Errol Flynn, Sand Creek, lk background + Pailin & Louis Kraft marry

Posted on February 26, 2014 by Louis Kraft

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

Ladies and gents this blog has been a long time coming. My apologies. As often, I am going to focus on subjects that are important to me. Hopefully the text moves forward at a good clip. And as always, I’ve arranged this blog to my liking; meaning that I’ve saved the most important—and all the sections are important to me—for last.

The pirate Francis Drake, the soldier George Armstrong Custer, and guess who?

El Draque times 2. (Louis Kraft personal collection)

The pirate Francis Drake and the soldier George Armstrong Custer entered my life near the beginning. By the 5th grade I had discovered the English pirate the Spaniards called “El Draque,” the dragon.

Drake’s derring-do in his private war against the Spanish empire terrorized not only coastal Spain but all of King Philip II’s cities in the New World. But, unlike pirates before and after him, he wasn’t a blood-thirsty murderer. Instead of butchering captives during a time of extreme religious prejudice he never harbored a bloodlust and acted with compassion. At times he even wined and dined prisoners on plates of crystal while musicians performed. Drake’s genius was twofold: He boldly plotted strikes against Spain’s empire that were implausible. and he could improvise as needed.

While still in elementary school I saw Errol Flynn’s The Sea Hawk (1940) for the first time, and even though a youngster I realized that Flynn played a fictitious Drake (BTW the term “privateer” wouldn’t come into existence until a century after Drake’s initial voyages to the Caribbean). Soon after seeing Flynn’s Captain Geoffrey Thorpe in The Sea Hawk I saw him play George Armstrong Custer in They Died With Their Boots On (1941), which introduced me to the Civil War hero who would eventually become the superstar of the Indian wars on the American Plains.

The quintessential Custer times 2 (Louis Kraft personal collection)

Like Drake, Custer was a warrior who also improvised. And also like Drake he wasn’t a butcher, and certainly not of Cheyennes, Arapahos, or Sioux. Unlike many Civil War heroes his fame didn’t vanish, perhaps because of his writing for he didn’t engage American Indians in combat often. He came alive when negotiating with Indian leaders. Flynn’s portrayal of Custer led me to read Custer’s My Life on the Plains, which initiated a quest that is alive to this day.

Two Errol Flynn films, both of which were fiction based upon fact that had been disguised. At the moment I don’t know why Drake’s name was dropped. Perhaps it was because Warner Bros. owned the rights to Rafael Sabatini’s great novel, The Sea Hawk, which dealt with an Englishman sold into slavery but who became a Barbary pirate, or because this film was created around Flynn’s screen persona—which I buy into. Regardless, they only retained the title, or in Custer’s case the production changed real historic personages and events into fiction to prevent lawsuits. After seeing these two films (and over the years many times), my future had been ordained even though I wouldn’t realize this until decades later. These two Flynn films have influenced my entire life. Swords, acting, race relations, and eventually my writing. Whew. What can I say, other than I’ve enjoyed many years that mean something to me.

Catching up with Errol Flynn & Olivia de Havilland

You are looking at the magazine cover for American Classic Screen (January-February 1979), a now long dead publication. Pretty cool artwork of Mr. Flynn & Ms. de Havilland from their classic film Captain Blood (1935).

Much of late has dealt with Sand Creek, hints of a medical malpractice novel (a positive report will soon follow), and the ongoing spectacle of my life (yawn). I’m certain that many of you feel that I’ve deserted Mr. Flynn and Ms de Havilland. If you think this, you don’t know Kraft.

Errol Flynn biographer Thomas McNulty at home. (photo © Thomas McNulty)

I never desert my major writing projects. EF & OdeH are a major portion of my past, present, and future writing life. They’ll be front and center until I die. All I can say about my writing projects is “patience.” I have enough information to get my book on EF and OdeH published but this isn’t good enough. My book on Errol & Olivia is going to be different. For this to happen has and will continue to take time.

My good friend Tom McNulty, author of the best Flynn bio, Errol Flynn: The Life and Career (2004), is sharing some of his magazine research that I’ve not seen. Hopefully he will eventually be one of my key reviewers of the manuscript. With luck Tom and his beautiful wife Jan will someday be Pailin’s and my guests.

David DeWitt at Tujunga House on 13jan2013. Before David made South Carolina his home he visited SoCal to check it out. Good times for both of us for we had the time to hang out together get to know each other. More, his timing couldn’t have been better for LK, whose first website went belly up when the administrator went AWOL, for David got me going with this website/blog and gave me lessons on to create it. Thanks David, from the bottom of my heart. (photo © David DeWitt & Louis Kraft 2013)

There is a second person who is also a wonderland of knowledge and great understanding of Mr. Flynn, my bro David DeWitt. Unfortunately David lives next to the other ocean that touches the U.S. in South Carolina. Nevertheless our relationship continues to grow and like Glen Williams, he is definitely one of my go-to people. I’ve already hinted to him that when the time arrives I want him to review drafts of Errol & Olivia.

For the record Errol & Olivia research is ongoing, as is the quest to understand what the facts provide. Sometimes this is difficult for at times facts can be misleading. That said, when something pops out of nowhere but is invaluable to the manuscript it gets inserted immediately. I have learned from the past that a golden nugget can be forgotten (for outlines don’t leave room for treasures discovered during the quest for knowledge as often one didn’t know they existed until found).

I’ve already talked about how some of Errol & Olivia will be handled in earlier blogs, and without going into detail here you should know that the goal is to dig behind the realities of Errol and Livvie’s eight films. Of the eight films seven have a rich history that slowly developed from historical fact, fiction based upon historical fact, and in one case a major Broadway play. I’ve seen hints that the eighth film also saw birth from another historical figure, but alas, to date I haven’t been able to track this person down and confirm that he did indeed do what has been implied. Perhaps sometime in the future I’ll share his name on a blog to see if any of you have heard of him.

This is the cover for the February 2008 issue of American History. At the time, it was the magazine’s best selling issue (I have no idea if this is still true). This issue included my cover story: “Custer: The Truth Behind the Silver Screen Myth.” Although about Custer, the leading player in the story was Errol Flynn (it was the third of four articles that have been published about Flynn’s portrayal of Custer by LK). In my humble opinion, this is the best article I have had published to date. Certainly it is important to me (for multiple reasons).

In the near future I must ramp up my search for this shadowy figure. … Warners had a knack for jettisoning a good portion of initial research. And as Flynn’s career soared, some of this (along with what I said above) is directly related to his film persona. EF’s onscreen presence had taken the film-adoring public by storm in December 1935, and Warners realized this immediately. After the massive success of The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938), a film that is still thought of his greatest role (although I disagree with this totally), almost every film that came after until the aftermath of the farce of a rape trial and even greater farce of Flynn avoiding serving his adopted country during WWII, his roles and films were constructed to give the public what it wanted and expected when the lights dimmed in the cinema houses. A notable exception at the end of this timeframe was Flynn’s Uncertain Glory (1944)*, which gave him a dark side (although still heroic and charming) and one of his best performances.

* Some people are big on lists. I’m not one of them, although I recently agreed to create two lists for the August 2014 issue of Wild West magazine. This said I do have a list of my top 10 Flynn films in my head. But the 9th and 10th slots on this list are sometimes replaced. Uncertain Glory is always on my list. While talking about lists, perhaps I’ll create a list of my top 50 or 60 films of all time (“of all time” is a terrible choice of words for my view of films can change with multiple viewings). That said, it is something that I might attempt in the future (Mr. Flynn’s films won’t be on this list).

In contrast to Flynn’s meteoric rise to super stardom, Olivia’s rise to stardom followed a different path than his.

LK with Olivia de Havilland in her garden in Paris, France, on July 3, 2009. This lady is so vibrant and alive, so funny and yet political and serious. All I can say is that I’ve been lucky that she has allowed me to enter her life, if only briefly, over the years. (photo © Louis Kraft 2009)

And like EF (who knew his value to Warner Bros., and who took an active part in forming the roles he played) she also had a firm grasp of what she wanted in her career. If you talk with her, you’ll easily realize how much she craved good roles, but for her—as her box office appeal couldn’t match Mr. Flynn’s—she didn’t have the ear of Jack Warner, nor the courage to confront Jack when unhappy. Where Flynn’s massive popularity guaranteed that Warner and executive producer Hal Wallis had to listen to him, Olivia’s main thrust to garner better roles (and this included not playing EF’s lady in waiting—although years after EF’s death she realized how great the films they did together were) was to reject a role and go on suspension or have massive fits). That said, she did have guts. When Jack Warner refused to allow her to try out for Gone With The Wind, she went behind his back to land the role of Melanie (for which she won her first Oscar nomination). Playing a leading role and being recognized for her performance didn’t win her kudos with Warner; instead she was punished. By the time Olivia’s seven year contract ended and she said goodbye, she was told that it hadn’t as she still owed Warner’s time for when she was on suspension (that is time without pay). What followed took a hundred times more guts than it took for her to sneak behind Warner’s back and lobby for the part of Melanie.

And Sand Creek also creeps forward …

Regarding the ongoing struggle to understand the events that led up to the tragedy at Sand Creek, the battle, and the aftermath, my key person is John Monnett, a good friend and a great writer and Indian wars historian.

I took this photo of John Monnett (right) at the LaQuinta Inn and Suites, Denver Tech Center, Greenwood Village, Co., after we had both spoken at the Order of the Indian Wars Denver Symposium at the National Guard Base in Centennial on 20apr2013. As I was in Colorado for 11 days we were able to spend time together (thanks to our mutual friend Layton Hooper, who functioned as my personal driver in snow-blanketed Colorado).

John has always helped me, and has opened his home to Pailin and myself as he aids my quest to understand the people and events that resulted in the tragic event on November 29, 1864. Later this year we’ll visit him and Colorado (fingers are crossed, and if not then in 2015 if John’s invite remains open), track what I still need to see, and LK will again take a close look at a land that I’ve always loved but have shied away from due to temperatures that send shivers up my spine. My guess is that Pailin will fall in love with Colorado.

BTW John has recently asked me not to turn my back on nonfiction (something that is possible if I no longer have access to Indian wars or golden age of cinema research). His request was heartfelt and hit the mark. Back in the Dark Ages I thought I’d write novels, but that changed to nonfiction (a decision I’ve never questioned or shied from). I love nonfiction writing, I love the challenge to make it page-turning, and I love the search for the reality of what happened. If I walk away, a good part of me will die. That said, I must hustle enough money to stay the course (and continue to enjoy 70+ degree weather right here in the USA, and preferably in Los Angeles).

I created this dark image from a photo I took in 1999 to represent the Sand Creek village (this photo wasn’t taken at Sand Creek, so what you see here is fiction as related to 1864). That said, the attack on the Cheyenne-Arapaho villages at Sand Creek is a dark time in history, a time that should never be forgotten. I’ve used this image in other social media and Eric Niderost (a freelance magazine writer who isn’t big on proofing the spelling in his emails or drafts) objected. Much to do about nothing. This art will never see print in one of my books or magazine articles. That said, at times, I must keep dark images in my head as I move forward. For only then can I (hopefully) create text that is light and moves forward. What good is a book, or any writing, if it puts people to sleep? The goal is to grab people’s interest, their soul, their guts, and keep them reading. (photo & art © Louis Kraft 1999 & 2013)

Regardless of the progress on Sand Creek, the research is ongoing, and my mind constantly swirls as I try to figure out how to mix and match people (major, minor, and bit players) as they enter the story, advance the story, and drift off to perhaps return or not). The key is the flow. It has to be smooth and yet natural, and it cannot bounce all over the place in time. I’m a firm believer that action is character. We are what we do and not what we say (although our words are important if we do what we say). Anyone can tell a good tale, but if he or she doesn’t live his/her tale it isn’t anything but fantasy, fiction, or lies. When a person says one thing but does the opposite, it is the doing that is his or her history. Just read all the slop that is stuffed down our throats on a daily basis. Publicity, regardless if a press agent leaks it or a columnist shoves it down your throat, is still publicity—meaning it is what it is. And that is nothing unless the publicist’s client did what was released or the columnist’s subject did what he claimed happened. If not, and it is accepted by us as true and not challenged, in the future this untruth or lie will find its way back into print—and this error will again see life. Worse, lazy historians who don’t do their research but instead create (or repeat history that never happened) as they pull from a handful of secondary sources while blindly printing what they have read without knowing it was indeed based upon fact.

This image of Ned Wynkoop has been published four times, the last being in summer 2013. I’m not a great artist. If you talk with real artists, they’ll tell you my attempts suck. Still I continue. Why? Sometimes I get lucky and I earn a few bucks that in turn puts food on the table. I need say no more. Actually I do, for some people don’t like how I write.. Why? ‘Tis simple. I do what I want, learn as I go, and I have no fear of breaking the rules. (art © Louis Kraft 2007)

For example and regarding Ned Wynkoop: How many times have you read that Wynkoop attended Silas Soule’s funeral in Denver in 1865?

Fact: Wynkoop didn’t attend Soule’s funeral in Denver, but was at Fort Lyon, Colorado Territory. I’m certain that this error will continue to be repeated again and again in print. Or how about this quote about George Bent: “George Bent remembered as a child in the 1830s seeing Indian herds grazing for fifty miles along the river [the Arkansas] near Bent’s Fort.” This quote is on page 87 of Elliott West’s award-winning Contested Plains: Indians, Goldseekers, and the Rush to Colorado (University Press of Kansas, 1998). The note cites page 37 in George E. Hyde’s Life of George Bent: Written From His Letters (OU Press, 1968). So far, so good.

However, the sentence referenced in Hyde’s work states: “When I was a boy I saw the Kiowas, Comanches, and Apaches camped on the Arkansas near my father’s fort, and their pony herds were grazing along the river for fifty miles.” Still so far, so good. But—there’s always that damned “but”—BUT George B. was born on July 7, 1843. How many “so-called” historians will repeat this error ad nauseam as undisputed fact?

Writer/historians make errors and sometimes they aren’t caught until unfortunately in print.* It happens. Although my publishers have said they’d fix errors to date they haven’t. I have corrected my errors in magazine and book form when dealing with the same subject in subsequent books and will continue to do so whenever possible.

* Other errors can happen when in copyediting. For example, on page 182 (chapter 12, “Hancock’s War”) in Ned Wynkoop and the Lonely Road from Sand Creek (OU Press, 2011), while accompanying Maj. Gen. Winfield Scott Hancock’s 1867 expedition in force to meet or engage the Cheyennes (and other tribes) reporter Henry Stanley wrote the following about Wynkoop: “The Colonel is an Indian agent par excellence, of whom a slight description will not suffice to convey any just idea. He is a Plains man, and the best handler of Indians that has been on the Arkansas. The Indians have every confidence in his integrity, and respect him for the ‘heap fight’ that he is known to be capable of making.” In the copyedit the editor changed this quote from representing Wynkoop to George Armstrong Custer. When I complained loudly, she said, “Didn’t Custer put up a ‘heap fight.'” (the quote is a paraphrase). “No!!! We’re talking about Wynkoop and not Custer!” I’m not picking on this lady or copyeditors. Errors can be made. My copyeditors, including this one, have been first class—except one; no comment.

An LK attempt to improve research

The last blog dealt with Charley Bent and my quest to learn more about him for Sand Creek and the Tragic End of a Lifeway. The attempt to gain unknown information has been less than successful.* That said, I did learn key information about Charley that I didn’t know. I do intend to again attempt presenting another person in a future LK blog or on the OIW FB page in the hope that it will generate a response. Hopefully this will happen in the not-too-distant future.

* Less than successful is not the best way to describe my attempt to learn more about Charley, for the simple reason that he is shrouded in mystery and only surfaces here and there during his all-too-brief life.

Who I am

The subtitle of the LK website/blog is “Follow the winding trail of a writer as he walks a solitary road …” I chose those words carefully as they have a lot of meaning for me. I’m not looking for sympathy. Actually I’ve had a great life, it’s just been lonely at times. My choice.

LK as Ned Wynkoop in 2012, when I represented him when he was inducted into the Santa Fe Trail Hall of Fame. In this image I’m leaning against the recently reconstructed building that Wynkoop rented while U.S. Indian agent at Fort Larned, Ks. (photo by friend George Elmore; image © Louis Kraft 2012)

I chose the path I’d follow, and I’ve refused to compromise. That said, I’ve had no problem with changing my course whenever it was good for me. Again, I made the decisions and have flat out refused to back off from my goals. This has cost me. I can’t give you, or won’t give you, what ruined an early marriage, but I have had two long term relationships that I had hoped would be forever. They weren’t. This can’t be placed on the two lady’s shoulders for it is a two way street. It didn’t matter for two outside forces did everything possible to doom those relationships. The first lady didn’t try but the second did, only to give up. The outside forces gave no mercy and did everything possible to destroy these relationships.

After the last relationship had ended in 2011, I decided that nothing and no one would again interfere. This is my fucking life and no one else’s. That year had two endings to one relationship. Looking back both are hysterical. And I’m dying to share the stories. If I do the words are going to jump off the page (and I do have good notes). But alas, you’ll have to wait for the Memoir, and then only if I have the guts to show in words what happened. Yeah, LK wants to keep on walking this earth in one piece.

I’m good with the lonely trail, and let me tell you I’m perfectly fine when I’m all alone. I’m at peace with the world and with my brain totally alive.

The good die young

This is my father, Louis J. Kraft Sr., at my former Thousand Oaks, California, home on August 17, 1991. The house was a half block walk into the Santa Monica Mountains. When young, and after my parents purchased their first and only California home, they ensured I had swimming lessons and had a pool created for me. Throughout the years swimming has been a major portion of my life (and is by far my favorite physical activity). From my mother’s death forward we were forever good in each other’s presence. However, beginning before my mother’s early death, he had become the key player in my life (even though I didn’t know it) and this dated back to my college years. (photo © Louis J. Kraft, Jr. 1991)

They say that the good die young. My brother, my sister, my mother, Dale Schuler (my dad’s partner, best friend, and a father and good friend to me) died young. Do they?

For the first 33 years of my life my father were at war while loving each other. I should have been the man my father wanted, but I refused to walk that road. We were at constant odds. He knocked me out once. A year or two later, a fat woman broadsided me and my motorcycle while running. She knocked me cold and left me hanging from a wire fence. My father was right there for me.

The TD6 is a powerful machine and doesn’t take prisoners.

Later yet, while working for my father’s construction company I kicked down the framework for a swimming pool that I had just set when he was digging the hole too quickly with an International Harvester TD6 tractor and making it difficult to drive in the stakes accurately. But the next day it was as if it never happened. That was our life. I couldn’t be what he wanted and had every intention of doing what I damned well pleased. We didn’t connect until his wife/my mother went into the hospital for the last time on December 26, 1979. She died 10 days later. During those 10 days we spent every waking minute together and those 10 days gave us a relationship that would last for the last 19 years of his life. Oh, we still fought, but the next day it was again as if nothing had happened. This man gave me my life, for he instilled in me the courage to do as my life called and to hell with everything else. This has been with me while he lived, it was certainly present when he died, and it is with me ’til this day.

