Billy Connolly's Route 66_ The Big Yin on the Ultimate American Road Trip - Billy Connolly [62]
‘Aren’t yer satisfied, gentlemen? Put up your shootin’ irons or there’ll be more dead men here,’ he said.
They took the hint.
This was the first recorded example of one of those face-to-face, in-the-street, Hollywood-style gunfights – the quick-draw duels that are so familiar from the movies. However, they were not as common as the Westerns would have us believe. In fact, this was one of very few occasions when such a gunfight happened. More often, cowboys shot each other in the back. But Wild Bill’s story was quickly seized upon and exaggerated by the dime novels of the time. He even went on to act in a Buffalo Bill production – the forerunner of the Western movie.
Nowadays, a couple of brass markers in Springfield’s town square show where Hickok and Tutt stood during the face-off. On the day I visited, there was a huge building site in the middle of the square, obscuring the line of sight between the two markers. But they were so far apart that I started to grow suspicious about the whole story. I reckon that Wild Bill must have arranged for a sniper on the roof of one of the buildings, because it’s almost impossible to hit anything from seventy-five yards with a handgun, especially the pistols they had in those days. That’s why so many people were shot in the back, from point-blank range.
Hickok was arrested for the murder of Tutt, then charged with manslaughter, but he was acquitted at trial. As Tutt had initiated the fight, been the first to display overt aggression and, according to two witness reports, reached for his pistol first, Hickok was absolved of guilt. He was even praised for giving Tutt several chances to avoid the confrontation, rather than simply shooting him the moment he felt disrespected – which was how matters of honour were usually resolved in the Old West.
Hickok went on to become the law in various other Western towns. Often his reputation alone was sufficient to persuade dusty cowboys to think twice about disrupting the peace, but his fame was a double-edged sword. To some reprobates, killing a man of such high repute was a trophy worth pursuing. During the afternoon of 2 August 1876, Wild Bill was playing cards in the No. 10 Saloon in Deadwood, Dakota Territory. For once, he’d abandoned his usual precaution of sitting with his back to the wall, and somebody shot him in the back of the head. Crack – straight through the skull. None of that quick-draw nonsense. Boof. Dead. Bill was holding two pairs – aces and eights – a decent poker hand. Ever since that day, it’s been known as the ‘dead man’s hand’.
Back in Springfield, the square is now radically different from how it was in 1865. When I visited, it appeared to have become a place where people with nothing much to do hang out. I saw one poor guy being moved along by the police. All he was doing was having a little snooze on the pavement. I always find something like that sad, but here it struck me as peculiar, too, because I’d met unparalleled kindness since arriving in the city. The people had been unbelievably friendly and helpful.
Earlier in the day, I’d been standing at a cash machine in a garage. A very pretty black girl, probably only fourteen or fifteen years old, was being served at the next counter.
‘Excuse me,’ she said.
‘Yes?’ I replied.
‘Your shoes are beautiful,’ she said. ‘Have a nice day.’ Then she simply left the garage.
Isn’t that lovely? My shoes were beautiful – black and white with tassels – but how often would somebody take the time to compliment you on something like that? And everyone I met in Springfield was exactly the same. Exceptionally friendly, those Springfielders and Missourians – or Ozarkians, as they call themselves, because of the Ozark Mountains.
I can’t tell you precisely where I went next, because