The pirate Francis Drake and Louis Kraft

Website & blogs © Louis Kraft 2013-2020

Contact Kraft at writerkraft@gmail.com or comment at the end of the blogs


Recently I proposed several ideas of what I might deal with in
my next blog on social media. A good friend of mine quickly asked me to
highlight the pirate named Francis Drake (and she had a great reason why; you’ll
meet her below). … This lady’s request confirmed my desire to do something
that has been with me for a long time and was long overdue.

Alas, and like most of my blogs, this post includes some personal stuff. This is never intended but always happens (I know the reason why, and probably you do too). … Here I’m also talking about Francis Drake; a man that if you don’t know him—you should, as he was centuries before his time.

Centuries!

The LK introduction to the pirate Drake

Francis Drake had many names, but perhaps the most important—or fearful—was what the Spaniards once called him, El Draque. To them he was the dragon, for he time and again appeared out of nowhere to steal their gold and silver, and worse put a dent in their domination over the New World in the 16th century.

I discovered him in the fifth grade, actually the first school in my life wherein I would spend more than one year in the same school. This short two year period would give me the first friends who, although not for all time, would become a good memory of my youth. Ladies and gents I love and cherish my time as I walk between our past and my current life. I’m one lucky cowboy—Ouch! I think here a better word might be pirate as I explore the past while walking into my future.

Believe it or not it was three or four years before Errol Flynn’s death when I saw his great 1940 film The Sea Hawk for the first time on TV. This film, along with Flynn’s 1941 They Died with Their Boots On (when he played George Armstrong Custer), would impact my life more than I could ever have imagined if I had tried. I was still a year or more away from the fifth grade so I hadn’t heard of Drake yet. …

LK on 31oct1958 at my first and only permanent home during my school years (Reseda, California). I believe that this image (right) is the first of me holding a sword. A proud moment for me. Within three years I would be studying the sword with the legendary American Olympian, Ralph Faulkner, who went on to double stars in American film, choreograph cinematic duels, and teach fencing in Hollywood, California, for perhaps half a century. My mother created the costume for me in this image. Unfortunately we didn’t have a morion (a helmet worn during the 16th century) or other armor that Drake might have worn. My costume was closer to pirate attire during the two golden ages of piracy in the Caribbean; late 17th century/early 18th century. My favorite pirate during this time period was Henry Morgan, but it would be years before I discovered him. (photo © Louis Kraft 1958)

I had begun buying books on Flynn before his death, and I bought his memoir My Wicked, Wicked Ways when it was published (available in LA in late 1959 or early 1960). When my mother saw it she asked: “Where did you get this?” “I bought it.” No more questions were needed as my first job was in elementary school—I had a seven-day-a-week newspaper route (not to mention that I made the rounds picking up glass bottles, and they were worth cash at the local market; oh yeah—Way back then!). Good money in those days. “Okay,” she said, “but I don’t want you talking to any of your friends about this book.” I readily agreed.

This joint image is a colorization of a publicity photo of Flynn from The Sea Hawk (Warner Bros., 1940) and this artwork by Clark Hulings appeared on the cover of F. Van Wyck Mason’s novel about Drake’s 1585-86 “West Indies” voyage, Golden Admiral. I believe that this was the first paperback publication of Mason’s novel (1960s), and Hulings’ art shames the U.S. and Australian hardbound book covers. I really like Hulings’ painting and hope to use it if I complete my planned books on Drake.

I actually didn’t make the Drake-Flynn/Geoffrey Thorpe (who EF played in The Sea Hawk) connection until sometime in high school when I began to read real books about Drake. … The Warner Bros. screenwriters Howard Koch and Seton I. Miller (and they were top-notch), wrote the screenplay for The Sea Hawk. It was based upon a story that Miller drafted called The Beggars of the Sea. I’ve never seen Miller’s draft, but it apparently detailed Francis Drake’s early exploits on the Spanish Main and the Caribbean Sea. If you are familiar with Drake and you have seen The Sea Hawk this is a no-brainer connection.

The USA one-sheet for The Sea Hawk (1940).

The film’s title is from Rafael Sabatini’s great novel about an Elizabethan who became a Barbary slave but who eventually became a feared Tunis pirate in the early seventeenth century. A great plot and story by Sabatini and a book that I enjoy every time I read it. Sabatini’s book would become a silent film, but one I’ve never seen. Warners, who owned the rights to the novel and (perhaps) the silent film, opted to go with a fictionalized Drake story. As Warner Bros. constantly did during the Golden Age of Film, they steered clear of being sued. Read that they changed names and facts to protect the innocent—mainly, yours truly, Warner Bros.

Some of you know that I’m writing a book about Errol Flynn; actually I’m writing three books about Flynn. They are all a comin’, and sooner than you might think. For the record, I have a list of what I think are the ten best films Flynn ever made (see Errol Flynn & Louis Kraft; the connection and a view for this list). Four of those films are extraordinary and The Sea Hawk and They Died with Their Boots On are two of them (perhaps someday I’ll write a blog that explains why). Actually this list was expanded to twelve—it should have been thirteen and included Four’s a Crowd (see Louis Kraft’s top 12 Errol Flynn films … a personal view).

Racism in the 1580s and in LK’s life

Yeah, racism existed in Drake’s time and it still does in our time. Usually when I talk about this subject I concentrate on race, but today I’m going to focus more on ethnicity. I was born a Catholic (you had better sit down before you read the rest of this paragraph). I would eventually become a Lutheran (who Drake was) and then a Methodist (who Ned Wynkoop was), but none of these choices by me had anything to with who I have written about or will write about. I’m me, and changes happen. I’m a citizen of the world and I’m free to choose how I worship God. For the record all of my choices throughout my life have been Jesus, my life and savior, God, and Christianity. This is what I worship and I will do so as long as I walk our world. … I have been pounded way too often because I have also cherished and cherish Mary, the mother of Jesus … Moreover I have been attacked for I am able to accept people who worship their God, be it Buddha, Maheo (the Cheyenne God), Ussen (the Apache God), or any other religion (and that included a screenplay that I wrote that dealt with an interracial relationship between a Persian woman and an American in Los Angeles at the time of the fall of the shaw of Iran in the 1970s). If you have trouble with this; it’s on you and not me.

