. Bledsoe was elected again to the Constitutional Convention, aligning himself with the Radical Republican faction, familiar to some among the Younger family. When A. Bledsoe took the oath of loyalty to the United States, A. Bledsoe was nicknamed a second time as “Iron-Clad Bledsoe.” A. Bledsoe established the controversial and unpopular Texas State Police. Then A. Bledsoe returned to Dallas County to live out his days as a judge.
In 1852, Roderick Alexander Rawlins married Virginia Bledsoe, granddaughter of Rev. William Miller Bledsoe who eclipsed John M. James in founding a church, and the great granddaughter of Thomas Owsley, John’s neighbor at Cedar Creek. The couple named their firstborn, A. Bledsoe Rawlins. On April 12th of 1894, A. Bledsoe Rawlins met his destiny when he took Retta Younger, the granddaughter of Col. Charles Lee Younger, as his midlife bride. Except for his eight children spawned in his prior marriage, his marriage to Retta Younger went unfruitful. The families of Cedar Creek and Crab Orchard had forged the destiny of the union of Retta Younger and A. Bledsoe Rawlins beginning one hundred years before.
In my last I told you about our moving about up to the time I came to Texas. Now I will go back and tell some other things connected with my life in Illinois, for it was there the greatest epoch in my life and history occurred, when we lived there it was a new and sparsely settled country and not very much society schools and preaching until after the war.
Just before I was 16, I professed religion and joined the “New Light” church and from that time I became an active Sunday school and church worker, and I now see that was the very best thing that could have happened.
While Father was gone to the war I grew out from under his rule and influence so that when he came home I felt in me a feeling of rebellion against him and was never willing for him to boss me as I called it, so in the summer after I was 16 I left home “ran away” after night I went to another county about 30 miles from home taking only one extra shirt and my testament that I loved so well. I hired to a man to herd cattle, so did not have much to do but put in all my spare time reading my Testament.
I planned to get myself plenty of clothes and then go to school for I wanted to get an education I wanted that above everything else, of course I loved my dear mother and the children, wanted to see them and went home in the fall on a visit intending to go back to Philo, Illinois, where a man had offered to board me and send me to school for my work of nights and mornings. But Father begged me to stay at home and promised me an education, so I stayed on account of our financial condition and father’s feebleness (from hardships and exposure in the war) I never got to go to school any more, I had never went to school but nine weeks and that was to Uncle Henry… (illegible writing)…by a chip fire light until I ruined my eyes that had been afflicted with granulated lids from the time I was 5 yrs. old (our first year in Illinois), but I stayed with my Father and learned to love him again and done all I could for him but read and studied all the time I could.
I loved that Sunday School and prayer meeting and debating societies and sing schools and became active in all that work and I loved the girls too and had several precious sweet hearts ” that I hated most of to Leave” when we came to Texas, but I learned to write by writing back to several of them for over a year after I came here.
During the summer (our first summer here) after I was 18, the neighbors fixed up an old log house with split log seats and plank on pegs in the wall for a writing desk and put me in as teacher over about a dozen children, but my school was a success from the start. It gave me the chance to study and I would study every evening after school was out every lesson that was to come up the next day so I kept ahead of my school. I taught four schools at that place and my salary grew from about $20.00 up to $75.00 per month and at the end of the 4th school I had carried my advanced classes up into such high branches as higher arithmetic, algebra, physical geography, philosophy and Astronomy and Book keeping.
I had not only taught a good school, but had educated myself during the two years or four schools that I taught there so I kept on teaching for 18 years, the last three years a mission teacher to the Indians where I learned to love the Indians and learned their language and can talk it yet, though it has now been 15 years since I quit teaching.
The 3rd year, after coming to Texas in September after I was 20, in April I married into one of the very best families in this country or state, I would teach in the winter and wake crops in the spring, teach again in the summer. Father had moved to Wise County, 50 miles north of here. I also moved up there and went to teaching and farming as I did here where my wife and baby child died the same week in I had joined the Baptist Church in spring 1873 and up there in Wise County in 1878.
I was licensed to preach and was ordained soon after, so I mixed preaching with teaching and farming. I had 4 motherless children that my dear Mother was taking care of so I married again in fall 1879. I now have eleven children living and thirteen grandchildren.
