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Appendix 13 • Letter from Bourke regarding Lieutenant Jacob Almy's Death

Edited and Annotated by Charles M. Robinson III University of North Texas Press PDF

Appendix 13

Letter from Bourke regarding

Lieutenant Jacob Almy's Death

Undated Clipping from the Arizona Miner

Volume 1, Page 187

[Handwritten comment by Bourke] Murdered May 27th 1873

[Clipping from newspaper]

“Readers of the MINER will be pained to learn of the murder, at the San Carlos Indian agency, on the 27th ultimo, of lst Lieut. Jacob

Almy, 5th Cavalry, a young officer of prominence during the recent campaign.

From the meagre details thus far furnished, I can only state that

Lieut. Almy’s death occurred while endeavoring to quell a disturbance among the Indians of the San Carlos Reservation. These disturbances, growing out of rivalry and antagonism between the former and the present agent, to which the Indians became involved. The particulars of this hostility have been known to the Indian Department in this Territory for some time.

Lieut. Almy was, I believe, a native of Massachusetts and a graduate of the U.S. Military Academy at West Point, in the class of 1867.

His first services were seen in the campaign of 1867-68, against the hostile Cheyennes and Arapahoes, in which he displayed the same high qualities which afterwards made him so conspicuous in General Crook’s operations against the Apaches. He was present for duty during that campaign, from its first inception to its close, and such were his gallantry, coolness, sound judgment and enthusiastic

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Chapter 15 “I’ll shoot you right through the middle”

Bob Alexander University of North Texas Press PDF

Chapter 15

“I’ll shoot you right through the middle”

Ira mulled over A. G. Boyce’s proposal. At first Imogen was not enthralled with the idea. It would necessitate relocation. More troubling from her perspective was the fact her husband was being promised the moon and was not being courted for his cow sense, but for his gunmanship. In fact the clever Mr. Boyce was glossing over that pesky aspect and had promised “that he did not intend to manage the ranch very many years, as he was getting old, and that when he retired he would have worked me [Ira] into the general management.”1 Clearly nearly everyone in the Panhandle saw Ira as a standup lawman, but in the cow camps he wasn’t necessarily seen as an expert stockman—not by all: “Aten wasn’t much of a cowman.”2

Yet, for Sheriff Aten the offer was tempting. Not unwisely Ira hedged his bet. He would stand for reelection and then decide.

For a majority of Castro County voters there was no dispute; their man was the incumbent. On November 6, 1894, Ira Aten by virtue of the election had his sheriff’s contract renewed. For this goround. Ira’s political tenure was short. It has always been best to quit at the top of one’s game. In January 1895 Sheriff Ira Aten tendered his resignation to the Castro County Commissioners. Did he have a temporary replacement in mind? Sure, his deputy brother-in-law

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16 Mauthausen, Gusen I, and Gusen II

J. Ted Hartman Indiana University Press ePub

16

Mauthausen, Gusen I, and Gusen II

After camping northeast of Zwettl the night of May 3rd, we met no resistance as we advanced into Gallneukirchen the next day, where we joined the other companies of our battalion. We were assigned houses to stay in, which meant the inhabitants had to move out. Our chaplain arrived, so we had church services in the local Protestant church. In contrast to the low attendance at Camp Cooke and in England, a surprisingly large group was there. As we were coming back from services, guns started going off. We were fearful that some sort of counterattack was starting.

Then battalion headquarters announced that all of the German troops in Austria had surrendered. This information was misinterpreted by some of the staff as total German surrender and that the war was over. Even though this was not true, it wasn’t surprising that such a rumor could set off some celebration. The past two weeks had been filled with immense tension for us, as there were so many signs pointing to the end of the European war. We relaxed somewhat that night and then had very good church services on Sunday, May 6th.

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Medium 9781574412000

Chapter Fifteen: Mable

John R. Erickson University of North Texas Press PDF

Chapter Fifteen: Mable

O

n the Sherman ranch in Gaines County, Joe struggled to find a balance between being a good provider and a good pater familias. I see him as an old warrior whose battles were over, an aging frontiersman who was trying to adjust to a sedentary existence and to the unexpected results of peacetime: more barbed wire fences, more settlers, more native sod plowed under, family duties, and church attendance, all coming as he presided over the decline of his physical body and felt the cold breath of age upon his neck.

Up in the Panhandle, Billy Dixon was dealing with the same issues.