This art of LK meeting the Virgin Mary is based upon a great photo taken my friend Glen Williams at Mission San Fernando Rey de España (city of San Fernando in Los Angeles County) in May 2012. This lady is with me today, tomorrow, and always, … and I don’t give a damn about what you think. (art © Louis Kraft 2017)

Let’s make this clear right now: Mary will always be with me regardless if I pray to my God in the Catholic or Protestant religions. Always. Now and forever. I am strong and I can survive whatever criticism that might come my way (there are stories here, but they are too personal to share). If you don’t agree or like this, again that’s on you (and it is for you to do what you believe is right for you).

I speak with God and Jesus every day. Your decision of what you do is yours and it will not affect my life or my religious beliefs in any way. Nor will I ever curse you as you don’t worship your God as I do mine.

Back to the Dragon …

Both Drake and Flynn were adventurers. Both made an impact on their chosen professions. Most important both stepped outside the racial times of their day (although this last point I didn’t realize until years later when I was actually writing and selling freelance words).

By the mid-1970s I was still an actor but I had begun to write with a purpose. A harrowing experience during a summer of dinner theater in Texas had landed me a screenwriting agent. It had also landed me an acting manager. Although the push was to get me acting work, the manager, and his name was Richard Steele-Reed (alas, no longer with us), was well aware of the writing direction that had begun to take hold of my life. He suggested that we write a novel together; that is I write it and he function as an editor during the process. I liked the idea.

This art by an unknown artist that dates to the 1960s and the world of discovery and piracy. It was a baseball card, and from an unknown card set. This may, or may not, have been Francis Drake’s early entry to the New World after the disastrous John Hawkins’s slave-trading expedition of the late 1560s. Here Drake would show his true colors as he partnered with escaped African slaves that married into the indigenous tribes of people who lived in the area prior to the appearance of Columbus at the end of the 15th century. … As for the image: The men are obviously Cimarrons (more about them below), but the vessel is too large to be Drake’s Swan, which, without digging, I believe was his ship during his early 1570s sailings to the New World.

My choice for a novel: Francis Drake’s early solo voyages after the massive John Hawkins trading disaster to the Indies in 1567, wherein his slaving venture (and Drake was one of his ship captains) from Africa to the Spanish colonial cities looked to amass a huge profit. By the way, the Spanish outlawed this, but it didn’t stop the trading and selling of human cargo. There was a hurricane and Hawkins’s fleet put into the protected harbor of San Juan de Ulúa (current Vera Cruz, Mexico) to repair damage before attempting to cross the Atlantic and return to England. Bad timing placed the Spanish fleet arriving there at this time. The English fleet, and Drake commanded a small vessel called the Judith, was formidable and Hawkins worked out a truce with the Spanish viceroy. … But treachery followed and all but two English ships were sunk. The two to get out of the harbor and flee were Drake’s Judith, and he took some heat for not waiting for Hawkins, who escaped on (if my memory is good) his damaged flagship, the Minion. English seamen that were captured had a future of prison and the Spanish Inquisition (some would luckily survive the ordeal).

This is a detail of  a newly authenticated portrait of Francis Drake. It is on loan and currently displayed at Buckland Abbey, Drake’s home that he bought 11 miles from Plymouth in Devon, England, after his return from the circumnavigation of the world in 1580. Drake’s first wife, Mary Newman, got to enjoy their magnificent new home but not for long as she died the following year. Four years later Drake married Elizabeth Sydenham. This art, which definitely captures Drake’s features is, unfortunately, not dated (and worse the artist is unknown). It predates his 1585-86 expedition to the Spanish Main and his 1587 raid on Cadiz, Spain. And it perhaps predates his triumphant return to London after the circumnavigation. If so, this pushes the date of the painting to the of end of his successful 1572-73 West Indies raid or after he served as the the navel commander for Walter Devereux, First Earl of Essex, in July 1575. The painting has brilliant colors and is alive. I love it.

This was key for both the times, which then was in the midst of a religious war that would heat up, and was also combined with the fight to control the New World, or the Americas. Currently Spain and Portugal had divided this land (what would become Mexico, Central America, South America, and the Caribbean Sea, although the Spanish had made a foothold in what would become the American Southwest and Florida) between themselves and were doing everything possible to protect what they considered their private domain. The English were interlopers (and very aware of the wealth the New World contained) and Spain realized the threat.

Drake, who was a Lutheran, now viewed Spain as his deadly enemy. Turning pirate, he launched his personal war with Spain’s New World empire. … And this was the premise of my co-authored novel with Steele-Reed. It dealt with his first exploratory voyages as he befriended Cimarrons, mixed-blood escaped African slaves who joined and married the indigenous people (that is the people who lived in the Americas prior to Christopher Columbus’s discovery of the New World) that struggled to remain free from Spanish domination. Partnering with the Cimarrons Drake learned how Spain shipped gold and silver overland via mule trains to the eastern coast of what would become Central America. He planned, he plotted, and at the same time he became a small thorn in mighty Spain’s personal domain when he attacked mostly undermanned shipping that could not avoid or repel a piratical attack at that time.

This image was taken during LK’s first time aboard Drake’s Golden Hinde II in August 1976 (San Francisco, California). I’m on (I think) the aft deck, and I’m certainly talking to my crew. There’s nothing better than living in the moment even though in this instance the moment isn’t mine. … I guess that I should share something here; when I walk in an historical person’s shoes I do whatever I can to live their moments. I want to know what they felt, and more why they did what they did. I’m a firm believer in cause and effect, and I need this to write about them in their view. (photo © Louis Kraft 1976)

This incomplete Drake draft is not in the Louis Kraft Collection in Santa Fe; it is still with me and awaiting my return to it. It is one of two Kraft planned books on Drake. The other will be nonfiction. Like Wynkoop and Sand Creek I don’t share my nonfiction plot lines until the books are published (this reason should be obvious, but if not I do not want to give the story away for one major reason—I’m slower than any historian that I know and I don’t want them to publish their book that is based upon my idea before I do).

