FACE to FACE III with "The Kid"... and his Indomitable Conundrum

Billy the Kid! For some reason, the story of this ill-fated youth still attracts interest today, so much so that I do not have to relate it again. But I contend there is a great deal unresolved about this enigmatic outlaw, which deserves a great deal more scholarship and study. We know very little about his youth, how he survived after he was orphaned as a boy. Few authors have explored the amount of bullying and injustice “the Kid” endured before he became the most infamous killer in American history. We only know that it was alleged that as a very young fellow, he led a large band of cattle rustlers all over Texas and New Mexico, and defied and frustrated authorities for years until he was finally assassinated... **************************************************************************************** Or was he?

Henry McCarty, alias William Bonney had several names and several possible deaths... many supposed lovers, and hundreds of enemies, including the territorial governor, prominent cattlemen, merchants, and several southwestern law enforcement agencies. No manhunt had ever employed so many men, backed by so many various interests, just to capture a young man who had become a phantom of the southern plains. It seemed no lawman could catch him, no confederates would betray him, and no jail could even hold him. And few other wanted outlaws would ever be able to claim the stellar network of faithful associates, which included ranchers, attorneys, cowboys and most of the Hispanic community in New Mexico, which Billy had under his spell. History has also revealed that no other outlaw ever had such a corrupt cabal organized to silence him and his allies, who, believe it or not, were a deputized posse themselves. The politicians, the merchants and ranchers, even the military pooled their great resources to ensure their demise, and hopefully the end of Billy the Kid. And still they failed. ***************************************************************************************** It has to be admitted that William Bonney was a charismatic leader, who had become the gladiator for the underdogs in New Mexican society; an avenger who had suffered all of his life from a dominant culture which had no room for upstarts- especially orphaned Irish immigrants who had no education, no pedigree, and no money, and who had discovered a path of survival which would have made Darwin proud. Many gunslinging outlaws were recruited in the so-called “Lincoln County War,” where big New Mexico ranchers such as John Chisum sought to keep a tight grip of control over land, water rights and commerce in this prime ranching region. Unjust and horrific things were done to William Bonney's side; assassinations of unarmed men, even setting them afire after they had been shot down in the streets, cruel deeds which followed after mercantile price wars, bribes, larcenies and threats failed to suppress the newcomers. When, late in the "war" Bonney and his buddies were finally deputized, it became a shooting war between law enforcement agencies.(just like the one in Tombstone). When Billy emerged as a crafty and unscrupulous avenger, in fact a hero among the lower classes, a huge reward was offered for his head, and a ruthless manhunter was given the task of his annihilation, making Billy the most famous Public Enemy Number One, forever. ********************************************************************************** Sheriff Pat Garrett claimed to have shot him from the darkness of a mutual friend's cabin, apparently too afraid to confront him in broad daylight. Billy was barefoot at the time, half-naked and armed only with a butcher knife which he brought to slice a chunk of meat... and was only asking for permission when he was blown away. Billy died asking and repeating, “Quien es?” (Who is is this?) The answer boomed into the night silence and the young outlaw, just twenty-one years old, slumped to generate a bloody pool, just as many of his enemies had, supposedly one for each year of his life. He was buried just outside of Ft. Sumner and that was the end of that. Or was it? ***************************************************************************************** Billy's most famous photograph, a tintype of him standing clown-like, with his head cocked, hat crushed, loosely holding a Winchester rifle, looking stoned out of his mind, is perhaps one of the most famous photographs in American history. He is the very epitome of the brazen western outlaw... Or was he?

When looking at Billy there, posing with an over-shirt, a vest and a sweater on top of that, it is obvious that he was not exactly fashion conscious... but giving him every benefit of the doubt, it still appears that he was a few bricks shy of a load... His eyes seem to be rolling into the back of his head, cadaver-like, as if he has just partaken of some peyote, or some other hallucinogenic. Or had he? ****************************************************************************************** I have often wondered if he was dead, when the tintype was made. Even if conscious, this Billy could never have outfoxed posses for years, broken out of jail, killed twenty men, and stolen and fenced thousands of head of cattle. This slump-shouldered, disheveled moron really looks more like an escapee from the State mental institution. It is not likely that this guy could get a band of cunning outlaws to follow him to a croquet match, as has been proposed. Unless of course, this loose-jawed tripper was actually dead. And that would explain the peculiar expression and body language of this notorious outlaw. Suffice to say, he was not at his best, in the famous photo. ****************************************************************************************** Which only adds to the Billy conundrum. How could such a goon manage to piss off so many powerful, vengeful people? How could he have led a notorious crime ring, which included cattle-rustling, counterfeiting and assassinations of lawmen? How could he have worked his way to the top of an organization which included the likes of cunning robbers like Henry Brown and Dave Rudabaugh? Both of whom went down in a blaze of outlaw glory later. The Mexicans who finally ended Rudabaugh's crime spree treated him like a bad rattlesnake, cutting off his head to make sure he was dead, dead, dead. Billy was a bad ass among the baddest.

This famous, curious tintype of Bonney, which I call “Mescal Billy” has also made identification of later images of him next to... well very difficult. He was cocking his head... it seems as if it was falling over and back. This put his head at an awkward angle, causing just enough foreshortening that any other photographs of him will not match exactly. And that is a very important fact in this blog... Since this is about seeing, meeting the real Billy “face to face.”