While I was among the Indians I a Missionary preacher, teacher, and doctor would have stayed there had it not been for my family, I did not want to raise up my children and have them marry off in that country. So in spring of 1883 I moved back to Johnson County to the same neighborhood we first came to 33 years ago and where I first began teaching, Some of my first pupils are living here yet and most of them Grandfathers and Grandmothers and when I think of it, it makes me feel old, but I am only 51 next month, have not a grey hair in my head.
In politics, I am a Democrat but in politics religion and everything else I am very liberal and kind to those who differ with me in their views. I believe there is good in all creeds and in all nations of the Earth and believe God’s people do wrong in keeping up separate denominational creeds instead of trying to live together in Love and Unity. I began to preach that kind of doctrine about twelve years ago. Of course, that did not suit Baptists. They took my credentials away from me; but I am glad of it, and have never regretted it. From that day until this I have been an independent free man and preach and teach what I believe and hold myself accountable to no man or set of men but God only.
While a mere boy reading the Bible, I began to believe in the Mighty Power of the mind. I felt that I had some mysterious secret power but did not know how to use it. I believed a correct understanding of this secret mental or Spiritual power would make plain many of the mysterious things spoken of in the Apostles and of the similar things among the different nations of the earth, all the way down from that time until now. There were my feeling and thoughts back to 30 or 40 years ago and I have lived up to those4 very things demonstrated.
I have learned how to recognize and use that secret power that I felt swelling up in my very being when I was but a mere child from a mere boy. I have always desired to be able to heal the sick. Now I have witnessed hundreds of them getting well under my treatments and; yet it is not I that do it, but it is done by God-given power that I have learned how to use.
All my youthful desires for knowledge and for power was my earnest prayer, and God has answered them not as I expected but more fully than I had ever dared hope for and above all I have a better understanding of the great doctrines of the Bible and have a more vital and intelligent conception of God’s love and serve him better than I could ever have done by following human creeds.
I have had many strange and wonderful experiences through life much that was dark and mysterious at the time but all is plain now. As I look back along the journey of my past life, I can now see how God in his mercy and wisdom was leading me. I seem to have come to the great Fountain of Wisdom and day by day Wonderful Knowledge of the here to fore hidden mysteries of the world and of life are coming to me. Praise the Lord, O my Soul. Amen.
This website takes its name of Stray Leaves from the diary of John James of Alvarado, Texas, which he titled his Stray Leaves. John began his diary of four typewritten pages on March 8, 1903, but he never wrote any more of a diary. His progeny inherited his four-page diary. John also sent copies home to relatives in Shopville, Pulaski County, Kentucky. This four-page document and historical record has been disseminated among the James family and its descendants since.
Stray Leaves from my diary
John James – Alvarado, Texas, March 8, 1903
My father is of English descent on his paternal side. My mother’s name was Hall and her people were mixed-Americans. Both were born and raised in Pulaski County, Kentucky.
I was born on Flat Lick Creek, same county and state Apr. 29, 1832, and recollected quite distinctively some of the people and places there, such as Grandma Hall’s and orchard. Grandma James’ stone house and mill pond, the Peyton Randall place, and of going there and staying all night with Grandma James and of sleeping in a small side room in which I saw the first high chair for children. I was less than 4 years old then.
I can remember Uncle Perry James building me a cornstalk playhouse in a fence corner to the front and right of the stone house, and of he and I and Aunt Babe coasting downhill, out in from of the house on the sleet and snow using warped clapboards from an old ash hopper to ride on.
I can remember mother, carrying water from the mill pond to wash with in a cedar churn and of the churn getting away from her in the mill pond and of someone getting it for her own at the dam. I also remember playing hide and seek with Aunt Babe and some neighbor children and of Aunt Mary (Mary Martha James) hiding me under her big cook apron. I also remember being at Uncle Shad Owens place and some of the family, also remember some of the places where we lived all before I was 5 yrs. old.