I write about extraordinary men: Ned Wynkoop, Black Kettle, Charles Gatewood, and Errol Flynn. I also write about a magnificent woman: Olivia de Havilland, who plays a major role in Errol & Olivia. … More important, in the not-too-distant future Drake and Kit Carson will join my writing world that Flynn will soon dominate. It’s a comin’ folks, it’s a comin’. Trust me.

Who was Francis Drake?

And more importantly how do I walk with the pirate Drake and present him in words; both fictionally and in reality? I know. Actually I’ve known for decades. He is in line with above-mentioned writing subjects. By that I mean Drake stepped beyond racial prejudice and hatred and dealt with his fellow man (often his hated enemy) in a humane way. The enemy were killing his brethren, and often butchering them, torturing them, and ripping their bodies to pieces. He dealt with that, he lived with that, but when in control—that is with Spanish prisoners—he didn’t reciprocate. Conversely, he treated them as human beings.

This is Rod Taylor playing the Francis Drake in the 1963 film Seven Sea to Calais. He was brilliant as Drake (but the film never comes close to equaling his performance), and if he had decided to walk in Flynn’s steps and become a swashbuckler—and of course improved his sword skills—we would have had a great successor to Flynn’s glory years. Taylor did not, and alas we have still not seen an actor who could have followed Flynn’s swashbucklings steps. At this late date perhaps we—that is me—will never see someone who can fill Flynn’s legacy. … I’m good with this; oh baby am I good with this. It should have been Rod Taylor. That did not happen, and everyone since Rod’s time have been total failures. … It is what it is and I’m good with this. Bottom point? This just shows you just how great Flynn’s screen presence really was (and that included performing in numerous film genres).

Perhaps not in 1573, one of Drake’s most magnificent years, for he did capture and secure a Spanish treasure caravan. It would make his fortune, put his name in circulation, lead to his short association with Essex in 1575 (mentioned below the above Drake portrait currently displayed at Buckland Abbey), and more important lead to his introduction to Thomas Doughty, an aristocrat. Actually Drake’s participation was small. Sailing the Falcon (a frigate), he commanded the fleet that transported John Norrey’s army to Rathlin Island, off the coast of Ireland. On July 25 Drake used the canons on the Falcon to batter the castle’s stone walls until they crumbled. At that point Norreys began the assault as Drake sailed the coast to ensure that no Scottish ships attempted to send reinforcements. That day the fortress with 200 soldiers surrendered, and the following day the English rounded up 400 civilians who had fled to hide in caves when the English appeared. Men, women, and children, and many of them Scots who had been sent to the island because it was thought to be a safe haven. The English put them to the sword (just a saying, meaning they murdered all 600). The “Rathlin Island Massacre,” as this infamous event is now known, shows that the Spanish were not the only ones who dealt harshly with the enemy. It is unknown what Drake’s reaction was when he learned of the massacre, but his participation in this heinous event led to a friendship with Doughty (who served as Sir Christopher Hatton’s personal secretary), and this would eventually lead to his introduction to Queen Elizabeth I of England.

This is the Golden Hinde II, as it appeared in the Robert Shaw, Genevieve Bujold, James Earl Jones, and Peter Boyle film Swashbuckler (Universal Pictures, 1976). If I remember correctly Universal paid $1,000,000 to rent the Golden Hinde II. Unfortunately there were no battles at sea (guess the production only had enough money to rent one vessel). Here Shaw’s pirate ship (The Blarney Cock) is bombarding a stone execution gibbet that is just above the Jamaican town of ??? (can’t remember; Port Royal?) before making a daring rescue of Jones, who was about to be hung.

Better, it would lead to his proposal to attack the Spanish settlements on the western coast of the Americas (advertised as a trading voyage to the Nile). This would lead to riches beyond belief for him, his crew, his queen, and the investors in the piratical raid. This included his circumnavigation of the globe*, which led to his knighthood in 1581. This voyage, if studied, is mind-boggling. Yes, it is that magnificent, and again it demonstrates in bold letters Drake’s daring as well of his view of humankind and Spain. His relationship with indigenous people continued as he circled the globe. At times he wined and dined his Spanish captives aboard the Golden Hinde; (after transporting the treasure from the Cacafuego, see below italicized note, which took five days, Drake released the ship and its crew on the evening of March 5) treating them with humanity and respect, something that wasn’t expected during the second half of the 16th century.

The Golden Hinde II under full sail.

* Drake did not initially plan to sail around the globe. Instead he hoped to return to England by discovering the western entrance to the (still thought to exist) Northwest Passage and sail this unchartered waterway back to the Atlantic Ocean. Reason: He knew that his raids along the western coast of the Americas, and this included the March 1, 1579, capture of the Spanish treasure ship Nuestra Señora de la Concepción (also called Cacafuego) off the coast of what would become Ecuador, guaranteed that a Spanish fleet would be waiting for him to return to the Strait of Magellan, the 373-mile water passage below southern-most portion of mainland South America and north of Tierra de Fuego. When Drake realized that the Northwest Passage didn’t exist he had but one choice to return home—sail west into the Pacific Ocean.

Yep, Francis Drake, a lowly born Englishman, became a member of the realm. He was a self-made man, and by that I mean a person who dared to step outside the stated doctrines of his life and times, and stand firm for his country, religion, culture, and freedom.

“I vote for Drake! Please?”

How could I refuse the lady’s request? … And especially since Drake has been with me for a long time. “My friend, El Draque (the Dragon) it is.”

This is MaryLou Backus. She is a beautiful and slender person that I am lucky to know. We are close on many subjects from the American Indians and into our world of today. When I had raised the question of perhaps writing a blog about Francis Drake she immediately replied yes. (art of MaryLou © Louis Kraft 2017)

When I had raised the question of who I should next highlight in my next blog on social media a long-distance friend spoke up quickly with the words in this heading. Her request was quick (actually she was the only person to reply on the first day of the post).