His mouth was not open because he was a slobbering fool- his jaw was dropping because he was either dead or so stoned that he was totally relaxed... but then how could he even stand? I have often mused that “Mescal Billy” was a photograph of a dead Billy- leaned against a post and posed for a frontier photographer. Just the kind of thing which was done all over the frontier when an outlaw was taken out. Billy was killed in the early hours of the morning... if a photographer was handy, he might have easily set it all up in less than seven or eight hours from the time of death. Of course, the clothes might have been put on his body to cover the blood and his gunshot wound. *************************************************************************************** There were rumors that lawmen cut off the ear of a bounty kill such as Bonney, to prove their success. Especially when so much money was at stake. Perhaps his ear had been prematurely removed, and that is why it looks like it has been STUCK BACK ON... and sticking out even farther than it normally would have. A frontier photographer would have paid serious money to have had the opportunity to capture such a person, dead or alive, and no doubt would have convinced the lawmen to put Billy back together, just for posterity. And maybe 50 bucks. And the well-distributed photo, now one of the most famous American images, no doubt helped to establish Billy's notoriety. It did not hurt Pat Garrett either. Their one-sided showdown became the event of the decade, and sprung several writing careers, and hundreds of books and scores of films. Very few of which were worth watching. Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid! Two westerners who found infamy at a single moment, one by ending a supposed crime spree. The other by being super-naturally notorious, in life and in death. **************************************************************************************** So notorious, that almost every week another person claims to have found another unpublished photograph of Billy the Kid, hopefully worth untold millions. And impressionable people fall for these epiphanies and throw good money at them. After all of this time, they still want a piece of Billy, an American icon. And yet almost all of them are just confusing illusions- like these below, and just like the original tintype of Mescal Billy. Usually routine application of simple geometry will betray them.

Well, I am sick of it. Most of these Billy-come-latelys are laughable. I have made some graphics here for illustration. There are some likenesses which could be Billy... almost, if you did not consider his small stature, or his long hair, or his jumbo ears, or his bulging buck teeth which caused him to stretch his lips to cover them. There have been so many new Billys come out that I am hesitant to share mine. But it is as convincing as any of them. People see an obscure tintype of a young fellow who might pass for a second or two as a Billy the Kid doppelganger, and they begin to see stars, excitement, and wealth. They see what they want to see. Others in their wake have no reason to argue... who knows? It makes good copy in the local newspaper...

But most of these “finds” could have been shot down in the third second of inspection... by educated eyes... And please understand, for many of these images, depending on the issue, just one of these criticisms can be the deal breaker. The biggest disqualifier was the ears. Very few people have ears so prominent as in William Bonney's photographs. They were no doubt a great source of cruel teasing as a child, and one reason he sported fairly long hair. His height had to be another sore spot... **************************************************************************************** Billy was short. Lore and legend said he was about the average woman's height- a mere five foot-three inches. He was slim, around 125 pounds, with light brown hair and blue eyes. This description immediately rules out most of the images offered on eBay claiming to be another unknown, unpublished antique image of the famous outlaw. But they are of tall guys, or black-eyed guys, and square-shouldered hunks... or strange-looking Down's syndrome individuals, and others who are definitely on the “Spectrum,” reflecting Mescal Billy's aura... and many of them are treated way too seriously. Because, as it turns out, when confronted with the Billy legend, people suspend their better judgment. Even the name Billy the Kid still has magic.

There is another, a good historic photograph of William Bonney, an authentic, accepted portrait which helps to establish what Billy the Kid really looked like, without the influence of mescal or a Colt .45 round in the heart. He was a nice looking fellow. Not exactly handsome, but the women loved him. He was not goofy, or ugly or repulsive. He was not, as some folks say, an “FLK” ( funny looking kid ). William Bonney was charming and fun. Not dangerous looking. Not even mean. I took one of the better digital reproductions of what I call “Preppy Billy” from the Internet and superimposed it Q-5 style over the “Mescal” Billy. Everyone will be relieved to know, they are the same person. But just barely. *************************************************************************************** As will become obvious, the tilting of Mescal Billy's head has caused a lot of consternation. It makes the other photograph of Billy, one younger and unquestionably CONSCIOUS... appear a little off. His nose is a little too long... his lips do not align right... his chin appears too short... because Mescal Billy's mouth is open... making his chin lower than it should be. The barely opened eyes, the open mouth, the tilted head... all contribute to an ID quagmire. *************************************************************************************** The only solution is to compare all Billy “Wanna-Be's” with the younger photo... even though it is at a slight angle. But that is still less distortion than the tintype. I have done both... *************************************************************************************** As can be seen, I applied my Q-5 technique to a bunch of “Wanna-Billy's,” which have stormed the Internet in the past years. Most of course were lacking, once computer science and math were consulted. A few were actually close, almost good for doppelgangers. Of special interest though was the one I call “Croquet Billy.”

This image surfaced a few years ago and caused quite a stir. But as interesting as the photograph was, it was never convincing. My Q-5 technique, using the whole body instead of just the face, easily shows its fallacy.