In Feb. 1857, Father (Cyrenius Waite James) and family and Uncle Henry and his young bride (who was Rachel Tomlinson) moved to Illinois. Jesse Nance hauled us to Danville, Kentucky in a covered wagon where we stayed all night with Uncle Mack James (Joseph McAlister James, aka Joseph McJames) Uncle Henry being drunk all the way and his young wife crying all the time, Uncle Mack offered her $50.00 if she would go back to her Father. We traveled from Danville to Louisville on R.R. train, crossed the Ohio River on a large ferry boat stayed all night in a hotel in the Ind. side and from our window saw a big fire over the river in Louisville. We went on to Pesotum, Illinois on the train. At Pesotum, we stayed in a small depot until Father walked out to Squire Lee’s, 4 miles, and got a wagon and team and hauled us out there.
We lived in Champaign County twp years near Uncle Squire Lee’s (husband of Elizabeth Ann James) then moved to Uncle Mack’s farm in Douglas County, 15 miles S.W. (Spring 1859).
In 1861 Father enlisted in the U.S. army and was a soldier 3 years passing through 17 of the great battles of the rebellion in Sherman’s and Grant’s armies. He got wounded slightly once at Rebecca Ga. was paroled and came home and stayed a few days and returned to his command, then in Tennessee.
During the war, mother and I tried to farm and did make a crop but had a hard time to keep something to eat and wear. Everything was high-priced and Father’s 13 dollars a month was not sufficient to keep us supplied as there was then a family of Mother myself, William Henry, George Mack, Squire Martin, and Mary Martha, four children.
My little and only sister Mary Martha only 2 years old got choked to death on a grain of corn. While Father was a prisoner of war at Marietta Ga 1000 miles away but in a vision the night and hour she died, he saw her come to near his pallet dressed in white and was the most beautiful. Father woke up his bedfellow and told him of the strange vision, and looked at his watch and noted the time.
When Father came home in 1865, I was 13 yrs. old and could do a man’s work on the farm. Father’s health was bad and I had all the work to do. We had nothing left but a poor pony team and old wagon and one cow, but prospered and came to Texas in fall of 1869 when I was 17 years old. I had never been to school but nine weeks in my life but had picked up a fair education and had read the New Testament through one that Father brought home and given me.
There was a little girl whose daddy was in the Navy. “Bell bottom trousers, coat of navy blue – I love a sailor and he loves me too.” Her mommy had her sing this song for everyone quite often. She was a very good little girl, but a terrible pain in the ass!
Her mommy was awful upset about the war and wondered if the daddy would come back o.k. The little girl wanted to help somehow, so she started filling her basket with her mother’s worries.
There was already some ugly stuff in it, because the little girl thought, or her mother thought, she was born too soon after the marriage, and her mother was only 20 or so and hadn’t spent too much time with her husband before the war had taken him away. I don’t even think the mother thought she wanted to be married. They had come from different backgrounds.
The little girl wanted to help, but she didn’t know how, so she just started taking on her mother’s unhappiness and plopped it into the basket and carried it everywhere. She really thought she was helping.
When her daddy came home, she continued to be this terrible pain in the ass – because she was afraid of so many things – high places, low places, fire, water, bugs, and even merry-go-rounds. She was afraid of doctors and dentists. They got thrown out of many a dentist’s office. Her mother was probably embarrassed. But most of all she was really afraid of being left alone. Also she was very lonely. She even had an imaginary playmate. Boy, did she have an imagination! She even drew her friend on the sheet one time. That made her mother very angry. Her parents had their own problems. But she kept being this pain in the ass and filling her basket.
The little girl didn’t know why, but she felt her parents didn’t like her. No matter what they did for her, the girl kept having terrible, terrible nightmares and got hysterical a lot because they tried to shock her out of those fears. They must have thought something was wrong with her, because they took her to a child psychologist when she was about 5, she was told. Then again at 13. When they didn’t know how to handle her anymore, they just didn’t. But they never stopped letting her know what a terrible pain in the ass she was.
