AN INTERVIEW WITH BOBBY BRIDGER . . buy albion gold . I’ve admired and followed the career of Bobby Bridger for some time. Well-known and respected nationally and abroad, Bridger is one of those multi-talented achievers one meets only once in a while. He is a singer, poet, songwriter, storyteller, artist, teacher—obviously brilliant and talented, but one who is not afraid of hard work, and as you’ll see in this interview, he works with a commitment that few have for any cause. Here are my questions and his responses. RP: Tell the readers about your current or upcoming tours. BB: I’ve clocked nearly 12,000 miles since late May…first to S. Colorado to perform Seekers of the Fleece and Lakota for contestants in a television pilot called The Real American Cowboy. Then I headed east to Knoxville, Tennessee for the annual Western Writers of America convention to take part in a symposium about songwriting. After Tennessee I headed to Lexington, Kentucky for a performance of Seekers of the Fleece at the University of Kentucky followed by three more wonderful weeks in Appalachia. After that I returned to Texas briefly before heading to Omaha to perform Seekers of the Fleece at the Joslyn Art Museum as part of their current western expansion exhibition. I’ve been home since mid-August working on the fine-tuning of my latest book. I head out again in early October. This time I head to Lone Pine, California for the annual Lone Pine, Film Festival. After Lone Pine, I head up to the Lake Tahoe region for gigs in Grass Valley and then in Carson City, Nevada. I don’t travel nearly as much these days as I did twenty years ago. RP: How many songs have you written? Share your songwriting techniques- i.e., how is a song written? Words or melody first? How do you get ideas for songs? BB: Those are all questions that you write a book about, but I’ll try to break it down simply. First, I have no idea how many songs I’ve written; when I was about 20 I think I completed the first one that I felt like I might sing in public. That was 45 years and hundreds of songs –plus, jingles, documentary and feature film scores, co-written with other songwriters, contributions to other playwright’s musicals, etc., I long ago stopped keeping track of such things. I usually noodle until I find a melody and then –and I’m a stickler for this- match the meter of the language with the meter of the melody. I find this leads me to the words I’m searching for. buy albion gold So many of my songs were written from historical events and impressions of historical characters I’ve had to carry the idea, or notion for a song around in my head for years structuring and restructuring it until it gushes out when I find its context in the narrative I’m constructing. RP: You’re not only a songwriter, you’re an author. Give us a brief synopsis of your book on William F. Cody. Do you have other books planned? BB: Well, my career as an author is definitely related to my songwriting. Back in the early 70s when I completed Part One of A Ballad of the West, Seekers of the Fleece, an English professor at the University of Texas suggested that I should write vignettes to accompany my epic ballads to explain to my audience that these weren’t simply tall tales I was making up but instead documented historical events that I had re-interpreted as epic Homeric verse and long narrative folk songs. Those vignettes kept expanding and in 1980 1982 were published alongside of the verse and songs of A Ballad of the West in a classy art magazine called Four Winds. This led to a publishing contract that produced a lovely hardback, slip-cased, limited edition as A Ballad of the West. St. Augustine Press published a paperback of this in 1991. cheap albion silver But the writing kept expanding –particularly with Part Two of A Ballad of the West, Pahaska. Pahaska, of course, is a Lakota word which means long hair, and was what the Sioux called William F. “Buffalo Bill” Cody. But my writing career was definitely launched by my best friend of thirty years, the author of Custer Died for Your Sins, God is Red, and scores of other books, the late Vine Deloria, Jr. Vine included essays I wrote in important anthologies about western literary lions John G. Neihardt and Frank Waters and introduced my work to incredible audiences. albion gold In 1996 Vine took my manuscript to the University of Texas Press and seven years later that multiply re-worked text was published as Buffalo Bill and Sitting Bull: Inventing the Wild West. The book won Foreword magazine’s Gold Award as the Best Biography of 2002. In 2009 the University of Texas Press also published my autobiography, Bridger. cheap albion gold The book I’m working on now is my first with a so-called “commercial house” and is titled Where the Tall Grass Grows: The Mythological Legacy of the American West and it will be published by Fulcrum Publishing. RP: Share your history and interest in art. What mediums do you use? BB: Someone once said art is something about which there is much to learn and little to teach. cheap albion gold I think that speaks volumes about painting and sculpture –the forms of visual arts that most appeal to me. I’ve been serious about painting since I was 11 years old. I got my first set of oils and brushes when I was 12. I went to college with the intention of taking the first steps to a career as an artist and I think I’ve accomplished that objective –only I had to do it with multiple mediums. Mediums? An old friend recently described me as thinking that ceramic sculpture would “save the world” back in the mid-1960s. albion silver That’s an accurate description I’m sure. But I was also making records in Nashville during that same period. After college I turned to wood sculpture and I still do that. buy albion silver But painting always has and continues to infatuate me and I’m sure I’ll be looking at the color around me and thinking about a painting the day I die. RP: How does Native American history, ideas and imagery affect your work? BB: Since the mid-1960s those aspects of American Indian culture have been a cornerstone of my work. Even though my space fantasy musical, Aldebaran and the Falling Star is on the surface set on the ocean and in space, the concepts explored in the musical stem from Lakota religion and philosophy. I’ve spent most of adult life either in the company of bohemian Euroamericans or in the company of Indians. These associations are explored in depth in Where the Tall Grass Grows: A Mythological Legacy of the American West, my latest book that I mentioned earlier. I’ll just let that stand as a teaser for folks to encourage them to read the book when it is published in Summer, 2011. RP: What future projects do you have planned? BB: In May I announced that after 38 years of performances all over the world I am retiring performances of my one man theatrical shows of A Ballad of the West. I intend to continue writing books, painting and sculpting, writing and performing folk music. But at 65 I feel I can no longer properly honor the mountain men and horse and buffalo culture depicted in A Ballad of the West. My voice is still strong and so far I haven’t had to lower my keys, but when the one man shows are perfect it is like venturing out on a tight rope and doing a yoga headstand while polishing a diamond. Sixty-five year-olds aren’t as good as doing such things as even a strong 55 year-old. I’ve reached the time to make a dignified exit with performing the ballads. As for the future, I have been offered a small character part in a feature film called Fancydancer. It was written and will be directed by a long-time Quapaw Indian brother/friend named JR Mathews and is about contemporary American Indian culture. I’m also in the pre-production stages to work on a new studio album. RP: Is there anything else you wish to say to my readers? BB: Just to be strong, or as the Lakota say, “Hoka Hey!” Most believe that Hoka Hey means “it’s a good day to die”, and that is in fact one interpretation.

