TOMBSTONES Chapter Nine

 

I know what 31 year old John Harris Behan (above) was thinking that December of 1880, while listening to Wyatt Earp, the ex-under-sheriff for Tombstone, Pima County, Arizona. Johnny Behan, the current under sheriff for Tombstone, was thinking about Johnny Behan, because that was always what Johnny Behan was always thinking about. Wyatt had resigned as under-sheriff to protest the rigged November 1880 election for Pima County Sheriff, in which his friend and fellow Republican, Bob Paul, had come 46 votes short to Democrat Charles Shibell. But Wyatt's act of principle had allowed Shibell to appoint Johnny Behan to replace Wyatt.

Now, both Johnny and Wyatt wanted the lucrative position of sheriff of the new Cochise County, set to come into existence in early 1881. So that December night, Wyatt offered to withdraw from the race. In exchange, Johnny would appoint Wyatt as his under-sheriff for the town of Tombstone (above), the job Wyatt had just given up. Johnny seemed agreeable, as he always did, and Wyatt left the meeting convinced they had a deal. But with Johnny (below, left), nothing was ever simple.

Johnny Behan's entire career was the monitarization of his sex life. When petite Victoria Behan (above, right)  filed for divorce in 1875,  she cited her husband's addiction to "houses of ill fame and prostitution" mentioning one prostitute in particular, "...Sada Mansfield...." But, as Wikapedia notes, Johnny's numerous liaisons included "...the wives of friends and business partners." It raises the question of what kind of a man "counts coup" on his "friends". In October, 1879, the now single Behan opened a saloon in the central Arizona boom town of Tip Top. There were four other taverns in the town of 500, and Johnny's primary draw for customers was the "Courtesan" services offered by 19 year old Sada Mansfield.

Sada (above) or "Sadie" or "Sarah" invented so many stories about herself, it is difficult to pick the ones most likely to be accurate.  She probably ran away from her orthodox Jewish home at the age of 13, fleeing San Francisco in the company of well known madam, Hattie Wells. They arrived together in Prescott, Arizona sometime in 1874, where the young girl went to work in Well's Granite Street brothel. Being a prostitute gave her independence, which she exercised in 1879 by moving to Tip Top with Johnny Behan. By the time she was 20 years old she had borrowed the name of "Josphene Marcus" from an actress in a traveling theatrical troupe. Sadie admitted years later, "My blood demanded excitement, variety and change."

Johnny (above) and Josephine moved to Tombstone in September of 1880. Having served 2 terms as a Republican state legislator for Mohave County, Behan now took a job as bar manager in the Grand Hotel, a hang out for the 'cow boys', who were solidly Democrats. Sadie's talents cemented Johnny's friendships "across the aisle". At the same time he cemented his Republican ties by investing his earnings from Tip Top in Tombstone's Dexter Livery Stable, owned by John Dunbar, whose family had close ties to the infamous Republican Presidential hopeful , Senator James Blain, "The Continental Liar from the state of Maine".  All of which made Johnny seem the obvious choice as Sheriff of the new Cochise County. Wyatt knew he needed a little publicity if he was going to secure the job as under-sheriff for Tombstone. The opportunity for that good press appeared on Tuesday, 15 March, 1881, when the 6:00pm northbound Tombstone to Benson stage coach was held up.

By about 7:30pm, the coach, carrying 7 passengers, a driver and a guard and a strongbox containing 6 bars of silver bullion worth $26,000 - over half a million dollars today - all pulled by 6 horses, was about a mile passed the cut off to the San Pedro River mill town of Contention City, and just 200 yards short of a hill top station run by the widow Georgina Drew and her 5 children - the half way mark between Tombstone and Benson. As the driver slowed to climb the rise a man appeared in the road, wearing a mask and wig. He waved a shotgun and ordered the coach to "Hold!".