A day I’ll never forget

Christmas 1988 at the LK Encino, California, home. From left: LK, Louis Sr.; standing from left: Linda Kraft (my sister), Robin Fried (my brother’s longtime girlfriend), and brother Lee Kraft. Good Times, and although my father and I didn’t know it at the time, my brother Lee had a little over a year to live. By this time my father was long retired and had nothing to do with his former company, BKS Excavating. (photo © Louis Kraft 1988)

February 14, 1999, was one long day of hell.

I had been taking care of my father for years, and during this time I had seen our relationship blossom. Oh we continued to argue and fight, but we had become close-knit buddies. I spent between three, four, and sometimes five days and/or evenings (on weekends or after writing for Infonet Computer Services and then Storm Control Systems in El Segundo, California, beginning at 6:00 AM) with him every week. We ate together (either before or after I did whatever tasks he needed completed; grocery shopping always on Wednesday was usually three to five stores with a wad of coupons with all the items he wanted on the ads marked—easily two–three + hours).

Marissa Kraft and her grandfather at Tujunga House on Father’s Day 1995. Good times for both Marissa and her grandfather as she stayed with him before school and after school until I could pick her up. During summers she spent the entire day with him. (photo Louis Kraft Jr. 1995)

But they were good times as we relaxed and ate (most often he cooked the food, but sometimes we had takeout, and if I came from home I brought food) and enjoyed each other’s company. As the days and years passed he became weaker and weaker. His time walking the earth neared an end. About two weeks before his death, when he became too weak to move about, he entered a convalescent home, and here his health declined quickly. I saw him daily and our talks continued. At this time he told me: “If I had known that I would live this long, I would have taken better care of myself.” A day before his death he said to me: “I love you” as I left. This was the first time he had ever said this to me (but we both knew he did).

The above words were the last words my father said to me, for the next day (a Sunday and Valentine’s Day) when my Japanese lady (Cindy Tengan) and I arrived to see him he was no longer in his room.

Cindy Tengan, a product manager at Infonet (now British Telecom Infonet) in El Segundo, Ca., on Cinco de Mayo 1995. We had met in 1994 when I still wrote for Infonet. Although she had made no attempt to befriend my daughter, she was a good person. My father liked her, and I’m lucky to have known her.

Instead he was half on and half off a bed in a room with other people on beds. Worse, he had pulled a cord that fed him air (the first time he had one) from his nose and it dangled from his bed. I went to the desk and asked for a nurse. After she got him back on the bed with the air in place I demanded to see someone in authority. “Keep my father alive!” The cold answer was “Show us proof you can demand this.” Cindy and I raced to my father’s house a little over a mile away and tore it apart. We couldn’t find his living trust. Did he give me a copy? I didn’t think so. We raced to my house and tore it apart. No trust. During this time I had placed 10–15 calls to my sister’s home and cell phones and left messages with no return calls.

This image was taken at my sister’s house in Long Beach, Ca. Although our relationship ended, Cindy Tengan was always there for me, … and without her I would have died 11 years ago. (photo © Louis Kraft 1995)

Cindy and I sped back to the convalescent home. My father wasn’t in the room. “Where is he?” “He’s been moved to the Northridge Hospital” (this is where my brother had been helicoptered after dying on a bank below the 101 freeway in March 1990). My daughter and her mother arrived at the home and in two cars we drove to the hospital, which was about a mile away. They took us to a room (memories of my brother Lee, for in 1990 the first thing out of my mouth after being taken to a room with my father was, “Is my brother alive?”) I asked the fatal question: “Is my father alive?” “Yes.” “Keep him alive.” “Do you have authority?” “Yes.” I didn’t have the trust that gave me authority, but they didn’t ask to see proof.

We sat in the room and waited for updates. About an hour passed. A doctor appeared and informed us that he was still alive. “Please keep him alive,” I said. More time passed. The doctor returned and told us that my father/Marissa’s grandfather had died. After Marissa and I spent time with him for the last time, Cindy and I returned to Tujunga House. Sometime after the midnight hour, and after over 30 phone calls and messages, my sister called (as it turned out, she had taken the trust without telling me). I had told her two days before, on Friday, that our father probably wouldn’t live through the weekend. She said: “I didn’t believe you.”

As I said above, actions trump words every time when it comes to who we are. Hell, it was Valentine’s Day weekend! What should I have expected from her?

A June 2013 day

Pailin Subanna (right) with her coworker at Tujunga House on June 15, 2013. Pailin was looking at me when I took this photo and her eyes captured my soul. (photo © Louis Kraft 2013).

I’m not going to say much about a June 15, 2013, dinner party that I was hosting for five, other than one of the guests had talked me and a lady she knew into agreeing that she should make it a party of six that day and evening at Tujunga House.

I haven’t just written about culture and race, I have lived it. I love people the world over—past and present. This has been the theme in my writing, over and over again, along with that key word, “peace.” And I have walked the life I talk, and that is simply people are people. Because of this I have been accused of being prejudiced against being intimate with white women. This accusation is laughable. A pretty woman is a pretty woman and I don’t give a bleep what her race is.

When Pailin Subanna appeared at my door on that June 15 day holding orchards I sucked in air and damned myself for not having a camera in my hand. On that day she walked into my world and touched me as no other person has ever done before.

This lady named Pailin was for me, and I asked her out (a first for me since 2011). On June 20, 2013, I picked her up and we drove to Santa Monica, Ca., and walked along the cliffs above the beach. We later descended the stairs to the beach, walked along the Pacific, enjoyed the pier, and each other at a Thai restaurant in the Santa Monica open mall. She was fragile but full of life. She later told me she had been told that she needed to open her heart. Although unsaid, so did I. This sunny June day was perhaps one of the most important days in my life, for it directly led to my future, a future of two people who dared to open their hearts. (photo © Pailin Subanna-Kraft & Louis Kraft 2013)

Pailin was quiet and yet composed and firm while dealing with things that perhaps should not have been said but were (not by me). I liked her beauty, but more I liked her poise and strength of character. Before she left that night I knew I wanted to see her again; I wanted her to enter my life.

Pailin had been hurt, and much worse than me. And she has also walked a lonely road. She was frail, vulnerable, and yet alive as no one I’ve ever encountered. She opened her heart and this led to us becoming friends, best friends, and falling in love.

As the year moved toward conclusion Pailin and I decided that we wanted to marry. I thought it would be in May 2014, but Pailin wanted February 14. I told her about my father’s death on that day in 1999 while adding that I was good with Valentine’s Day, as it could be a special day in my father’s life and in ours. We looked into February 14, and lo and behold if we moved quickly we could make this day happen, make this day become a second important day in my life.

THE Day 2014

I hadn’t slept in two nights (and neither had Pailin). Some health reasons, but also our nervousness over the coming day (and there are things here I cannot say—not now and perhaps never for if I do it will unleash a maelstrom of evil; don’t ask for this is something that I can’t talk about).

lkTalk_toPS_beforeWed_lkCamera_14feb14tight_ws

We struggled to maneuver through LA traffic. Luckily there was a parking spot on La Brea north of Wilshire and I took it, which probably saved another 10 minutes of drive time as we didn’t need to look for parking once we looped around the Albertson Chapel. We had time after Pailin dressed and before the ceremony, and while friends snapped photos I chatted away in Pailin’s ear. (photo © Pailin Subanna-Kraft & Louis Kraft 2014)

The day arrived and we were up; a glorious sunny day and already warm. Although tired, we were happy. Nervous but happy and longing for our new lives together. She cooked soup for breakfast. “Alloy ma!” “Delicious!” I’m a good cook, but when compared to her I’m not. Pailin’s soups are to die for. If I don’t have my soup to start the day … GRRRR!!!

We still had a lot to do to prepare for the day, and we crammed. We were due at the chapel at 12:30 and although we hoped to leave at 11:45 we didn’t leave until 12:10 PM. We had made the drive to Wilshire Blvd. on the Miracle Mile in 20 minutes, and I had later made the trip in 30 minutes. On this day it took 50 minutes. I don’t get nervous, but on this drive I was a wreck. I totally forgot about taking the 170 freeway to the 101. Surface streets, including me making wrong choices on the streets added time to the trek. The Vette flew on the 101 freeway when we reached it, but from there on it was bumper-to-bumper no-move traffic. Highland Ave. to Franklin to La Brea to Wilshire Blvd. in LA should have been a cup of tea. Fat chance. Try 25 minutes for a few miles (and often taking two lights to get through an intersection). During the drive, Sabrina, Pailin’s niece, called a number of times asking where we were. It’s too bad that Pailin wasn’t driving, for I would have said, “We’ve called it off.” Yep, I do have a sick sense of humor (for this certainly wasn’t what I wanted).

We finally arrived at the Albertson Chapel 20 minutes late. Almost everyone was there and were wondering if we had called the wedding off.

No way! That said, I was having trouble walking. Surrounded by people and knowing that my future was less than an hour away, I relaxed and began to enjoy this precious time. We were allowed 20 guests. Most were Pailin’s, and most I knew and liked … Sabrina, Montanee, and Kobie are three ladies I’ve enjoyed knowing since meeting them. I invited a few people, but not my great friends Tom and Judy Eubanks as they had a long drive and were working on this day (I will forever regret this decision).

This image is based upon a photo taken with Pete Senoff’s camera at Lum Ka Naad in Northridge, California, on 25jul13. From left: LK, Pailin, Nina & Pete Senoff. On this day, Pailin and Nina met for the first time and became instant friends (Pete & I were amazed at how well they hit it off).

LK with Marjorie Chan, a marvelous person that luckily became my friend. I have enjoyed every time we’ve seen a film, a play, ate together, or simply hung out together. (photo © Marjorie Chan & Louis Kraft 2014)

Pete Senoff, who as editor of the Grover Cleveland High School newspaper, made my final year there a pure joy by keeping my image and words in print, which in turn helped me get elected Boys’ League President. Pete and I had reconnected a couple of years back, just prior to his marriage to Nina, and, along with Pailin, has made us a close foursome.

I had the pleasure to work with film and TV costumer Marjorie Chan in the early 1980s (TV show Tucker’s Witch and TV movie Johnny Belinda with Richard Thomas). Thirty+ years, many caring talks and time together, and we’re still good friends (no matter how long the gaps between us seeing each other).

I think that everyone mingled and got along, but I don’t know …

lkLooking_atPailin_photo_AnnetteFlorczak_14feb14_fb

This is my favorite image from Pailin & LK’s wedding. (photo © Pailin Subanna-Kraft & Louis Kraft 2014)

… for I was too excited and focused on the fragile woman that had entered and changed my life.

Everything moved at lightening speed. The Reverend Fernando Rossi Howard officiated, and although he had trouble pronouncing Pailin’s name, and suffered through me correcting him and other LK ad-libs*, the ceremony and wording couldn’t have been better. Best of all Pailin and I didn’t know what he would say before hand, even though the three of us had discussed it with examples that we brought to our initial meeting, examples Pailin and I liked or didn’t like.

“Ad-libs” are when actors don’t say their lines as printed in film or play scripts, which are supposed to be holy. From my POV as both actor and writer, this is little more than BS for the simple reason that oftentimes ad-libs are better than the scripted words. … Back in 2009 while rehearsing Cheyenne Blood, a play I had written, as Ned Wynkoop I said lines that weren’t in the script. The director, my great friend Tom Eubanks, stopped the rehearsal and said that I didn’t say the correct words. “I ad-libbed” I stated. “Say the correct lines.” “I just did!” “No you didn’t!” “Yes, I did. Write what I just said in the script and we’re ready to continue.” He didn’t, and those words were lost to eternity. LK is one writer who doesn’t buy into the theory that the written word is holier than hell (or however that phrase goes).

Both Pailin and I were totally attentive to Fernando’s words and in tune with each other, especially during our vows which concluded with placing the rings on our fingers.

This was our 1940s-style kiss; don’t want to give too much away. (photo © Pailin Subanna-Kraft & Louis Kraft 2014)

Another ad-lib
… another laugh

When we reached the point where Fernando asked if I took Pailin to be my wife … “I said, “Kub-pom.” This garnered me a nice laugh from the Thai people present; I suppose as they were surprised that I used their word for “yes, sir.” I hadn’t expected their reaction and waited until the laughter ended before saying, “Yes, I do.” In stark contrast to my tightness at our late arrival at the chapel I was totally loose and enjoying every minute of the ceremony. Pailin was a little more serious than I. Where I allowed my emotions drive how I said words, she was quieter.

This is not a full group shot (don’t think any were taken). From left: Annette, Robert, Nina, Pete, Kobie, Nam, LK, Greg, Pailin, Marjorie, & Mam. (photo © Pailin & Louis Kraft 2014)

Add that I am good friends with a number of Pailin’s friends even though I haven’t seen them that often; Montanee Sothtitham, Praphuntri (Kobie) Poopan, and Pakgirapa (Sabrina) Subanna for certain. Others I met for the first time, including Caterine Jensin, Jackie Vinai, Annie Aunroun and Jenny Atchara (whom I actually met briefly at the Thai Temple on December 31, 2013) are open and I feel good when in their company. Like my friends, Pailin’s friends are close to her.

Friends shot pictures for us, and along with those taken by the chapel, I have a good selection to pull from (and believe me, their images although shot with inexpensive cameras, often are much better than the official images … many of which are useless).

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A done deal, and 1000 times more important than signing a book contract. LK is one lucky pirate/frontiersman. (photo © Pailin Subanna-Kraft & Louis Kraft 2014)

If you’ve followed the blogs since I met Pailin, you are aware of what type of person she is and know why I fell head over heels for her. On February 14 she was as always; that is full of life and enjoying every minute of it. I couldn’t have asked for a better wedding. It was a special day for me for now I am linked with a special person for all time, a special person that took me a lifetime to find.

We had a small reception at Tujunga House but we spent the time with our guests and perhaps only one photo was taken.

February 14, 2014, was step 2 in our lives together (step 1 was June 15, 2013, when we met). Hopefully we’ll complete step 3, which has already begun, by year’s end. Doable? Don’t know. We’ll find out.

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On February 20 Pailin and LK met with a lawyer to discuss our future. Afterwards we shopped in Thai Town, and then returned to the Albertson Chapel in Los Angeles to see Rev. Fernando Howard. I hadn’t mentioned it, but he is an Apache. His marrying us was alive and had grabbed both of us (I had to struggle to prevent tears from flowing). Fernando is friendly, bright, and a good person. I like him. During all of our meetings (and including February 20th there have been four) the talk has also included the Apache Indians and especially Geronimo. For those of you who don’t of him, he was a Chiricahua Apache mystic and war leader. I wanted to give Fernando a copy of Gatewood & Geronimo that both Pailin and I had signed. He was thrilled. I’m certain that Pailin and I will see him in the future. (photo © Pailin Subanna-Kraft & Louis Kraft 2014)

Oh the writing continues. It will continue until the day I die, but my life has changed for all time. I’ve found that special person to walk through the world with me. Our lives have been challenges, but now joined it has become one challenge. A challenge that both of us are capable of dealing with and we’ll do this together. Our life is one we both want and will work at together to create.

Los Angeles is our home (it is certainly key for my Flynn and de Havilland research). We hope that this will remain our home for all time as we love it in LA. However, if this isn’t possible we’ll look to relocate in a few states in the USA (all are key to Indian wars research, but alas, several have too much snow for this ol’ boy’s liking). That said, they are definitely on our radar. Other choices exist, but aren’t for this blog.

Bottom line: I’m the luckiest fellow in the world.

Charley Bent, Sand Creek, and other Louis Kraft musings

Posted on January 19, 2014 by Louis Kraft

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

As promised, details of my quest to learn more about Charley Bent appears in this blog. Musings? Hell, you know me. I like to meander. Usually the blogs are long, just look at the last one if you don’t believe me. This one will be short. I promise. So here goes. …. (I know, I know—please Kraft, spare us the meanderings!). Sorry. ‘Taint in the blood.

Louis Kraft musings

To date you have been fed an overload on Errol Flynn and Olivia de Havilland; Lt. Charles Gatewood and Geronimo; Ned Wynkoop, Cheyennes, and Sand Creek (face up to it, the Sand Creek story and the key players in it are going to dominate a good portion of these blogs until the book is published, as will Errol & Olivia when its time comes). Alas, the LK saga, past and present, isn’t going away.

Various symbols that represent the medical world.

What you haven’t been bombarded with is The Discovery (the first in a series of novels that have entered or reentered my life). Don’t hold your breath, for even though this respite will be short, this story has begun to take control of my life. This can’t be, and I’ve made a point of allotting time to both it and Sand Creek and the Tragic End of a Lifeway on each day. To date progress has been slow on The Discovery, slower than hoped for but decent. That said, this week the characters have begun to pop off the pages. An upcoming meeting will soon determine everything in this novel’s future. This meeting, when it happens, is all important. BTW, even though partnering on a novel hasn’t been easy for me, it is a win-win for me (on many levels). If I do what I should be capable of doing, prepare properly, present everything that I’ll deliver, this will be the next published book with LK’s name on the cover.

Warm temperatures will dictate the future. BTW, this beachfront is not located in the US of A.

My friends, not to worry, for Errol & Olivia is a major book for me (as are the 2nd book on Flynn and a nonfiction book on Kit Carson), and Sand Creek and the Tragic End of a Lifeway is a must for me (I can’t begin to tell you how important this book is to me). Hours, days, weeks, and months tick by. Time. It is the most valuable thing I have in this world (other than my lady and my daughter). I have taken a long hard look at the books I have written and those I want to complete, and let me tell you that I had better live for many more years. Of course I have every intention of enjoying every minute that I have with my work, Pailin (and hopefully Marissa). I don’t give a hoot where we live. LA—and I love LA—may someday be in my rearview mirror. If this happens money is the villain. The USA and the world beckon; that is those locations with sunshine, blue skies, warm temperatures, and reduced violence (I know that I’m asking for a lot). Hell, I’m a writer and can live anywhere my lady and I choose (even Colorado).

Back to Charley Bent and Sand Creek

Progress isn’t as fast as I’d like on Sand Creek and the Tragic End of a Lifeway. Blame this on anything you want, for anything you name is the culprit (except for writer’s block; I never have writer’s block).

