People believe in and identify themselves with these myths and will scratch and kick to maintain their western self-image. The rest of the country and the world believes in the heroic myth because the tourism bureaux will never let anyone forget it.
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Today, at Compton Verney in Warwickshire, an exhibition opens called The American West, which aims to explore the heroic myth from the days of the trappers to today's political and corporate cowboy culture. Curator Richard William Hill, of Cree-Canadian descent, describes his skittering, kitsch-gathering trip through the American west in search of cowboy and Indian culture for this exhibition as "Gonzo curating". It's good this exhibition is happening in Warwickshire: if it were somewhere in the real American west, not many local people would be interested.
In the real west people see only those qualities that fit the limited concept of individual freedom, independence, toughness and pioneer "spirit". The easiest way to do this is by donning the ritual garments that symbolise all these presumed virtues: ten-gallon hat, boots and spurs, pearl-buttoned yoked shirt, blue jeans.
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Western Day celebrations, stock exhibitions and rodeos often declare obligatory western attire for local inhabitants so tourists are treated to hundreds of faux cowboys limping around in high-heeled boots. A day later I saw him again, shuffling across the street in a pair of commodious bedroom slippers. Architecture helps: log mansions in the Bitterroots; the faux adobe structures of Santa Fe municipally regulated construction of stucco over chicken wire and plywood ; the still-popular false-front stores of many small western towns all carry the message that the west of the 21st century is still the west of Teepees stand as come-ons in front of shops selling "Indian" crafts made in China.
The Native American painter David Bradley is a master at deflating various parts of the myth with his sharp observations of the real Santa Fe: cigar-smoking invader Texans, neon, gay Indians Tonto and the Lone Ranger smiling from the balcony of their cute pink house , massage parlours, the hustle and grab of the art game, the fallen cowboy under the sofa. No one in today's west wants to know that most trappers were rough, illiterate men, who used their liaisons with tribal women to discover the best trapping areas and trading opportunities.
Their goal was financial success and to retire wealthy and respected back in old Missou'. The highly detailed illustrations of artist John Clymer, used on the covers of many western histories, show these big-chinned, clean, buckskin-clad trappers on handsome horses in stunning landscapes. Sometimes there is an Indian in the painting, but usually in the background or in subordinate position, and often with a receding chin - subtle reinforcements of the myth of Caucasian superiority.
The trappers, like their successors, the cowboys, were a force in the west only for about 20 years before the beaver market crashed. The fur trade was the earliest act in the boom and bust economics drama that characterises the region. The cowboys, many of them ill-paid and armed Texas teenagers, were not revered in their brief years after the civil war driving cows up the trail to northern pastures. They did not call themselves cowboys but cowhands, punchers, buckaroos, wranglers and waddies. They were hired hands, under the control of older foremen, themselves employed by investor cowmen.
The myth, of course, contains no whiff of homosexual behaviour on the part of these cowboys who often shared bedrolls as well as work and danger. But little notes here and there, bits of verse, indicate they were not the pure heterosexual tough guys we might think.
How the west was spun
The cowboy became heroic under the pens and brushes of the painters of the so-called Old West. In their hundreds of pictures and sculptures depicting brave white men in terrifying combat, usually against Native Americans, it could be said that Remington and Russell created the cowboy hero. Remington, who had been raised in a well-to-do New York family, fell hard for the west.
He started as an illustrator and worked to become known as a painter, until he became enshrined as the most masterly of the narrative western painters. Charles M Russell is known almost as well for his semi-literate illustrated letters as for his paintings and sculpture. He was born into a prosperous family in St Louis, but was psychologically bound to his frontier ancestors, the Bent clan, who operated the famous fur-trading post, Bent's Fort, on the Arkansas River.
His family let him spend a summer on a ranch in Montana when he was For the next 11 years he worked cattle round-ups and night-herded horses, drawing what he saw. He became very popular among the cowboys and not a few western families today treasure a Charlie Russell illustrated letter handed down from a grandfather.
Russell's last painting, unfinished when he died, Father De Smet's First Meeting with the Flathead Indians, is included in this exhibition. He drifted down to Montana a few years later, learned idiomatic cowboy English, did time in Nevada State Prison for cattle rustling, and worked as a stuntman in the early Hollywood westerns. He explained away his accent with the story that he was the orphaned son of a French trapper.
But the subterfuge eventually ruined his health. He was one of many who not only swallowed the myth entire, but added his own distinctive gloss to the portrait of the solitary, decent cowboy whose best pal is his horse.
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Arthur F Tait was a popular painter of the west who never set foot on the plains he depicted. He did visit Chicago for the World's Columbian Exposition in , but that was it. He worked hard at research and used every crumb of information about the west that came his way. His pictures were entirely derivative, unsullied by any personal observations or experiences. He owned or borrowed a suit of buckskins and a pair of moccasins and was photographed wearing this western garb while pointing a rifle up and away.
He then used the photograph of himself to paint his first western picture, On the Warpath The landscape of this painting reflects an eastern environment, but not the plains, mountains nor river banks of the west. The subject trapper is charging his flintlock pan with powder while his horse climbs a steep bank - quite a difficult task. These three artists shaped the idea of the American west as we know it. There are still men who work cows and who wear the traditional regalia especially on Saturday nights when they hit the bars looking for girls who don't mind sexually transmitted diseases as long as they come with a ten-gallon hat and boots.