Billy was of short stature, slump shouldered, and at 125 pounds on that frame, a tiny bit on the pudgy side, whereas Croquet Billy was tall and very slender, perhaps 5ft-10 to 5ft-11 with square shoulders. When the face and especially the ears are matched up on the two, everything else is way off. The truth is the narrow face on Croquet would never have even attracted my attention as a devoted Billy hunter. But supposed computer techniques and “experts” gave the photo some credence. This was only the beginning of the ongoing “Facial Recognition” scam.

Today's average researcher is convinced that facial recognition technology is a trustworthy computer tool. Like the old Bertillon identification system, it is not. Another recent Billy appeared on the Internet for sale complete with “Face VERIFICATION,” offering a technological conclusion that it was a match with William Bonney. That conclusion was flawed as well...

AMAZINGLY, unexpectedly, the old "imposter," “Brushy Bill” Roberts fared very well, even in old age, with the best score of any of the Wanna-Billys! I had not anticipated that, and even hate to report it.

I have made fun of the folks in Hico, Texas all of my life, for claiming to be the final resting place of the “real Billy,” advertising this "fact" as if it is something to be proud of, something to promote tourism... when all they had was a lunatic who made the claim... albeit quite convincingly, which has been celebrated at local events and festivals like other towns celebrate their autumn harvest... You have your corn or cotton, or your rice, or your bluebonnets or watermelons... WE have a Victorian serial killer! *************************************************************************************** Yeah, sure... and here I am, touting my painful objectivity, adding fuel to their fire! *************************************************************************************** My assumptions have been rattled for sure. How could Brushy Bill Roberts, at best a central Texas ranch hand, and certainly no master of disguise, have been so confident, claiming to be William Bonney... even to the point of possessing Bonney's exact facial structure... down to the ears? *************************************************************************************** If he wasn't Billy, who was he? Who in the heck could do that? I doubt that he got plastic surgery... Might he have been Bonney's older brother? Or a cousin? And if Brushy Bill was indeed Billy the Kid, then what in the world was wrong with him when the “Mescal Billy” tintype was made? Too bad, we will never hear that story... something like Billy drinking tequila until he was unconscious... and his mischievous buddies propping him up and getting a photographer to capture the moment. Big joke... Which now inspires scores of goony look-alikes ad-infinitum. *************************************************************************************** But “Back to Maverick.” Some of the new Billys should definitely be considered, with the Q-5 process making them strong candidates. They are at the bottom of the graphic above. Even on a good day, Billy's face had several peculiar traits... huge ears, a very short nose, and a longish chin. These characteristics prevented him from being a classic lady-killer. But he overcame what he lacked in looks with personality... which was governed by his friendly eyes, which had died or gone AWOL in the notorious tintype. The light in his BLUE eyes are a special clue. After Q-5, or “face verification,” or facial recognition, or whatever, you still have to use your brain... Plain old sound judgment. ************************************************************************************* Billy had intelligent eyes. Perhaps a bit distrustful... but not cold eyes. Not bug eyes. Not surprised brows, or stern brows, just calm brows. He had eye-lids... which opened in a fairly average way. He did not have a blank, or poker face... he was personable, a real live con-man, and confidently looked into the camera. He was probably evaluating the photographer, as he was being captured for posterity. Was the guy just an innocent artist, or maybe a Pinkerton man? Billy was always calculating human dynamics... and jacking with those around him, even until his last breath. ************************************************************************************** To judge these newfound images, you must maintain cold objectivity. And there is the rub. I find that anyone who owns a photograph which he believes is Billy the Kid- is not endowed with this trait. Including me. **************************************************************************************

More tintypes of Billy were undoubtedly made when he was just an early teen, but already on his own, already robbing and stealing all over Arizona and New Mexico. My Wanna-Billy has a high score, and predictably scores better with the Preppy Billy rather than Mescal Billy. I think it is one of the most believable Wanna-Billys of any I have seen. And it compares well with Brushy Bill Roberts's score... as in 95% close. ***************************************************************************************** Anyway, here is my winner of the First Annual Billy the Kid Doppelganger Contest... which I am sure is no mere doppelganger, but an actual CDV (“carte de visite”) of William Bonney. So now, there are three... and two are in wonderful, useful, historic HARMONY. Something else to help wade through the Wanna Billys... which just keep coming and coming...

If you are the person trying to sell any of the previous "Wanna Billys" or these following images on eBay as Billy the Kid images, I apologize in advance for your disappointment and your loss in great fortune... But look at it this way: You had a little excitement, learned a ton in the process, and now join a long line of wishful “discoverers,” of which I am a lifelong member, who had to sharpen our minds some, but are still searching and researching the American West... and sometimes, a few of us are going to strike it rich!

Lottie Deno: Queen of the Fast Lane

If you gathered all of the Old West buffs and historians in the world and had an election, and picked the most notorious, most mysterious woman to rise to infamy in the entire American West, Lottie Deno (above, in her fifties) would be one of the major contenders, if not the hands-down winner. Based on my my lifetime of readings, and before my latest research, next to Etta Place, I would have enthusiastically nominated her. Via a multitude of short biographies in regional histories, Lottie Deno left a huge footprint on Texas frontier history, being written about generously by numerous Western writers who wanted to add a powerful female personality to their Old West pantheon.