In a nutshell, the following is what I have on Charley Bent:

George Bent’s letters to George Hyde and George Bird Grinnell
– Some of which I’ve found in Colorado, Los Angeles, and Yale (I deal with the university long distance)

This colorized portrait of Charley Bent is copyrighted. I’ve posted it in the past and hesitated posting it again as it will be included in Sand Creek and the Tragic End of a Lifeway. That said, it isn’t available to share or repost or use. I posted it here only as it is the only image that I am aware of that shows Charley in young manhood. Pardon the following while trusting what follows. I hang out with my lawyer, we party together and we are the best of friends. If this colorized image is stolen, we will sue you. (art © Louis Kraft 2013)
Two good friends (Gary Leonard and John Monnett) have supplied me with the magnificent digitized assembly of George B.’s letters that were compiled by Lincoln B. Faller, although the word usage seems to have been cleaned up from photocopies of George’s letters that I have in his own hand (his English wasn’t the best)
I have viewed the George Bird Grinnell collection at the Braun Library, Southwest Museum, Autry Museum of the American West (and will do so again, to ensure that I haven’t missed anything)
The three major government documents dealing with the attack at Sand Creek
– House of Representatives 38th Congress, Second Session (“Massacre of Cheyenne Indians”)
– Report of the Secretary of War, 39th Cong., 2d Sess. Ex. Doc. No 26
– “The Chivington Massacre” (included in Carroll, ed., The Sand Creek Massacre, which also includes the two government documents listed directly above, of which I have printouts. That said, to date I haven’t searched on Charley Bent.)
The War of the Rebellion (Note that my previous research related to the Wynkoop story; that focus has changed and expanded and I know for a fact that I haven’t seen everything. This said, I had never searched on Charley’s name, but will soon.)
Halaas and Masich’s Halfbreed (Da Capo Press, 2004)
Hyde’s Life of George Bent (University of Oklahoma Press, 1968)
Berthrong, Grinnell, and Hoig’s books dealing with the Cheyennes
Father Peter Powell’s books dealing with the Cheyennes and the Cheyenne wars
Gary Roberts’ “Sand Creek: Tragedy and Symbol” graduate dissertation (University of Oklahoma,1984)
Gregory F. Michno’s Battle at Sand Creek (Upton and Sons, 2004; BTW, I designed this book)

For what it’s worth, my library is extensive. Also note that I’m not asking you to look at the Wynkoop book (its bibliography is 10 pages, and a good portion of it deals with the Cheyenne wars of the 1860s).

Still, after all of the above, I don’t know much about Charley Bent. Half white and half Cheyenne, he chose his mother’s people. Why?

I know approximately when he died (November 1967; the 10th or could it have been the 20th?), and it wasn’t from a wound if we can believe brother George. Or is there a George B. quote that claimed Charley did die from fever after being wounded (I haven’t seen this letter yet but will hopefully have it soon), and if so why did George change his story later in life? The Pawnee bullet incident seems to be based upon a story published in an Oklahoma newspaper roughly a month shy of 43 years after Charley’s end (and it called him a chief of the Dog Soldiers). Details? To date piss poor. … It appears that Charley was one tough hombre, not someone to cross or face in battle. True? Honestly, at this moment in time I don’t know. In the early 1860s he turned his back on his father’s (William Bent’s) world and pretty much lived and fought with the Cheyennes. It appears as if his anger and hatred toward his father was strong, strong enough that he might have considered murdering his him.

Again why?

For your information, the Sand Creek manuscript wraps up with the end of the 1860s, so everything related to Charley is in the manuscript’s scope. Billy Markland recently supplied me with a tad of information on Charley that happened in early 1867 (Executive Document, House of Representatives, 2nd Sess. 41st Congress, 1869-70). I’m certain that there is more in Charley’s short life that I am not aware of and have no clue where it is located.

As I had mentioned on a previous blog and on the OIW Facebook page I plan on sending a book to the person who supplies me with what I consider the most important information about Charley that I don’t know (if a second or even a third person also submits good information that I have no prior knowledge of, they too will receive the second and third books (listed below).

Having difficulties viewing this image? Click on it to expand it.

That’s right, I’m placing three books into this mix. I’m not saying they are great books (or pamphlets), but they are related to the Indian wars and have been in my library.

Why the generosity?

Pure and simple, I haven’t been the most social person and my research money isn’t what it used to be. I need to increase how I come by valuable information. And it would be nice to get to know people that have similar interests. Also, I am in desperate need of room, and I hate to say it, but I’m the world’s worst salesman. I don’t think I’m capable of selling a Sacajawea $1.00 coin for .50 cents. Anyway I have the books and it will be my pleasure to send them to you.

They are:

Crimsoned Prairie: The Indian Wars on The Great Plains by S. L. A. Marshall (Charles Scribner’s Sons, New York, 1972; this is a book club edition)*
Custer’s Battle of the Washita and a History of the Plains Indian Tribes by Jess C. Epple (Exposition Press, New York, 1970)*
The Honor of Arms: A Biography of Myles W. Keogh by Charles L. Convis (Westernlore Press, Tucson, Arizona, 1990)*

* LK note: The above books come with no recommendations. They have been read by me and in two cases by others.

Oh, and this is important. Everything stated above is to go through an email address (writerkraft@gmail.com). I will not deal with a round robin open debate on the OIW Facebook page or on the LK website. Use the email address.

One final comment: I plan on requesting George Shoup and John Chivington’s military records soon (there are other documents I need on Chivington and hopefully I can also obtain them). If I acquire the desired documents and have the time to study them, one of these two gentlemen will most likely be my next subject of inquiry. The above listed books, if I still have them, will not be listed in the next information quest.

Who says they don’t raise cowgirls in Thailand & other stories of Sand Creek

Posted on December 29, 2013 by Louis Kraft

Who says they don’t raise cowgirls in Thailand & other stories of Sand Creek
Posted December 29 2013

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

This blog is going to meander, for in the LK world there are things that are important—mainly staying alive, eating, and moving forward with my writing world and cherishing my lady, my love, my life. And, of course, some things that don’t matter, but they do.

Pailin & LK at the opening of the Lily Pad Massage and Spa in Sherman Oaks, California. Two of Pailin’s friends officially opened their business on November 9, 2013, and we participated in the event, which was special. I know that some of you have seen this image elsewhere, but it has a special place on the blog (photo © Pailin Subanna & Louis Kraft 2013)

Reaching for the Moon
The positive to all this is that I’m writing again daily. Sand Creek and the Tragic End of a Lifeway and The Discovery (more to come on this medical-legal thriller in a future blog) lead the way. Errol & Olivia lags behind, but this is a major book for me and it will see good progress in 2014. I can’t tell you how many people have complained about my slow output—face-to-face and in letters and emails. Some have been good friends; even lovers. They haven’t understood, and will never understand, my quest. Never! I research and write at my own pace, and my books and articles take a lot of time to create.

I never short-change my subjects for a quick buck. Sand Creek, Errol Flynn, Kit Carson—like good wine, their time will come when I’m ready. It has taken me a lifetime to know who I am and what I do. Meaning that there have been decades of false starts, learning, and failure. But that’s what life’s all about—reaching for the moon time and again until one can actually grab it. I’m not specifically referring to writing here, but my life, which includes my writing.

An explanation of “the Dark Side”
For those of you that haven’t been aware of it, at the beginning of 2013 I made a decision that if I didn’t reconnect with the technical world, and believe me when I say I had no intentions of taking a 50 percent pay cut, that this world would cease to exist in 2014. The year 2014 is about to arrive.

This image of LK dates to 18nov1997 (Infonet Services Corporation; now British Telecom Infonet). This was my third straight job. I landed my first, Jardine Emett & Chandler, when I convinced a vice president I could learn how to use a computer within two weeks (I had never touched a computer before in my life). The first raise was 25 percent, and the following year I brought desktop publishing into the company and had my own crew, who I trained. That year’s raise was only 8 percent, and I told the VP that it wasn’t good enough. He disagreed, and within a month I was a publishing supervisor at a how to succeed in business publishing house that delivered a 200-page book every month. At the beginning of my second year I received my first review and it was good. One problem: the company had decided to eliminate the PCs and bring in Macs, and they offered me an $8,000.00/year pay cut. The editor-in-chief asked what I thought, and I said, “I quit. How much time do I have?” “We haven’t even bought the Macs yet.” “Not to worry,” I said, “I’ll be gone within 30 days,” and I was, beginning at Infonet (I landed the job on my freelance writing and publishing expertise). My first question to my new boss was, “Can I have some technical writing classes?” “Absolutely not; I hired you as a technical writer.” … I looked at my co-writers and editor. They sat on their butts and waited for emails. Not the way to work and I began spending hours and hours w/my engineers. I requested and got the software on my computer and was off to the races. By 1997, I was the last technical writer in Research & Development. I created an online help system that documented how R&D did their jobs and a glossy newsletter that highlighted the department. I was editor-in-chief, main writer, reporter, art director, photographer, artist, and I delivered the publication, which was distributed throughout the company, on schedule. But the writing was on the wall. Eight months after this picture was taken I became a senior technical writer in the aerospace industry.

In LK blogs and elsewhere I have referred to the technical world as “the Dark Side.” I’m certain that some of you have known what I’ve been talking about (and those of you that have, I hope I haven’t offended you). A while back I chose this name as it was vague, but more importantly popped off the page for me. Very soon the Dark Side will cease to exist in my life. But know this, I had a great run in the technical world. It made me a better writer and a better researcher, as I constantly worked closely with talented people from the world over—and if you know me, really know me, my life has always been dominated by culture and people. Always. I had chosen the Dark Side as it expressed (for me) brutal hours and deadlines that at times seemed to be without end. Often, more often than desired, my deliveries were mandatory for software product deliveries. If I failed to deliver, the software would not ship. That, dear friends, is a heavy weight to carry, and it always held the threat of elimination for me if I didn’t succeed. I’ve used the term “the Dark Side” as opposed to “Slave Labor” as I’ve always been paid very well and although Slave Labor might be considered a more accurate term, it just doesn’t sound right. (I’ve worked in a cotton field and I’ve dug ditches, and they weren’t slave labor either). Most often I have called all my own shots, and worked closely with upper management, project & program management, engineers, and quality assurance engineers (and when fortunate, with other writers). All the above said, these have been memorable times for me—good times.

LK as Ned Wynkoop in Cheyenne Blood in 2009. Yep, the subject matter was volatile, important in Wynkoop’s day but even more important in our day. We all have lives and we all call the shots, but sometimes we need to reach beyond and deal with our world. We all do this differently, but it is something that we must do for if we don’t, no one will. (photo by Dean Zatkowsky, 2009)

This has been a hard decision for me to make, but one that I’m totally in tune with it. ‘Course when I quit acting cold turkey in the mid-1980s, all my actor friends said I’d be back. I said, “Never.” Ned Wynkoop taught me to never say “Never.” Since quitting acting, I have since played Wynkoop in one-man shows that I wrote in Oklahoma, Colorado, Kansas, and California, and my full-length play Cheyenne Blood had a five-week run in California in 2009. Never say “Never.” I have not turned my back on acting (and believe it or not, technical writing may again return if I see an offer I can’t refuse, … and don’t count out Kraft writing a baseball biography either).

Why?
A good friend named Vee Morra visited from the Boston area earlier this month, and she asked why make this announcement public? … The simple answer is that I’m sick of getting praised for work that I no longer perform on LinkedIn, while my freelance creativity, although listed on the site is almost totally ignored. I’m an expert user of Photoshop, and I’ve been freelance writing for pay since the early 1980s (nonfiction, fiction, articles, talks, and plays).

A little more background
Ladies and gents there are things about me that you don’t know (actually there’s so much you don’t know that when the Memoir is published, you still won’t know everything). This is a good lead-in to how I work, which may not be as writers/historians are supposed to work.

LK has no training as a writer, historian, artist, or as a technical writer (I do have a lot of training as an actor). Everything is self-taught. This is not an excuse, for the bottom line is the work. If decent, it will survive; if crap, it will most likely vanish into oblivion.

A million years ago, before I decided to earn money as a freelance writer, I had begun consciously thinking about everything I read: Was it good and why, or was it bad and why. Ever since, everything I read has been judged. Not because I want to pan or praise, but because I want to know what I consider good or bad writing. And believe me, I learn from both.

That said, when I read a good book I’m thrilled and when I read a piece of crap I’m also thrilled. Good books provide suggestions on how to do a better job with my writing, … and ditto bad books. Good books show and aren’t loaded with telling. And just as important, good books aren’t loaded with errors and, even worse, fabrications that are slanted and created to sell an author’s preconception of the story’s angle at the cost of the truth. This training is ongoing and will be so until I die.

I don’t review books for the simple reason that most of what I read deals with what I write about in one way or another. Simply put it is a conflict of interest, for most-often I have already been intimate with the books offered to me to review. I may have reviewed the manuscript and offered suggestions during the creation of it or the authors are good friends and we had shared many long conversations on their subject while their work was in progress. Friends, good friends, and advanced knowledge of the books are key here. When I have told the requesting editors my reasons for rejecting a review request, they totally agree.

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LK at Claude Monet’s garden in Giverny, France, on July 4, 2004. It is important for one reason, for it shows LK tracking something that is important to him. This trip was threefold: It was my first visit to Olivia de Havilland’s home in Paris (which is important to Errol & Olivia); it provided my daughter Marissa and I with gold time together; and Marissa got to track Monet and Vincent van Gogh in France (I had not been a big fan of van Gogh’s art before this trip, but let me tell you his creativity overwhelmed me—he was a magnificent artist). In my humble opinion we must always track what is important to us. (photo © Marissa & Louis Kraft 2004)

How I work
This image (left) deals with LK tracking that which is important in my life.

You need to know how I work, for I don’t think it is conventional.

I usually take forever researching my books (and the research is never complete, for it continues long after a book is published). Chuck Rankin, my friend and editor-in-chief at the University of Oklahoma Press, inserted a clause in the Ned Wynkoop and the Lonely Road from Sand Creek contract that forbid me from writing another book about Wynkoop and I refused to sign the document until it was removed. When we began to work on the Sand Creek contract, we both studied the previous contract and he asked why the above clause had been removed from the Wynkoop contract as he had forgotten and feared I might write a competing nonfiction work on Wynkoop. I told him that I wanted an open door in case I wanted to return to him in any format, including nonfiction.

Although I outline, it is never locked in stone. If information is discovered that changes what I thought a person did, it changes how this person is presented in the manuscript. When there are conflicting stories of an event, I don’t pick the one that suits me, I decide upon the one that appears to be the closest to the truth (oftentimes it is a combination of facts from different viewpoints and observations) with the balance detailed in the notes. Also, I don’t write from beginning to end. I may write something for chapter 14 and then something for chapter 2. Although I constantly study what I’ve written and attempt to improve the prose whenever I reread it (and change it as I’ve found something else that was missing or needed (or I corrected something), I don’t begin polishing until I have a rough first draft. At that point I begin rewriting and looking for holes in the storyline. What is missing? What isn’t complete? What is overwritten? What is questionable? Is something wrong? Is the English bad (and I’m a firm believer in breaking known rules when they can propel the text)?

And this is important …
I strive to show and not tell. Action is character, and to understand who a person was I must know what he or she did—as much as possible, I must show what he or she did (and not tell what he or she did). Oftentimes this results in fights that I must win with copyeditors. In Ned Wynkoop and the Lonely Road from Sand Creek, Ned and his wife Louise were staying at La Fonda in Santa Fe, New Mexico, during the Civil War.

La Fonda as it appeared in 1927.

She was in the room alone and rats entered. She leaped onto a chair, Ned entered, and the rats disappeared. He wanted to know why she was on the chair. She told him, but he didn’t believe her. “Sit down and be quiet,” she said (a paraphrase). He did, and the rats returned. They both leaped onto their chairs, and Ned yanked out his Colt and began blasting away. This brought the manager, who gave them another room. … The copyeditor insisted upon removing this as it had nothing to do with what Wynkoop did. “No! You’re wrong, for it shows what he did at a moment in time, it shows his character, and it stays.” (another paraphrase, as I didn’t go back to look at the documentation).

Other stories of Sand Creek and the Tragic End of a Lifeway
As much as possible I strive to show. As I already said, action is character. What I say about me isn’t who I am (it is at best, how I want you to perceive me).

LK at work, … and more. This image was taken on 13dec2013, and it shows key pieces of the LK life. First and foremost, it shows me at work moving about what I call my computer room (it could be called a library as there are three book cases and lots of cabinet storage). I spend a lot of time in this room but I’m not glued to the computers. Often I’m up and roaming the room and house, for this is how I work. And I do talk to myself; I have great conversations and they do influence what I write. There’s also something I wanted to share w/this image—actually two things. I chose this image for it shows red below my eyes (about the 5th or 6th day in the continuous cycle of attacks that I’ve had since mid-November. Shots, cream ($259.00 for 30g), nine days of medications, has each time ended the problem which always begins with me looking like I just lost a title bout with Muhammad Ali in his prime. After a treatment I look normal for a day or two, only to again be attacked. The red under the eyes that you see is not from lack of sleep as I’m been sleeping like a baby for the first time since the early 2000s. In 2003 a neurologist told me I’d not walk again. F—him, for I’m still walking. Doctors couldn’t fix this nerve problem, but cockiness aside, I think I have (perhaps in another blog). Originally I considered using another image as it showed my wandering the house and talking to myself. Certainly it showed the redness better, but I liked the cockiness in this image. LK likes to be cocky. (photo © Louis Kraft 2013))

My view is biased, as most likely I’m trying to paint a picture of how I want you to view me. However, when I show you (in words) what has happened, and it is a truthful “showing” (and not slanted or “rosy colored” to make me look good) you will have a better idea of what kind of person I am. Ditto everyone I write about. Everything I can find that can provide a glimpse into their lives is important to me. Unfortunately when you deal with the Indian wars, many of the major players and almost all of oh-so-important fringe players have way-too-little primary source material on them. And I’m talking about Anglo-Americans, Cheyennes, Arapahos, and mixed bloods that are key to the Sand Creek story.

I am a firm believer that what people do defines who they are. I will never tell you that this is a good person or that person is bad. If I’m capable of providing hopefully accurate portrayals of their actions, you will be able to make your own decisions about them. Although I won’t say this in the manuscript, I don’t think John Chivington was a bad person. I know for a fact, that he did everything he could to help Louise Wynkoop receive a widow’s pension after Ned died. He didn’t have to do this, for Ned snubbed him for the rest of his life after the Sand Creek fight. John lived in a harsh land at a harsh time. And just like Wynkoop, his life changed as the world he lived in changed, and like Wynkoop, Chivington made decisions that he thought best for him. At no time did he consider himself a villain (and Wynkoop never considered himself a villain). In Chivington’s case I need to dig and consider and dig some more. As much as possible I need to get into his soul, and regardless of how I view what happened at Sand Creek in November 1864, if I do my job properly you will be able to make your own decisions on what happened. Perhaps your view won’t change, but maybe it will. Things happened at Sand Creek, and there are many reasons why. But this isn’t new, many things happen in war and will always happen in war, and different cultures react differently to what is acceptable and what isn’t acceptable. I’ve never been in war, but I’ve certainly studied it (and this includes viewing films), and I do believe that when confronted with the enemy and life or death that people are on the edge. … That they are totally alive, frightened, bent upon surviving, and that there might be a bloodlust. Horrible things happened to people on both sides during the lead-up to Sand Creek, the attack at Sand Creek, and after Sand Creek.

Back to Sand Creek
For those of you that have begun to worry about my return to writing (including my good pal editor Greg Lalire at Wild West) let me say here and now that LK has returned, hopefully ne’er to disappear again. There are more projects than you may be aware of, but at this date The Discovery, Errol & Olivia, and Sand Creek and the Tragic End of a Lifeway will be the next three printed books (not in this order), with perhaps two other novels slipping into the mix. I know, just mentioning fiction is heresy; “Say it ain’t so, Joe!” But alas, ’tis so. Not to worry, for the second book on Errol Flynn, along with a book on Kit Carson, will dominate my following round of nonfiction.