Back to this lady, and I haven’t shared her name except in the image to the right. She is MaryLou Backus. … She and I have much in common even though we have never met. Better, she is a lady after my heart. Unbelievably her family believes that that they are directly related to Francis Drake, who, to repeat myself, lived in a time of extreme racial and religious prejudice, as well as hatred and butchery. He refused to murder other human beings. … And he was a pirate. …

I’m still with MaryLou. She is an absolutely gorgeous lady who luckily I’ll meet sometime in our future. Social media linked us in our joint interest in the American Indian wars. When I proposed this blog to her, MaryLou had this to say: “Wonderful! I grew up on tales of him [Drake] having been an ancestor. I have no idea if it’s true, but of course it created a fascination.” I can’t walk away from MaryLou’s hope. Not today; not ever! I wish that I could join her and claim that Mr. Drake was also my relative. I can’t. Her claim is real; it’s alive, and I’m certain that the back story to what she has heard has the possibility of being true. My view? Wow! MaryLou, you are so lucky to have the pirate Drake perhaps being your relative.

… And there’s more to MaryLou’s extraordinary reminiscence of her family’s living history and connection to the pirate Drake who would become Sir Francis. This remembrance of MaryLou must not be forgotten, and here’s another reason why. … “And somebody was supposed to have some old doubloons squirreled away,” she told me. “As a kid, I always dreamed of finding them in somebody’s attic. Ha!” Good stuff.

Knighted and a national hero

When Drake returned from his circumnavigation and was knighted, he had no idea that his service, which ranged from piracy to loyalty to his country, had not yet ended.

This is the April 1581 Nicholas Hilliard miniature of Drake. It is a portrait of Drake the year after he completed the circumnavigation of the globe in 1580. It is in the National Maritime Museum on the Thames River in Greenwich across from London proper. Also in this museum complex is the Queen’s House. In 2009 I visited Olivia de Havilland at her home for the second time upon her invitation. I don’t fly to Paris without a full agenda to wrap three weekends around two weeks. My then special lady (Diane Moon) wanted to also see London (cool for me, as I wanted to see some of the classic paintings of Drake in person). I would have liked to have traveled to Plymouth to do research and see Buckland Abby but that would have added another week as I would have had to do some serious Drake and Devon research. Heck, I got to spend time on the Golden Hinde II for the third time as it is now docked in London (and I assume that it is still berthed on the Thames River). Believe it or not, my lady and I had the ship to ourselves during this visit (it pays to be an early bird); some good research material at the shop that handled visits aboard this oh-so famous replica vessel. … I’ve missed flights, and on this trip I almost missed two—that’s right—two Eurorail trips (from Paris to London and London back to France). Diane was okay with the first mess up as we threw our bags onto the train and boarded it seconds—yes, seconds—before the doors closed and we were thrown to the floor as the train jerked forward, but when we almost missed the train back to France she was livid. The reason was simple: We would have missed our return flight to the USA. … Back to the story, we took a Thames boat ride to Greenwich and explored the National Maritime Museum (a wonder!). We saw Hilliard’s miniature and other decent art of Drake, but not the 1591 jewel portrait of him. It was supposed to be at the museum. I asked, and was told that it was in the Queen’s House (a part of the museum complex). We hustled to the house (perhaps a 300-yard distance from the National Maritime Museum), but it closed at five and it was now a few minutes after five. For the record this was not Elizabeth I of England’s house but James I’s (the Scot who succeeded Elizabeth on the English throne as she left no heirs) wife’s house, and it was built a little over 10 years after Elizabeth’s death. My friend and historian Eric Niderost (who is also a professor in Northern California) shared this information with me, and I am forever grateful. … Diane and I couldn’t talk our way into the building. Devastating! We took our boat ride back to Big Ben and then the subways to our hotel. After dinner she said to me, “We have time tomorrow morning. Let’s go to the Queen’s House.” This was based upon the misinformation that had I shared with her of when Eurorail would take us back to France (yeah, sometimes Kraft isn’t the smartest pirate wandering our modern world). Another roundtrip on the Thames and me seeing the Drake jewel portrait became my second highlight of the trip; seeing Livvie, as Flynn called Olivia de Havilland, for the third time was definitely number one. … A print of this great 1581 Drake portrait is in the personal LK collection, as is the magnificent 1591 jewell portrait.

The Spanish threat of death to all heretics continued; that is death to all that did not accept  Catholicism. Drake enjoyed a short but peaceful time in his homeland, but he lost his first wife (I don’t know how she died). Several years later he married a second time. Life was good, but the Spanish threat refused to go away. Ever the pirate the now patriot Drake helmed a massive invasion of the New World. He would attack and seize major cities, including Cartagena (Columbia’s northern coast of the Caribbean Sea, current South America). While in control of the city he sent an African emissary to negotiate with the Spanish only to watch a Spanish officer murder his negotiator. Drake could not accept this and demanded that the officer who committed the crime be delivered to him. This was done and Drake had the murderer executed. The Spanish threat of death to all heretics continued. Elizabeth and many in England felt vulnerable to invasion. Spies reported King Philip II of Spain was amassing a huge armada in Cadiz.

I have shared larger copies of this image elsewhere on social media but never before on my blog. I am at the helm of Drake’s Golden Hinde II on 10jul2009, which means that I was in a live-world heaven. Originally the helm had a whipstaff for the wheel didn’t exist in Drake’s day. I’m on the half deck of the Golden Hinde II. (photo © Louis Kraft 2009)

Francis Drake (the British pirate) and Francis Drake (the British knight) was a man for all time. … For the record he would have easily walked with frontiersman Ned Wynkoop, Cheyenne chief Black Kettle, and actor Errol Flynn as they all stepped beyond racism. As already stated Drake lived during a time of extreme religious prejudice, a time of absolute butchery of the foe (let’s not forget the American frontier or the modern world of warfare). I have not yet figured out how Drake could step beyond his times and accept people who were of different color and in the case of the Spanish prayed to a God that, although similar to his, preached the elimination—that is the murder—of everyone that did not accept and pray to Jesus as viewed through the Catholic Church. This was a harsh time wherein “infidels,” that is those that did not cherish and praise Jesus Christ exactly as those who accepted Catholicism as worshiped in the Spanish empire were evil and needed to burn at the stake. I can’t begin to imagine the Inquisition or the horror of this kind of death.