The driver, Eli "Bud" Pierpott, seemed to refuse. Another of the would-be robbers fired from the brush beside the road, hitting Bud in the heart. He fell forward, falling onto the traces between "the wheelers" - the horses closest to the 48 inch wheels - and then under the coach. The gunshot, the loss of pressure on the reins, and the jerk on the load they were pulling, all panicked the horses, who bolted up the hill. The shot gun guard, sheriff candidate Bob Paul, let loose both barrels from his weapon. About 20 shots were fired from the brush as the stage lurched past, one of them hitting the back of a miner riding in the "dickie seat" above and behind the driver, a man named Peter Roerig.

The gunshots, and then the stage racing through the station, alerted Mrs. Drew and her children, who were waiting to change the horse team and sell the travelers a little food and drink for a dollar apiece. They found Bud Pierpott lying dead in the road, and saw 4 men riding off from the scene. A mile north (above)  Bob Paul managed to recapture the 6 reins, and pulled the winded horses to a stop before they capsized the coach. Pete Roerig was in a bad way, but none of the other passengers were injured. So Paul drove the horses and coach hard the remaining 14 miles to Benson, the Southern Pacific railroad and the telegraph. He got there not long before 10:00pm that night.

After seeing to poor Pete Roerig - he would die shortly after reaching Benson - and locking the silver bullion safely in the railroad companies' safe, Bob Paul (above) telegraphed the Deputy Federal Marshall in Tombstone, Virgil Earp. 

By midnight, perhaps the most impressive posse ever formed in the old west - Virgil, Wyatt and Morgan Earp, gambler John "Doc" Hoiday, Wells Fargo agent Marshall Williams and Wyatt's friend and fellow lawman from Dodge City Kansas, Bat Masterson - were all provisioned, mounted were on the road to Drew station, 12 miles north.

Bob Paul was first to return to the scene of the crime. Near the hold up site, he found three masks, and tracks that led east. Now leading the Tombstone posse, Paul followed the trail to sprawling ranch run by Henry and Leonard "Lem" Redfield, where they cornered and captured the unhappy cow boy Luther King. He readily admitted to being involved, but insisted his only task had been holding the horses. But he also identified the other 3 highway men as Harry "The Kid" Head, one time jeweler William "Bill" Lenoard and Jim Crane.  King said that Crane had been wounded in the thigh, although by Paul's hasty shot gun blast or by his own six shooter, is unclear.

The capture of King presented a dilemma. The crime had been committed halfway between Tombstone and Benson. And while Deputy Federal Marshal Virgil Earp had authority throughout the territory, the trial of the killers of Pete Roerig and Bud Pierpott would do Wyatt (above) the most good if held in Tombstone.  So, come sun up on Thursday, 17 March, 1881, the 7 lawmen gave up their search for the other 3 members of the gang, and began escorting Luther King back toward Tombstone. 

It was a stroke of luck, then, when, they ran into Cochies Sheriff Johnny Behan and a deputy, riding north, also in search of the gang.  Johnny took possession of Luther King - even insisted on it - freeing Paul, the Earps, Holiday and Marshall to return to the pursuit. They tracked Harry Head, Bill Leonard and Jim Crane for 2 weeks, south and east into the San Simon Valley (above, lower right) , into New Mexico, all the way to the northern mouth of Guadalupe Canyon, just above the Mexican border. Then, short of provisions, and with no funds to obtain more, they were forced to return to Tombstone.

To their surprise, they discovered that although under- sheriff Behan had locked Luther King securely in the Tombstone jail, the cow boy had managed to slip out the back door and disappear. And, poof! All the effort and expense of sweat, leather and horse flesh were for naught. Any hope Wyatt Earp had of becoming sheriff of Tombstone vanished along with Mr. King. Wyatt was going to have to think of something else.

According to the Tombstone Epitaph", it was not long after this, in April of 1881, that "Sadie" Marcus (above and  below) returned home early from a trip and found Johnny in their bed with the wife of a "friend". Who the friend was, is unstated, but that was Johnny's modus operendi. But the Epitath was clear that the 20 year old lady kicked Johnny out of their house, and became a truly independent operator. It must have been about this same time, the self posessed lady (below) met Wyatt Earp.