Colorized woodcut of Southern Cheyenne chiefs Bull Bear (a Dog Man), left, and Black Kettle. Part of the LK Collection, this image was originally published in Ned Wynkoop and the Lonely Road from Sand Creek, OU Press, 2011. (colorizaton © Louis Kraft 2013)

I have returned to Sand Creek with a vengeance, but, as I said above, I don’t write from beginning to end. I write about what I have and know (or think I know, for it might change at any given moment). The Sand Creek manuscript is in progress with me trying:

To get a handle on the beginning of the Cheyenne people and their emergence as a powerful force on the central and southern plains. In my humble opinion, this is key for the book working to my satisfaction.
To discover (if possible) the essence of the leading and in some cases the major supporting players.
To dig deeper into a handful of white captives that I hope to write more about than I have in the past.
To experiment with pushing my prose farther than in the past (using the sample chapter in the book proposal, which passed with flying colors as a template). In the past I have often had to fight to retain some of my word structure. Doable? You bet! Will there be a struggle? Don’t know, hopefully not.

As a writer I’ve always tried to challenge myself. How do I tell a story, and how do I fight for that story when I hear something like: “We don’t do it this way at the press, Mr. Kraft.”? Over the years I’ve threatened to sue, have offered to return advances, and often I’ve won my battles while losing some. There are stories to tell, exciting stories, but that’s what memoirs are for—passion and fireworks, in other words page turners to the extreme.*

* LK note: It’s a shame that most memoirs are little more than gloss-overs of peoples’ lives. What stories they could have told if they had dared to tell the truth.

Invitation to open conversations on key players in the Sand Creek story
On a blog months back I stated that I intended to open discussions on key players in the Sand Creek manuscript, and would give books to people that contributed to the conversations in ways that are helpful to me. No one commented. Was no one interested? Perhaps, but I’d like to believe that you’re all just shy. Those days of open conversations are a comin’, and it is my hope that one or two or more of you will join me in email round-robin conversations (writerkraft@gmail.com). I want to breathe life into the Sand Creek players (just like I’m doing with Errol Flynn and Olivia de Havilland), and to do this I need to learn everything I can about these players, which will hopefully allow me to do a better job of bringing them to life. Doable? I don’t know. Worth trying? Bet on it!

Here’s a head’s up: Charley Bent, John Chivington, and Tall Bull are just three of the people I need to know more about. I want to know more about the nasty things that happened—actions, lies and truths. I’m telling this story from all angles, and believe me I’m not going into the story with preconceived notions of villains and heroes. I’m interested in people, and I truly believe that we all have ups and downs and that is what makes all of us interesting. If anyone in the manuscript is a villain, it will only be because their actions make you think they are a villain. Honestly, I don’t like what happened at Sand Creek, but I believe that most-likely everyone did what they thought was best (from their point of view) leading up to the attack, during the attack, and afterwards. Once I can get to named people in the story, it will be a story about people. A story of people and their motivations, fears, and actions—a story of people attempting to survive during a time of extreme change.

Charley Bent will play as large a part as I can document in Sand Creek and the Tragic End of a Lifeway. His short life needs to be shared, for he walked to his own drum (as we all should). This colorized image is based upon original art in the LK Collection (colorization © Louis Kraft 2013)

First up will be Charley Bent, and the plan is for this blog to appear in January 2014. This man, who died way-too-young, chose his lifeway and was true to it until his death. In the blog I’ll give you a short summary of what I know about him, so you know what I have in-house. If any of you can share information about Charley’s life that I am not aware of or point me to it, this is what I want. Beginning with Mr. Bent, and continuing with what will hopefully be a number of discussions on key people, I will list three book titles, and the person who I think has provided me with information that is key to better my understanding of this person (Bent or whomever) will receive the book of their choice. I don’t think much of awards (most are based upon popularity and name value) and I usually totally disagree with most awards in which I know the results—be them books or film acting and writing. That said, If two people provide key information, I will have no problem awarding two winners (and if there is a worthy third contribution of information for a key player, that person will also receive a book).

Who says they don’t raise cowgirls in Thailand?
I have no clue what your life has been like, but mine has been hell. I have been cheated, lied to, and robbed. I should be long dead (and trust me few would mourn). This is not whining and I’m not feeling sorry for myself. I am perhaps the luckiest fellow you know, and it has taken me a lifetime to reach my current situation. And I’m chuckling here, for over the years I’ve been called many unsavory things by people who should have loved me. Should have, but didn’t. Some of these people have done everything possible to keep me in purgatory, a burning inferno from which there has never been an escape.

Until now.

LK w/sister Linda Kraft-Morgon on 15jan2006 (a day I’ll never forget). Linda couldn’t visit Tujunga House on Christmas 2005 as she had no immune system and I had a cold. We reset for the first available date to get together. Unfortunately before that time arrived, she called and told me that her life would soon end. We celebrated Christmas on a wonderful January 15th at her home in Lake Arrowhead, Ca. I then wrote for SeeBeyond and my manager (Sudeshna Ghosh, who is still a good friend) allowed me to come into work early, drive to Lake Arrowhead, spend time with Linda, return to work, and work into the night. This was one of the kindest acts that anyone has ever done for me. Sudeshna downplayed this, but it remains at the top of key points in my life. Over the next six weeks I saw Linda four/five days a week. Great times for me, but not only for my precious time w/Linda, but also for my time w/her husband Greg Morgon—for during that time we cemented our relationship as “bros” (brothers). Time and distance has not severed our feelings for each other, for we will forever be “bros.” (photo © Louis Kraft 2006)

My mother, my brother, my father, and even my sister (whom I’ve only now been able to hold and cherish in peace) are long gone. My mother, father, and brother were always there for me, but until I reached my future that is now current, I have walked a very lonely trail. False loves and close relationships that have never been. I’ve always been blessed with long-distance friends as well as a few good friends that are local (whenever I see my long-distance or local friends, it is always as if the last time I saw them was yesterday). This is a wonderful feeling.

I’m alive, but in times past I could have died and days or weeks could have passed before anyone discovered I no longer walked the land. My life has been solitary. No longer, for times have changed and my friends close or far would now question my silence.

And it gets better than the above, much better. Please pardon this wordy introduction to this section (it was almost cut, but I decided that it helped the story).

Back in June I invited four people that I knew to a dinner party at Tujunga House. One of them, Naphis Sukumarabandhu, felt sorry for me as I hadn’t gone out on a date since a relationship ended in 2011. She asked if she could bring a friend to the gathering. At first I said “no,” but she refused to accept this until I said “okay.” The lady she invited also said “no,” but then finally decided to come.

That dinner party turned out to be the luckiest day of my life. …

This photo is of ps in the front yard at Tujunga House on 17nov13. (photo © Pailin Subanna & Louis Kraft 2013)

The fifth guest was Pailin Subanna, and I knew I wanted to see her again before she left that evening. Recently a good friend told me that I finally had a muse in my life, and they were right. But there’s more—much more. I actually have someone who accepts me for me and loves me for who I am. it has taken me a lifetime to find this special person.

ps in the front yard of Tujunga House on 24oct13 (photo © Pailin Subanna & Louis Kraft 2013)

She was hurt, damaged, and so was I. We took our time and became friends, then good friends. She has given me a life, and our relationship has blossomed. … Who says they don’t raise cowgirls in Thailand?

Physical problems aside, I have regained my life and future. Sand Creek, Flynn/de Havilland, Carson, and other writing is back on track (and Gatewood and Geronimo have reentered my life).

A collage of the beginning of the redesign of Tujunga House. Unfortunately LK got a little too artsy-fartsy here and size limitations prevented text in the image being readable on smaller computer monitors. #1) View from computer room into living room. #2) View from living room into computer room. #3) The LK Memoir/Sand Creek research/Chavez History Library delivery room, … the piles are now three times the height of what you see in the image. #4) Pailin working in the master bedroom; you see a Cheyenne parfleche, rock art, and a 3×5′ LK painting of a Santa Barbara, Ca., sunrise in the mid-1970s. #5) A second image of Pailin working in the master bedroom; the bookcase contains LK-published work and Errol Flynn and Olivia de Havilland publications. Above Pailin’s head is a print of Cheyenne chief Gordon Yellowman’s art of the Sand Creek attack that I hope to use on the cover and in Sand Creek and the Tragic End of a Lifeway. (collage photos © Louis Kraft & Pailin Subanna 2013)

For roughly 2 ½ months you couldn’t walk in Tujunga House as it had been a minefield of disaster as Pailin and I worked to make the house livable and ours, and yes, she now lives at Tujunga House. As the holidays approached I had to relocate the still incomplete Memoir and Sand Creek research. These 2 ½ months have played hell on my writing output, but they have been heaven with Pailin. … Good friend Vee (mentioned above) from that frozen land on the East Coast (we met during our college years) and Saul (a theatre major w/me at CSUN who became a film editor) visited on December 12th. The house had to be presentable as we didn’t want anyone falling over piles of books or research or goodies that had not yet gone to Vietnam Vets (I’m their best supplier), and Pailin & I made it. What a great day and evening we had with Vee & Saul.

Pailin & LK on 26dec2013 when two good friends, Pete & Nina Senoff, visited for dinner. We had celebrated Christmas on the 25th. It was just us, quiet and peaceful. On the 26th it was also peaceful, but with the added pleasure of two friends present. Good talk, joking, and friendship, … not to mention the LK-traditional turkey and Thai cuisine to die for. (image © Pailin Subanna & Louis Kraft 2013)

Days later, on 26dec2013, two great SoCal friends, Nina and Pete Senoff, visited. Turkey & dressing + Thai food (spicy and mellow that Pailin and Nina created)—heaven. I’m talking about both Pailin’s & my time w/Nina & Pete and the dinner we shared. The meal? Alloy mark (delicious). … Enough said.

… And now (although there is still much to sort and decide its fate; stock-piled in the LK writing/research/Santa Fe archive room), the rest of the house is clean and the redesign is almost as we want it.

And, … AND for any of you who may be curious, Pailin will become my wife in 2014.

A new beginning for Pailin and LK has arrived. The future is totally unknown, but she and I have the world before us. Best of all we’ll have each other, and that’s what counts.

Lt. Charles Gatewood & the Medal of Honor (MOH)

Posted on December 20, 2013 by Louis Kraft

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

Ladies & Gents, this has been an ongoing project since Charles Gatewood’s death in the 1890s. He ended the last Apache war in 1886, while at risk of being killed by Apaches, Mexicans, and Americans. He did it without any bullets being fired, and yet he was at risk of being killed every step of the way.

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Although promised, there have to date been no images of the September Gatewood/Geronimo talk in Tucson, Az., forthcoming. Fingers are always crossed. That said, this image is based upon a screen capture from the DVD of the talk that I just received from Mike Koury, who runs the Order of the Indian Wars. (art © Louis Kraft 2013)

A number of efforts for Gatewood receiving the MOH have been ongoing for years, but most have been little more than wordplay, which I’ve avoided. A few years back I teamed up w/a retired lieutenant colonel of the US Army to bring Gatewood winning the award to a realistic future, and that time has arrived. Paul Fardink is upfront and center with many of the key generals in the U.S. Army, and they listen to what he says. Paul’s lead will hopefully result in Gatewood receiving a long-overdue recognition for pulling off what I consider the most impressive event of the Indian wars.

My good friend, Paul Fardink, has been working on an article on Gatewood, and brought me into his world. He wrote and I advised and offered comments. He came up with a first class article and kindly added an interview of me to his text (fully half of his final article; an honor).

Magazine cover for the Winter 2014 issue of On Point, The Journal of Army History.

The article was accepted as a feature for On Point: The Journal of Army History (Winter 2014). Paul kept me in the loop and I was able to continue adding my comments, which Paul incorporated. He even allowed me an opportunity to rewrite, and when the final PDF of the article arrived from the publisher, I was able to add my corrections to this last proof and they were accepted. Ladies and gents, I’m looking at Paul’s article now—an article that is reprinting my best Gatewood map (from Lt. Charles Gatewood & His Apache Wars Memoir, 2005). Paul even shared half of the salary, even though I was little more than an interviewee granted editorial consideration. On Point took the interview answers and turned them into paragraphs—over half of the 8 pages of the article.

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Map originally by LK in the On Point Winter 2014 Gatewood article by Lt. Col. Paul Fardink, retired, first printed in Lt. Charles Gatewood & His Apache Wars Memoir (University of Nebraska Press, 2005).

And better yet, Paul is leading the way into what I expect to be Charles Gatewood winning the first U.S. military Medal of Honor without amy bullets flying, a truly magnificent accomplishment!

That above statement said, Paul’s efforts are the kickoff to what is Charles Gatewood’s first quest for the MOH that actually has a chance of becoming reality. Today, I saw my copy of On Point: The Journal of Army History (a terrifically designed glossy publication) and final DVDs of my talk in Tucson, Arizona, in which I detailed Gatewood’s finding Geronimo in Mexico during the summer of 1886 on September 26, 2013, at an Order of the Indian Wars event (which I immediately sent to Paul for his next scheduled step in this oh-so-important process).

* My apologies, for “Who says they don’t raise cowgirls in Thailand and other stories of Sand Creek” is still my next scheduled blog. … Gatewood updates happened today, and I needed to make them public on the blog (and not elsewhere), and I didn’t want to drag my heels for anything on Gatewood and Geronimo is first class news (at least in my life).

Errol Flynn, SWORDS, Ned Wynkoop, & of course Louis Kraft opinion

Posted on November 30, 2013 by Louis Kraft

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

Errol Flynn … long time gone? It might seem so, but trust me, dear friends, ‘taint so. ‘Taint so! He’s just been sleeping in Kraft’s head for the last three months. Actually he needs to sleep a little more before I return to him (and Ms. de Havilland) on a regular basis. My writing editors must also feel that Kraft has slowly sunk into Davy Jones’s locker, ne’er to return. Deadlines? What are they? In the past I made them, regardless if they were easy or if it took me months on end (back when I was a writer for the Dark Side) with three to four hours sleep per night day after day with no end in sight until the work delivered on deadline. The Wynkoop book fit this description to a tee. Beginning in December 2010, and this included a major car wreck on the 134 freeway at high speed that totally destroyed a Corvette two days before Christmas (the front end, engine and everything else under the hood, the left side, the rear, and the car frame cracked in half). I walked away from a great car that saved my life. I missed only one day of work for the Dark Side as there were deadlines to be met. Thank you? Hell, you’ve got to be kidding! Recovery? It took me a year (a year of multiple deadlines for both the Dark Side and the freelance side), but the recovery would never be complete.

The self portrait at left that I created earlier this year to represent my trials and tribulations when I moved my internet and phone to AT&T U-verse. A major mistake: The phone would disconnect after 10 to 15 minutes and fully 30 to 50 percent of the time I had no internet. I can’t tell you how many technicians visited or how many phone calls I made (on one the calls to AT&T the phone and went dead and they made no attempt call back). … The answer was always: “It’s your computers.” “How come everything worked with my former provider and wi-fi works everywhere except in my house?” My words never sank in until the umpteenth technician again confirmed that all the wires and equipment worked perfectly. “So what’s the problem and how can you fix it?” “It can never be fixed for you are too far from our hub and it will worsen whenever another customer signs up and is closer to the hub.” After three months, that was my out w/o a financial penalty. …. Why this picture now? Because I’m being pulled in many directions, am not well, and daily find myself clawing just to stay with my nose and mouth above water. I’m a survivor and all will be well, but for my whining section of this blog this image seemed appropriate. (image © Louis Kraft 2013)

Many writers are lazy SOBs that do no real research. They survive by stealing from secondary books, and they make no effort to confirm the accuracy of what they are grabbing, and worse, oftentimes they make it sound as if the information is theirs (that’s right: they give no credit to the secondary writer they ripped off). … A sad state of affairs.

Heinous stuff, but Kraft, what are you writing about today? … Oh yes, Mr. Flynn swinging a blade.

Swords & Mr. Flynn

Swords and Errol Flynn go together. … Flynn was a graceful, athletic, sensitive (bet on it), and an intelligent man who easily fit into anything that caught his interest. I don’t think “multi-tasking,” as we now know the term, existed in the 1930s and 1940s, but let me tell you that, term or no term, Mr. Flynn was adept at it. He made his life his.

LK art of EF as Lord Essex in The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex (1939), a slow film because of Maxwell Anderson’s prose from his play Elizabeth the Queen (1930), which the writers, producer, and director made no effort to abandon or alter. Bottom line: a shame, for it could have been a much better film. (art © Louis Kraft 2013)

Many of his critics haven’t acted and haven’t swung a sword, yet they spout out their expertise on what they have little knowledge. Mostly they’ve read books and reviews and repeat what they’ve read with little regard for accuracy of their (or their predecessors’) words. All they care about is that they’ve found mostly negative information that supports their premise, a premise they intend to build their expertise upon. A strong and not pretty indictment. Unfortunately ’tis all too true. I could name way-too-many books that pretend to be factual but in reality are little more than reprinted frauds, and worse they often invent quotes and create notes that have been pulled from a na-na land that we might call their warped brain.

Enter Ned Wynkoop

Ned Wynkoop? Those of you who read Ned Wynkoop and the Lonely Road from Sand Creek know the connection between Wynkoop with Flynn.

Wynkoop seeing a battle line of Cheyenne and Arapaho warriors in September 1864. Not a good moment for him. This Image first sees print in Wild West magazine (art © Louis Kraft 2013)

I bring up Wynkoop here only as I want to use one example that relates to the above section, an example that I didn’t find, but one that Greg Lalire, editor at Wild West magazine and my friend for many-many years, supplied to me. Greg sent me the following quote from a book he is currently reading in an email (22nov13):

“I’ve been reading a book called The Heart of Everything That Is about Red Cloud but it covers a lot of ground in the Old West.” Greg wrote. “I know Wynkoop didn’t like Indians at first, but what do you think of this paragraph from the book?

LK art of Bull Bear that will hopefully see print for the first time in August 2014. Bull Bear was an important player in Wynkoop’s life, and an even more important player in the Sand Creek story. (art © Louis Kraft 2013)

“‘Fort Lyon’s new commander, Major Edward Wynkoop, was a friend of Chivington’s, and far less disposed than his predecessor toward differentiating between antagonistic and friendly tribes. He looked for any excuse to declare Black Kettle and White Antelope hostiles, and when he found none he simply refused their people food; returned their old muskets, bows, arrows, and knives; and ordered them off the premises. They were, he said, free to hunt in a limited territory bordering a stream called Sand Creek that fed into the Smoky Hill river about thirty-five miles northwest of the fort. The Cheyenne sensed a trap, but they were reassured that as long as Black Kettle flew the white flag of truce above his lodge next to an old American flag the Head Man had once received as a gift, no harm would come to them. Two days after the Indians departed, on November 28, Chivington arrived and Fort Lyon with two field cannons and 700 men of the Third Colorado Volunteer Cavalry….’ Nothing more is said of Wynkoop after that….”