She was a very lonely little girl, but her mother made her pretty clothes and made the most wonderful things to eat. They also went a lot of places and saw lots of things. She doesn’t know why but she was frightened very easy. She was anxious all the time and got too excited. She was very unhappy, because she thought her parents didn’t want her. She had nice grandmas and aunties who spoiled her to death. She spent lots of times at their houses – probably because she was such a pain in the ass to her mother. She was a flower girl twice and she really thought weddings were very happy. She was even on TV and won a puppy and dog food. She really loved the puppy. She was in school and did well – she was afraid not to – the nuns were sort of mean. She went to church and she loved God very much. But she asked an awful lot of questions. She continued to be unhappy and kept filling her basket. Her dad wasn’t there a lot of the time and her mother was also unhappy. Her mother liked love songs – she does, too. Her mother must have loved her father very much.
Then one day she came home again from school and her puppy was gone. She thought her heart would break! Her mother had sold her puppy and she walked and walked and walked to visit her puppy until the people moved.
Her father used to come take her on Sundays. He even took her to see his girlfriend Toni. This made her very unhappy and she liked him even less. Her basket was so heavy, and she had to lie to her mother about where they went. This made her feel very “guilty.” Then she told her mother the truth and her mother was very sad and the dad was really angry with her for telling her mother. She also remembers the father beating the little puppy for chewing inside the car.
Her mother knew how to keep busy – she cleaned all the time and she kept making the same wonderful things to eat. The little girl thought it would really help to carry the basket. The little girl became chubby and it was a real pain in the ass to find clothes for her, but she went to the Catholic school and they wore uniforms and it wasn’t so bad.
Her little sister came when she was 7. She didn’t like her too much. She was sickly and got lots of attention. Then the father came back and they moved to the country. It was real different and another sister was coming. There were other dogs, but they all had to go, too. The little girls weren’t responsible enough to take care of the dogs and the mother got tired of cleaning up dog shit. One puppy was sick, and she remembers warming a brick for him to sleep next to. She thought he was going to die, and when he did she thought it was her fault for not taking good enough care of him. She couldn’t understand that pain comes with living – she thought living was supposed to be all happy.
The little girl liked the girl scouts and riding her bike. She really missed her dogs – she loved dogs! Her mother used to give her money to go to the dog shows in the city. Her dad even took her to some. And she still went to church and loved God. But she was still a pain in the ass. She remembers going lots of places alone, even on busses and trains.
The little girl didn’t know why she was extra sensitive or hurt extra much, or was afraid extra much. She was quite clever, but her mother didn’t like this about her either. She never learned patience or self-discipline and she had a hell of a time getting through life. But just imagine this basket filled with pain, guilt, and shame. She really wanted it to be filled with hopes, dreams, and wishes, even pretty flowers. She never learned how to “enjoy” and she didn’t know any better. She didn’t want to be a burden. Her mother used to tell her she was just like her father and he caused lots of unhappiness. She believed in the buy now (enjoy)-pay later plan. Sometimes she still does.
Then, it seemed suddenly, that something happened. She started growing. She had new feelings – sexual feelings, and she didn’t know how to handle them. She began to have crushes on boys – even men! These new feelings felt good – even made her forget her basket sometimes.
Another brother came and her father wasn’t there too much. Her mother worked a lot at night, and she took care of her brothers and sister. When her father was there, he was asleep in the green chair. She couldn’t stand all that it had become, and she wanted to get out of there. Her father did and said cruel things to her, and it really hurt her – they fought about her constantly.
She wasn’t so chubby anymore, but she didn’t get to do too many fun things with her friends. Her mother never liked her friends. So she started to ‘sneak” and she got caught. She really felt guilty! Then she was 15 and got herself pregnant. She had committed the most cardinal sin of all. And her heart broke when she realized how much she hurt her parents. She gathered even more pain for her basket, and left with it.
Many sad years followed. She sifted through the contents of the basket quite often to make sure everything was in there.
She became a baby factory. Sometimes she’d sit the basket in the closet on the shelf, but she always knew it was there.
Then she started having silly, stupid crushes again. She wanted someone to love her so badly, but she just kept getting into disasters. She cried many times. “Will someone please help me carry this basket?” But no one heard her. Even all those babies were pains in the ass, too – she never stopped loving them. She just didn’t know what to do. She wanted to dance and have fun but she couldn’t. She was sick and miserable and sorry. Boy! Was she sorry!