This artwork of Sir Francis Drake (1594) is a copy of the magnificent 1591 jewel portrait of him (a copy of the jewel portrait is in his cabin on the Golden Hinde II, currently docked in London, and the original painting is in the Queen’s House in Greenwich). This unknown artist’s rendition is rough—at best (actually, it isn’t very good).

During the attempted Spanish Armada invasion of England in 1588 Drake again played a major role, although he also acted as he had in the past, mainly as a pirate acting on his own hook. I hate authority and love this. Regardless of how we view his actions at this climatic time in England’s history he was a patriot.

Francis Drake was born a protestant, and he would die a protestant. He was born into a world of racism, and his entire life would exist in a harsh climate of religious hatred and brutal murder of those who prayed to a different Jesus Christ and God.

But Francs Drake was different. He was a pirate, and later a knight of the realm. He and those he loved were always at risk of death if the Spanish conquest of England won out. It didn’t, and he and his family survived. Francis Drake would never know Ned Wynkoop, Black Kettle, or Errol Flynn, and they most likely never considered his life, and yet all of them are tied between the ages and time in that they accepted people of a different race, color, and religion as just people.

This is something that everyone currently walking our world should do. Lordy, if all of us could just do this, what a better world we would have. Think of it … a world without racial or religious prejudice and hate, … a world without conquest and genocide, … a world wherein a woman and a man are equal.

Yep, I dream for a future that I’ll never see.

How race has affected my life & writing

Website & blogs © Louis Kraft 2013-2020
Contact Kraft at writerkraft@gmail.com or comment at the end of the blog


I saw and liked this image of Nuch (that is Pailin), and she gave it to me. It was taken at her work shortly before I met her, and more importantly shows a little of her world—a world I hope to enter. She created the border; all I did was prep it for the internet. (photo © Pailin Subanna 2013)

There is a new lady in my life. She has been a long time coming, and that is because I don’t look for women and I don’t chase women. We are getting to know each other, letting our friendship grow as we experience our cultures. She is charming, funny, bright, has a sensitivity that I have seldom seen, and is open to the world and all it has to offer. She is certainly braver than I have been (and I have pushed my limits at times). Oh, did I mention that I am thrilled to know her. My eyes devour her (no bad thoughts here; only good thoughts). We are both shy, careful, perhaps wounded, and have an exciting adventure in front of us as we seal our friendship and move into our future.

I have a wonderful friend in Massachusetts. We are in constant contact. When she learned of the new lady in my life, she raised the very valid question about race. Since my divorce in the dark ages I have had two long-term girlfriends. As they were Asian and this lady is Asian, she raised the question if I am only interested in women of Asian descent. I told her no, absolutely not (I can list a number of false starts with terrific women of other races, but won’t). I told her all three relationships just happened and had nothing to do with race.

vee_blackSailor_july2013_ws

My good friend Veronica von Bernath Morra with an African American sailor in July 2013 during a cruise to Bermuda. Both have great smiles. (photo © Veronica von Bernath Morra 2013)

She countered with a great comment: “IMHO nothing ‘Just Happens.’ The fact that these women are Asian and not Black, American Indian, Hispanic, etc., has something to do with what you find attractive. You must meet many women; but I believe you gravitate in one direction more than others!!”

My friend’s name is Veronica von Bernath Morra, and she said something I want to not believe. Certainly I see a lot of African American and Latina ladies that are drop-dead beautiful, but her statement, and this is exactly why I’m quoting her here, has got to have a lot of truth to it. I’m not going to talk about why, for honestly I don’t know why. I am going to talk about race, equality, and how it has affected my life and writing.

A lack of racism in my life

As far as I could see my parents had no racist bones in their bodies. I never heard anything from them that even hinted at what could be considered a negative or derogatory view of other people. I think that they were key to what would become my future.

I was born in New York, but while young moved to California with my parents and younger sister. Within a year my mother, sister, and I were back to New York while my mother fixed up our home that had been rented. By the time I was 7 (perhaps 8) we had returned to California. By then I had already been in five, six, or maybe seven schools. The list would continue to grow. For a couple of years we lived in a trailer park in Van Nuys.

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This image (which unfortunately was too small and too out of focus for me to do anything with) has been colorized. The fellow on the left is Rand Brooks; he played Corporal Boone on The Adventures of Rin Tin Tin in the 1950s. The fellow on the right is Kid Kraft, one of the most infamous gunslingers of the 1950s. I don’t remember how many notches he had on his Colt revolver, but there were many. Notice that his Colt is butt first on his left hip. Yep, he used a cross-draw. This image was taken at Corriganville Park in Simi Valley, California, in February 1956. (photo/art © Louis Kraft 2013)

My best friend in 1955 was Jesse Carrera. We were buds, and on all our days free of elementary school we climbed the huge (to us) man-made mountain that would eventually become the 405 freeway as it sliced through Van Nuys and explore the labyrinth of sand and waterways hidden by dense brush and trees. We were frontiersmen exploring a pristine world. Our imaginations went wild as we cautiously followed the bends of the river. Every so often we would meet strangers, but all was peaceful and non-threatening. Jesse was Latino, but I didn’t know that. All I knew was that he was my first real friend. After his family or mine left the trailer park (can’t remember which family left first) I never saw him again. At the time this was a devastating loss.