Recently, I was fortunate that Todd Owens granted me an interview. Todd is Commander of the Army of Trans Mississippi for the Sons of Confederate Veterans. Every Halloween weekend, you can find him and others at the Battle of Mansfield State Park, http://www.mansfieldbattlefield.org/state.asp, where they will “reenact” field hospital procedures in the true spirit of Halloween and a haunted battlefield. In this interview, Todd shares a bit of information he has learned regarding Civil War medicine. 1. What misconceptions do people have about Civil War medicine and physicians? The main misconception is that the doctors were butchers, operating without any type of medicine to help relieve the pain. cheap albion gold 2. albion silver What was the job of a nurse in the Civil War? The main job of a nurse was the same as it is today, the care and comfort of the wounded soldiers. albion gold 3. Tell me about your persona and the work of a Civil War Doctor. I do the persona of the War Between the States undertaker/dentist. The late 1850 was when the use of embalming came into it’s heyday. buy albion gold The first well known case of the use of an embalmer was when the son of Union President Abraham Lincoln died in the White House. cheap albion silver President Lincoln would go to the tomb of his son, the workers would remove the lid of the vault and it is said that the President would sit there for hours just staring at the face of his dead son. 4. cheap albion gold How did the Confederate medical system differ from that of the Yankees? There was not that much difference in the medical system between the North and the South. The only main difference was that the South had a Dentist Corps. The North did not see the advantage to having dentist in the ranks. 5. buy albion silver What are some comments regarding your presentation you’ve heard from people that are interesting? The most often made comment is that they did not realize that there were undertakers during the war. I have even, while doing living history events, made several of the students on the school days sick to their stomachs when doing my demonstrations. buy albion gold That is when you know that you are doing something so good that the people think it is real.

A Short Review of The Borderland: A Novel of Texas by Edwin Shrake (Hyperion Pub.) This is the second novel of Edwin Shrake that I’ve read. adidas stan smith mid uomo The Los Angeles Times named it “one of the ten best books of 2000.” If you like reading of the West, and especially if you have an interest in Texas history, you’ll like this.