So she set out back and forth across the country lugging babies and her basket, searching for someone or something that would make her stop hurting. She even took pills and was a hippie, and she had even more babies. There were people to hold her for a while but they always left. A lot of strange people were her friends but they didn’t hurt her. They even helped share the basket sometimes.
She really hated herself for the mess she made of her life and the hurt she brought to her parents and babies. But no matter what she did, she was wrong to her parents. But most of all she wondered why no one could love her. Why is she such a burden to everyone?
Then she met “HIM.” He was just as unhappy as she. They, of course, would love each other and make each other happy. He was so big, and strong, and handsome and bold. She just knew he would love her and protect her from any more harm. After so long she was finally going to be happy. Boy, was she wrong. He couldn’t even take care of himself – and yet – still – they had more babies. Oh, how she loved him, and he wound up hurting her more than all the others combined.
He’s gone, too, and considers her a pain in the ass! What did she do so wrong? Why is she such a burden to everyone?
Now there are four babies left, and guess what? One is helping her carry the basket. Another one torments her and is such a pain in the ass, but at least she understands. I don’t think the little girl’s mother did. One is very bright, and one is a budding pain in the ass. But she still loves them, and would never part from them no matter how many mistakes they made. She would like to be friends with her family again, but they seem to want her to be unhappy. She wishes she knew why.
She feels sorry for herself a whole lot of the time – because there is no one else. She still has nightmares and thinks God might have left her side, too. She’s not even sure if she wants to live, but she can’t leave her babies.
She feels sorry for herself a whole lot of the time – because there is no one else. She still has nightmares and thinks God might have left her side, too. She’s not even sure if she wants to live, but she can’t leave her babies.
She feels sorry for herself a whole lot of the time – because there is no one else. She still has nightmares and thinks God might have left her side, too. She’s not even sure if she wants to live, but she can’t leave her babies.
Her heart is so scarred; it never even started to heal. She wants to put down the basket once and for all, but she doesn’t desire to hold it anymore. Besides, the basket itself is frayed and becoming unwoven. Please teach her how to set the basket down, so she can live happily ever after.
No one ever teaches us how to live happily ever after.
When my dearest cousin Kathleen gave me this story many years ago, I was so thrilled with it that I told her she had produced a gift. She should write more, I said. Regretfully, she never did. But she did grant me her permission to publish it. I’ve been saving it to publish in a book of stories written by other cousins and family. This unexpected moment, though, seems a more appropriate time.
From childhood, when Kathleen and I were best buds, I always admired Kathleen. I never saw the pain of which she wrote. Had I seen it, we probably would have grown closer than we were. Our lives and our pains were not too much different.
What I did see in Kathleen was a beautiful girl, who grew into an attractive young woman, who took her life and literally ran with it. I was doing the same. Where Kathleen sought her fulfillment in having eight children, I sought mine in a career, just as time consuming, busy, and often thankless.
No one teaches us that our children produce lives of their own, or that our lives might not turn out as expected. That, we teach ourselves.
But time does come eventually to put down our pain, so we can live on the other side, in the joy of what our life created when we took it and ran with it. If we put that legacy in writing, it is left to others for the taking. A story like Kathleen’s story becomes a sustaining legacy, more valued than money or property. Our story is an heirloom, an endowment, and a gift.
Despite a world of ideas, no manual on how to live happily ever after has ever been written. There never will be one. With our very lives, we write our own. The gift of our lives, and what we have learned and what we can teach, will be lost unless we share our story.
Kathleen Ann Brush-Jones-Cronk-Meccia laid down her basket one final time on January 27, 2015. But she left each of you a basket to pick up, holding her gift of this story to you.
History, the network for male entertainment formerly called the History Channel, is taking steps not be chastised again for producing bogus historical accounts. The effort appears as honest as a baby step.
The website for its upcoming mini-series Sons of Liberty sports a link called the “Historian’s View.” Therein lays History Channel’s disclaimer. “SONS OF LIBERTY is a dramatic interpretation of events that sparked a revolution. It is historical fiction, not a documentary.” So much said for History to set the record straight, but is it?