Only in recent times have Lottie's later years come to light... where she primarily starred (as above) as a local baby-sitter. But it is sad to say, her carefully sculpted legend is like the ancient Sphinx, majestically carved from sedimentary sandstone, then eroded beyond recognition. It has not weathered the test of time and the erosion of scrutiny. Very little of the beloved, traditional story of her formative years has any basis in actual documentation, and what documents have surfaced have shed the glare of exposure rather than clarity. ****************************************************************************************************************** I hate reporting this fact, which is more accurate than most of the stories about her which I have read and cherished for years. ************************************************************************************************ And that is not to say that she was not documented or that she did not have an extraordinary life... But most of what you know is balderdash; stories of her mysterious Southern plantation origins, a veritable refugee of pervasive Civil War devastation, wandering the West as an ace gambler and humiliator of other famous Western gamblers, such as Doc Holliday; legends of her fierce mind and unique courage in the roughest places frequented by the toughest characters in the West; New Orleans, San Antonio, Ft Concho, Jacksboro, Ft. Griffin, Ft. Clark. Yes she was in some of those places, but it was not like you think. ****************************************************************************************************** Every account from the popularized Lottie Legend upheld the pure adoration that her male peers had for her, and not just for her gambling ability, but for her ladylike behavior, and her stellar reputation as a steadfastly moral and upright person. And every account loved to visit and explore the last place she was known to be, the place of her glorious ascension, before she suddenly and mysteriously disappeared into history- her humble shack on the edge of Ft. Griffin, on the edge of the “Flats,” an abandoned hovel among the squalor and stink of a frontier hide town...

The faces above, which you might be used to seeing ... are not her. Almost all of the popular pictures posted on the Internet representing Lottie are not her. But lack of authentic photography was only the beginning of the erosion of her legend. It turns out that a great deal more smelled bad there than was ever reported by so many smitten fans, who were obviously “nose blind,” and fact-challenged. And we can trace the gloss of her legend back to one of Texas history's most wonderful story tellers... J. Marvin Hunter. The erroneous likeness on the left above was first introduced by Hunter in his Frontier Times magazine. But to be fair, Hunter never outright lied about Lottie, he just chose, out of courtesy, to repeat what he heard and leave out a few facts. You know, personal information which sometimes mucks up a good story. Hunter also gladly repeated glowing reports by old-timers which helped invent - and cement the Lottie he thought best served Western lore: Lottie Deno as saucy good girl among bad men. **************************************************************************************************** I'm sure he did it for every Old West enthusiast, young and old, who could have used a positive female role-model. And of course he did it for himself, because he would not have had a story at all about Lottie had he not promised that he would keep some sensitive items confidential, and swearing “Scout's Honor!” Every writer runs into this kind of compromise- “I'll tell you, but you have to promise not to repeat this, and never use my name... and make up whatever story you have to... but you must protect those who are still alive...”