“Many of us believed and hoped that the wilderness would remain forever. Life there was to our liking. Its freedom, its dangers, its tax upon strength and courage, gave a zest to living . . . unapproached by anything to be found in civilized communities.” (Dixon 1914: v)

Fifty miles southwest of Dixon’s place, Charles Goodnight sat in a rocking chair on his galleried front porch. Too old to work, he listened to the wind tearing at the trees and growled answers to the stream of reporters who came calling to hear his stories. He had decided that being a famous frontiersman was a nuisance.

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Pasty Little Inner Mutt

Dani Burlison Petals & Bones Press PDF

DANI BURLISON

my best-case daydream, the members host women-positive pagan rituals, drink mead from viking ship-engraved chalices and throw runes to foresee the future. Pelts of Nordic reindeer would cover hand-carved benches crafted from

Norwegian spruce and maple. Maybe some of the members were even in Norwegian Black Metal bands and hosted hardcore events, complete with slide shows of burning churches, a la Until the Light Takes Us. At the very least, I fully expected lessons on how to hammer out my own functioning bronze helmet and to embroider hand spun wool with the pre-Christian symbols of my roots.

As I have recently committed to further exploring and sharing my own heritage with my children, I decided to do some research on this tiny little building and the people who gather in it. The simple website informed me that the venue holds many events, including traditional Norwegian dance performances and language and art classes for youth.

Aside from the gnarly lutefisk dinners, Sons of Norway appeared to be a decent enough organization. The only thing holding me back from immediately signing on as a member was the idea of explaining to my peers why I’d be spending my weekends in a secret clubhouse with hoards of old white men.

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Medium 9781574415056

20. Troubles in Pecos

Chuck Parsons and Norman Wayne Brown University of North Texas Press PDF

“There seems to be a feud existing between the Sheriff of that county & the city marshal of Pecos City, & some cittizens [sic] which is liable to terminate in trouble at any time, in fact I don’t think it will be Settled So long as the present Sheriff holds office— if I have been correctly informed by some of the citizens.”

Special Texas Ranger Baz L. Outlaw to Adj.

Gen. W. H. Mabry, September 6, 1893

ow Callie Lewis and John Wesley Hardin met, were introduced, and became more than mere acquaintances is uncertain. For his first Christmas as a free man he may have been lonely, and he and his brother Jeff attended a dance in London, only a dozen or so miles from county seat Junction in Kimble County. There he met the spirited young lady named Carolyn Lewis but known as Callie by everyone. She was born in Burnet, Texas, on July 23, 1879, the daughter of Capt. Lemuel L. “Lyn” and Mary Elizabeth Boyce Lewis, known as Bettie.1 From what we know about Callie Lewis she probably introduced herself to the man old enough to be her father, certainly a social faux pas at that time. His reputation certainly attracted her as he was, after all, the celebrity of the Hill Country.2 However they first met there was a definite attraction between them.

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Medium 9781603442411

3. Wilson Ranch

Joe Nick Patoski Texas A&M University Press ePub

The Sandhills of Nebraska have been described by many environment experts as one of the most fragile landscapes in the world. “Majestic” would be the term of choice by inhabitants of the area. Covered in a literal sea of grass, the Sandhills roll in waves for hundreds of miles covering one of the largest underground aquifers in the world. This unique blend of natural resources provides great opportunity for both wonder and devastation.

Ranch families like the Wilsons have been captivated by the wonder of the Sandhills. Their experience, patience, and persistence complement the rich land in creating a fantastic display of natural resource management. Jaclyn Wilson, while not the traditional image of the John Wayne cowboy, follows the true form of innovator. Ms. Wilson made a hard decision to return home, yet it is her un-regretted decision that has and will benefit not only her family but the Sandhills as well.

As you will read in this chapter, the Wilsons have their own unique strategies for private land management with which they excel not only in business but also in conservation. Like their neighbors, they have learned that the best strategies are not ones of force, but rather those of synergy.

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Medium 9781576752760

CHAPTER 13: Meetings With Remarkable People

Frick, Don M. Berrett-Koehler Publishers ePub

I have a philosophy. I call it the hole-in-the-hedge philosophy. There isn’t much to it. You don’t bother much about goals, plans, accomplishments. When you see a hole in the hedge, and the grass looks greener on the other side, you go through. If you don’t like it over there, you can come back. You can even be fickle about it and go back and forth while you make up your mind. As a matter of fact, you don’t worry much about making up your mind. Something usually happens to make it up for you.

It isn’t a philosophy that is likely to make you rich or famous or even do much good in the world. I don’t recommend it to the ambitious or the overly serious. But you have a lot of fun.