Apparently not enough, for The Journal of the American Revolution. The Journal ‘s TV reviewer Thomas Verenna got an early preview of Sons of Liberty. He was drowned by the network in a sea of promotional material. Despite the appearance of credentialed historians in the series, Verenna observed, “Understandably, one might get the impression from these sneak peeks that this is some sort of docu-drama. Well, it’s not that at all. You have to dig a bit to find it (it’s never explicitly stated in the trailers or promotional content)… actually, it’s more of an alternate history…”
Over the years, we’ve taken History to the woodshed a number of times, recently in 2013 for “making [up] history every day” regarding productions relating to Jesse James. Challenging History has stopped it from producing more Jesse James fictional invention. Realistically, though, we expect the network will continue to develop more fictional entertainment around Jesse in the future. Jesse James is too appealing just to give up.
Unfortunately, neither historians of Jesse James, nor historians. in general, carry the political clout of the family of John F. Kennedy, as we reported. The Kennedy clan effectively put a cease and desist order on the network with only the threat of going to court. History has since dropped any proposals altogether of producing fictional history around the personage of President John F. Kennedy.
The Journal admits that the production values of the mini-series are pretty good. The show is entertaining. But the show also is flawed, sufficiently enough to warrant a lengthy list of fact checking on its historical facts. The Journal breaks down each episode here, as we’ve done here in the past.
Nothing would please us better than, not to be the guardian of the History Channel’s truancy. If only the network had changed its name from the History Channel to Wishful History. Then there would be no need to disclaim its productions. As it persists in its brand of flawed, interpretative, alternate, or downright bogus history, the network and its productions must continue to be monitored for a chronic lack of integrity masquerading as an authority.
The Stamp Act passed by the parliament of King George III instructed the grandfather of Frank and Jesse James in the power to disobey.
John M. James was informed by his uncle Henry Field, a son of Henry Field Sr. and Esther James. Putting his life and the lives of his family on the line, John’s Uncle Henry was a judge on the Culpeper Court who had resigned his judgeship to oppose the king.
“Parliament recently had imposed a cider tax, plus a sugar tax. Now, a stamp tax was to be paid. The revenue stamp was to affix to most every paper item generated throughout the Colony, including documents issued by the Culpeper Court in its jurisdiction over churches and preachers. The stamp equally applied to countless other documents and papers as well, such as a gazette, a bill of sale, a land transfer, or even a will. Payment to the Crown was required in sterling, scarcely found in the colony where barter was the principal currency. Feeding upon every official and non-official act of the colonists, the stamp tax amounted to economic enslavement.”
How egregious were these taxes to cause the James family to turn to revolution?
Everything in print bore a tax. A magazine tax would add $294.56. A printed diploma would bear a tax of $234.84; a deck of cards, $5.87 in taxes. A printed calendar bore $1.96 additional tax.
Previously levied taxes already were proving burdensome. A pound of tea bore $1.46 in tax. Foreign coffee was expensive, costing $350.86 in tax. Foreign sugar carried a tax burden of $129.16.
The preferred beverage to water was wine. But wine was getting very expensive, too. A ton of wine imported from Spain or Portugal bore a tax of $58.72. Wine imported from Madeira, the favorite of Thomas Jefferson, carried a tax of $821.94, fifteen times more than European wine. The paper on which a license to sell wine was printed, added $469.68 in tax to the license cost.
Indeed, these tax excesses amounted to economic enslavement. Absent relief, revolution became the only recourse. The lessons of economic oppression have remained with the James family since.
Around the historical figure of America’s icon Jesse James congregates a community of con artists, charlatans, liars, claimants, and fraudsters. The entry fee is nominal. All it takes is an intense desire TO BE NOTICED. It is the exit fee that is costly and dear. Once identified among this community, most all never recover integrity.
Fools like these feed off one another voraciously. They can command no significant following. Their only power comes from the power to infect the un-knowledgeable, and to lie.
So it occurred in January of 2015 when the editor Joel Willans of the blog WhizzPast elected to headline an article titled, “25 little-known facts about the outlaw Jesse James,” with a fake photo of the Jesse James gang. Willans is an ex-pat of the UK, and apparently a man without a country.
The article was decent and fairly accurately written account with legitimate photos, almost a rarity these days, written by Kathleen Harris from the staff of WhizzPast. The “25 little-known facts” structure of the article is a favored darling of internet algorithms, intended to attract more clicks than relevant audience.