Wynkoop w/interpreter Dick Curtis on the Pawnee Fork in Kansas in April 1867. Art by Theodore R. Davis and originally published in Harper’s Weekly. (art restoration by Louis Kraft and © Louis Kraft 2009)

The words that Greg had sent me was pure bullshit, meaning that this so-called biography on Red Cloud was pure shit, for if the writer fucked this up, you can bet that the rest of his travesty would be just as bad.

I had to reply to Greg, but only partially as I could write pages and pages about the above quote: “The words from The Heart of Everything That Is gave me a good laugh for many reasons. I’m not going to waste my time with a lengthy explanation, but will say a few things. Wynkoop didn’t order the Indians to move farther away from Fort Lyon (he was already removed from command)—Maj. Scott Anthony ordered them away. And I don’t think Anthony told them where to go or where to hunt (at least I haven’t seen anything that states this). Wynkoop did not ask for the Indians’ weapons; Anthony did (but only for weapons they had taken from whites—no bows and arrows or knives), and Wynkoop certainly didn’t give the Indians their weapons back for he never had them. Wynkoop, after returning from meeting with the Indians on the Smoky Hill and they went to Denver (for the meeting at Camp Weld), was very favorable toward these Cheyennes and Arapahos—although he was still careful around them. … The entire paragraph is a joke. By reading it, I wouldn’t trust much else that is in this book unless there is solid proof of primary documentation.”

My next contracted book is Sand Creek and the Tragic End of a Lifeway, and the manuscript deals with this very subject in 130,000-word detail. Based upon one paragraph, The Heart of Everything That Is is so error-riddled that it is unquotable and won’t even make the Sand Creek bibliography. Before returning to Mr. Flynn, I want to close this section w/Greg L’s immediate reply to my email (which was longer than quoted): “Hey, I cringed when I read that about Wynkoop and I obviously know Wynkoop only slightly while he is your best friend. (Well, sort of, I guess). The authors of the book write with a certain flair, but they brush over many things (and I wonder how accurately they brush sometimes). I wonder how much time they have actually spent on Wild West material.”

In regard to Greg’s last sentence and the paragraph he sent me, nothing those writers wrote is valid for in that one short paragraph everything they wrote was wrong.

Swords & Mr. Flynn … continued

Graceful, when describing Flynn, is an understatement. Put Flynn on a horse, and it looked as if he and the horse were one. Place a sword in Flynn’s hand and it looked as if he had been wielding a blade all his life. … Why?

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Errol Flynn holds two sabres as he stands in front of his pool at Mulholland Farm and introduces a dueling demonstration (spring or summer 1945). His seated audience included Gary and Mrs. Rocky Cooper, among others. They were special guests for also on this day Flynn threw a big party to introduce his second wife, Nora Eddington, to the world. (Louis Kraft personal collection)

Flynn was a great athlete who easily performed physical activities, but there was more. Ladies and gents, Flynn worked at his physical craft. Believe me, riding a horse and swinging a rapier takes practice and more practice. You don’t mount a horse and ride like you are one with the animal if you don’t put in the hours (and I don’t give a damn how good an athlete you are). Ditto the sword. You don’t duel competition or on film/stage without hours upon hours of practice and look good.

Flynn was lazy and didn’t work at his craft! Certainly this statement (or something like it) has been presented to us again and again in tomes written by writers that are less than expert at what they write about. Actually these writers, for the most part, have been little more than hacks that have created a premise and then have attempted to prove it (at times exchanging incomplete and inaccurate research to create quotes and notes that are as wild as some of the worse prose you’ve ever read in piss-poor fiction. This is nothing new to historical biography (maybe I’ll deal with this in a Wynkoop or Sand Creek blog). Trust me, Errol Flynn put in the time to master the sword for his screen performances.

Although not part of this blog, Flynn’s acting was good (and for the most part, he learned on the job), so good that it holds up well today. The reasons will be made clear in Errol & Olivia. Not to worry, for I’ll touch upon Flynn’s acting (as well as Olivia de Havilland’s acting) in future blogs. I can’t give you the bulk of the book, but I’ll be able to give you a taste—hopefully just enough to excite your curiosity.

Errol Flynn made nine swashbuckling films, and yes he is known as a swashbuckler. Still, most people don’t realize that he worked in many genres of film: War (seven), westerns (eight), comedy (four), drama (I didn’t count), … there were adventures, film noir, mysteries. Well, you get the picture, he was capable of performing in different types of films. Of Flynn’s nine swashbucklers, four are classics and are right at the top of anyone’s list of best ten swashbucklers (two are on my best ten Flynn films list).

Oh, by the way, there are two other film actors that were good with a sword: Douglas Fairbanks, Jr., and Stewart Granger.

They join Flynn on the short list of being much better than the rest of the screen swordsmen, which includes Douglas Fairbanks, Sr., Tyrone Power, Cornell Wilde (who, I admit I haven’t seen swing a blade in decades, and you don’t want to know the reason) … all the way to so-called swashbuckling films of the last two decades (most of which survive off of filming doubles, using special effects, and making way too much of the action long shots). As the saying goes, if you can’t see the actor’s face, it isn’t the actor.

Three special mentions need to be made here: 1) Basil Rathbone, who was good with a blade in his hand and whom always looked good (albeit stiff: read, mechanical) trying to kill the hero on film—always, 2) Gene Kelly in the 1948 version of The Three Musketeers, and 3) The actors from three films created by director Richard Fleischer in the 1970s: The Three Musketeers (1973), The Four Musketeers (1974), and Crossed Swords (1977 or 1978) w/Oliver Reed (released in Great Britain as The Prince and the Pauper, and later on DVD w/this title).

I never met Oliver Reed, but I did spend good time with Ernie Borgnine in Oklahoma City in April 2012, just months before his untimely death. Ernie was nothing like his screen persona; he was a kind, open, and giving person. Here Reed threatens Borgnine, who is the pauper’s father in Crossed Swords. Nothing but kudos from LK for this film. (Louis Kraft personal collection)

Oliver Reed

Reed was in all three of Fleischer’s films (as was Charlton Heston), and he is by far the best actor swinging a blade in what are really farcical duels—the movements are so large and bold that a first-year fencing student in college could have easily won any of these filmed duels. That said, Reed, who unfortunately died young, looked good on film with the sword.

Richard
Chamberlain, a great actor

Conversely, Richard Chamberlain, an actor who has given us many good performances in a variety of roles, including three miniseries: Centennial (1978-1979), Shogun (1980) and The Thorn Birds (1983) wasn’t very good with a sword in his hand. Chamberlain played one of the leading musketeers in both of Fleischer’s films. After the hit Dr. Kildare TV series in the 1960s he worked on his craft and became a very good actor.

Case in point (see Chamberlain photo; Louis Kraft personal collection). I saw him play Cyrano de Bergerac on stage at the Ahmanson Theatre in Los Angeles (8th row center). During “the” duel his blade broke and an actor had to walk to him and hand him another blade (no improvising and avoiding being killed until he had another weapon—the action just stopped, and it wasn’t very good to start with). Worse, the entire duel was boring and anti-climatic. In other words, totally disappointing (especially so since Cyrano was supposed to be the world’s greatest duelist).

I’ve picked on Mr. Chamberlain, as he was just human, and not a good swashbuckler. That said, he is a surprisingly good actor. Here he is in an image of him as Cyrano during the key duel of the play. … I’m a firm believer in ad-libbing, that is playing the scene even though it isn’t progressing as written. … Playing the scene! Ladies and gents, this was something that Errol Flynn was very good at, but, alas, something that Chamberlain wasn’t capable of doing (at least not when I saw him act). Acting is doing; it is also living, and when an actor can’t do this on film or on stage, he/she hasn’t prepared properly. He/she doesn’t know his/her character. On that night decades ago, Mr. Chamberlain wasn’t Cyrano. All he was, was an actor, an actor that hadn’t prepared properly to portray a character. He was lost, and it was a sad sight to see. The extra should have flipped the blade to Chamberlain and he should have caught it with a flourish before continuing the duel.

I had hoped to discuss in detail some of Flynn’s duels. Unfortunately during the drafting of this blog I changed my mind (blame it on taking too long to complete the blog, which in turn made me realize that I need to keep this information for E&O). My apologies.

I will say this, the dueling in Captain Blood (1935) was a combination of exciting shots/angles filmed on sand and rocks on the California coast. Some of this exhilarating, and some of it farcical. The farcical is not Flynn’s (or Basil Rathbone’s) fault, for they performed as choreographed. They slipped over wet and slimy rocks and kept their balance on the sand—some of this is very good, including Flynn’s death thrust to Rathbone.

Errol Flynn and Basil Rathbone dueling to the death on the beach in Captain Blood (based upon the first part of Rafael Sabatini’s great novel, Captain Blood: His Odyssey, 1922, and romantic illustrations by Howard Pyle and others in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Also, and as stated in the text, you don’t cut to the head with a sword that will only kill when you strike your opponent with the point of the blade. Rathbone’s Levasseur could have simply taken the slash to his shoulder while he thrust and gutted Flynn’s Blood; end of duel. (Louis Kraft personal collection)

That said, it is idiocy to swing blades that are thrusting weapons as if they are cutting weapons. Beyond that, Flynn’s swinging a thrusting blade like a saber but so high that all someone with a knife would have to do is duck, step in, and gut him. Again, not Flynn’s fault (but the dueling master’s). … BTW, the saber work on the ships is good.

The above said, Captain Blood is a great film for many reasons (not in this blog’s scope), as is The Adventures of Robin Hood (great for totally different reasons; again not in this blog’s scope). Sorry.

I’m going to say less about the dueling in Robin Hood, actually only two comments.

No one, absolutely no one, can swing a broadsword as they were used in the film.
If you can swallow the total misuse of the weapons and enjoy the dramatics of the sword fighting, the minor duel Flynn has with Friar Tuck (Eugene Pallette) and the major duel he has with Sir Guy of Gisbourne (Basil Rathbone) are magnificent.

Both films and the duels will be dealt with in detail in Errol & Olivia.

BTW, the Oliver Reed–Mark Lester (as the prince and the pauper) film Crossed Swords is much closer to Mark Twain’s novel than the Errol Flynn–Mauch twins 1937 film (The Prince and the Pauper), and in my opinion, a much more satisfying film. That said, Flynn’s sword fight with Alan Hale at the end of the film was a huge improvement in his technique and form over the beach duel in Captain Blood. He now looked like he was a duelist and one to be avoided at the risk of loss of life. Graceful, deadly, but with a cocky panache that Hale’s evil captain of the guard would too-quickly learn, Flynn’s Miles Hendon marked his arrival as a swashbuckler and a suitor to share the Douglas Fairbanks, Sr., armor as “the swordsman.”

EF duels in jest and with deadly intent if need be with Friar Tuck (Eugene Pallette) in The Adventures of Robin Hood. This duel is really well done and the actors (and the stuntmen) performed admirably. (Louis Kraft personal collection)

Flynn’s Robin Hood would confirm this. Although Flynn would rub shoulders with Fairbanks up to and after his own death, with the arrival of The Adventures of Robin Hood in ’38 there really was no comparison. Fairbanks bounced around on film, and he constantly swung the blade, but I would rate him with B-actors in the “talkie” swashbucklers of the late 1940s and early 1950s. What linked Flynn and Fairbanks père was their “swashbuckling” success at the box office.

(Douglas Fairbanks fils, has already been mentioned positively above with Flynn and Stewart Granger. LK: I just got tired of using “Sr.” and “Jr.”)

An in-left field baseball comparison

The following is a way-out comparison, so bear with me. The best baseball pitcher I’ve ever seen was Sandy Koufax of Los Angeles Dodgers’ fame in the 1960s (he also pitched for the Brooklyn Dodgers, but one never knew where his pitches were going back then). No other pitchers have compared to him—none. He was lights out in LA on a team that couldn’t hit the baseball. Meaning he could throw a 1 or 2 hitter with 1 walk and lose the game 1-0.

The white-haired Duke is batting in an old-timers game at Dodger Stadium in 1980. The Dodgers kindly allowed me to use this image in an 1985 Article, “The Duke of Flatbush” for Sports Parade. This signed image is from the magazine cover (I cropped out the magazine’s name, which was in a separate box above the image). In 1985 I pitched Snider to do a book about his life, but like most of my life I was a day late and a dollar short for the Duke had already signed a contract with writer Bill Gilbert (The Duke of Flatbush was published in 1988). I have a lot of the Duke’s autographs, for in the mid–to late–1980s it looked like my writing career would focus on baseball. The above artwork is by the BB artist Dick Perez (who allowed me to use his great art of the Duke from the classic 1984 Donruss BB card set—not pictured here—in my “The Duke of Flatbush” article. I think my failure to land the Duke set me on track to write about race relations on the western frontier (no regrets, for people are our world—yesterday, today, and tomorrow).

If Sandy had had the Brooklyn team of Duke Snider (see above image), Jackie Robinson, Roy Campanella, Gil Hodges, and Pee Wee Reese hitting for him in his prime (and if his career was longer), he would have easily won 30 games in multiple seasons.

This BB art card was from the 2nd edition of Diamond Classics (1983); Koufax was one of only a handful of players to make the set from his era. … Certainly Clayton Kershaw will be featured in a future blog (as will Koufax, Snider, and Bill Buckner).

The Sandy Koufax comparison to the rest of baseball pitchers (past and present, with possibly the exception of the Dodgers’ current gem, Clayton Kershaw) is what Errol Flynn’s swashbuckler was to the world of film—past and present (and there was/is no Clayton Kershaw in the Flynn equation). The only two swordsmen who are/were rivals in skill to him on film were Doug Fairbanks, Jr., and Stewart Granger, with a distant fourth perhaps being Oliver Reed. Basil Rathbone was very good with a sword, and perhaps would have done well in fencing competition, but alas, on film—and regardless of his skill with a blade—he was stiff, controlled, and worse, so concerned if his dueling stance and form was correct that one could never believe he’d win a duel. Perhaps, as Rathbone egotistically claimed, he could “kill Mr. Flynn whenever he wanted” (lk: This is a paraphrase.), but this is not quite true. Yes, most likely Rathbone might have defeated Flynn in fencing competition where points are scored (but let me tell you, in competition it isn’t always the duelist who strikes first who gets the point; it is the duelist who strikes legally who gets the point. Of course, in a real duel this fencer would be dead before he scored his legal point. My “point” here is this, I’ll take Messrs. Flynn and Fairbanks, Jr., and maybe Oliver Reed (not sure about Granger) over Rathbone in a duel to the death any day. Let me repeat that, any day.

Geronimo, Gatewood, & moving into the future w/my toon-hua

Posted on October 25, 2013 by Louis Kraft

Geronimo, Lt. Charles Gatewood, & moving into the future w/my toon-hua
Posted October 25, 2013

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

Although the Sand Creek contract has been signed and I am about to begin work on the manuscript, Gatewood, Geronimo, and Mexico have dominated and still dominate my life. But they share it and play second fiddle to the lady in my life. My kon-souy, who is my toon-hua. (To save you time trying to look up what these words mean, here’s the translation: My pretty lady, who is my honey/my love.)

LK talking about Gatewood finding Geronimo and the last hereditary Chiricahua Apache chief Naiche, in Sonora, Mexico, and talking then and the remnants of their people into returning to the United States and surrendering for the last time in fall 1886 at the Festival of the West, Scottsdale, Az., on 20mar2004 (photo © Louis Kraft 2004)

Pailin Subanna joined me when I stepped back into my past and walked once again with Mr. G. & Mr. G., who have played such a large role in my Indian wars writing life. To be exact, two books and three articles when on September 26 I spoke about “Gatewood’s Assignment: Geronimo” to a large assembly of members of the Order of the Indian Wars (OIW) in Tucson, Arizona. It was the 10th time I spoke about these important people in my life; one of four talks that kicked off a three-day event that tracked Geronimo in the U.S. If it was my swan song as a speaker, I’m good with it. Unfortunately I have no photos of the talk (Daniel A. Martinez, host & historian-in-residence, at The Discovery Channel, took numerous photos and he’ll share some of them in the future). During the 26th Mike Koury allowed me to introduce Pailin to the full house. It was her first Indian wars event.

This is my lady on the morning of September 26, 2013 (the day of the Gatewood/Geronimo talk in Tucson, Az.). She is ironing my pants (something I’ve done since my mother did it for me), and although I tried to stop her, she insisted. More importantly, you are seeing her as I see her—gorgeous w/o makeup and totally alive. She was probably saying, “Don’t take the picture.” I did, and when she sees this image she’ll probably hit me once or twice. Love taps no matter how hard they are, for this image is worth 1000s of words. (photo © Palin Subanna & Louis Kraft 2013)

The Arizona trip was the first that Pailin and I shared. Our relationship was really in good shape before the trip. The time we would spend together cemented our future. No small words. …

The talk was taped. When I see it, sometime later this year, I hope I’ll be able to figure out how to convert it and post it on the website. To date, this is something I have not been able to do with OIW DVDs. I plan to push and question until I learn how to prepare this talk for showing on the internet as soon as the talk arrives, probably in November.

Pailin and I didn’t join the tour. But instead of driving straight home, as had been the original plan, we took a small side trip. In other words, we took the long way home.

What’s Upcoming

Left is a small detail from Geronimo artwork I hope to complete for Wild West magazine. As of late it seems that all of my articles for the last year+ have been delivered drastically over the promised date. I hate excuses, so none are forthcoming, other than to say that this piece on Geronimo may be my last. With that thought bouncing around in my brain I have been in no hurry to complete the work. (art in progress © Louis Kraft 2013)

Before sharing a little of the trip, a small update is in order:

The Ned Wynkoop/horse painting is finally making decent progress (it needs to be submitted with photos/art for an article of him meeting Black Kettle on the Smoky Hill in Kansas for the first time in September 1864.
The Geronimo article is almost complete. The photos and art are in place except for a new piece on Geronimo that I began the other day (I’m sharing about 20 percent of the art here). This is a work in progress, which I think will require several more days to complete.
There e is also a Wynkoop/U.S. government article that is almost ready for submission.

The above sums up my present magazine-writing life. It also announces two swan songs for most likely the next three years and perhaps my entire future.

Swan songs? Alas, yes.

Swan songs

This is the counterpart image to the one of Pailin (above), for I am wearing the shirt and pants she ironed for me. I’m perhaps the world’s worst packer; anything I throw into a suitcase will be wrinkled when I reach my destination. I should say that I’m an experienced man with an iron (some may say dangerous), which dates so far back that it is certainly something I’m not going to share. It is late morning on September 26 and my lady and I are getting ready for the OIW event. (photo © Pailin Subanna & Louis Kraft 2013)

LIfe goes on, and as it moves into the future it changes. What matters and is now important has replaced what once had been but no longer is, perhaps never to return.