Van Nuys is in the San Fernando Valley (Los Angeles County, where most of the towns are part of the city of the Angels). In 1956 my parents bought a home on half an acre in Reseda. Rural, definitely rural (animals galore), and I would grow up in this house. My school years through high school consisted of mostly Anglo Americans. I had an Asian friend who I met in fourth grade and due to the constant splitting of school districts we were part of a small group of kids that went from one school (4th grade) to another (5th & 6th grades), all of junior high (although most of our classmates went to another junior high) and all of high school together (again separated from most of our junior high classmates). For him and me, staying together through school was a rarity, for every time a district divided we were on the small side and became outsiders in our new schools. His name was Brian Usui. Recently I had hoped to see him again, but it wasn’t to be for he had died. In junior high my best friend was David Koenig. He was half German and half Latino (we had three years together, and remained friends afterwards, but I haven’t seen him in years). Dave and I shared some adventures, including running for our lives when an irate father attempted beat the hell out of us, or worse. Our legs and his lack of physical condition saved us.

As stated, Brian and I were on the short end of our final school border split as Cleveland High School in Reseda had recently opened. It was half a block from my house, which allowed me to spend time with my mother every lunch hour—heaven! (Yep, I was a mama’s boy.)

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LK w/Nina & Pete Senoff at a Cleveland High School birthday party on the evening of September 29, 2012. Pete gave me the image (and I don’t know if the image is from his camera or someone else’s). It was a duotone when I received it, and I like duotones. … Pete was the editor on the Cleveland HS paper, and during our final year he played a major role in me having a good life that last year. I know that’s pretty damned obscure. I won an election I had no right to enter (two teachers and Pete made this happen–perhaps I’ll talk about this sometime). The past is long gone; what matters now is that we are friends. This includes Nina, and I look forward to our future relationship. This includes Nuch, who, thanks to Pete, has already become friends with Nina.

Memory says Cleveland HS was mostly Anglo American, some Latinos, and probably more Asians than Brian. I didn’t remember any African Americans in the school, but someone I liked during at least the last year of high school and who has reconnected with me—Pete Senoff (more about him and his pretty wife in the future)—last year told me that there were some African Americans at Cleveland. I didn’t meet the first African American person who would become a close friend until college. We were actors and we hit it off. His wife was white, and I had no problem with their marriage—they became good friends for years to come.

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Cassius Clay reacting to hearing that Liston cannot continue the fight. … Although I didn’t know it at this time, Muhammad Ali would become a major person during the 20th century but not for his boxing feats (which are legendary), but for his strength to stand firm for what he believed was right regardless of the consequences.

When Cassius Clay fought Sonny Liston for the heavy weight boxing championship on February 25, 1964, I was a member of a teen club. The fellow that led the group I belonged to laughed when I said Clay would win the fight. I had been following Clay on the radio and was certain he’d win. The counselor bet $20.00 against my pants on the outcome. I drooled over that 20 bucks, but damn how could I explain why I had no pants when my mother picked me up? Clay won, and soon after became Muhammad Ali, one of the greatest inspirations of the 20th century. (I would meet Ali twice a decade and a half or so later while working in the film industry—a thrill!). Let me put it to you this way: I was still an innocent, I never considered Ali’s race. It didn’t mean anything to me. Why? My mother and father.

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This picture was taken the night of my senior prom at Grover Cleveland High School in Reseda, California, at Kathy Grossman’s parents’ house. And it does not do her justice, for she was gorgeous. ‘Course I was stupid, for when I moved on to college I didn’t look back. I did see Kathy one more time after my senior year ended when I bumped into her at the Reseda Post Office. I had seen my dad and was mailing a package for him. We had a nice talk. She had just returned from spending a year in a kibbutz in Israel, was visiting her parents, and was about to get married. She looked terrific; I never saw her again.

In my final year of high school I luckily had a pretty Jewish girl in my Spanish class. I actually had the guts to ask her out and she said yes. I should state here that during my visits to her home, her parents welcomed me. They were open, friendly, kind, and gracious—always. Never did I feel the outsider. A good feeling. Unfortunately she was younger than I was and I never made the attempt to continue the relationship after I moved on to college.

College presented me with four years of creativity, experimentation, and an introduction to the real world of racism. I was at school from 7:00 AM until 6:00 or 7:00 PM unless I was working on a theatrical production—then it would extend to 11:00 PM or later. I did almost all of my studying at school. I partied and lived the good life, including going to the beach whenever a good buddy named Steve Jacques and I decided to take the day off. I graduated in four years with 16+ extra credits. I worked and paid for everything. My father wanted me to be like him; he wanted me to be a man for if not, I’d not survive in the real world. He paid for zero (although he did allow me to live at home for a good part of the time in a trailer in the back yard). I said, “F.U.!” I had begun working full-time in high school, for I knew what I wanted. Believe me, we had a number of knock-down fights and I always lost (and they weren’t by decision).

The Apaches during the end of their wars with the U.S. believed that if they
couldn’t win the fight (with little or no casualties) to run away to fight another day.
Unfortunately it took me years to learn this. I’ve been down for the 10-count
more than once. I have learned what the Apaches instinctively knew.

An eye-opening end to the 1960s

Robert F. Kennedy spoke at San Fernando Valley State College (now California State University, Northridge) on March 25, 1968, after announcing that he would seek the Democratic nomination for president on March 16th (and was warned by his brother not to run). At that time I was a registered Republican (I had worked for Ronald Reagan as volunteer during his first campaign to become governor of California) and could not have voted for RFK in the California primary election on June 4. I joined the crowd on that March day, and on that day I thought nothing of RFK. He meant absolutely nothing to me. During that hour or so when he spoke I was floored (read impressed). Had he not been murdered and had he won the Democratic nomination for president I would have voted for him (currently I’m registered as a Democrat, and have been since just before Bill Clinton’s California Democratic primary win in 1992, but have always voted for the candidate and not the party).

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In 1984 I worked on a mini-series, Robert Kennedy and His Times, that shot his final hours where they happened in the Ambassador Hotel on Wilshire Blvd. in Los Angeles (evening of June 4-5, 1968). Brad Davis played RFK and G.D. Spradlin played Lyndon B. Johnson (first class performances). I had a small part in the TV film (a little over 5 hours), but luckily was employed during the entire shoot; up front and center with the key people in the production (learning about good and bad). I then realized what I didn’t know in 1968, how important RFK was to civil rights and how tragic his murder was to the future of our country.