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TOMBSTONES Chapter Eight

 

I am pretty certain what 31 year old Town Marshal Frederick G. "Fred" White (above) was thinking, as he approached the empty lot near the corner of Sixth and Allen Streets. It was just about 12:30 on the chilly morning of Thursday, 28 October, 1880, and Fred had spent most of the evening chasing down and collecting guns from drunken cowboys. None of these intoxicated miscreants wanted to hurt anyone. But the difference between a chimpanzee thrashing the underbrush with a branch, and a human, is that humans have invented gunpowder and alcohol.

This was why Tombstone made it illegal to carry a gun in the city limits, except when entering or leaving town. As a man of average intelligence - which by all accounts Fred was - and being a friendly and compassionate fellow - as everyone knew him to be - Fred knew that guns plus people plus alcohol plus time eventually equals somebody getting shot. As freelance journalist Clara Spalding Brown noted the same idea when writing about Tombstone and its environs - "When saloons are thronged all night with excited and armed men, bloodshed must needs ensue occasionally."

There were half dozen men in the vacant lot between Tough Nut and Allen Streets. They were just "shooting at the moon", using their pistols as noisemakers. Fred approached the men quietly but firmly, as he always did. The drunk "Cow Boys" - Frank Patterson (of stolen mule fame), Ed Collins, James Johnson (who worked on the Clanton ranch with his brother Bill), Arthur Ames, Robert Lloyd and Curley Bill Brocius - all knew Fred and liked him. And even knowing they faced a $10 fine, they all seemed willing to hand over their guns. Fred must have been certain this would be his last such encounter that night.

The first to surrender his gun was "Curly Bill" Brocius (above). Brocius was pretty drunk, and yanked the weapon out of his pocket. As Fred White grabbed the barrel, the gun went off. The crack shattered the Arizona night. Fred groaned, doubled over and fell. In an instant a new figure stepped out of the dark, and pistol whipped Brocius to the ground.

When the confrontation began,  Wyatt Earp (above) was one block to the east, beneath the tent canvas of Owen's Saloon (below, right), where he dealt faro. Republican friends had recently secured him an appointment as a deputy sheriff for the southern part of Pima County, making him a tax assessor and collector as well. That earned him 10% of everything he collected. But that was "maybe" income, and for Wyatt, dealing faro was a sure thing. 

Still, hearing the gunfire, Wyatt walked away from the table to investigate. He saw Fred White approaching the men, and sensing danger, Wyatt borrowed a pistol from fellow stagecoach guard Fred Dodge, and walked down the street to back up the sheriff. When Ed White was shot, it was Wyatt who leapt to the wounded man's defense and disabled the shooter. The other cowboys scattered into the dark of a nearby wash and somebody started shooting at Wyatt. Almost immediately Wyatt was joined on the street by Morgan Earp and Fred Dodge.

Fred Dodge recalled years later that, "When "Morg" and I reached him, Wyatt was squatted on his heels beside Curly Bill and Fred White. Curly Bill's friends were pot-shooting at him in the dark...." In his book "Under Cover for Wells Fargo", Dodge explained, "Wyatt said to me, "Put the fire out in Fred's clothes." When he looked, Dodge saw that Brocius' shot had been so close, the muzzle blast had set Marshal White's vest smoldering.  Added Dodge,  in a letter, "Wyatt's voice was even and quiet as usual."

Once the shooting from the arroyo had slackened, volunteers carried Marshall White to the Fifth Street side of the Golden Eagle Brewery building (above), and up the stairs to the second floor office of Doctor H.M. Matthews, who was also the county coroner. At the same time Dodge and the Earps led Curley Bill off to the "lockup", a 10' X 12" windowless structure. All the way there, Billy Brocius kept asking, "What have I done?" The lawmen then proceeded to track down the others in the confrontation. Within hours all 6 of the drunks were safely in the lockup.

According to Dr. Matthews, the bullet from Brocius' gun entered Fred White's body "Four inches below and three inches to the left of the naval.... traveling downward...(and) pierced the small intestine..." Eighty years before the discovery of antibiotics, to all intents and purposes Fred White was dead the instant the bacteria inside his intestines were released into his abdomen. 