Also get into some trouble. 1

ROBERT K. GREENLEAF, 1954

In midlife, a wondrous gift often comes to those who have made themselves eligible through curiosity, learning, and openness to the bitter— and sweet—juices of life. A more complete solar system begins to take shape in the evolving psyche. The young sun of self-centered ambition and petty ego transforms into a more mature, life-giving source of solid 173values. Old planets of abiding interests find their proper orbits; fresh knowledge and spirit give shape to emerging bodies; a passing comet of insight may be captured and made a permanent part of the structure. This is still a time of dynamism, of seeking, but the shape of the search becomes clearer. The mind works faster and makes richer, deeper connections; heightened powers of discrimination filter out trivial knowledge. It is the time of the beginning of wisdom.

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Medium 9781574413069

Appendix B: New York Philharmonic Trumpet Section, The Vacchiano Years, 1935–1973

Brian A. Shook University of North Texas Press PDF

Appendix B

New York Philharmonic Trumpet Section,

The Vacchiano Years, 1935–1973

Season

1935–1936

Principal

Harry Glantz

Second

Third/Assistant

Nathan Prager William Vacchiano

Fourth

Max Schlossberg

1936–1937

Harry Glantz

Nathan Prager

Vacant

William Vacchiano

1937–1938

Harry Glantz

Nathan Prager

William Vacchiano

Vacant

1938–1939

Harry Glantz

Nathan Prager

William Vacchiano

Vacant

1939–1940

Harry Glantz

Nathan Prager

William Vacchiano

Vacant

1940–1941

Harry Glantz

Nathan Prager

William Vacchiano

Vacant

1941–1942

Harry Glantz

Nathan Prager

William Vacchiano

Vacant

1942–1943

William Vacchiano

Nathan Prager

James Smith

Vacant

1943–1944

William Vacchiano

Nathan Prager

James Smith

Vacant

1944–1945

William Vacchiano

Nathan Prager

Morris Boltuch

James Smith

1945–1946

William Vacchiano

Nathan Prager

Morris Boltuch

James Smith

1946–1947

William Vacchiano

Nathan Prager

Morris Boltuch

James Smith

1947–1948

William Vacchiano

Nathan Prager

Morris Boltuch

James Smith

1948–1949

William Vacchiano

Nathan Prager

John Ware

James Smith

1949–1950

William Vacchiano

Nathan Prager

John Ware

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Medium 9781574411744

photo section

Kathleen Krebs Whitson University of North Texas Press PDF
Medium 9781574412666

XX. Music School

Vince Bell University of North Texas Press PDF

124  �  One Man’s Music: The Life and Times of Texas Songwriter Vince Bell peace is not the absence of conflict. it is the ability to cope with it. it’s not how you accomplish victory, it’s how you accept defeat.

I had been entering thoughts faithfully into those now fraying tomes for years. Like a security blanket, that assembly of my best current thinking had gone everywhere my guitar had. It was the place I could go to tell my thoughts when the loneliness of the ’70s music circuits overwhelmed me. In those pages, no one could disagree or think less of me for considering the reasoning I put up. That simple organization had given me song after song since I began to write as a 19-year-old kid. The Black Book routine was another part of my identity that I unwillingly left behind.

Not until the new year of 1984 did I force that habit again. I began to fill a new book up with whatever scatterings I could muster, sometimes hour by hour when in the middle of some challenging theme. rising from the ashes? crawling from the wreckage. it may be nothing. create something from nothing. write it down. on the other side of the grave the music’s still good. my hands are waking up.

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Medium 9780253016140

2 A Mean Street in a Mean City

Ray E. Boomhower Indiana University Press ePub

FOR MORE THAN A DECADE, AS THEY STRODE ALONG THE sidewalks on the Circle, the center of Indianapolis’s original Mile Square plat, people craned their necks to peer over a high wooden fence plastered with posters advertising theater offerings, hoping to catch a glimpse of a structure destined to dominate the city’s skyline for years to come. On May 15, 1902, the city’s citizens, along with visitors from all over the state and nation, crammed downtown streets for the formal dedication of the Soldiers and Sailors Monument. Built of gray oolitic limestone from Owen County, Indiana, at a cost of approximately $600,000 and standing 284 feet tall, the edifice honored “Indiana’s Silent Victors,” the average Hoosier soldiers who had given their lives in the Mexican-American War, the Civil War, and the Spanish-American War. “They are my best beloved,” intoned Civil War veteran Lew Wallace, presiding officer for the dedication ceremonies, “who, in every instance of danger to the nation, discover a glorious chance to serve their fellow-men and dare the chance, though in so doing they suffer and sometimes die.”1

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Medium 9780253018250

“Of Flesh and Blood”

IU Press Journals Indiana University Press ePub

I AGREE, WE are not ready to let Mandela go. Not now. Not yet. Not after Michael Brown, the teenager from Ferguson, Missouri. Not after Trayvon Martin, the teenager from Miami Gardens, Florida. Not after Eric Garner, the cigarettes guy, of Staten Island, New York. There are many more.