Marvin Hunter had met Lottie Deno as a young newspaperman, a respectable woman living in Deming, New Mexico, years after her “disappearance,” then living under a completely different name. Seen above with a neighbor family who treated her like a relative, Lottie was a classy elderly lady and he did not completely comprehend or pursue her or her mysteries. Years later, and after her passing, he figured out the importance of her story, and went back to track down the facts and try to piece together her amazing saga... and determined to fabricate something printable, by interviewing those closest to her and then he wrote down the angelic bones of her public legacy. ************************************************************************************************ That was the puddle that began the expanding lake of hogwash since. Nobody can blame “Lottie” for wanting to protect her dignity, or her associates who helped couch Hunter's gracious spin on her life. But many a well-meaning “historian” used Hunter and his narrow myth to launch their own entertaining tribute to the wonderful, mysterious, saintly ace gamblerette, who, when she left this world of sin and degradation, bequeathed all her earthly belongings to the poor. So many of you are reading this and hating me already. “When you have to make a choice between the truth and legend... print the legend.” Isn't that how it goes? ****************************************************************************************************** Believe me, I hate writing this particular segment... but she is after all, the most prominent woman of “Hidetown.” ****************************************************************************************************************************** I'm sorry. I have to tell you, I was just as stunned, when I began to research this wonderful female character in our beloved Western lore and legend, and found that at least two books have come out in recent years, effectively clearing up the whole story... and exposing the real “Lottie Deno.” In the process these authors have not besmirched Lottie as much as Marvin Hunter's reliability, but I believe even he loved the truth more than status or profit... and probably wanted to tell everything... had he not made (I propose) those crippling assurances to get the scoop. ****************************************************************************************** So allow me to bring you up to speed with the Texas frontier's “Queen of the Fast Lane.” Rather than remind you of the twists and turns of the old Hunter myth and its tributaries, I'm going to lay it down as briefly as I can, trusting these newer authors and the documents they have discovered... and even a few finds of my own. It turns out, Lottie's true story has been hiding in plain sight- If anybody really cared to know. ******************************************************************************************************** First let me recognize the more important sources for this segment- the authors who changed everything I knew about Lottie Deno... First there was Cynthia Rose, then of Santa Fe, New Mexico, who published her myth-busting account in 1994. Mrs. Rose wrote an endearing study of Mrs. Charlotte Thurmond of Deming, New Mexico, based on the local history, mostly as provided by local informants, and was the first to build on Hunter's cocooned heroine, sans the cocoon. Unfortunately, she fell under the spell of the local charms and charmers and their unfounded assumptions, and misinformation, and did history no favors by providing numerous spurious photographs of Mrs. Thurmond, which could not have been her; pictures of Lottie in her youth, wearing 1890-1910 fashions. Even Marvin Hunter had made the same mistake in his publication about Lottie. Still, Cynthia Rose gets credit for announcing to the world that Lottie Deno never really disappeared... she just moved around some, got married, and made a fresh start. That step of retrograde historical progress was entitled Lottie Deno- Gambling Queen of Hearts. ******************************************************************************************************** Then in 2008 Jan Devereaux published the painful, definitive, excruciatingly authoritative account of the real Carlotta Thompkins Thurmond, alias Lottie Deno, with an introduction provided by no less than the esteemed Robert G. McCubbin, then owner of True West magazine. Her contribution to the Deno legacy wore the title: Pistols, Petticoats & Poker. In her Preface, Devereaux kicks off by admitting that “More has been written and less known about Lottie than any woman traipsing through the Old Southwest's boomtowns.” But what she proved through her book was that there was even more to be written, and much more to be known, now offered by her, and now available to any reader wise enough to brave her scholarly efforts. ************************************************************************************* Devereaux is an old-school academic, who loves detailed footnotes and provides them at the end of every chapter. It's a funny thing about footnotes... it was the very existence of them that drove me towards the brush rather than the pen. I truly had a choice to make as a young man... writer or artist? I opted to be an artist and never regretted that choice. Still, now when I read a book, I find myself reading those damned footnotes. It is often where the good stuff, details too mundane or extraneous for the text, reside. Especially WHERE the author got some cockamamie idea. But Devereaux had very few of those... **************************************************************************************************************** Pistols, Petticoats & Poker, (Henceforth just dubbed PP&P) sets the record straight. It is painful because, as one reads this well-written book, and begins to take on the weight of the material, and the burden of proof well-provided, one feels the simultaneous evaporation of a venerated hero, and the filling of perturbation with so many trusted authors of the past. In other words, prepare for more literary disillusionment in our culture of chronic deception. Devereaux politely goes after the legendary Lottie like a federal prosecutor unchained, released on an elusive repeat offender. She sniffs out many county records, barks up a tree laden with perps, and ravages a century of intentional deceptions- but with the poise and dignity of a Giant Poodle. Her book leaves little more to be said about her subject... And she is so nice about her long overdue corrections that nobody can be mad at her for destroying a popular myth. ********************************************************************************************* But if you are still reading this, you are probably hoping that I will save you the time and expense of PP&P. And I will, but admittedly I must build on Devereaux's sterling conclusions... So as the article in True West used to say... “Let 'er Rip!” *********************************************************************************** True story? Every writer has had to lean heavily on Lottie's version of her unorthodoxed early life... which went something like this: Carlotta Thompkins was born in 1844 in Gallatin County, perhaps near Warsaw, Kentucky. Her father might have farmed tobacco and some hemp, but was also said to be an avid horse breeder and horse-racing enthusiast. Which means he was a gambler. Father Thompkins supposedly taught his daughter the tricks of the card-playing profession, which suggests that he might have used a few himself. “Lottie” grew up fast, attending races and socializing with jockeys, and by the time of the War Between the States, she was more than mature and anxious to ply her talents. She made many claims about her family and especially her father, over the years. Mr. Thompkins was supposedly a wealthy plantation owner, a member of the Kentucky Legislature, an officer in the Confederacy, and supposedly went down with the CSS Alabama. The war took his life and everything the Thompkins had, and Carlotta was forced to get out and support her mother and sister, any way she could. *********************************************************************************************** She supposedly went north to Detroit to work, and then sent money so that her younger sister could go to a Kentucky finishing school. But very little of Lottie's life story could be verified. Devereaux