Arizona Herstory, Tales from her storied past
by Dee Strickland Johnson

In Arizona Herstory, Tales From Her Storied Past Dee Strickland Johnson has used the lyrics of poetic imagery to relate the exciting, and often, little known accounts from Arizona's past. Topically divided into six chapters with each section focused on a broad chronological time frame, she skillfully blends history and the beauty of poetry to the advantage of each medium, creating a fascinating new look at Arizona's rich and varied history.

Dee has taught history, drama, English and art at secondary level. She has published two self-illustrated books of western poetry and has three recordings of her cowboy music and poetry as well as one of British folk ballads. Her three dance folk operas have been performed in Tucson, Phoenix, California, and Texas.

As "Buckshot Dot", she is an Academy of Western Artists' Female Cowboy Poet of the Year and has performed in fifteen states and British Columbia.

Saturday Night in Tombstone

The famous "Fight at the O.K. Corral" took place four months before the first Episcopalian preacher arrived in Tombstone on January 28, 1882. Virgil Earp had served as U.S. Deputy Sheriff and U.S. Marshall. A severe bullet wound had ended his career as a lawman just a month before the incident depicted in this poem. His brother Wyatt had been appointed U.S. Deputy Sheriff for Pima (later Cochise) County. Wyatt was assisted by brother Morgan and devoted friend John Henry "Doc" Holliday.

The riders were all ridin' into Tombstone.
The well-dressed godly stranger stood amazed.
The owl-hoots were out hootin';
Reckless shooters out there shootin'.
It was Saturday in Tombstone's glory days!

The hustlers were a-hustlin' on the boardwalk,
The rustlers were a musclin' into town.
Wyatt Earp durn sure was busy;
'Twas enough to make you dizzy!
Sure a good thing Doc and Morgan were around!

The place were full of miners, slicks, and cowboys,
Street walkers were a-walkin' up and down.
The hawkers were a-hawkin',
Why, the burg was fairly rockin'
The day the reverend father came to town.

The gamblers were a-gamblin' at the Bird Cage;
The scramblers busy scramblin' to embark!
The boozers were a-boozin';
All the floozies, they were floozin'
'Cause them ladies sure ain't ladies after dark!

The good man turned his face toward the loudest
And the wildest weirdest wicked place of sin;
The winners were a-winnin';
All the sinners were a-sinnin'
And the tin horns, they were always hornin' in.

The miners were a-minin' gold at faro,
The dealers were a-dealin' tiger tight,
But Wyatt wasn't able to be dealin' at his table,
Which set the Earps to urpin' there that night.

The excitement was excitin' at the Bird Cage.
The footlights were all lightin' up the stage.
The reflectors were reflective;
the effect was sure effective,
And the swingers were a-swingin' every cage.

The music was a-ringin' at the Bird Cage,
The singer's song was wingin' cross the floor,
The room was dim and hazy, all crazies goin' crazy,
When that preacher set his foot inside the door.

The pi-aner man just stopped as did the laughter.
The shoutin' and the cursin' quieten'd down.
It seemed the stroke of dooms' tone
had just settled over Tombstone
When Endicott Peabody came to town.

He walked up to the table in the center,
And he placed his hand on Johnny Ringo's arm.
The gasp was quite articulate;
the men could scarce gesticulate,
But the outlaw didn't do the fellow harm.

"Peabody said, I'm new in your fair city, boys.
Tomorrow I'll hold service for the Lord;
If you'd care to take a breather,
I'd be proud if you would be there.
By the way, we need a little cash aboard!"

Frank Leslie tossed a nugget on the table,
Then Ringo threw two fifties on the board.
The pile was quickly mounting,
why, it seemed no one was counting
The night tough Tombstone gambled for the Lord.

When criticized for taking gambled money,
Peabody said, "The sword becomes the spire!
There's no use in our recoiling;
We must keep the Lord's pot boiling,
Though we use the devil's kindling for the fire!"

Dee Strickland Johnson, © February, 2001

This 288 page hard-cover book sells for - $19.95.
ISBN 1-931725-05-5