By the end of the 1960s Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and the movement for racial equality dominated the news. My home was racial free, regardless of how few friends I had of race. During my college years I bought into Dr. King’s movement 100 percent, and marched for him (before and after his death).

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Martin Luther King, Jr., and his wife Coretta in 1964, at the time he received the Nobel Peace Prize for his leadership and work in the Civil Rights movement. (art © Louis Kraft 2013)

In August 1963 Dr. King and a massive number of people marched in Washington DC, and on the 28th he delivered his “I Have a Dream” talk. I couldn’t be in Washington as I was too young, but I knew what happened. I had been working part time in high school, but during my last year I worked full time so I could enter college in fall 1965. In my first semester I took a speech class never dreaming that someday I would earn money speaking. I think there were two short talks and the final presentation. Mine dealt with Dr. King and his “I Have a Dream” speech.

Less than four years later while enjoying my last semester of college I took a Black theater class (that’s what African Americans were called then) on Sunday evenings. This class was outside the then-lines of mainstream theater and way outside college curriculum. I think my professor’s last name was Faulk (need to check). The Theater Department was small and I took a number of his classes, and they were always outside the box (or maybe he just allowed me to go outside the box). Four maybe five African Americans who weren’t in the Theater Department joined me in the class which was a round-robin discussion. Just us and Dr. Faulk sitting in a circle. Probably one or the most important classes I ever took. And it would influence my future, for it was still ongoing when Dr. King was murdered (two months before RFK) on April 4, 1968. In Los Angeles I marched in support of MLK Jr.’s views on peace, nonviolence, and racial equality. These marches, which were dominated by African Americans, were peaceful. It was probably at this time that I realized that people are people, and it doesn’t matter their race.

Post-college eye openers

The first eye opener took place while I was in training to become a member of Volunteers in Service to America (VISTA) in Austin, Texas. One night during the wee hours of early morning (they rolled up the sidewalks at 10:00 PM, but not us), I experienced something I could have gladly missed. We were off by 6:00 or 6:30, and part of the training included how to position ourselves to work with American Indians (my desire—thanks to Errol Flynn Introducing me to Custer and Custer introducing me to the Indian wars), Blacks, or Hispanicswr. On that night (perhaps around 2:00 AM) there were about 20 of us in one of the dorm rooms on the University of Texas campus. I said something that I perhaps should not have said to a white couple that I liked. Don’t remember what I said, but suddenly I had an arm wrapped around my chest and a knife at my throat. One of the Chicanos (as Mexicans whose parents were born in Mexico but they were born in the U.S. were then called) didn’t like what I said. He was present as he was looking for volunteers his delegation would choose to work in Mexican communities in one of the Southwestern states.

I have been run over while riding a motorcycle and have taken a
motorcycle over a cliff. … I have been in car wrecks, car chases, and
more fisticuffs than necessary. You’ve got to realize—and don’t
laugh—I’m a man of peace. I just have a knack of being
in the wrong place at the wrong time.

An image taken a few years after LK left VISTA. (photo © Louis Kraft 1973)

Back to the knife. Let’s put it this way; I was frightened, but luckily in control of my thought process. I told the Chicano that if he killed me, he ruined his cause. I also told him that if he killed me he would have to kill everyone else in the room for otherwise his life would have no future.

These words were probably the most important of my life. He released me. Some four hours later when breakfast was served I was a hero. Pure bullshit for I was little more than a scared person who was thrilled to see the sun rise. Soon after the racial delegations chose us, similar to choosing sides for a sandlot football game. African Americans chose me. Although I was mad that I didn’t get to work with Navajos or Apaches or Cheyennes, I was lucky. There would be training in Sapulpa, Oklahoma, and more training in Austin before five women and two men (a Black woman from L.A. and a Black fellow I liked a lot—the rest were Anglo Americans) and I were assigned to Oklahoma City. Enough said, except to say that this was an important time in my life. I learned to live with and hang out with a race of people that had lived with and still experienced heavy racial oppression.

To this point in time I had no idea I would become a writer.

Acting, more racism, a daughter, & cold turkey

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LK as he looked for the first play at the Hayloft Dinner Theatre in Lubbock Texas; What Did We Do Wrong, a generation-gap comedy. (photo © Louis Kraft 1976)

After VISTA I spent as much time as possible with professional theater groups, I really learned how to act, and began to land some acting (and related) work. In the summer of 1976 I did dinner theater in Lubbock, Texas, and the racism I saw up close shocked me. The directors and lead actors came from L.A. Jim Reynolds played my best friend in the first play. We hit it off immediately and hung out together. He was African American. The actors lived at the theater, but the show running its last week while we rehearsed still occupied the bedrooms in the building. That week before opening we lived in a motel with a restaurant. That first morning after our arrival the waitress gave me coffee, water, a menu, and ignored Jim. I not only had to ask for him—I had to order for him. As we didn’t have transportation, this restaurant was our only choice each morning for a week. And this was just the beginning of what I saw that summer of 1976; it was right out of films that featured racism in the South. To this day what I experienced in Lubbock has tainted my view of Texas; it still burns in my soul.

My mother’s death on January 4, 1980, ended my father’s
and my war. We spent the last weeks of her life, every
waking moment, together. My mother’s death gave
us a love that would be never-ending.

Years would pass, some good while others were bad. With the birth of my daughter Marissa in the early 1980s I knew what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. I had begun writing screenplays in the 1970s. By the mid-1980s I began selling magazine articles. Knowing that computers were the future I quit acting cold turkey and perhaps nine months later landed a job with a corporate insurance brokerage firm as a secretary under the condition that I teach myself the computer in two weeks (to date I had never touched one). That was probably the biggest job I ever landed in my life for it gave me my future.