repeatedly reported in PP&P that no documentation could be found for most of Lottie Thompkins (Deno) Thurmond's personal story. No record of any Thompkins as an elected representative, or appreciable activity in horse racing or horse breeding; her younger sister not even remembered in the school where she was supposedly enrolled in. No Lottie was ever mentioned in Detroit, or in New Orleans... or San Antonio... not even in San Angelo. Devereaux, as a strict academic, correctly insists that “a primary resource notation” buttresses acceptance of other notions. But she could not find them until she traced Lottie Deno back to Jacksboro, Texas. And here is where we hook horns. ******************************************************************************* It seems Devereaux doggedly trailed Lottie's alleged travels and found numerous dead-ends in her search for the real Lottie. But my casual search on Newspapers.Com brought new information about a “Lottie Deno” to the surface, but not in Detroit. It seems that Devereaux was right all along, although she took several chapters to hit on the hard truth... that Lottie's tear-jerking memories of a Southern damsel in distress were probably fabricated, and Lottie, for whatever reasons, was a rebel tramp. It was in Chicago where Lottie first made the news... and set a lifelong pattern. ********************************************************************************************* In the August, 1871 edition of The Chicago Tribune, page 3: -Lottie Deno, an inmate of a fashionable Fourth Ave.“hotel,” (journalistic euphemism for brothel) charged upon the colored cook, named Eliza Wedington, that the latter had purloined her jewelry. The theft of about $400.00 worth of clothing and miscellaneous articles seemed to be proved- so well proved in fact that the tawny Wedington was committed for trial in bail of $300.00. ******************************************************************* In January of 1873, a Lottie Deno was named in the same newspaper among many others being summoned to testify against a Captain Louis J. Lull, presumably of the Chicago police. Little can be ascertained from this, but it does establish her possible whereabouts at a certain time in history. ***************************************************************************************** Later, on Saturday, November 15, 1873, Lottie Deno was more thoroughly introduced to the world in the pages of the Inter Ocean of Chicago... The Criminal Court On the 17th of last March, Henry Owen, a sable gentleman, was employed by Lottie Deno, the mistress of a palace of sin, in the capacity of chore boy; and on that day, having no patron saint of his own, he resolved to celebrate the day given to that Celtic personage, St Patrick. In order to obtain the necessary funds he purloined from Miss Lottie's establishment a silver pitcher and salver (a silver tray), and “spouting” the same. Then he went away. Subsequently he returned to the employ of the frail creature (sarcasm) and was her servant at the time. Detective Slayton succeeded in finding the stolen plate, and tracing the theft. He was yesterday given a jury trial, found guilty, and given one year at Joliet. The wages of sin is lard lines. *********************************************************************** Later in February of 1874 in Buffalo, New York, a Lottie Deno was fined $5.00 for assaulting a victim named Minnie Berry. (The Buffalo Commercial) ********************************************************************** Jan Devereaux repeatedly wrote of the absence of any newspaper coverage relating to the famous gambler, Lottie Deno, during this very same period. If Lottie was ever covered by the Press in New Orleans, or San Antonio, two towns which had active newspapers, she could not find it. Supposedly she was traveling through Texas as Carlotta Thompkins, but she is not noticed by that name either. But Chicago knew Lottie well. We can deduce from her Press there that she was a prostitute who worked her way up to the status of madame; that she was a credible witness to Chicago police corruption; that she accumulated a considerable fortune in material wealth, but had trouble with thieving servants; and that sometimes her patience ran out and she resorted to physical attacks. When you read that around $400 worth had been stolen, translate that into about $8,000 in today's currency. *********************************************************************** My version of Lottie is that “Lottie Deno” was a rich Chicago-based madame by the early 1870's. After a violent altercation in Buffalo, (perhaps trying to recruit girls there and being accosted by a competitor) she was searching for a comfortable niche away from strict law-enforcement and had been already feathering her nest in Texas when she showed up in Jacksboro, in full flower. I think it is possible that her later stories about gambling on the Mississippi riverboat and in New Orleans and San Antonio were to obfuscate her career in Chicago and elsewhere. When recounting of her former life to friends in Deming, it was far better to have claimed the life of a gambler, no matter how incredible, than... well, you know. But dogged sleuth Devereaux could find no documentation to place her in any of these places. The author of PP&P also admitted that nobody was going to be able to find a “finitely documented starting point, which there is not...” Unfortunately, this did not stop the author from inserting Hunter's trusty legend where there were no facts to insert. *************************************************************************** I contend that Lottie's “starting point” is firmly, by first-hand and published resources, established in Chicago. But Devereaux joined the rest of the “Western” civilization in taking a stab at Deno's arrival at Ft. Concho- “along about 1870.” She also granted possible “leeway” of a year or more. In fact she found no documentation for Lottie there, and admitted “Faint though her footprints may be at San Angela there is room for a touch of supposition.” A touch? The facts actually suggest that Miss Thompkins, aka Lottie Deno may never have been there, and if she was, her stay was uneventful and very brief. If she was, she may have been scouting for just the right business opportunity, but she made no ripple while passing through. ********************************************************* If Lottie was up north as Newspapers reported, she could not have possibly entered Texas to stay until 1874. Like most other researchers before her, even Devereaux became a bit conditioned to the “biographical haze circling Carlotta Thompkins” as she put it, and desperate to form a story, (and fill a book) and for heavens sake to find a beginning for it, she began to write the life story of Lottie Deno based on the popular hearsay. Still, as PP&P asserts, the most important kind of raw material for writers is that ever elusive resource notation... And the best research done by Devereaux does not actually place Lotta Thompkins in Texas until she paid the taxes as a liquor dealer in Jacksboro, Texas. These payments are said to have been between 1871 and 1874. But they could have been made by a surrogate... or been made by mail, and someonme else was actually the proprieter of the liquor business. ********************************************************************************* I believe that bold, entrepreneurial Lottie, the notorious Chicago madam, had she been in Jacksboro, or San Angelo, or San Antonio, or anyplace with law enforcement and courts, or newspapers, could not have avoided any notice for the years she purportedly operated in Texas as a young, female gambler. And the publicity in Chicago fizzled out as she continued to challenge Victorian laws and paradigms of decency in Jacksboro, Texas. All she needed was a partner... There was a mysterious male consort during her early years and her popular legend of romance and adventure. His name was Johnny Golden, and he supposedly was jockey who had been in love with her, known her in her youth, met up with her in Detroit, and perhaps even married her. ************************************************************************************************ They supposedly parted, and Lottie went south and tore up the tables on the riverboats of the Mississippi, before tackling New Orleans... ************************************************************************************ Here is where I propose that Lottie Deno was only moving towards Texas... but had sent her lover, Johnny Golden, south to Jacksboro, Texas to set up shop, while she bankrolled him. He (or some partner) paid the taxes in her name, as the owner of the business which he was managing, but it was not until late 1874 or 1875 that we know that Lottie had arrived bodily and was operating there. ******************************************************************************************************* That was when Lottie Deno was indicted several times during a short period for running a “Disorderly House,” (brothel) and at least once she even satisfied the $100.00 fine for her crime. She continued her trade in Jacksboro until around 1876. We know all of this, thanks again to Jan Devereaux's thorough footnotes. Legend has it from semi-solid sources that Jacksboro was where Lottie and Doc Holliday first met and dueled at the poker table, and where their friendship, (strictly platonic!) began. But Jack County records are far more informative... ******************************************************************************* Lottie found Texas much more hospitable, and the courts far more malleable. In 1877, after waiving a jury trial, the Jacksboro judge found her not guilty! In spite of his leniency, by then she was moving on to Ft. Griffin, and greener customers. And so did Doc, and unfortunately for him, so did Johnny Golden. ****************************************************************** And it was at this juncture in Jacksboro that Devereaux wrote (finally!): “...unedited pages of primary source documented biography opens.” In other words, from this point on, we are reading history, not supposition. So everything written before in PP&P had been the legend, which Devereaux was craftily weaving with her narrative, amid fantastic, scholarly background development; and assimilation of mountains of hearsay and prevarication. And back to my point, without the knowledge or consideration of an active, notorious, documented prostitute named Lottie Deno in Chicago. ************************************************************** It is possible that there were TWO prostitutes operating in the 1870's under the name “Lottie Deno.” It is also possible that Carlotta Thompkins, who arrived sometime in the 1870's in Jacksboro, read or heard of the more publicized Lottie in Chicago and adopted her name. It's possible. But it seems impossible that she made up the name from whole cloth, or that the legend is correct which claims that her pseudonym Deno was a Texas corruption of the Spanish word for money- dinero. Truth be known, Texans spoke better Spanish than that, and dinero is a popular word there. Almost everybody knows what it means, and most natives know how to pronounce it. A better explanation, and one which makes sense, is that after Lottie began to win at the tables, somebody, perhaps even Lottie, made the barroom pun... substituting Deno with dinero, as a joke.. and it might have stuck in some circles. ***************************************************************************** It is also possible that Lottie Deno of Chicago, wealthy and ambitious, had tired of the restrictions of Victorian civilization and hungered for a more liberal environment, and sent her trusted man-friend to establish a “respectable” business in Texas, where things were thought to be “wide open.” A liquor store would have been perfect as a first step to set up a brothel. Johnny Golden was a mysterious player in Lottie's dark side, a friend since childhood, thought to be her lover, or even married to her; the unacceptable mate which her family could not tolerate, someone she has been written by one author to have been infatuated with if not in love with, but whom she parted ways once they got to Texas... or perhaps sooner... ******************************************************************** The problem is that Lottie lied, lied, lied. So many stories, so many different accounts, and not many of them are compatible. Most are deliberately obfuscating a wild and sordid career in the wilds of Texas- and perhaps all the way back to Chicago. Authors have systematically ignored all of the ugly truth, and the comments by contemporaries which left little doubt that Lottie Deno was something more than a “Queen of Hearts.” Once called a “female monstrosity,” she was someone also quite familiar with literal diamonds, and clubs, and aces. Whether or not Johnny Golden was her henchman in Jacksboro, he showed up again in Ft. Griffin and tried to reconnect. Lottie always tried to make their relationship a relic of the distant past, but her former consort was quite sure of himself. Perhaps Golden was a former pimp who wanted to renew their old arrangement. She wasn't having it. ******************************************************************************************************* Lottie Deno had reinvented herself in Ft. Griffin as primarily a Southern lady gambler, and was doing well. In the West nobody asked you where you came from, or what you had done... or what you might be wanted by the Law for. Although she still probably trafficked in flesh (as a public service!), Lottie now chose her lovers... a move towards sexual discretion. She had regained a measure of self-respect. She told the sheriff that a man had come who wanted to drag her back into her old life, and she did not want to go there. It was just a matter of hours before Golden was dead, after an “attempted arrest” by sheriff's deputies. He had supposedly tried to escape. It did not matter in Ft. Griffin what he was accused of, for he had upset Ft. Griffin's popular and well-connected madam. ************************************************************************************************** Lottie must have had trouble with the way the Ft. Griffin sheriff handled the affair, and stayed in seclusion for days... and then left town without saying good-bye. They found a note on her bed leaving her belongings to the poor. *************************************************************************************** The juxtaposition of Golden's death and Lottie's legendary “disappearance” have never really been a matter of concern. But I believe that Golden was much more to Lottie than a mere nuisance from her dark past. The prejudice with which he was treated suggests that something more was threatened than Lottie's reputation. She had spilled her stained soul to the sheriff, assuming her favorite role of a vulnerable Southern belle. But she must have owed Golden something, or he would never had enough leverage to try to horn in on her operations at Ft. Griffin... which definitely still included subtle, “high end” prostitution. He might have just threatened to inform the town of her various exploits, which could have jeopardized her status above the common girls. But she also might have owed him money... if they were partners back in Jacksboro, and she could not escape him again. She said whatever it took to get rid of him... starting with his arrest. She may have intended to flee all along, while he was incarcerated. The deputies merely solved the problem, Hidetown style. ********************************************************************************************************* Lottie was free of Golden, but not through with gambling, or prostitution... not yet. This suggests her obligation to Golden was financial. And her kind of partnership and possible debt to him was nothing she could solve in the courts. His kind of leverage could only be answered with the same kind of deadly force which was certain to be applied, if indeed he was a pimp. This kind of relationship was all too common. Doc Holliday, Wyatt Earp, and many lesser known "entrpreneurs" had similar arrangelents with their women. ************************************************************************************************ Typically, the women were used up, then left to medicate and often kill themselves with laudenum. Although Lottie was not yet reformed, she must have observed this pattern of destruction. So rather than go straight, she was just shedding her former business plan for one which gave her autonomy, and perhaps a brighter future. But like a lot of social rebels, she stepped out of this Texas frying pan right into the New Mexico fire... *******************************************************************************************