Swan song no. 1: The above articles may be the last articles I ever write. Certainly for the next three years, or whenever Sand Creek and the Tragic End of a Lifeway manuscript is delivered (it is due on October 1, 2016). Optimistically I will beat the deadline. Then it will be a matter of what books are in the pipeline and how close they are to completion. During the writing of Sand Creek, progress will continue on Errol & Olivia and with luck Navajo Blood will also be close to publication. If yes to both, they will take precedent over any magazine articles. I have already alerted Chuck Rankin (editor-in-chief at OU Press) what my next Indian wars book will be. As soon as I have enough primary source material to create a story idea and If Chuck buys in, when Sand Creek enters the production chain, the next nonfiction Indian wars book proposal will begin. When Errol & Olivia goes to press (and I expect this to be close to the Sand Creek publication date), I will begin work on the 2nd Errol Flynn book (which, egotistically, will be the best book I write). As these books are my no. 1 priorities, you can see why my magazine writing may have come to an end.

Swan song no. 2: The ending of talks, as mentioned above, is not a threat. That said, it is directly related to my current financial situation. All talks in the future will be for my full salary and with all expenses. My biggest supporters over the years have been the U.S. government and the state of Kansas. But with the continued downturn of finances of federal and state governments (all of which can be directly associated with a fake war and the drastic monetary consequences that followed and have pounded many of us—certainly me. Every time I think of the cash gone and the potential dollars that have vanished, I get palpitations).

The LA Times (Scrooge McDuck caption), a dark side without end, & pleasure

If you don’t know Walt Disney’s Scrooge McDuck, or Donald Duck and his three nephews (Huey, Dewey, and Louie) and the adventures they globe-trotted through when they combated the infamous Beagle Boys, you don’t know what you have missed. In a time long gone, the Scrooge and Donald comic books that featured them, their nephews, and the bad boys were must-read adventures. … In David Lazarus’s great column, “Wealth gap only getting worse” (LA Times, October 11, 2013, Business section, page 1), he writes: “The richest 1% own nearly half of all global wealth. … Only a tiny fraction of the roughly 7 billion people in the world accounts for 46% of the estimated $241 trillion in money, property and other material resources available. The richest 10%, meanwhile, can claim 86% of global wealth, leaving 90% of the world’s population to divvy up whatever’s left.” If possibly true, … a sad state of affairs. Lazarus’s column is must-reading twice a week, and, along with David Horsey’s political cartoons (alas, only once a week), make the a cheap thrill at 50 cents per week (yep, 50 cents for 7 issues per week—a steal at today’s outrageous prices).

We punish war criminals the world over, but U.S. war criminals (unless they are in the lower echelons of the military; read captains, lieutenants, and your basic soldiers) largely go unpunished.

Add that the robber barons that suck the blood and life out of our once glorious country also go mostly unpunished, … seldom is a megastar of the business world sacrificed and then only to put forth the false belief that the U.S. judicial system is fair.

If the U.S. ever loses a world war, heads will roll; if the U.S. experiences a second civil war, heads will roll. Not events I want to see, but I do want to see criminals punished.

Pailin just prior to the Order of the Indian Wars talks that kicked off the three-day tour that tracked Geronimo. She is in the courtyard of the Radisson Suites, and is about to enter a world she has no knowledge of, a world of people she doesn’t know. I caught a pensive moment on film. She is present as she wants to enter my world, and I want her there. These days would prove to be the most important of our time together for we realized that we were totally comfortable with each other at all times. You don’t know what I’m talking about for I’m again being vague. Trust what I’ve said for ’tis the truth, and our time together since has proved this. (photo © Pailin Subanna & Louis Kraft 2013)

This dark prose by me is not fed by anger. Not at all. Just the opposite, I love giving talks. They have always been a big thrill in my life. Always, as juices slice through me and turn me on whenever talking. Talks are pure pleasure—a one-shot at doing something. Dodging bullets may be a thrill if you survive; for me surviving a talk is a thrill. … I hate resumes and aren’t real good at keeping them up to date. Just now I wanted to know how many talks I’ve given on Mr. G. and Mr. G. over the years. The most recent freelance resume I could find was created in 2008, almost 5 1/2 years ago. I believe that the Tucson talk was the 10th I’ve delivered that dealt with G&G. If the Tucson Gatewood/Geronimo talk was my last, it was a good talk to end on. … And I’ll be forever grateful to my good friend Mike Koury for bringing me to Arizona and welcoming my lady to his OIW event.

A journey to the heartland

Just so you know, I am totally misusing the word “heartland.” Hopefully the following sections aren’t vague and you’ll know what I’m talking about.

The OIW talks on September 26th have ended. Pailin has met Layton Hooper, Daniel Martinez, Dan Aranda, Mike & Dee Koury, and has been introduced to the gathering. I’ve increased my friendship with Bernd Brand. We have changed, and are about to enter the pool area of the Radisson Suites, where most everyone is eating their dinner of hamburgers and hot dogs, to say goodbye. Brand and I had had several good talks during the day and he wanted us to join him, but we were off to the Bangkok Cafe, which he said he often visited. Like other friends in my Indian wars network, he has opened his home in Tucson to us with open arms upon a return visit. …. The Bangkok Cafe proved to be a terrific choice, much better than the southwestern restaurant we tried the previous night—too bad it isn’t in LA. (photo © Pailin Subanna & Louis Kraft 2013)

Those of you who have followed my blogs know how I met Nuch (her nickname); other than this instance, I’m calling her by her name, Pailin, in this blog as she had requested that I use her first name when I introduced her to the OIW. When I asked Pailin if she’d like to go to Tucson, she surprised me and said yes, but wanted to see a little of Arizona. I called Mike Koury, and he immediately welcomed her. Instead of driving home on the night of the 26th as planned, and although not in the budget we planned a couple of days that interested Pailin.

The best part of the trip was that we were together.

You’ve got to realize that we’ve moved slowly getting to know each other, became friends, then best friends, and now are moving into our future. She knows more about me than any of you. Perhaps all of you put together (oh yes, there is much that isn’t public). We are at one with each other and it doesn’t matter what we are doing, where we are, or if we are silent or talking.

Over the course of the six-day trip, we traveled 2488 miles (and that included a day in Tucson when the Vette only traveled a few miles to go out to dinner and one day in Las Vegas, Nevada, when the car didn’t move), so basically we did all the driving in four days. Good times.

Some of the land we rode through or passed over is desolate (an understatement), making me wonder if anyone that attempted to cross some of this land 150-200 years ago, did any of these bold adventurers survive their journey?

Guidon Books (Scottsdale, Arizona)

Shelly and Gordon Dudley own and run Guidon Books in Scottsdale, Arizona. I had met them sometime after Shelly’s mom, Ruth Kantor Cohen passed away.

Pailin and I made a detour on our journey northward to visit Shelly (unfortunately Gordon was elsewhere) at Guidon Books, which had moved several blocks a few years back. “Great” is an understatement, for the new store floored me. Guidon Books had been my favorite book store back in the day, and believe me it still is. If you are into the Indian wars, Indians, gunfighters, the American West, or the Civil War, do yourself a favor and visit Guidon Books (7109 E. 2nd Street, Scottsdale, Arizona).

LK w/Shelly Dudley (image at right) at Guidon Books on September 27. … Of course the best way for a bookseller to win a writer’s heart is to stock his books. Guidon Books has always done this for me. Shelly still stocks all of my nonfiction work, and I signed them for her. My books have always been over-priced, which I hate. That said, Custer and the Cheyenne continues to gather kudos, the two Gatewood-Geronimo/Apache books have become classics, and in a recent review historian/novelist Thomas McNulty called the Wynkoop book a masterpiece (humbling me). Prices for pristine first editions of G&G are now over $100.00 and the Gatewood Memoir is creeping to three figures. (photo © Pailin Subanna and Louis Kraft 2013)

Aaron and Ruth Cohen. bless them!

Ruth and Aaron (Aaron outlived his wife by almost 10 years), played key roles in my Indian wars writing life. Without a spirited conversation with them in 1995, wherein I learned of the Charles Gatewood Collection at the Arizona Historical Society in Tucson, there would have been no Gatewood/ Geronimo/Apache books. Custer and the Cheyenne (Upton and Sons, Publishers, 1995) opened the nonfiction book world to me, but it was Gatewood & Geronimo that gave me name recognition.

Pailin (left) w/Mr. G at the front of Guidon Books. You are seeing this petite explorer in her element, and that is living the moment wherever she is. Unfortunately every angle we attempted to take of this image had the glare in the window. (photo © Pailin Subanna and Louis Kraft 2013)

Ruth’s life unfortunately ended too early and she never saw the publication of G&G. Aaron did, and our long-distance friendship blossomed. I can’t tell you how many happy hours I spent with him in his shop. He was open, friendly, and boy did he have stories to tell. Perhaps he liked that I didn’t play by the rules (BTW, I am a firm believer that once you know the rules, you can break them) and had no fear to stand up for what I wanted. If I didn’t see eye to eye with a publisher or they with me, they would soon be in my rear-view mirror. Adios amigo! A year or so before Aaron moved on, Bruce Dinges, who plays a key role in Arizona’s history (at AHS), said to me: “Aaron Cohen loves you, he just loves you. Why?” I didn’t have an answer. Thinking about this over the years, I think it was because Aaron was a rebel and so am I. We were kindred spirits. If I had lived in the Phoenix area or he in LA, we would have been close buddies. … Shelly, Gordon, their sons, and a young lady with red hair (another grandchild?) began helping Aaron at Guidon Books.

Pailin w/the soldier that has greeted visitors to Guidon Books for as long as I can remember (he has aged over the years and doesn’t look healthy). When we walked to the entry of the store her eyes devoured him. After saying goodbye to Shelly, Pailin held my arm and pulled me to a halt at the soldier. I knew what she wanted, a photo with this soldier. On this day it looked as if he had a little problem with his spine (age catches up with all of us). Two regrets here: We didn’t take photos of the interior and the store front, which is extraordinary. Next time. (photo © Pailin Subanna & Louis Kraft 2013)

Shelly had given Pailin and myself a tour of Guidon Books. This trip wasn’t a “buying” trip as the money was tight, but if it had been I could have easily spent the rest of the day looking at books. In years past, I had crossed paths with Shelly and Gordon often, but with me moving away from the Apache wars, cutting back on trips to Arizona, and ending my attendance at WHA conventions, this was the first time I’ve had to hang out with Shelly in way too many years. It was just like old times. Whenever you see a good friend, time slips away and it is just like last week. I didn’t want to leave.

Montezuma Castle National Historic Site (Arizona)

Driving northward toward I-40 I had a brainstorm about visiting the Sinagua Pueblo ruins, which is a stone’s throw east of I-17. A short side trip and Pailin was all for the visit. This land is peaceful, quiet, and I always enjoy walking the small grounds.

Pailin n the walkway to the cliff where Montezuma Castle can be seen is peaceful and loaded with plants and trees. Yellow is Pailin’s favorite color and these flowers immediately caught her attention. (photo © Pailin Subanna & Louis Kraft 2013)

She did too. I told her, that if she wanted in the future I’d take her to ancient ruins (Anasazi and others) that she could step onto and into. An experience that always thrills me. If I live long enough, there is a novel, a modern-day novel, that will deal with the Anasazi, ritual, cannibalism, and the human experience (working title: Muse Eternal). The backside of my life has arrived and with it my most creative time and the happiest days of my life. I know—finally—who I am, where I’m going, and the lady who is going to be with me during every step of the journey. A good feeling.

Williams (Arizona)

Over the years, Williams has been a resting stop for me on countless trips into the West; trips to the Navajo Rez, Denver, Co., Fort Larned, Ks., Santa Fe and Albuquerque, N. Mex., and elsewhere.

Pailin needed rest. Before an early night to bed Pailin wanted to explore Williams. We snapped some fun photos, and before returning to our lodging I introduced—really introduced—Pailin to chile verde. I’m a wimp when it comes to Indian (India) and Korean hot sauces, but, believe it or not, Thai hot sauces are fine if I avoid the chile peppers and stick to the juice. Chile verde is to die for, but it was a mite too hot for my lady that night. Guess I’m not a wimp after all.

South Rim of the Grand Canyon (Arizona)

Up early on the 28th and on the road. A short drive got us into the canyon, and on this day entry was free. I should say a few words about Pailin here. She is an adventurer in the mold of the English pirate Francis Drake and the American frontiersman Kit Carson (this is a major compliment by me for these are two of the mere handful of men I respect throughout history, and she can easily walk, ride, or sail with them and be right at home).

Rod Taylor as Francis Drake and Jon Hall as Kit Carson. Hey Kraft, what’s up? Just this: You can count the major players in my writing life on two hands. What you didn’t know was that the pirate Francis Drake and the frontiersman Kit Carson are included in the 10 historical people I respect because I hadn’t written about them yet. Their time is coming. Bet on it. Mr Carson is up first, and my first book dealing with him is already in progress. Books on Drake will follow. Okay, …. good! What about Pailin? How do these fellows tie in with her. Simple. They were explorers that had no fear of venturing into the unknown. Ditto Pailin. She was created in the mold of Drake and Carson. I’ve been bold and perhaps have placed myself in situations that should have been avoided, but weren’t (if I had to compare myself to an animal, it would be a mountain lion, for I am a survivor who has to date landed on his feet as the cat lives pass). Pailin has that adventurous spirit that places her with Drake and Carson for she has had the daring to make decisions that set her on a trail of world exploration that I never even fantasized about. Pailin has a courage that I can only dream about, for she is a true person of the world.

Pailin wanted to again visit the Grand Canyon, and that is why we drove to Williams (she first visited in December 2012). I hadn’t been to the Grand Canyon since the dark ages, and it has changed (to the better). … We had just gotten off the bus that transported us to the Bright Angel Trailhead when Pailin saw two fawns eating in a meadow. As she moved close to them, I zoomed in on the fawns and snapped a photo. Wanting a closeup of Pailin with them feeding at the edge of the shade in the background I closed on my lady, but two humans were one too many for the fawns and they moved away. (photo © Pailin Subanna & Louis Kraft 2013)

Let’s take the previous caption a little farther (but while I do, I want to share a special Pailin as she returned to the South Rim of the Grand Canyon). … My misplaced boldness has far too often placed me in flashes of time and place that pushed beyond where I wanted to go. Next to my lady, I’m a child in play-actors’ clothing. She is the bold one, the one with no fear. She is truly an explorer in the full meaning of the word. The trail she has blazed makes mine pale in comparison. That she has entered my life is unbelievable. I couldn’t have a better soul mate.

Like I said, our time was short as we had miles to travel and a short time to cover them. We made the best of our time, and I saw a piece of Grand Canyon that I had no idea existed 25 years previously (if indeed it existed back then).

Las Vegas (Nevada) and a return to adventure

We arrived hours late to Excalibur near the south end of Las Vegas Blvd., and I feared us getting stuck in a smoke-filled room. My conversations with the hotel moved from lies (“You can call this number to ensure a non-smoking room.”) to a long-long talk that perturbed me (I was told, and it took 10-15 minutes, that it would be first come/first serve on the non-smoking rooms even though our room was confirmed and paid for).

Pailin (right) enjoying carrot juice early in the AM on 29sept13 as she looked southwest out of our window at Excalibur. She is ready for the day’s venture. (photo © Pailin Subanna & Louis Kraft 2013)

Black mark no. 1 for the Excalibur. A safe wasn’t in the room, the hard-connection didn’t work for the internet, and the TV didn’t work. Actually no big deal (we easily dealt with no safe, could live with no internet for two nights, and during the entire trip I watched a total of perhaps 5 minutes of TV and Pailin saw zero TV). We enjoyed good food, but not at Excalibur. Oh, we did have a non-smoking room (and the room was fine). … No matter for we didn’t drive to Nevada to see Las Vegas.

The next morning (29sept2013) we would realize that an important reservation was also built upon several phone calls of lies. That said (and I will pound a little below), the thrill was real (but not nearly close to what we expected).

Pailin standing next to the Maverick Airlines helicopter at the airpot in Henderson, Nevada on 29sept13. (photo © Pailin Subanna & Louis Kraft @2013)

Who cares, … for we were together and doing something we both love—experiencing an event and land we’d never seen before.

A truck/bus picked us up at the Excalibur rotunda the next morning. A short drive to Henderson, Nevada, check in, and we boarded our Maverick Airlines helicopter with the pilot (Greg) and five other people. Ladies and gents if you have never taken off in a helicopter, it is a cool experience. Pardon the short diversion (which is mostly stolen from Facebook):

I had had an opportunity to get on a helicopter back in late 1979 when I worked on a film called Raise the Titanic (based upon a best-selling novel but the final film was a bore).

Richard Jordan played the leading character (I doubled for him). We spent two weeks (12 days) sleeping and partying at Hotel del Coronado (down San Diego way). My room was right on the dock. Each morning (can’t remember exactly when, but between 4:00-5:00 AM we went to sea in a fleet of small vessels. Think it was about a two hour voyage out to two major Naval vessels (the lead-player ship was a nuclear helicopter carrier). I spent all my time on this vessel (and explored it completely). The Naval vessels then spent another two-three hours going farther out to sea (double this for the return trip each night, and we didn’t get back to land until 9:00 PM or so, and I had some eight or ten hours on salary for hanging out and having a blast). … One afternoon the script called for Jordan’s character to board a helicopter on the ship. This would be me. Only two problems: 1) We were moving through a heavy sea and the ship was rocking, rolling, and bouncing through the water and 2) The winds were strong. I told the director and assistant director what it would cost. They refused my money demand and I told them that I wasn’t getting on the helicopter as I didn’t want to be aboard when it took off and then flipped into the sea. They recruited a sailor, a makeup artist put a beard on his face (Jordan and I had real beards), and he did what I considered a stunt for free. Luckily there were no problems and the helicopter took off and later landed on the ship safely. In my opinion, I made the right decision. The helicopter rides in Nevada-Arizona (to and from) were smooth and an absolute blast.

It’s a great feeling to be flying so low to the land (between 1500 and 1800 feet). Although we were in the air for about 90 minutes total, the two flights were way too short.

View of the Grand Canyon w/the Colorado River snaking through it. (photo © Louis Kraft 2013)

I could have spent the day up floating/zooming across the land (average speed was 150 mph). Actually, I would have liked to have been lower to the ground during the flights, but that wasn’t to be.

We flew over the Hoover Dam, traversed Lake Mead (supposedly the largest man-made lake in the U.S.), reached where the Colorado River flowed from the Grand Canyon into Lake Mead, but then unexpectedly reached the west side of the canyon where the Skywalk was located (which, when you consider how long the canyon is, we saw way too little of it from the air).

Pailin and LK on the Skywalk. We took our time and enjoyed it. (photo © Pailin Subanna & Louis Kraft 2013)

With a little over three hours on the west side of the canyon (two major locations that short drives connect with the airport) on the Hualapai Indian Reservation, we had enough time to explore at our own pace. The Skywalk was a must see for us. It was nice, but not as dramatic as I thought it would be. It did have a protective railing (see photo), but this was the only railing we saw on the Rez. The land is rugged; the stone is slick and at times slippery. Add winds that can gust at times and it is a wonder that more visitors haven’t tumbled to eternity. Adiós amigos. Vaya con Dios.

Pailin explores the world around her with a positive enthusiasm that is unending. So full of life! Unbelievable—this is my lady. I’m in heaven with her. … The Arizona trip was the first of what will be many trips we’ll take together.