Film-maker Vanalyne Green, visiting Wyoming a decade ago, made a documentary, Saddle Sores, detailing her amatory and medical adventures following an encounter with a local cowboy.
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Last year, when I bumped into someone who knew the cowboys in the film and asked what had become of them, he remarked casually that they were probably all in jail - ranch work is a dependable fall-back job for ex-convicts. Women in the west boiled down to emigrant wives and female children on their way to Oregon and California over the dusty trails; frontier school teachers; the wives that ranchers, cowboys, store-keepers and army officers went back east to marry and bring west; and, at the bottom of the ladder, prostitutes and squaws.
One of the west's favourite sub-myths is the prostitute with the heart of gold who has been forced into the trade by tragedy and poverty, who treats her customers fairly, becomes the intimate confidante of powerful men, owns half the town, gives anonymously to the church and eventually marries a rancher. The myth reassembled itself almost instantly. Frontier prostitutes were poor, wretched, with no chance to escape the life once they were in it.
They were vulnerable to alcohol and drug addiction, extortion, disease, unwanted pregnancies, brutality, arrest and jail. If they married at all it was usually briefly to low, transient men with as many problems as the women. Western newspapers used prostitutes as the butts of arch humour, and did not hesitate to name names.
Small wonder that so many of these women killed themselves. Many land features in the west are locally called "squaws' tits", though states and mapmakers have renamed most. They decorate too many calendars. In the west, Native American women were either squaws or princesses. And what of the whites and Indians? Myth sifts the complex multi-mix of tribes and nationalities to absurd simplicity, pitting conquering white settlers and US army against generic but "fiendish, cruel and bloodthirsty" Indians.
One reason the Battle of Greasy Grass Custer's Last Stand so catches the American imagination is because it could be easily grasped and because it illustrated basic prejudices: a few white American soldiers on one side, a large mass of red Indians on the other.
This battle has achieved a kind of macabre popularity thanks to the Anheuser-Busch brewery of St Louis which in printed lithographs of Cassily Adams's painting, Custer's Last Stand, showing the beleaguered general in the centre of the swarming battle brandishing his sword and holding his empty pistol by the barrel to use as a club.
The painting was crammed with historical errors but it fuelled the myth. The brewer sold more than a million of the prints, which decorated bars and homes from coast to coast. Although white westerners today like to believe there were only a few groups of backward Native Americans in the golden west when Europeans arrived in the New World, there were, in fact, between , and one million Native Americans in America, people who had successfully practised stone-age cultures for at least 12, years.
In the 18th and 19th centuries, tribes were on the move, eager for the horses of the southwest, pushed out of their old territories in the east by other tribes and encroaching civilisation.
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By the s, the tribes, pushed off their lands, riddled with smallpox, tuberculosis and venereal diseases, were starving and tattered. Not all the invaders of the west were blinded by greed and their own ambitions. He objected to the extermination of the buffalo; to the barbed-wire fences that subdivided the land; to the cowboys; and to the railroads, which he called "the fatal coming". There arose in the eastern part of the United States a widespread belief that the Native Americans, like the bison, were vanishing, and now not only painters but photographers rushed west, first with their cumbersome wet plates, and then after with handier dry plates.
From the s onward, cabinet card photographs of Native Americans were hugely popular. The Native American quickly became a commercial commodity, eventually used to sell everything from sports teams to canned peaches. Not a few of the photographers used props and costumes to enhance their images; real Native Americans were, by the s, demoralised and clad in dirty rags. The sense that they would soon be gone goaded museums and collectors to start gathering up artifacts - baskets, beadwork, pottery, arrows, cradleboards.
This habit became ingrained in westerners who always seek and pick up arrowheads. Not knowing what to do with them, most put them in glass jars and save them for some obscure future. By the early 20th century, the Native Americans, safely confined to reservations and subject to the tender mercies of the Bureau of Indian Affairs, underwent a magic transformation.
A kind of romantic, impressionistic pictorialism began to show them as a handsome, noble and tragic though still generic people. Flynn, who is one of nine inductees in this year's Arkansas Sports Hall of Fame class, remains the most decorated bull rider from the state of Arkansas. A native of Charleston, Flynn's riding career began as a boy, where he displayed better skills riding calves than other boys at a local riding club. With Flynn perched atop, his calves would jump over troughs, harrows, various farm equipment and sticker bushes. Flynn won Arkansas' high school all-around rodeo title and pursued a professional career after attending the University of Arkansas for three years.
He debuted as a pro in When riding full time, Flynn often competed in a rodeo every day. Sometimes, he'd ride in two in one day. Rarely, he made three in a day. In rodeo, the more events you can make, the more money you can make. Money translates to points in the world ranking system. More money earned would raise your world ranking, Flynn said. Gay, one of the Flynn's toughest contenders, got around on a plane. Gay was attending more rodeos than Flynn, often forcing Flynn to chase in the world rankings.
As Flynn remembered, Gay would enter more than rodeos in a year. Flynn could make to events. Flynn finished third in the world three times. A lot of bulls. Flynn finished in the top 15 in the nation in earnings in and became the first Arkansan to qualify for the NFR. Before Flynn was inducted into the Professional Bull Riders Ring of Honor in and the Pro Rodeo Hall of Fame in , Flynn was renowned for being a tough guy -- so much so he said he has told the story of being gored in Salt Lake City to, well, "everybody.
Missed my heart a half inch. Split my liver.