Editor Willans, I’d estimate, adores algorithms. He could not let the Harris article go unpublished without mucking up the writing integrity of Kathleen Harris with a fake photo of the James gang. Willans proudly explained in Comments to the article, the image was obtained from “an expert.”
The “expert” Willans cited is found on a website that is a well-known seedbed of fraudsters. It is no surprise to find Jesse James con artist Ron Pastore among them. Pastore’s activities are long known to Stray Leaves. Whenever Pastore speaks, the stats for pages on Leaves of Gas that relate to Pastore jump astronomically and the queries roll in. We’ve taken Pastore to the wood shed time and time again for his fraud. Now there’s Joel Willans to join with Pastore.
Gratuitously, Willans invited me to provide him a bone fide image of the James gang. If I could not, he said, he’d would persist in publishing the photo that is fraudulent. This is a typical con man’s gambit. The fact is, no image of the James gang exists. None, whatsoever. The James, as fugitives of the law, were not dumb so to photograph themselves and distribute their images, either as a gang or individually, begging to be captured. Asking to provide something that doesn’t exist is the con man’s way of saying, “Gotcha.” The fact that the faces in the Willans image cannot be authenticates as the identified names attached to them is the James way of saying “Gotcha, con man.”
Mr. Willans believes his college degree in history should stand for something. Indeed, it should, but certainly not for the perpetration of fake history. Modestly, Mr. Willans does not mention, he also has a degree in journalism from the London School of Journalism. His brand of journalism differs little from the tabloid trash Britain wildly generates.
Commentator Willans bows before the Holy Grail of algorithms, amazon(dot)com. After all, Willians is no journalist at all. He’s an adman. He invokes the once beacon of hope turned rampant despoiler to render people disparagingly as does his Grail. Two book reviews of Jesse James Soul Liberty on amazon only can mean a worthless book to him.
Willans appears to have backslid on his journalism degree. He makes no mention of the book’s Milton F. Perry Award, or its nominations for Best Non-Fiction Biography of the Wild West History Association, or Spur Award nomination from The Western Writers of America. He mentions not at all that the Tony Award winning Steppenwolf Theater commissioned award winning playwright Carlos Murillo to write a play based on a James family member featured in the book’s chapter “All for the Underdog.” Nor does Willans acknowledge the book’s popularity among libraries across the nation and book collectors of original new history, not regurgitated. Willans’ idolatry can produce only cynicism, which he believes is amusing.
The “Incorrect Facts” review of Virginia Church, Willans boasts of, has been addressed here before. Never mind the oxymoron title that would cancel out any subsequent content, her complaint is a closed issue until she alone elects to correct whatever she deems untrue. As for amazon, if I was able, I’d delete amazon from my book’s distribution network. Not because of how my book appears there, or amazon’s feeble sales results due to its skewed algorithms, but more for the fact that I disagree with the company’s predatory and exploitative business practices, and its despoliation of the literary market in favor of flooding the market with 99 cents pulp, most all lacking in any literary merit.
WhizzPast is a clever title for a blog. Its subtitle is “The fastest way to travel back in time.” Under the editorial hand of Joel Willans, with his history and journalism degrees, the Jesse James family is ridiculed and disparaged, and Jesse James history is steampunked, all for the sake of Willans’ algorithm success. So much for the value of a college education, and two degrees utterly wasted.
In this tawdry episode, WhizzPast fails in its mission as “The fastest way to travel back in time.” WhizzPast makes the issue entirely present, and not the truest. You see, Joel Willans is no more than an adman…whose art is deception, no different than the con men attracted to Jesse James throughout history, and who are much too prevalent today, preying upon the uneducated, the un-knowledgeable, and the ignorant.
UPDATE: Jan 25, 2015
While Joel Willians plays smackdown with his guest commentators, one commenter slipped in with a fact that once more puts the lie to Willians’ claim that his James gang photo is authentic. Judy posted:
“I don’t see how this could have been a picture of the James Gang. Just a quick google search tells me that according to the Minnesota Historical Society Mueller, the photographer, didn’t start his photo studio in Owatonna until 1884. http://www.mnhs.org/people/photographers/M.php
“I kept looking for more info about Mr. Mueller and found him in the Minnesota 1905 census and he had been a resident for 23 years, making his move to MN 1882.