The return trip was not as Viator (the booking company) representatives told me during two long phone conversations detailing the flights. Instead of returning to Henderson, Nevada, by retracing the initial flight the pilot flew over land so desolate that it was an amazing sight to see. Regardless of the breathtaking panorama, I wasn’t pleased with Viator’s faulty information. BTW, you are again looking at the Colorado River. (photo © Louis Kraft 2013)

Geronimo & Lt. Charles Gatewood together again + an EXPLOSION of opinion

Posted on September 11, 2013 by Louis Kraft

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

I know that my mind meanders all over the place. Unfortunately all the time. …My lady and my daughter always head the list—always.

Currently Gatewood and Geronimo dominate. I’ve got what I consider a major talk on them approaching quickly. Way too quickly. If you knew how I approach talks and prepare for them you’d have a major heart attack.

Artwork in progress of Geronimo (left). … I want to mention a person I met earlier this year (long distance) who is a filmmaker/director. His name is Dustinn Craig. In 2009, PBS Home Video released We Shall Remain: America Through Native Eyes, a collection of five documentary films. Dustinn directed Geronimo. It is a good film (let me repeat this: It is a good film.). He is currently working on a film that deals with White Mountain Apache scouts, and has kindly shared over 20 minutes of film with me. All I can say is, “Wow!” If his final film matches what he currently has, it is going to be extraordinary. Unfortunately I don’t have any images of Dustinn to share but hope to someday, for I know that I’ll be speaking about him in the future. Dustinn has shared great information with me that is his copyrighted data that he doesn’t want shared. I certainly understand and agree with this. He has also pointed out to me that Geronimo is not a hero among many Apaches (and Dustinn has an inside track for he is a White Mountain). Dustinn, thank you for a point well-noted. (art © Louis Kraft 2013)

‘Course, Mr. G. is my guy, and has been since I discovered him in the mid-1990s. No one—no one—compares to him. Not Black Kettle, not Roman Nose, not Tall Bull. Yep, all Cheyennes. That must tell you something about me and my close connection to the Cheyennes (they’re special). Let’s not forget Bull Bear, Little Robe and others, … and definitely include Mo-nahs-e-tah (how her name is phonetically spelled, and it is about time people begin pronouncing her name correctly).

Before moving on, I want to make one thing clear—the Apaches are also special. And the leader of the pack is Mr. G.

Names and how they are pronounced
I need to speak about Mo-nahs-e-tah, and I will soon. Count on it!

Most of you pronounce my name correctly. A few of you don’t, and I don’t think you have speech impediments.

My name is “Louis” and not “Louie” or “Luis.”
I take offense when people who are supposedly my friends
mis-pronounce my name on purpose. It isn’t because their
tongues don’t function, it is because they have no respect.
Maybe I should begin calling them “Sissy-poo.”

Geronimo: An American Legend

Geronimo (Wes Studi) and Lt. Charles Gatewood (Jason Patric) await the approaching Tombstone posse (read: lynch mob). Geronimo wants Gatewood’s binoculars as they are better than his and offers a turquoise rock (valuable to the Apaches). They are about to shoot at the approaching Tucson posse, and it is Geronimo’s first shot that wins the day. Although I hadn’t thought about it, this scene actually is the backbone to the Geronimo article I’m trying to create at the moment. This event never happened in Geronimo’s life, so I’m not reveling much here. This is a German lobby card from Geronimo: An American Legend (1993). The Germans do much better film publicity than the USA does, and they’ve doing this since the late 1940s. … Anyway, a great scene that never happened in real life. (LK personal collection)

In December 1993 I saw Geronimo: An American Legend with Wes Studi playing Mr. G. and Jason Patric playing the other Mr. G. (Lt. Charles Gatewood). I liked the grandeur and scope but I hated the lack of character focus in the film. The writer(s) and director couldn’t figure out who the film was about. Worse—although I didn’t know this at the time—they decided that fiction was better than fact; too many people buy into this bullshit, including director John Ford. Ford supposedly said something like, “If you have the choice between fact and legend, print the legend.” At best, this quote is a paraphrase (at worse he never said it), for I made no attempt to confirm it. I don’t agree with Mr. Ford, for often fact is much more interesting than legend. That doesn’t mean that “legend” doesn’t play well on film.

The three best scenes in Geronimo: An American Legend are 1) When Geronimo and Gatewood shoot at the Tombstone posse at the beginning of the film, 2) Gatewood accepting an Apache warrior’s challenge and killing him in single combat, and 3) Gatewood’s shootout with scalp hunters in a cantina in Mexico (BTW, none of the people in the cantina scene were with Gatewood in Mexico in 1886). So what’s the problem? Just this: None of these events happened. Other than being perhaps 25 years too young, Wes Studi was perfectly cast as Geronimo while Jason Patric (as Gatewood) attempted to do a southern accent, but that was as far as his research went. And—AND—this film is total fiction in detail. If you buy any of this film and cite it, you’ve made a major error. End of subject. Again, per John Ford, let’s print the legend!!!! My humble opinion, pure bullshit for the simple reason that (at least in this case) reality is much-much more dramatic than fiction.

Ned Wynkoop in 1867. Originally in Custer and the Cheyenne, published by Upton and Sons in 1995. (art © Louis Kraft 1990)

Not quite end of subject: George Armstrong Custer died at the Battle of the Little Bighorn in 1876. Any film or book that has him surviving that battle is bullshit, … it is not printing the legend. Ned Wynkoop did not participate in the massacre of Cheyenne and Arapaho Indians at Sand Creek in 1864. Any film or book that places him at that tragical event is bullshit. A major miniseries of a few years back did exactly this. An historian/professor and a friend of mine justified this—he claimed that the merging characters and placing a real person in an event that he had nothing to do with is fair game. NOOO!!! YOU CANNOT TAKE A REAL PERSON AND PLACE THEM IN AN HISTORICAL EVENT THAT THEY DIDN’T PARTICIPATE IN. THIS IS NOT CREATIVE LICENSE, AND IT SURE AS HELL ISN’T PRINTING THE LEGEND. ALL IT DOES IS CREATE FALSE HISTORY THAT WILL EVENTUALLY BECOME REALITY AND CITED AS TRUTH IN THE FUTURE. I’m sorry folks, but this is a sore point with me. Let’s put it another way, I hate lies and I hate liars. As a filmmaker, historian, novelist, or playwright you can deal with Wynkoop and the events surrounding Sand Creek and Custer and the march to Little Bighorn and the battle that resulted in his death, but you cannot place Wynkoop at Sand Creek and you cannot have Custer survive Little Bighorn and make it appear to be truth.

Have any of you heard a recording of Orson Welles’s great 1930s radio
broadcast of a Martian invasion of earth? Even though the radio station
advertised that the dramatic presentation was fiction,
supposedly people committed suicide.
True? I don’t know.

Certainly the Wynkoop and Custer inaccuracies have happened in film and in fiction. Did the filmmaker or the novelist point out the untruth to the facts presented? The filmmaker didn’t (I haven’t watched any of his produced or directed films since and have no intention of watching any in the future). I’m too far removed from the novel (by the great western novelist Douglas C. Jones), but think Mr. Jones made it clear that his story was a “what if.”

Jurgen Prochnow played the U-boat commander of U-96 in Das Boot (1982). Simply put, this is a great anti-war film, and Prochnow’s performance was under-played brilliance. I’ve seen him in a number of American films, and unfortunately the parts weren’t right for him. Like The Searchers, Das Boot is one of my favorite films. Das Boot differs from my “Wonder-boat” screenplay in that it details a single U-boat voyage while the screenplay had a larger scope. I hadn’t been aware of the film until touring The Prince and the Pauper in Northern California. I was living on the east side of San Francisco Bay when the film was released and saw it immediately. My agent loved “Wonder-boat” but had told me it was unsellable because of the subject matter. As soon I returned to LA I fired him. (Louis Kraft personal collection)

I read a great novel about 30 years ago that had Hitler survive WWII and become a model citizen. Great story telling. However, as soon as I finished reading the book (I don’t remember the author or the title of the book) I donated it to Vietnam Vets. Why? What if this is all someone reads about Adolph Hitler? They will think that he was a good person who had been maligned. No! No! He stood for genocide of races of people. This can never be condoned.

I’m not picking on Germans here. The best screenplay I ever wrote dealt with the destruction of Germany as seen through the eyes of a U-boat commander (who wasn’t a Nazi—many Germans were not members of the Nazi party) who was in love with a Jewish woman. It was a tragedy, for the simple reason that WWII resulted in horrific consequences for the German people, many of whom had nothing to do with the heinous crimes committed by Hitler’s regime.

Let me put this another way. If someday a writer/historian places me at the My Lai Massacre during the Vietnam war, he or she would be in error for I have never been to Vietnam. Moreover, if I had been present when that heinous crime happened, I would not have survived (and you can guess why). … I should add this, if a writer does get creative and places me at My Lai, he or she had better disappear pronto! For as Kurt Russell (playing Wyatt Earp) said in Tombstone (1993), “Hell is comin’!”

The bottom line (and this unfortunately includes nonfiction books) is that untruths and out-and-out lies become truths.

A John Ford opinion

John Ford made one great western, The Searchers (1956) with John Wayne and Geoffrey Hunter, and one good western, She Wore a Yellow Ribbon (1949) with John Wayne. I’m not going to comment about any of Ford’s other western films, including Stagecoach and Fort Apache. My silence should give you a good guess of what my less than sparkling views of his western films might be. I have nothing further to say about Ford’s westerns, other than to say I’m certain I’ll not see any of them again, other than The Searchers and She Wore a Yellow Ribbon. Why waste my time?

The Searchers is one of my favorite films.
John Wayne’s performance is extraordinary and will hold up for all time.

Why Gatewood & Geronimo?

On August 25, 1886, Lt. Charles Gatewood negotiated ending the last Apache war with Geronimo and Naiche. This scene, from Geronimo: An American Legend (1993) is totally wrong. Gatewood (played by Jason Patric) has climbed up to Geronimo’s stronghold. One problem: Geronimo insisted upon meeting at a bend of the Río Bavispe where there was shade, grass, wood, and water. Do you see any of this here? Of course not! Also, note that Chatto (as played by Steve Reevis) is just reaching the top of the mount. One problem: Chatto wasn’t with Gatewood in Mexico in 1886, while Naiche, the last hereditary Chiricahua Apache chief was and he isn’t in the film. Again, another great German lobby card for the film. (LK personal collection)

In 1995 I signed copies of Custer and the Cheyenne at Guidon Books (my favorite bookstore) in Scottsdale, Arizona. BTW, Aaron and Ruth Cohen, who owned and ran Guidon Books, played a major role in my Indian wars writing life.

On that 1995 day Ruth started a conversation dealing with recent films and how they impacted book sales. Tombstone with Kurt Russell as Wyatt Earp and Val Kilmer as Doc Holliday had been a hit and greatly influenced book sales while Geronimo: An American Legend had not done well at the box office and didn’t influence book sales. Since I wrote about race relations and the Indian wars our talk focused on the Geronimo film.

Bro Glen Williams took this photo at the AHS in February 2012 (photo © Louis Kraft & Glen Williams 2012)

I told Ruth and Aaron that all I knew about Charles Gatewood and Geronimo was what I saw in the film. Ruth told me that the Arizona Historical Society (AHS) in Tucson housed the Gatewood papers. Even though I wasn’t thrilled about the film (I had seen it twice in theaters), the story had grabbed my interest. I needed to know more, and at this point I had no idea what the truth might be. At that time I wrote for a telecommunications firm in the South Bay (in SoCal). The following month I took a week off, drove to Tucson, and began to explore Gatewood and his world at the AHS. I couldn’t believe what I saw. Suddenly Gatewood became my next nonfiction book project. After a very rough first draft I realized something was missing. I thought for a week, maybe two. It hit me: Gatewood needed Geronimo. Suddenly the book had focus.

Custer and the Cheyenne put me on the nonfiction map and opened doors, but it was Gatewood & Geronimo that changed my presence in the Indian wars writing world. It made me a player and gave me name recognition. Dick and Frankie Upton at Upton and Sons and Durwood Ball, then editor-in-chief at the University of New Mexico Press, are probably the three most important people in my nonfiction Indian wars writing life. If it wasn’t for them I’d probably still be floating in a dark netherworld fighting to sell my nonfiction book ideas. Dick and Frankie were already friends, and soon Durwood a friend. My “thank you’s” are usually quiet when they should be public. Frankie, Dick, and Durwood—thank you.

I wrote roughly two-thirds of the words in Lt. Charles Gatewood & His Apache Wars Memoir (2005). About a month and half before publication date, Mr. Big Shot (notice that I didn’t call him Mr. Big Shit) at the University of Nebraska Press decided to change credits, thinking correctly that I wouldn’t walk (as I could have due to the contract). Obviously my anger still seethes. So be it! Here are the facts, other than the U of NE Press formatting some of my words at the beginning of the book so that they appeared as if Gatewood wrote them, and even with the nasty contract crap at the midnight hour, this book is by far my best selling book (and I’m proud of it, even though I’ll never write another word for Nebraska). Actually, I love it when Gatewood gets great reviews for his writing skills. Without bragging, I hacked the hell out of the lieutenant’s passive text that included 100-word sentences and paragraphs that easily flowed over pages. A few years back my good friend Greg Lalire, editor at Wild West magazine, called me and said that Gatewood’s words in the Memoir didn’t match his words at the AHS. “Greg,” I said, “did you read the introduction to the Memoir, which makes it clear that I edited Gatewood’s passive words?” “I did! I forgot. Sorry,” Greg said. Ladies and gents, let’s put it this way. Charles Gatewood had a great story to tell; he just didn’t know how to do it. I helped him. BTW, I think this dust jacket is cool. Love it!

That land of snow they call Colorado

In April 2013 I spent 11 days in this falsely advertised wonderland of 300 days of sunshine (Colorado). During my last two trips to this sun-filled salesman’s pitch I’ve been snowed in.

If you want to see 300 days of sunshine, real 300 days of sunshine, visit SoCal. You want to see snow with no visibility, visit Colorado.

It wasn’t that many years ago that Colorado (read Denver), was a possible place for me to live. Colorado has great history (love it!), great people (love them), but 300 days of sunshine? Hell! You want the truth? I’ve got some ocean-front property in Arizona that I can sell to you at a reasonable price.

Layton Hooper and his wonderful wife Vicki (right) in their backyard in Fort Collins, Colorado. They kindly put me up for 11 days in April 2013 when I visited the land of snow to give a Wynkoop talk for Order of the Indian Wars (OIW) symposium and do Sand Creek research. Although snow storms eliminated much of my research time, it gave me the bonus of getting to hang out with Layton and Vicki and getting to know them. They were perfect hosts, making me feel welcome at all times. This image was taken fairly early on one of the mornings after the second snow storm had passed. To this point in time I didn’t have any photos of Vicki, and she kindly agreed to put on a coat and step outside with her hubby. … Layton is one of the key players in the OIW, and will be one of the leaders on the tour tracking Geronimo September 27-29. (photo © Louis Kraft 2013)

What is a talk?

LK speaking at the Festival of the West in Scottsdale, Az., on 19mar2005 (photo by Johnny D. Boggs and © Louis Kraft & Johnny D. Boggs 2005)

A long diversion to get to this point. Sorry. More importantly why am I talking about Gatewood and Geronimo? I haven’t spoken about them in years. My first talk was about Ned Wynkoop back in the mid-1980s, and I have continued to talk about Ned. That said, believe it or not, it wasn’t until 2011 or 2012 that I actually spoke about Ned more often than I did about G&G. Yep, I gave a lot of talks about them. But it ended when the Wynkoop book became reality. So why return to Mr. G. and Mr. G.?

Ned Wynkoop dominated the 1860s, even though the press, the military, and the government did everything possible to relegate him to the circular file. Why? Simple. He didn’t kiss their asses, and dared to speak out against what he considered the wanton murder of human beings—human beings that weren’t white.

The Gatewood character in Geronimo: An American Legend says, “The Apaches are special.” And they are!

Mike Koury has been a friend since the 1980s. He has done whatever he could to help. When I visited the land of snow last April I spent a morning and afternoon with Mike. We lunched with his pretty wife Dee and hung out in his library/computer room. Good time. On that day I pitched Mike to talk about Gatewood finding Geronimo in Mexico for his Order of the Indian Wars event in Tucson in the fall. I did this for one reason, and one reason only. Mike is one of those people who believes that the Indian wars begin and end with the Plains Indian wars. My sole goal for speaking in Tucson is to wake Mike up to the fact that the Apache wars are exciting times with much at stake (just like the Plains Indian wars).

Mike gave me a thumbs up.

My goal on September 26 is to get my facts as good as possible and not to put Mr. Koury to sleep.

Actually this has always been my goal when talking: Get the facts right and don’t put anyone to sleep.

I like giving talks. Actually, I like it a hell of a lot better than writing magazine articles. I like the one-shot to be good, boring, or deadly. There are no holds barred. It is one on one times X. The key is concentration, … preparation, relaxation, focus, and more concentration. Of course there are always “chilly twitching movements,” to quote Gatewood when he met Geronimo in Mexico and demanded his surrender. But they’re fleeting. There is a rush, an exhilaration, and a zone. When I enter this “zone,” it is another world. The only other thing that approaches this live thrill is performing on the stage (actually I like the stage better). A talk is a one-shot performance. Whatever happens can’t be changed.

Good progress on the G&G talk, but YIKES I’ve got to complete that damned Geronimo article for Wild West. Enough!

How race has affected my life & writing

Posted on August 1, 2013 by Louis Kraft

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.

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.

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.)

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.

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.

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).

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).

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.

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

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).

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.

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).

A gunslinger in a bathroom

Posted on July 22, 2013 by Louis Kraft

On June 16th I spent Father’s Day with my daughter Marissa. Now you’ve got to realize that when you deal with me you never know what’s going to happen. Or worse, what I might do. I don’t mean to embarrass anyone and I don’t mean to shock anyone, but I swear that there are a few screws loose in my brain. … I’m not big on clothes. I’m also not an exhibitionist. That said, if everyone walked around naked, I’d be good with it. But since we don’t, I really prefer to only be naked with someone I love and am intimate with. Of course I’m not big on dressing when working at home, and at times this can lead to me walking out the door before I realize that I forgot to put on my shoes, or worse my pants. Don’t ask!!

You’re probably wondering, what has this to do with Father’s Day? Good question.

You would be amazed at how many photos I have. I’m good filing, but still sometimes I can’t find the information I need about an image. I’m almost certain that my friend Glen Williams took this image of Marissa in 2012. I have a CD of Glen’s images and they are also on my computers. That said, I can’t find them at the moment (and unfortunately time is precious, real precious right now). Glen’s a good photographer and I’m certain he created this image.

I picked Marissa up early so we could beat the crowd at Acapulco in Northridge, Ca., … a reasonable and decent chain w/pseudo-Mexican food. Best of all, they don’t bother you and you can talk for hours. But on this day they had a buffet. Not what we wanted, as neither of us like buffets and hate over-eating. We were there—what the hell? We filled a plate of food. When we finished eating, I reached in my pocket for my wallet. It wasn’t there. This never happens. The only time I don’t take my wallet is when I go to 24 Hour Fitness, and then I take my license. I asked Marissa if she had enough money. “No” was her answer. Oh hell! In movies the hero (me) and the heroine (Marissa) wash dishes until their debt is paid. Fat chance in the real world.