Defending my writing

My Indian wars writing and speaking has always dealt with racism—Anglo Americans, Cheyennes, and Apaches (someday also Navajos). My interest has always been a few white men that attempted to bring about the end of war, tried to not kill, and/or stood firm for Indian rights. I view Indian people that dared to stand up to the American juggernaut as patriots. In some circles this isn’t a popular viewpoint. Believe it or not, the Indian wars still sizzle with racism. It is as alive today as it was in the 1860s and 1880s. Add that I have always viewed this tragic conflict from both points of view, and at times I am not viewed in the best light.

For those of you wondering about Errol & Olivia and future books on Flynn,
worry not for this work will also generate controversy.

Tanya Thomas as Mo-nahs-e-tah (how the Southern Cheyenne woman’s name was pronounced) and LK as Ned Wynkoop in Cheyenne Blood (2009). I chose this image as it gives you a physical view of how I approach the Indian wars (and unfortunately haven’t written any plays dealing with the Apaches). Tanya is a great actress, and I enjoyed working with her. My pal, the very talented Tom Eubanks, directed Cheyenne Blood. (photo by Dean Zatkowsky)

During the time of the Gatewood–Apache books I constantly found myself defending Geronimo. I would ask those attacking me, what would you do if a superior force invaded the United States, took your homeland, killed your friends and loved ones, destroyed your religion, your culture, and your lifeway while making you a prisoner of war? What would you do? I know what I would do.

When giving a talk in Santa Fe, New Mexico, someone asked who in today’s world would I compare Geronimo to? I said, “Osama bin Laden.” He was still alive then and a threat to the U.S. The person who asked the question was outraged. I told her that bin Laden and Geronimo are/were the bogeyman, an embodiment of terror. I bring this up for one reason—there are two sides to every story. What was the U.S. military to Geronimo or bin Laden? Only they can tell you …

Trust me, Sand Creek and the Tragic End of a Lifeway
will be a special treat for those not in love with my writing. For those of
you that enjoy my writing, this book will be well worth the wait.

For the record: My writing requires no explanation. It is what it is.

Deadly intent?

More recently I appeared on LA Talk Radio. The host is someone I’ve known for years and someone I consider a friend—Jack Marino. LA Talk Radio has two stations that are live at the same time, and I met the other host, a Jewish fellow, before the hour interview began (almost exclusively Errol Flynn and Olivia de Havilland).

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After the hour, the Jewish host, who knew we were going out, asked to join us. During our late-night dinner he began a monologue on Nazis that eventually included film actress Maureen O’Hara and her supposed heinous participation in WWII. He then moved on to Asians. The tirade bothered me. He had no justifiable reasons for his statements, and refused to substantiate anything. After a while I began to smile (my best Clint Eastwood smile). This bothered him and he said, “What’s your problem?” “You,” I replied. “You’re a racist.”

He violently denied my accusation, but offered no proof to back up his statements. I continued to smile, which unnerved him.

Me? I’m a pacifist and avoid violence whenever possible. I stand firmly for racial equality but at times in my past did not challenge racism when it stared me in the face. I heard more than my share of racist slurs in high school (but don’t remember any in college). I played 10 years on a ball team, and even though we had a Latino and a couple of Asians on the team, I saw hatred directed toward teams that were not predominantly white. I have also listened to racist comments from law enforcement personnel. Living has changed me. Where once I remained silent to what I considered offensive, I no longer do. For me, racism isn’t acceptable. The Jewish radio host sensed this, and made damn sure he kept his distance from me as he exited the restaurant. To repeat, I’m a pacifist—but he I would have gladly engaged. And I would have won.

What excites me … and what frightens me

You know what I find exciting? When people who don’t speak the same language, fear each other, are at war, but sit down to discuss peace. Now that’s exciting, but I’m talking about the 1860s and the 1880s. Race relations in our world is much-much more important today than it was during the Indian wars. Back in the 1860s or 1880s there was certainly the possibility of the elimination of a race of people. A heinous thought. Today the threat is greater, for today if mankind can’t work it out with people that have different beliefs, religions, cultures, and values, someday one of these groups of people will unleash weapons of mass destruction that will eliminate mankind as we know it.

Only time will tell

I like people and don’t care where they were born. I don’t care what color their skin is, what their religion is, or what their politics are. A good person is a good person. I’m open and I do get along with people. Always have. I don’t let too many people into my inner circle (and this group, although small but much larger than you think, is not limited to Los Angeles or California or the American West but includes people outside the United States). The reason is simple—time. I short-change my friends all the time, but it isn’t on purpose but rather because I must work long hours to survive.

There is a door that should not be opened, but it will be as I need to state something. And it is important for it goes right back to what initiated this blog. The new lady in my life. Where will our relationship lead? I know what I hope and she may hope the same. Only time will tell. One thing is certain; we must become good friends first.

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Nuch & LK on June 20, 2013. Nuch always has a great smile; this was the first time I smiled—really smiled—in years. There’s also the bonus that my hair is combed, which is a rarity. Nuch took this image. (photo © Pailin Subanna & Louis Kraft 2013)

Veronica and Marissa have questioned my choice in women (read Asian). I denied it, but as said above the question is valid. I have had three long-term relationships (a marriage and two ladies); one was Anglo American and the others were Japanese and Korean. But that’s not the full story, for there have been other women: Anglo Americans, African Americans, Latinas, Asians, Persians, Swedes, Greeks, Jewish people, and almost an American Indian. These ladies were special but for one reason or another the relationships were not long term and sometimes never moved beyond friendship. In my opinion only the long-term relationships count for they are the important ones when talking about love, which makes me a three-time loser.

Or perhaps not. Maybe I’ve only been in training for my future.

My new lady is from Thailand. We have a fragile past with a lot of hurt, pain, and tragedy, and because of this we are very careful. We are seeing each other, exploring Los Angeles, eating, learning language, sharing, laughing, dancing, enjoying each other’s company … and we have become friends.

Do I dare say good friends? Yes!

Will we move to love and intimacy? We don’t know. Only time will tell.

One thing is certain. … The opening of my heart to this lady is based completely on who she is as a human being and has nothing to do with race (and I’m safe in saying that this is also how she feels).