Opiates kept Fred White pain free for 2 days, giving him time to dictate a statement that the shooting had been accidental. He died on Sunday, 31 October, with his father and friends at his bedside. The gun belonging to Curley Bill Brocius was picked up in the street. It had only one round fired. Curley Bill had not even been responsible for the shooting that drew Marshall White to the confrontation. He's been trying to stop it.

In the morning, in the courthouse at Third and Toughnut Street (above), in front of Tucson's Judge Gray, Frank Patterson pleaded that he had been trying to quiet the shooting party. The others, who paid a $10 fine, each supported his story. Arthur Ames was fined an additional $30 for carrying a concealed weapon. Brocius asked to have his case held over until he could get an attorney. And given the popularity of Ed White, the Earps thought it best to transport the cowboy to Tucson to stand trial.

The first result of the shooting was that Deputy Federal Marshal Virgil Earp was asked to temporarily fill the job as Town Marshall, until a special election could be held on Saturday, 13, November, 1880.  But with the bounty of economically business opportunities available in Tombstone, the race eventually narrowed to either Virgil or the 33 year old miner, Benjamin Sippy.  The financially challenged Sippy won the November ballot, 311 to 259 votes for Virgil. Editor of the "Epitath", John Clum (above)  chose to be optimistic, suggesting Sippy "...should receive the support and assistance of all good citizens."  In fact, Ben Sippy would prove to be brave, clear headed and determined, when he was on duty.  He spent his first months in office arresting speeders on the streets of Tombstone.

Later that November, William "Curley Bill" Brocius stood trial in Tucson for Fred White's death, before Judge Neugass. Fred White's dying statement was read into the record and Wyatt Earp even testified he thought the gun had gone off "half cocked".  

Judge Neugass had little choice, and dismissed the charges. Curley Bill (above) walked out of court a free man.  Even though Wyatt's testimony had helped clear him of the murder charge, Brocius never forgave Wyatt Earp for the pistol whipping. It was yet another firm step on the road to the most iconic 30 seconds of violence in the American history.

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TOMBSTONES Chapter Seven

 

I know what Virgil Earp was thinking when he was accosted that August of 1880 in Charleston, Arizona. In response to a challenge by 5 foot 3 inch tall Tom and 5 foot 4 inch tall Frank McLaury, the 6 foot tall Deputy Federal Marshal Earp assured them he had nothing to do with the notice published in the Tombstone Epitaph accusing them of stealing 6 army mules. Despite this Frank warned Marshal Earp, "If I thought you did, I would make you fight right here". 

Virgil knew the McLaury's threats had worked against previous lawmen. But Virgil quietly assured Frank that if an arrest warrant was ever issued against either McLaury, "No compromise would be made on my part." The elder McLaury asserted that he would never be taken alive. Calmly, Virgil asked, "Frank, you are not looking for a quarrel, are you?"

Virgil Walter Earp (above) was 37 years old that summer of 1880 with no history of panic. He had returned to Illinois after 3 years Civil War service to find his wife and daughter dead from fever, and her family moved away. After a decade of wandering the American west he fell in love again, with the small feisty 31 year old Alvira "Allie" Sullivan. Virgil referred to her as being "not much bigger than and as sweet as pickle". Three years later Virgil became a stagecoach guard in Prescott, Arizona. And there, in October of 1877, unbidden, Virgil backed up U.S. Marshal "Little Bill" Standifer in a shoot out, killing one of his attackers. A month later Virgil was elected town sheriff, and a year after that he was appointed Deputy Federal Marshal, assigned to clean up the troublesome "Cow Boys" in and around Tombstone. He immediately wrote his 4 brothers of the financial opportunities the Tombstone silver strike offered.

Virgil was not the first Earp to become a lawman. His younger brother, 32 year old (in 1880) Wyatt Berry Stapp Earp (above) had been a deputy sheriff in Dodge City, Kansas , but that was only part time. Wyatt's preferred occupation was the profitable dealing of faro (see last photo in essay). The slight odds favoring the faro dealer could be improved by lightening fast play that disguised crooked shuffles and bottom dealing. Cheating was so common that "Hoyle's Rules of Games" warned readers that not a single honest faro game could be found in the United States. And Wyatt Earp was one of the "best" faro dealers in the west.