My house is at least 21 miles away from Acapulco. Marissa’s mother is about 10 miles away. I asked Marissa if she could call her mother, and she did. Her mother arrived and loaned me the money to cover the bill, but outside it wasn’t pretty. (Sorry, no details.)

Marissa and I spent the rest of the day and into the night together …. talking. At my house, at Starbucks where we drank green tea, back at my house. Good times.

During the time at Tujunga House the door knob didn’t work from within the bathroom, and the door had to be opened from the outside. Marissa’s last words to me that night were: “Don’t forget to fix the door.” “Don’t worry,” I replied. “I’ll make a note to do it.” … Famous last words, for by the time I got home it was pushing 10:00 PM and I had forgotten. Add that I’m usually alone, which means that I don’t bother closing the bathroom door

Fast forward to June 18th

Over the years I have been awarded a number of sobriquets and most them are related to piracy and swords or the Old West (see photo). Those of you who are familiar with my acting and frontier-writing past and know where the future is headed understand this logic. I’m certain that the flies that dare to invade my pristine world see me as a cold-blooded killer. ‘Tis true, for I am their deadly enemy. Those that dare to enter the brave new world of Tujunga House face almost certain death. This is my homeland and I will protect it. (Detail of art © Louis Kraft 2013)

I hate flies, and very seldom does one invade my house. But on that day one worked its way through the protective barriers and braved a new world. In late afternoon the western sun streaks through the small window in the bathroom in question. For some reason flies are attracted to this stark streak of golden blaze and hang out in the bathroom. The room has almost become a modern-day La Brea tar pits in Los Angeles, Ca., for the flies, lured by the lushness and glow of the room, soon meet their doom.

I discovered this fly late on that fatal Tuesday afternoon and closed the door to trap it while I retrieved the fly swatter. That’s right, in case you didn’t know, Kraft is a part-time executioner. Armed and ready to send the invader to its maker, I re-entered the bathroom and shut the door. Sensing that something was afoot, the fly began to scramble as it flew about. Without a clear target I relaxed as I waited for the invader to calm down and settle.

The phone rang

I turned the door knob. All it did was spin. Suddenly I remembered Sunday and the note I never wrote. Oh xY0!$##$!h!! The fly—suddenly forgotten—had a reprieve. I searched for something that would allow me to remove the door knob. Nothing—absolutely nothing!

There are two entries to the bathroom: a small window some 7 feet above the ground that the only way I could possibly get through would be head first with a nose time to freedom, and 2) the door. The door is frail and original to the house, which was built in 1928. I’ve seen a lot of movies … I love thrillers. Let me tell you I know how easy it is to take out a door. Like I said, my door is this little old fellow that looks so weak that I could probably huff and puff and blow it down.

I backed to the wall, lowered my shoulder, and charged. To my shock, I bounced back at least 3 feet. Hell, I’m as macho as Clint Eastwood, Steve McQueen, and Russell Crow. I shook my head, gathered my wits, and charged again. Same result, but with the addition that my shoulder now hurt.

Sitting on the bathtub I considered my options. There were none. If anyone called, they’d leave a message (or maybe not). If they called again and then again, with the same result, … they’d just figure that Kraft had again entered that “I want to be alone” zone. No big deal, for he’d reply when he got around to it. I wouldn’t die of thirst, but it looked like I’d be on a diet.

This just wasn’t acceptable! The window wasn’t an option. That left the door—that damned skinny door. At least three of Clint’s movies are among my favorites, and the two that are thrillers were filmed when he was older than I currently am.

Kraft, this is a no-brainer! Kick the friggin’ door down!!!

Forget playing hurt. I’m now a veteran NFL linebacker that must take out the opposition. Boom, boom, boom-boom-boom!!! The damned door didn’t budge. BOOM! BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!!!

The door didn’t give, but I took out my beautiful lath and plaster wall. This included the door jam, the wood framework, the metal mesh that held the plaster in place, and the swirling adobe-like finish.

What a mess! But I was free (and so was the fly).

LK working construction (which I did off and on to bring in extra bucks). My father ran BKS Excavating with his partner and best friend Dale Schuler. Over the years they kindly gave me work when I needed it. This image is just to show you that I wasn’t a stranger to swinging a hammer, … (photo © Louis Kraft 1980)

I cleaned up the mess and looked at the disaster I had created. I looked for two days, three days, four days—all with the same vision. Can I fix this? Every time the answer was “no.” After interviewing potential contractors I decided upon a good one, but it turned into a two-day (read expensive) job.

The lesson here is simple. Make damn sure you have tools in the bathroom that will allow you to remove the door knob if necessary. An expensive lesson for Kraft, but I’m ready for the next challenge.

P.S. Back when Marissa and I were tracking Geronimo for Gatewood & Geronimo (University of New Mexico Press, 2000), she had warned me not to attempt driving though a 100-yard mud hole. I didn’t listen and got the pickup truck and us stuck in the mire. She had angrily said: “I told you!” Her words from that desperate time when I was standing in NM mud up to my knees (“I told you!”) are again with me. She had told me to fix the bathroom problem. I had said I would, but didn’t.

Sometimes I’m a little slow.

People, a small friend, & more … much more

Posted on June 29, 2013 by Louis Kraft

Those of you who know me, and I mean, really know me, know that I move at my own pace, especially when it comes to my personal life.

I’m in no rush, for I cherish my life and attempt to enjoy each and every minute of it, regardless if it is a never-ending night as I can’t sleep or hanging out with my daughter or seeing people—friends or would-be friends. You probably don’t know this, but I intend to live to at least 120. I have books to write, people to piss off, and people to know and enjoy.

People who have become my friends have all done so because I allowed them to enter my writing life.

Most live in other states, outside the U.S., or in that far-off land we call Northern California. Whenever I’m in the same location as them, it is pure joy regardless if it is for work or pleasure. Some people become true friends; others are little more than assholes.

My daughter is my life, and luckily she lives close to me.

Back in 2008 a group called the “Mulholland Drive Boys” was created to unite writers, artists, directors, and other people interested in Errol Flynn and bring them together. For the most part, the group doesn’t exist, or at best is dormant. No matter, for the creation of the Mulholland Drive Boys introduced me to a number of people (most of whom are not worth remembering).

As there is a memoir in my future, I am also using this blog to not only explore my writing ups and downs, my thrills and failures while also keeping you updated on current projects. The goal is to also figure out who I am, where I’ve been, and zero in on a past that is filled with both unsavory (and there are a lot of these—but that’s for the memoir) and golden moments. That is people, memories, flashes in time.

It’s time for you to sit down and hold on

If you’re not sitting, please do so before looking at the next image and reading the first sentence that follows the image and its caption.

No, no, no, and once again NO—LK isn’t a convicted felon. This image was taken at the Lincoln Heights jail in Los Angeles on January 24, 1979, by Ron Batzdorff, who was the still photographer on The Onion Field. If memory serves me, this jail was not in operation at the time (don’t know if it still exists). Great film location, and honestly scary. During free time, I spent time sitting in a locked jail cell, letting my mind flow with whatever images hit me. Not something I ever want to experience in real life. The numbers you see in the image are real, Gregory Powell murdered a Los Angeles police officer in 1963. Joe Wambaugh’s best selling book, The Onion Field, documented the crime; he also produced the film. James Woods shot to stardom with his portrayal of Gregory Powell, and so did Ted Danson, who played the murdered officer. Although I haven’t seen either in 30 or so years, back in those days I worked with them on other projects. My memories of Jimmy and Ted are first class, and in no way are my views of them negative. … On a side note, a few years before the film was shot I did work in a cotton field in Texas. (photo © Louis Kraft 1979)

One thing I can state clearly and honestly—I’m shy. Always have been. Those of you who know me are probably chuckling. Go ahead, make it an out and out laugh, but ’tis true. I’ve always been aggressive when I’ve played sports (tennis, football, baseball, and so on), but when interested in a lady my brain goes south. I’m lucky if I can mumble a few words.

A publicity photo taken at Encino House on June 29, 1981. The smile was still present, but by 1984 it would be gone. (photo © Louis Kraft 1981)

I had a fairly long acting/modeling/film world career that was at best unfulfilling and at worst a waste of my time. A very true statement, but it obscures and almost damns a multitude of truly caring and artistic people I worked with, hung out with, and have nothing but cherished memories during my time with them. Actors, directors, crew members. This was also a time of getting in sync with my inner being; understanding what made me tick, and accepting me for being me. When not working, I did this on an almost daily basis with actors (exceptional people). Most are gone from my life (but I have memories). Two friends are always with me, regardless of when I see or talk to them. I worked with actress and production assistant (Kathleen Heller) for a few years and a costumer (Marjorie K. Chan), whom I met on Tucker’s Witch (1982-1983, which were the years it aired on TV) with Tim Matheson and Catherine Hicks. We also worked on Johnny Belinda (1982, which we shot after we completed work on Tucker’s Witch) with Richard Thomas, Rosanna Arquette, and Dennis Quaid. Kathleen and Marjorie—are two special people, and good friends always.

Returning to those dark days of yesteryear, I did learn that to succeed (and I quit acting cold turkey to write full–time in the 1980s) I needed to approach what I wanted head-on. I needed to put my fears to rest and be aggressive. What I failed to do in the film/acting world due to shyness hang-ups and my refusal to do things I found repulsive and/or disgusting. Simply put I have refused to sell my body for an acting job. This has always been in place, and believe it or not more recent times a bald asshole husband actually pitched me on being intimate with his wife. In a word—disgusting!

I have not encountered the slimball film world or a bald wanna–be friend’s ongoing heinous proposal of me F—king his wife in the writing world. The writing world—be it freelance or for companies—has never assaulted or compromised my values. Never. Add my good fortune to write for major software companies, something that has given me the freedom to only write about subjects important to me in the freelance world, and I’m one lucky person.

The times they are a changin’

Events in April 2012 made me take a long hard look at my world. It was time for a change regardless of the cost (and this would be large). That change would take time and guts for me to hold course. Fast forward a year to May 2013. I could now look back at 2011, a year that had been a wild ride of highs and deep-deep lows, but the hibernation had been in effect since late 2008 or early 2009 when my world went south. This is not quite true, for the Wynkoop book saw print in 2011 and my relationship with Marissa blossomed after a decade of darkness.

David DeWitt at Tujunga House in January 2013. When David visited we spent good time together deep into the night (deep for me) as we shared tales from our past. For me, it was just what the doctor ordered. We chatted, we laughed, and we enjoyed ourselves. During his visit I gained a good insight into myself. (photo © Louis Kraft & David DeWitt 2013)

I pretty much keep to myself. I see Marissa, but that is pretty much it. Entertain? Me? Who are you kidding? My good pal and Flynn expert David DeWitt visited for five days at the beginning of this year. is a good friend that I can hang out with for hours on end. He is always welcome in my home. I’ve been in a shell for years (except when on the road). I needed to escape from my self-imposed banishment.

An introduction to a key person in my life

In 2002 Robert Goodman, MD, suggested I see Malcolm Cosgrove, MD. Within a little more than six months Dr. Cosgrove would become responsible for me continuing to walk this earth. If not for him I would be a long-forgotten memory. I see him every three months. I saw him on June 14, and everything went according to plan. We tested and discussed two subjects important to me. Over the years I’ve grown to know and like him, so we have more than just a doctor–patient relationship. The next day, June 15th, he was flying to Israel for a family reunion and much more, and he looked forward to a great trip. He’s aware of what I do, but on this day I introduced him to my new website/blog, which hadn’t gone live when last I saw him. He asked what was up next, and I told him about a dinner party on June 15, and that one of my four guests was bringing a friend to introduce to me (more about this below). He asked if I had ever been married, and I replied that I had been back in the dark ages. He chuckled as he asked if my guests were married. I said yes, and he said, “Be careful; they want to make you like them.” We laughed, and I said, “Don’t worry.” I have a protective shell that is forever present—unless I want something, no one enters my life.

A June dinner party

“A small friend” in the massage parlor in Studio City, Calif., where she was an in-demand therapist shortly before I met her in 2013 (see below). (photo © Pailin Subanna 2013)

Back to the thrust of this blog. I had survived April and May bills (no easy task; actually I’ve relearned how to juggle, a throwback to the acting world). It was time to again entertain.

I hadn’t hosted a dinner party in a long time. This had to come to an end, and I wanted it to happen now. I invited two couples that were little more than acquaintances.

Over the years following the creation of the Mulholland Drive Boys I had bumped into these people. It looked as if it might grow into a friendship—it didn’t but who cares? Certainly not I. Been there before, and I never hold my breath.

But on this day, this June 15th day, I would have a bonus for because one of them I would also meet a lady.

Let’s call her a small friend.

A small friend

When I announced the June 15 dinner party, the lady who knows the sword asked if she could bring a friend to introduce to me. I hesitated, and I think she was hurt or worse mad, but her husband told me that she doesn’t get mad. We’re back to the “shy” LK thing. You know my world now—it’s me and my fantasy life that spends fully 85-90 percent of my time in my house studying or searching or dreaming or writing. My social life? A joke. It took me a while for me to say yes to the lady whose body I wanted to know in the flesh, but could never. After she asked the lady and the lady said “yes,” I felt good. Nervous, but good. The gorgeous woman whose body I’ll never know asked what her friend could bring. “The fish, veggies, and salad,” I replied. She chuckled online, “Ha-ha. Very funny.” I told her that all the lady had to bring was herself.

Nuch in the backyard at Tujunga House on June 15. She has an open warmness that drew me to her immediately. The sexy lady had told me her friend was shy and she was. Her name is Pailin Subanna. “Nuch.” Nuch, her nickname, had a quiet presence, a quiet control of what surrounded her. She’s a good listener and she fit in. … This would turn out to be the luckiest day of my life for I met the most important person in my life for all time. (photo © Pailin Subanna & Louis Kraft 2013)

On June 15 one couple arrived. As I walked them through the rooms, there was a knock at the front door. I went to it, opened it, and saw the woman (and her companion) who had insisted upon bringing a guest. The small lady stood farthest from the door. She was holding orchids and smiling. With eyes drawn to her my heart skipped a beat or three or five. I should have had a camera in my hand, but didn’t (story of my life—read into that whatever you want).

I knew that the lady I was about to meet was shy and she was. Her name is Pailin Subanna. “Nuch.” I’m a gentleman (probably some people might disagree with this; all I can say is that I try). On this day I was definitely on good behavior, and when combined with my shyness, it guaranteed what I wouldn’t say or not say.

During the meal the sexual partner of the lady who brought Pailin to the dinner party stood and demanded that Nuch kiss me. She refused. I couldn’t have agreed more with her refusal, for we didn’t know each other.

He continued his verbal assault and the lady held firm.

Finally I said, the lady said “no.” “No means no.”

The other male present, and his fists were clinched, agreed with me. Finally the obnoxious bully shut up and sat down.

A good ending to something that could have gotten ugly.

Alas, the time for everyone to leave came too quickly. But by this time I knew one thing—I wanted Nuch to enter my life, I wanted her to become my friend.

We had talked about our social media, and later that night connected. Social media gave us the opportunity to share our thoughts and set a time for us to meet.

Sometimes you meet people who are good human beings, and sometimes you don’t. It’s a crap shoot, and when people who you think are worth knowing but turn out to be people not worth knowing you must walk away from them—and as soon as possible no matter how late in the day it is.

__________

This was a special day for we had the opportunity to walk and talk and get to know each other. The day ended too quickly, but I drove home knowing one thing–I wanted to see her again and again and again. All these images are from Nuch’s camera (and she shared them with me). She did the design of the portrait of her within a film strip.

And the good news is that we are getting to know each other while enjoying each other’s company. Exploration and learning are always fun. She has a good sense of humor, is very feminine, and has a sensitivity that I have not seen in many people. She likes to explore, and from what she has told me, she has the adventurous spirit of some of the men that have caught my interest over time, … Francis Drake, Kit Carson, Ned Wynkoop, and Errol Flynn. I’m not joking here, for she has no fear to set out into the unknown. Nuch is a brave person.

Nuch & LK at the Autry National Center in Los Angeles, Ca., on June 27, 2013. Like the following image, it captures two people enjoying the closeness of each other. Nuch took this photo, did the art work, and turned it into a postage stamp. I like it, for it gives us good hope for our future. (photo & art © Pailin Subanna 2013)

She also has a tender touch. Physically and inside her. She has an intimate feel for the moment, and is in tune with her inner being as well as what is going on with us. Her openness to what she senses and reacts to is something that has been with me since those long gone days of the acting world, something I haven’t experienced with another lady in decades.* When someone has this gift, and Nuch does, culture and language are not barriers. For me culture and language are a lure, an enticement to know another human being. It has always been this way with me, and I think for Nuch, too. It has, in a very short time, given us a closeness that is special.

* Acting training includes exercises wherein you get in tune with another human being. Facing each other, and without doing anything you react off what you see, feel, and sense. It is sensual, sexual, and in the moment. The goal is to make you open to what is happening around you so that you can grasp it, understand it, and react to it. Everyone should go through this type of training.

Nuch & LK at the Autry National Center in Los Angeles, Ca., on June 27, 2013. I like this image as it captures the joy at the beginning of our relationship. (art © Pailin Subanna 2013)

My life has been out of balance for years now. I have my writing, my friends, and Marissa, but there has been a missing piece. But no longer, for Nuch has opened her heart and become my friend. And listening to her words and knowing what is going on inside me, I think that our friendship is going to grow. My life has suddenly found a new balance.

lk: “นี่คือผู้หญิงที่สำหรับฉัน” .และเธอเป็นผู้หญิงของฉัน” (khụ̄x p̄hū̂h̄ỵing thī̀ s̄ảh̄rạb c̄hạn .Læa ṭhex pĕn p̄hū̂h̄ỵing k̄hxng c̄hạn).

The pirate Francis Drake, the soldier George Armstrong Custer, and guess who?

February 14, 1999, was one long day of hell.

Swords & Mr. Flynn

Enter Ned Wynkoop

Swords & Mr. Flynn … continued

What’s Upcoming

The LA Times (Scrooge McDuck caption), a dark side without end, & pleasure

Aaron and Ruth Cohen. bless them!

Williams (Arizona)

South Rim of the Grand Canyon (Arizona)

Las Vegas (Nevada) and a return to adventure

Names and how they are pronounced I need to speak about Mo-nahs-e-tah, and I will soon. Count on it!

Geronimo: An American Legend

A John Ford opinion

That land of snow they call Colorado

What is a talk?

A lack of racism in my life

An eye-opening end to the 1960s

Post-college eye openers

Acting, more racism, a daughter, & cold turkey

Defending my writing

Deadly intent?

What excites me … and what frightens me

Only time will tell

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

It’s time for you to sit down and hold on

The times they are a changin’

An introduction to a key person in my life

A June dinner party

A small friend

Names and how they are pronounced
I need to speak about Mo-nahs-e-tah, and I will soon. Count on it!

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