Deep Trails in the Old West: A Frontier Memoir by Frank Clifford (University of Oklahoma)
This is a real find for history buffs.
Frank Clifford was a cowboy in New Mexico in the 1880s. Under the name of Frank Wrightman, he rode with Clay Allison and Charlie Siringo, and in fact, he and Siringo were members of a posse that went after Billy the Kid. The posse split, and the other group caught Billy.
But Clifford ended up with the Kid’s hat—he’s wearing it on the cover of the book. He later traded it for a new hat in Las Vegas, but he kept the band, which is wife used as a belt, until it wore out.
Clifford wrote his memoir in the 1930s, but it was put away for 80 years, until his great-grandson turned it over to editor Frederick Nolan. This first-person story not only adds to Billy the Kid lore but disputes accounts written by the Kid’s contemporaries who weren’t there.
“Deep Trails in the Old West” is more than the story of the author’s encounter with some of the West’s fabled characters, however. Clifford was a working cowboy. He writes about his adventures on the range and in town at saloons and dances. There is plenty of cowboy lore, and even a chapter on cowboy clothing and equipment.
Clifford’s account is literate. He was born in 1860 into a wealthy English family and studied Latin as a boy. In 1871, he moved to New Mexico with his father, who was employed by the Maxwell Land Grant & Railway Co. in Cimarron. After his father’s death, Clifford took up cowboying and worked for some of the fabled ranches. Under the auspices of the Canadian Cattle Association, he joined the posse pursuing Billy the Kid, and although he wasn’t with the group that captured the outlaw, he heard the story of the Kid’s capture from the men who were there.
Realizing he couldn’t ride the range forever, Clifford gave up ranch life, moved to Emporia, Kan., and under the name of Frank Wallace, married, and became a solid citizen.
For whatever reason, Clifford never told his family about his cowboy days or about his encounter with the West’s most famous outlaw. He wrote his memoirs but never had them published, and his family had no idea of his early life until they read the manuscript.
Helen Ring Robinson: Colorado Senator and Suffragist by Pat Pascoe (University Press of Colorado)
The first woman elected to the Colorado Senate (and only the second female state senator in the country), Helen Ring Robinson was an advocate for women’s and children’s rights, a progressive who believed in education and labor reform, old age pensions and insurance for the poor. She worked for pure-food laws and even investigated the Ludlow Massacre, in which the Colorado National Guard attacked striking coal miners and their families, killing up to 25. She tried but failed to pass a law allowing women to serve on juries. Women were denied jury duty until 1944.
Robinson, who called herself “the housewife of the Senate,” served from 1913 to 1917. “If I could not bring something new to the legislature, I would not want to be sent here. I would regard my destiny as remaining at home and devoting myself to Irish crochet,” she said.
Written by another female senator, Pat Pascoe, who also was a champion of women’s causes, “Helen Ring Robinson” is a well-researched biography of a feminist trailblazer. After her senate term ended, Robinson worked nationally for universal suffrage. “Men still believe in the divine right of their sex,” she said. On the other hand, “Women have always had an inalienable right to do the world’s dirty work, as well as its poorly paid work.”
Ned Wynkoop and the Lonely Road from Sand Creek by Louis Kraft (University of Oklahoma)
Ned Wynkoop was one of the founders of Denver, a young man in search of a fortune and a good time. Married to one of Denver’s first actresses, Louise Wakely, Wynkoop was employed as a lawman. But he hung out with the notorious Charlie Harrison, who owned the Criterion Saloon. He was even pals with John Chivington and a comrade of Chivington’s in the Battle of Glorieta Pass.
Wynkoop cared little about Indians until as an army officer he met Black Kettle and embraced Indian rights. He tried to negotiate peace with the Indians, only to find that Chivington along with Gov. John Evans wanted war. Wynkoop, along with his friend Silas Soule, who was at Sand Creek, spoke out against the massacre there. Soule was murdered, and Wynkoop was castigated by Rocky Mountain News editor William Byers. At that point, Wynkoop’s son recalled, “He chose humanity and let the rest be damned.” For the rest of his life, Wynkoop worked for Indian rights.
Louis Kraft’s biography of Wyn- koop is the first major work on the man whom the Indians dubbed, “The man who will not tell a lie.”
WD Farr: Cowboy in the Boardroom, by Daniel Tyler (University of Oklahoma)
If Frank Clifford was the typical cowboy of the 19th century, WD Farr was the quintessential cattleman of the 20th, a hard-working entrepreneur of the 20th. He not only raised cattle but also established feedlots, experimented with feed, led the way among his peers in environmental issues and pioneered technology, including computers.
But Farr’s biggest impact came with water. A Greeley resident, he led the way in diverting water from the Western Slope to northeast Colorado. He was involved in almost every water project in Colorado for some 70 years. When asked how he wanted to be remembered, Farr said, “Tell them I knew water.”
Farr who was born in 1910 and died in 2007, was always ahead of his time. Instead of cutting back during the Great Depression, he expanded. His family were sheepmen, but after World War, Farr cut back on sheep and expanded into cattle. Along with Warren Monfort, he established feedlots. While Farr was often at odds with environmentalists, he understood the importance of cleaning up the water and the land. But he guessed wrong in the 1980s, and, overextended, he had to sell his empire.
“WD Farr” is a well-researched, well-written book by Daniel Tyler, whose family once bought a ranch from Farr. The problem is that it borders on hagiography. A one-sided portrayal makes for boring reading.