The Earps gambled on Tombstone, going "all in" on 1 December 1879, when Virgil and Allie, Wyatt and his common-law wife, 30 year old Celia Ann "Mattie" Blaylock, 39 year old James Cooksdy Earp and his "beautiful brunette", 40 year old Nellie "Bessie" Catchim, all arrived by carriage and wagon from the territorial capital of Prescott. Six months later 28 year old Morgan Seth Earp (above) and his wife, the arthritic Louisa Alice Houston, would arrive, along with the Earps' friend and business partner, the temperamental and tubercular John Henry "Doc" Holliday with his Hungarian born common-law wife Mary Katherine "Big Nose Kate" Horony-Cummings.

Which brings up the unpleasant reality of the Earp's world. All the brothers and Holliday based their financial stability on whore houses, as property owners or bouncers from Illinois to Iowa to Kansas to the Dakota and Arizona territories. And all the Earp wives - except Virgil's sweet pickle Allie and Wyatt's first wife who died in Iowa - worked as prostitutes, often even after they were married. 

Because the trade could be conducted with little capital investment - a tent or the back of a wagon could suffice - time and again after a financial setback, the women working as "soiled doves" provided the funds the family needed to survive. The sixth and final Earp brother, 25 year old Baxter Warren Earp, would not arrive in Tombstone for another year.

Tombstone, had matured in the two years since the silver strike. Los Angeles widow and freelance newspaper woman, Clara Spalding Brown, also arrived in Tombstone that June of 1880 and reported to the San Diego Union, it was, "an embryo city of canvas, frame and adobe...full of activity." New arrival rancher John Pleasant Gray was disappointed. "I looked in vain for any guns or so-called gunmen. I learned later that it was one of the town’s first ordinances that no guns were to be permitted in any public place, and Tombstone was always a quiet, safe town for the man who minded his own business.” 

John Clum, editor of the Tombstone Epitaph, first published on 1 May, 1880, wrote that he could recall, "...only one deadly street battle and one lynching during the entire 50 years of Tombstone’s existence." That bloody street battle was, of course, the shoot-out at the O.K. Corral.

Tombstone's most respectable street was named, ironically, after Arizona's 5th and largely absentee Territorial Governor - the handsome, arrogant, dashing and vapid John Charles Fremont (above).  In 1848 he had been the famous pathfinder to California, and in 1856,  the first Republican candidate for President. His wife, the beguiling Jesse Benton Fremont, was twice as smart and four times as ambitious as her husband. But her avidity, his cupidity and the financial panic of 1873 wiped out their fortune. Jesse kept a roof over their heads by writing magazine articles, but by 1878 the privileged couple were destitute. Taking pity, Republican President Rutherford B. Hays replaced the popular and efficient Arizona Territorial Governor John Philo Hoyt with the 65 year old fatuous and frivolous John C. Fremont.

Fremont (above) didn't even show up in Arizona for 5 months. And then he only stayed long enough to be sworn in, sign bills legalizing gambling and creating a state lottery, measures already passed by the 12 man Territorial Council - whose members were approved by the Republican leaning railroad and mining companies - and the 24 members of the Territorial House of Representatives , elected by the mostly ex-southern Democratic voters. Then, in 1879, after arraigning for his paychecks to be forwarded, Fremont and Jesse returned to their mansion on Staten Island, New York.

That left Republican officials in Arizona, on their own. In 1880, Republican appointed U.S. Deputy Marshall Robert Paul (above) ran for Pima County Sheriff, against Democrat Charlie Shibell. The votes from Tombstone and Charleston gave Paul a sizable lead. But his supporters cautioned, "Wait for the returns from San Simon", where "Ike" Clanton and Johnny Ringo were the election inspectors. Out of 12 registered voters in San Simon, 103 voted for Shibell, and only 1 for Paul. The Democrats never even tried to explain where the extra 90 voters had come from. The county election officials quickly awarded Shibell the office. It took 2 years of legal wrangling for that fraudulent election to be overturned, but it illustrated the political battle lines. Ranchers (rustlers), small businessmen and women tended to be Democrats, while the federal power structure, mine owners and managers and railroad officers, tended to be Republicans.