By 1882-1884 the Youngers were in prison and Jesse was dead.”
A lifelong friend asked me to describe myself. As an author, historian, and genealogist I’m used to describing others. I believe I do it well. To describe one’s self, though, is not so easy. My “self” can get in the way. The problem was to get my “self” out of the way.
My friend, Connie Otto, and I have known each other for almost fifty years. We met as actors, doing a Broadway show road tour. When Otto left show business to become a Jungian psychologist and holistic health professional, she adopted her professional name of Chaitania. I’ve been privileged to be among the few she allows to still call her Otto.
In all our time, I’ve also come to respect Chaitania. I’ve learned It is Chaitania who pulls me out of my comfort zone in a way no close friend who loves you can. After I married a second time, Chaitania and her husband came to visit. Within the first twenty-four hours, Chaitania asked me directly, “What are you doing with this woman?” I responded, “I want to be married again.” Chaitania replied, “But you’re a good person.” That was all to our conversation. Chaitania’s skills left me to assess what was said.
Chaitania now has a blog, where she does the same thing for others as she’s done so long for me. She’s installed a new section on her blog Chaitaniaunder the menu link “Amazing People.” That’s when Chaitania asked me to describe myself. Among all the people she has known, I am privileged to be her first subject. Otto is the one who asked me to describe myself, but I also recognized that this is Chaitania’s blog.
You cannot snow job a lifelong friend, and you dare not even try with a Jungian holistic psychologist who knows more secrets of the universe than you alone can imagine.
In answer to the request to describe myself, I wrote, “So…Who Am I?” For Chaitania, I believe my “self” has been written away. For my dear friend Otto, she will still recognize me.
A year before the Jesse James family reunion, Judge James R. Ross and myself made a trip to Paso Robles to meet with Tom Martin, then current owner of the Paso Robles Inn. I had visited there in 2000 when the remnant of the old hotel was undergoing preservation and restoration. I was anxious to see what had been done since. Both I and Judge Ross also hoped Tom Martin would agree to host our Jesse James family reunion at the historic hotel, first founded by Drury Woodson James.
Needless to say, the Martins were thrilled to be our host. We were equally thrilled to be holding the family reunion on Uncle Drury’s old hotel property. We were especially excited about having a family banquet in Uncle Drury’s ballroom, which the Martins had preserved and restored. Until Tom Wallace
Until Tom Wallace, who supervised the reconstruction, told us his story of working on the formerly condemned property as he does in this video, the only information I had about it was gleaned from George Jackson. a heating contractor, employed to install a heating plant for the old ruin. I was particularly tickled by Jackson’s story of discovering a petrified cat when he opened up sealed portions of the original brick basement. You can find Jackson’s story on Stray Leaves.
This is the last episode from the Jesse James family reunion of 2002. Among all the fourteen episodes, this is my favorite, because it represents the spirit of the reunion as we experienced it then, both simply and beautifully.
Please read the closing credits. The people who put this event together deserve every appreciation. The event could not have been as effective as it was without their advice, guidance, assistance, and support.
The music that accompanies this montage is performed by the gospel group Mountain Glory. This is a group brought to our attention by David Best. David’s grandfather baptized Jesse James’ daughter in the years before her passing.
One event that never made it into our video, due to technical difficulties, was the enactment by Mary Mimms of Zerelda, Frank & Jesse’s mother. If you ever have a chance to catch Mary in her performance again, don’t miss it.
On the morning when everyone was leaving the Paso Robles Inn, I stood outside saying goodbye. Charles Broomfield, who helped effect the donation of James farm in Kearney to Clay County, when he was a Clay County commissioner, asked me, “Why don’t we ever have something as good as this in Missouri?” I answered Charlie, saying, “Because no one has ever invited us.” I’m still waiting for that invitation.
Until then…Merry Christmas and best regards.
NOTE: If you think you missed Part 11, you haven’t. It just hasn’t been posted yet. Look for Part 11 and Part 13 after Christmas. OR…SUBSCRIBE ABOVE and be notified. Merry Christmas.