We desperately need that which Mandela was uniquely capable of giving: hope. Many writers here agree—even when they agree on little else—that Mandela’s most important legacy was his ability to reach out across boundaries of race, culture, and class, to fabricate unusual moments of shared humanity, even in the most unlikely circumstances. Such humanity was not sustained in perfection (although it is tempting to flatten him into something devoid of life and sweat), but in the conviction that it is only through the lives, needs, and dreams of others that a person can fully be. As a dear friend of his once put it, “his was a way of living for the freedom of others.”

That dear friend needs no introduction. Not here, not in Transition, a magazine that published her work as early as 1965. As we prepared this special issue to honor Mandela, as we paused to reflect on his accomplishments and legacies, we learned of the death of Nadine Gordimer. The winner of the 1991 Nobel Prize in Literature, Gordimer’s writing captured the anxieties, conflicts, and horrors of South African society under apartheid. Even if it wasn’t apartheid that made her a writer, as she once said, it is difficult to imagine her writings without apartheid. Several of her books were banned by the South African regime, which knew of her contacts with Mandela, whom she had met in 1964 during the Rivonia Trial. That’s the trial that sentenced him to life imprisonment, the trial that condemned him to immortality. “To have lived one’s life at the same time, and in the same natal country, as Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela was a guidance and a privilege we South Africans shared. I also knew the privilege of becoming one of his friends,” Gordimer wrote after Mandela’s death. “Mandela: not a figure carved in stone but a tall man, of flesh and blood, whose suffering had made him not vengeful but still more human—even toward the people who had created the prison that was apartheid.”

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Medium 9780253019073

Victims: The Yellow Flowers

Colin Rafferty Break Away Book Club Edition ePub

/10:00/Warsaw Central Station

Here’s how it happened: the locomotive picked up twenty cars and took
them to the camp. That took maybe an hour.

Underground. Double-checking my train’s departure time on the encased poster, I pass a note to the ticket agent. I do not speak Polish, nothing beyond a weak Do you speak English? and so all of my communication in this country is written out, copied carefully from my phrase book.

She looks at my note, crosses out the part where I have written miejscówka; evidently, there are no reservations on the train to Bialystok. She writes a number on the sheet and pushes it back under, and I, acting out the agreed-upon choreography of all retail transactions, hand her thirty zloty, a little under ten dollars.

Walking away, I roll my change in my hand, a five-zloty coin, enough for breakfast. My train ticket, Warszawa Centralna-Małkinia, rests in my bag, next to my camera, next to my guidebook, next to my notebook. My feet are covered in blisters from the last three days of walking around Warsaw; one, on my left heel, looks like a fat slug has taken up residence. It will be nice to sit down for a while.

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Medium 9781609520786

11. Berlin-Unbekannt/Berlin-Unknown

Peter Wortsman Travelers' Tales ePub

“There is nothing in this world as invisible as a monument.”

—Robert Musil

IF THE FAMOUS GERMAN PUZZLE MANUFACTURER Ravensburger—a name that my eye falsely confuses with the notorious women’s concentration camp, Ravensbrück, ninety kilometers north of Berlin—had to come up with a several-thousand-piece puzzle representative of Berlin, they’d be hard-pressed to find an appropriate image.

Should the fragmented picture made for patient and assiduous reassembly be a view of the Brandenburg Gate, symbol of the reunified city, or a wintry vista of the Wannsee Conference Center covered with snow?

The rebuilt Reichstag, or a telling ruin like the husk of the Kunsthaus Tacheles—the abandoned department store-turned arts center on Oranienburger Strasse liberated by dissident young East German revelers who named it for the Yiddish notion of “tachlis,” or “brass tacks”—already being eyed by realtors for demolition?

Should the puzzle represent the Berlin Wall, 1) under construction, 2) scaled by would-be escapees, some caught in the crosshairs of history, 3) stormed by demonstrators with sledgehammers, 4) that segment covered today with satirical tableaux of internationally recognized graffiti artists and dubbed East Side Gallery, or 5) all of the above?

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