That was why the McLaury brothers felt comfortable in August of 1880, with threatening a Federal Marshall. Sneering at Virgil Earp's question about picking a fight, Frank McLaury told the Marshall that they had intended on killing him. But satisfied with his explanation, they bid Virgil Earp a good day. Watching the two "Cowboys" turn their backs and walk away, Virgil made a vow to never enter Charleston alone again. And to someday, settle the score with the McLaurys.

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THE AMAZING MR. RANDOLPH

 

I agree with William Plummer’s 1803 assessment of John Randolph of Roanoke, Virginia; “I admire his ingenuity and address, but I dislike his politics.”  This amazing man represents the tap root of two great branches in American conservative politics, patrician conservatives and gay conservatives; because if John Randolph wasn’t gay, then neither was Roy Cohen.

Some biographies of Randolph insist that he suffered from a condition called “Klinefelter’s syndrome”, which occurs in only 1 out of every 500 males, or 0.02% of the general population, while homosexuality is a genetic variation that occurs in (conservatively speaking) about 5 – 6% of the population, making it far more likely that Randolph was gay. And in any case, both conditions are genetic variations, having nothing to do with sin, intelligence, choice or morality. So, from a purely practical standpoint, it is just simpler to concede that Randolph was gay and move on.

Randolph was a slave-owning elegantly dressed ‘fashionista’, described by one author as “The most notorious American political curmudgeon of his time”. That may be putting it kindly. John Randolph specialized in what the Romans called the “Argumentum Ad Hominem” or the ‘argument against the man’. As a verbal tool it allows the speaker to change the subject, to argue the man not the issue, and thus to tar a political position with the alleged sins of one of its advocates, thus forcing advocates to defend themselves, not what they stand for. And if that method of attack sounds familiar, it is confirmation of the connection between Randolph’s ideological bloodline and its present day Republican practitioners.

John Quincy Adams borrowed from Ovid to describe John Randolph; “His face is ashen, gaunt his whole body, His breath is green with gall; His tongue drips poison.” It is a fair description of the “…abusive eloquence which he possessed in such abundance” (ibid)..

It is a shame that both of those distinguished blood lines are now being excised from the Republican Party in preference to the Donald Trump template. The idea that a dumb, uneducated heterosexual conservative is preferable to a smart homosexual conservative is akin to abandoning a talking dog because you don’t like the way he pronounces “Béarnaise sauce”.  The Trumpanisters remind me of the words of British Prime Minster Lloyd George who said of one opponent; “He has a retail mind in a wholesale business.” Or, to paraphrase John Selden, ignorance of the law may be no excuse, but ignorance in general is inexcusable.

Randolph’s first biographer, Lemuel Sawyer, described him this way; “As an orator he was more splendid than solid; as a politician he (lacked) the profound views of a great statesman...he was too intolerant." But John Randolph admitted to enjoying “That most delicious of all privileges – spending other people’s money.”  Its hard to condemn a man who admits his own sins so gleefully.

Randolph was elected to congress at 26 years of age in 1799, and served off and on in both houses (as well as in the Virginia State legislature) until his death. He never married, and admitted “I am an aristocrat. I love liberty, I hate equality." And in describing his chosen career Randolph observed that “If electioneering were allowed in heaven, it would corrupt the angels.”

As if to prove his point, in 1824 Randolph turned his cutting tongue loose in the defining speech of his life, on the floor of the U.S. Senate. It was described by one author as “rambling, sometimes incoherent, funny, insulting and devastating….filled with literary and classical allusions, among other odds and ends, and delivered with a delightful insouciance.”