Devereaux followed and documented Lottie's sordid affairs and dealings from Ft. Griffin to Ft. Clark in Brackettville, and then to Silver City, New Mexico. When times got tough, Lottie got tougher. She went from one Western boomtown hellhole to the next, as if she could not get enough sin or self-destructing behavior. *****************************************************************************************************

Silver City was the playground of such sociopathic criminals as young William Bonney, Dave Rudabaugh, and a slew of lesser-known killers and rustlers, not to mention Big Nose Kate Horony and her sporadic consort, Doc Holliday; a perfect place for an inveterate prostitute and gambler. It was the kind of infamous place, that if you wanted a bad reputation, you wanted to start it there. Later the Dalton gang would come down from Oklahoma just to rob a saloon there so as to announce their debut as lawmen cum desperados. Those who only knew Carlotta Thurmond in Deming would never have believed what juicy scandals might have been easily stirred concerning her over in Silver City... and how sweet, church-going Carlotta had made a truly remarkable transformation from her former life. ***********************************************************************

Silver City was where we know for sure that Carlotta met up with another old flame- Frank Thurmond. Frank was real-life Cherokee version of the lovable Crocodile Dundee. He had been known to kill men in hand-to-hand combat, with his huge Bowie knife. Frank was dark and handsome and dangerous. And he would do anything for Lottie, who had decided to start in the saloon business in Silver City. They entered into a partnership and a marriage which vaulted many a hurdle and eventually total life changes- over several decades. ********************************************************************************* “The search for an authentic early photograph of Lottie Deno goes on...” Jan Devereaux **********************************************************************

Well, maybe. I had been researching/writing this segment about the Thurmonds for months while actively thinking about them and their secrets and Lottie's unknown reformation, when I ran upon this bent-up old tintype on eBay- a RARE tintype regardless, of a saloon staff, making a toast. If it is not Lottie and possibly Kate Horony, around a Silver City saloon table, with a man who appears to be a young bartender, celebrating something and making a toast with wine... then well, it sure could be. And this picture of Lottie (in the center) is more HER than many which have been published over the past seventy years. And unlike the rest, it has not been proven to be otherwise!

Shortly afterwards, this opaltype was offered up by a dealer in Las Cruces, New Mexico... and it reminded me so much of my idea of Lottie Thurmond, especially in mid-life, that I had to buy it so I could share it with you as well...

Lottie was not that pretty. I'm not sure how red her hair was. I don't think that she was THAT great of a gambler. She probably was from Kentucky- why lie about that kind of thing? But she was probably not from that great of a home life... certainly not what she told everyone. She was a whore who did what she did. Her reasons were her own and nobody is obligated to explain their choices to anyone else. But the remarkable thing about Lottie Deno, aka Carlotta Thurmond, was that she found a way to turn it all around, after a lifetime of lawlessness and gambling and selling herself to people she could not, and probably would not want to know- while giving the bird to society and all of its judgment and condemnation. Then one day saying to herself, “I can do better. And with God's help, I will do better.” And then doing it. ******************************************************************* The story goes that a preacher came one day to Deming and spoke at a revival and somehow awoke Carlotta's inner spirit; her long dormant self-respect- and hope for a better future. And she answered the invitiation... and walked down the tent revival isle to a life of promise... of rebirth and salvation and purpose and forgiveness and even some standing in the community. And when she told Frank about her choice... he went and made it his as well. In fact a bunch of people did, and it went down as a great day in Deming, New Mexico. And that was the story worth telling... One of courage and resolve and victory. And redemption. *****************************************************************************************

A western novelist, commissioned by William Randolph Hearst, found and interviewed the Thurmonds, and fashioned a whole series of novels with them as the main characters... with their names changed of course... The illustration above was an artist's concept of Frank Thurmond. Yes he was a bad ass... But also the tender old man below...

But the writer did what almost all writers have done with them since... Above is Rhonda Fleming portraying the screenwriter's glamorous version of her... They romanticized and glorified the violence and mischief and missed the most important part, the best part of her story... really the whole story- of redemption and transformation, a long-held secret committed to the unglorified past, but no doubt celebrated by angels... down in Deming, New Mexico; the untold legacy of a soiled dove who took flight towards a refuge of acceptance and belonging which she had never known before, and became a cherished and respected person in her community- as she left her past and her mythic name to the legend mill of the Old West. Few other persons could be written about with such extreme changes in one life... and even fewer who went from bad to good. And probably none who so effectively kept the worst parts of it a well-protected secret for a century!