Strong at points in sexual matters, the prose is vivid, the characters are full of life and energy, and the plot held my attention. It is historical fiction in some aspects, and the style and strength of the novel reminded me of Larry McMurtry’s and of Cormac McCarthy’s westerns. Mochilas Kanken Classic Laced with epigraphs, some of which are quotations from Texas related letters and individuals, Shrake takes us into the world and mind of the Comanche and the early Texans and into the inner world of the characters. adidas yeezy boost 750 męskie Reading the novel is an object lesson in the political intrigue and conflict (such as the enmity between Houston and Lamar) that helped form Texas. One forgotten and rather shameful episode that is woven into the plot is Lamar’s dealings with Native Americans and the expulsion of the Cherokees. This was of interest to me because I work in the Texas Cherokees into my Texas history program. Overall, I’d have to say this is a fine novel. Here are a couple of quotes I liked: About the city of Houston: “But when it was hot, which was most of the year, the city lying on the same latitude as Calcutta, mosquitoes and flies rose out of the bayou in black curtains, and dogs rolled over, their tongues hanging out, and died in the sun . . . There were thirty-six saloons in Houston City . . Under Armour Pas Cher .There was not one bank or church in the town.” (71) The novel is full of little historical details and terms I’ve never encountered–sure to keep me busy looking them up as I go back through to firm up my new vocabulary. nike air max 90 hombre The prologue has this incident: “In February of 1839 a monster cyclone formed in the Pacific a Thousand miles off the coast of Sinaloa and whirled counterclockwise toward the continent, tearing the ocean in waves eighty feet high that smashed over the beach at the village of Teacapan and flung boats into the mountains. Every human within five miles of Teacapan was drowned. The storm collided with the Sierras at the ten-thousand foot peak of Yerba Buena. new balance 1300 acquisto Wind ripped goats out of the rocks and hurled them down into the jungle. Wooden crosses that had been planted by angels flew away from mountain passes they had hoarded longer than memory. Settlements of Indians vanished forever. nike air max italian camo The storm poured seven feet of rain on the ancient town of Zacatecas, eight thousand feet high at the head of a valley. Barefoot friars huddled and prayed with their human and animal flocks inside the slate-roof buildings of the college as the silver mines flooded and thousands perished in the tunnels.

Hailstones the size of grapefruits crushed the mud and timber breastworks of the rebels at Guanajuato and left them to be slaughtered by the soldiers of one-legged president Santa Anna . .

. .” Reading such prose is an experience.

On my last visit to Killeen, Texas, Patrick Anderson, of Texas Overlooked Books,  strongly recommended I read a book by Edwin Shrake entitled Blessed McGill.  Respecting the opinion of my well-read, book-loving friend, I ordered the book from Barnes & Noble (J.M. Hardy Publishing). I found this a most enjoyable read, and if you like Texas history, you will too. A.C. Greene (the Dean of Texas Letters ) rated this book as one of the 50 best books on Texas.

The novel is one of those you read that if you didn’t know it was a novel you would swear that it was a true story.  Edwin Shrake is a skilled writer. This novel has an edge to it, with a naturalistic style and strength that reminds me of Cormac McCarthy.  It is written in first person, and if you like chasing words and historical events, people, folklore,  and Native American information–including the border tribes, the Comanches, the Lipan Apaches–the novel is so rich in these details that  you will have a fine and rewarding time as Shrake takes you into terrain–both inner and outer–that you never dreamed existed.  The book is definitely a vocabulary builder. The themes are the eternal ones that never fail to move us, exploring dimensions of death, love, revenge, greed, and adventure that made it hard for me to put the novel down once I started. Shrake himself is a fascinating individual

To close, there are so many great lines in the novel that I don’t know which to list, but here are a few:

“My father told me that birth is real, death is real, and all between is a game.  It is hard to quarrel with that” (3).
“Some time after that I had the pleasure of skinning Chinaman-face, who was alive when I began but of course did not survive the project” (55).
“Boy,” my father said to me, “it is too nice a day to spoil it by beating you for your ignorance and lack of respect” (21).

Here’s a good poem  of the War Between the States, written by a good friend in the Nicholson (Ruston) SCV camp:

Call to Arms

As my eyes survey the haunting landscape set before me, my ears give a hearing to the late, ancestral cries for freedom. Cries to be liberated, cries for emancipation, and a cry for exemption from the absolution of the oppressive powers that bound once free men.

A whole world interrupted. I see men lying in pools of blood. Their dying words still give cry even today in the hearts of Southerners alike. Deo Vindice! Deo Vindice! It is that blood-drenched soil that gives life to every living, breathing thing birthed from this our native “Dixie.”

“Look there, do you see? Do you see the rebel soldier in his tattered vestments?” His battle-bruised body tired and weary from his seemingly endless journey. Yet victory is the life-blood that fuels his inner man. He can smell it, he can taste it, it is the task that has been set before him.

The sound of the cannons roar past me as I close my eyes for a moment. Johnny Reb falls at my right, he falls at my left, all around me the ghosts of my forefathers once again fall to the lot of their final resting places. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. I remind myself that this grassland is sacred, as I gently step.

Step- over hundreds of lives. Lost to a cause that is dying. The same cause that gave birth to pride. A whole world that wanted only to exist in itself. In the boundless rows of cotton fields,  in the alleyways of the towering Oak trees, and in the life-giving blood that pumped through the veins of every man, woman and child “Dixie” called her own.