Randolph attacked the Federalist position on the central issues of the day and said any compromise with Speaker of the House, Henry Clay of Kentucky, or with Secretary of State John Quincy Adams, would be anathema, as “…their friendship is a deadly distinction, their touch pollution”. And as to the very idea of a strong central Federal government, Randolph called it “That spirit which considers the many, as made only for a few, which sees in government nothing but a job, which is never so true to itself as when false to the nation.”

I’ve read that sentence at least ten times and each time it makes less sense to me than it did before. At the time, however, it had a great effect on its audience. I guess you had to be there.

Then Randolph got down to the most troublesome part of his attack. He described Henry Clay as “…so brilliant yet so corrupt, like a rotten mackerel by moonlight, he shines and stinks.” Among southern aristocrats, being called a ‘stinking mackerel’ were fighting words. Henry Clay was willing to overlook the insult until, in 1826, the insult was repeated in print, in the newspaper "United States Telegraph". Clay could no longer pretend Randolph had not said the words, and after a properly stiff exchange of notes, Clay issued Randolph a challenge to what one witness described as the “…the last high-toned duel I ever saw”.

They met at about 4:30 p.m. on 8 April, 1826, just over the Little Falls Bridge from Georgetown, Virginia.  Randolph was resplendent in a bright yellow coat. Clay was coldly determined. The night before Thomas Hart Benton had pleaded with Randolph not to go through with the duel, saying Clay had a young son and wife who would be left destitute if Clay were killed or seriously injured. Randolph seemed unmoved, but he had replied to Benton, “I shall do nothing to disturb the sleep of that child or the repose of the mother.” But I don’t think anybody told Clay he had nothing to worry about.

The men paced off ten steps apart (about 30 feet), and then as the countdown began Randolph’s gun misfired. The gun was reloaded and the countdown began again; “Ready, aim, fire.” Clay’s shot hit the dirt in front of Randolph, whose shot struck a stump behind Clay. The men then reloaded and the insanity began again. This time Clay got off the first shot, sending a ball through the hem of Randolph’s expensive yellow coat. Randolph held his fire, and then dramatically fired his shot into the air.

Then Randolph strode forward with his hand extended. The opponents shook hands in the center of the “field of honor”, and Randolph dryly said, “You owe me a coat, Mr. Clay.”

I don’t think Clay ever paid for the coat, because when John Randolph died in May of 1833, his will instructed that after his slaves were transported to Ohio and freed, his body was to buried in Virginia and he was to be planted facing west, so he could keep an eye on Kentucky’s Henry Clay. Now that is going a long way for an insult.  By the way, like most such wills, Randolph's slaves were not freed. They had been used as collateral for loans, and were sold "down river".  

It could be said of John Randolph that he had opposed most if not all of the famous men and great causes of his time, that politically he gave as good as he got, and that he made the most of the talents that God gave him; not a bad legacy. Except, it must also be said that nothing he supported made the nation stronger, nor helped improve the lives of the the people, white, black or red,  of his state. A politician who chose the career of a speed bump cannot, in my opinion, be said to have used his talents for the public good.

Why he did not do so might be explained, at least in part, by a letter he wrote in the winter of 1833,  addressed "To the Honorable Waller Holladay, Esquire, of the county of Spotsylvania, of the State of Virginia, of the United States of America, of the Western Hemisphere, of the Globe." And amazingly, it was delivered.  Mister Randolph wrote,  "I am sure you will be surprised and pained to hear that I was honored last night by a visit from no less a personage than His Satanic Majesty. His Majesty assured me that my only hope of much longer continuance of my mortal existence depended upon my subsisting entirely upon the milk of your fine Medley mare, which would restore health to my worn out body. Under these melancholy circumstances, I have no choice hut to throw myself upon your friendly mercies and I implore you to let me have the mare without delay...that her milk may save the life of your sincere but sulfuring friend. Randolph of Roanoke"

Mr. Holladay read the letter but did not dispatch the mare. Instead he immediately filed the missive away without answering it, in the hope he said later that "the aberration was but temporary". It was not.  Randolph died in May of 1833. And the letter concerning Mr. Randolph's visit from Satan, was thought to be  proof of his insanity.  Or perhaps the visit was real, a sort of courtesy call, from one sly and merciless liar upon another.  

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