I hear a different sound now. Reverberating through the honeysuckle, through the magnolias, and down through the corridors of time. It is “Dixie.” Rendering certain that she now cradles our lost loved ones in the warmth of her fertile, blood bought soil.

It is the sweet sound of “Dixie” that they will forever hear. Resounding in the breeze that blows through the moss in the trees, and down through the hallways of every grand plantation still standing proud in all her glory! For she bore the backbone of this wonderful land; the Southern people.

Let us never forget those whose lives were short-lived. Sacrificed. Lives given for this rich heritage that still runs through my veins, your veins. We are one; you know, me, you, and Johnny Reb? Listen for a moment- to the rebel yell. Can’t you hear it? Loud above all else! May it forever lead us into battle! God bless Dixie!

Here’s a photo of Jody McMaster, the poet.

Jody McMaster

At my parents’ house, I watched again the three-part movie of Dead Man’s Walk. Though McMurtry’s novel is more accurate and interesting, I enjoyed the movie enough that I researched the Santa Fe Expedition and wrote this poem, which I hope to turn into a song for my Texas School programs. This is a first draft, so I’ll likely revise it in the future.  If you’re a Texan (or Texian, Texican or Tejano–yes, there are subtle differences in the words) I hope you enjoy the poem.

“The Santa Fe Expedition of 1841”: A Poem by Rickey E. Pittman

In the summer of 1841,
President Lama had a vision,
Texas wasn’t large enough,
He sent the Santa Fe expedition.

General McLeod and Captain Lewis,
With 21 ox-drawn wagons,
And 300 men left in June,
With one old brass cannon.

Spurred on by Lamar’s command,
They walked toward Santa Fe’s trail,
They didn’t know how far it was,
Or that they were doomed to fail.

There was a Comanche moon,
When they reached the Llano Estacado,
Lost in an endless sea of grass,
There were no trails to follow.

The Comanche and Apache
Stole their horses at night,
Would kill and scalp if they could,
And the Texans feared they might.

Deserted by their Mexican guide,
Facing hardships from the weather,
They  continued on a dead man’s walk,
That seemed to last forever.

Drinking foul badlands water,
Eating what they could find,
Their leaders made too many mistakes,
And a strange madness filled their minds.

They marched on in misery
Till Santa Fe they found,
They surrendered to the Mexicans,
Without firing a single round.

Governor Manuel Armijo
Who had 1500 men,
Promised them protection,
So the Texans trusted him.

But he marched them 2,000 miles,
South to Mexico City,
In chains and in sorrow,
He drove them without pity.

There were no maps to guide them,
There were no well-laid plans,
But we honor their sad footsteps,
These brave and bold Texans.

Along with the superstars of the Scottish world mentioned on this flier, I’ll be storytelling and performing music at this wonderful festival. If you live in North Louisiana or East Texas, you need to be there! I’ve always had a great time there.

The 2010 Arkansas Scottish Festival April 23-25  2010 is a wonderful experience. Held on the beautiful campus of Lyon College, the oldest independent college in Arkansas (1872), is in the town of Batesville,  in North-central Arkansas. Tom & I were there last year and this year Mary is joining us.  Her fiddle and harmonies add so much to our music.  Last year we performed three times–twice on Saturday and once on Sunday, following Alex Beaton each time–and this year it looks like the same schedule. If you like Scottish things, this is worth attending. I made several new friends last year.

Here is the link so you can explore the festival:

Hope to see you there! If you have friends or relatives in the area, send them our way. We’ll dedicate a song to them (or to you).

Last week, while driving to Texarcana to do my school programs, on Highway 71 outside of Shreveport, I saw a driveway all decorated up and a big sign that said, WELCOME HOME, SON. That and the memoir I’m editing for Mitchell Waite entitled, 400 Days in Iraq, inspired me to write this song. Let me know what you think of it. I may revise some of it later.

“Welcome Home, My Son” by Rickey Pittman

My tour in Iraq was over,
And at last I was going home,
The sun was setting to my left,
As I drove on alone

I came to my parents’ home
On highway 71
A sign stood by the driveway,
Saying, Welcome home our son.

A string of balloons and small American flags,
danced in the Southern air,
Yellow  ribbons were tied to trees
And to the mailbox there.

My dad met me at the door
Grinning big as you please,
My mother started crying
The moment she saw me,

After supper we took pictures,
And talked till it was late,
But we didn’t talk about the war,
Or mistakes we all had made

I lay down on an old bed,
That I’d slept in as a child
In days when life was simpler
And I roamed free and wild

I heard a lonely whippoorwill
Owls, coyotes and Bob Whites
But no rockets or rifle fire,
Troubled me this night.

CHORUS:
Welcome home our soldier,
Your tour of duty’s done
You’ve been gone 400 days,
Welcome home our son.