“He died as he lived” is a fairly common sentiment among mourners. However, this axiom cannot apply all the time, and Davy Crockett’s death might be one such exception. There is still much debate over the circumstances of his death, with many historians treating it as the most essential part of his legend. The event, however, matters less than what came before. Crockett’s death, though the end of a saga, is largely a side note compared to the rest of his legendary career.

The critics of Crisp care about Crockett’s death because to them, Crockett represents the nation. The version that goes down swinging shows tenacity, bravery, and determination, while the version that is captured and executed implies cowardice and suggests that America can be overpowered by another nation. Crisp spent a long time analyzing the letters he received in response to his work and the motivations behind the racist language often used in them. (140). He concluded that people reacted so harshly because of the racial overtones history attributed to the Texan revolution (150). As he mentions in previous chapters, the Texan revolution had little to do with race (41). Instead, racism crept into the retelling as Tejanos and Mexican sympathizers were erased from the record (150). This, combined with the national adoration Crockett gained from Disney’s movie, made the idea of his submission and execution almost unbearable to the public. People, conditioned to racism, did not want to believe that lowly Mexicans could humiliate such a great American. They expressed this through writings and paintings until what they wanted to believe became popularly accepted. Ironically, by doing this, they ignored yet another sympathetic Mexican, General Castrillion, the man who supposedly offered Crockett safety (126). These critics fashion Crockett’s death as the defining moment of his life.

The manner of Crockett’s death is not, however, relevant to his position as a legend. The Disney perspective is certainly romantic, but I am not betrayed by the possibility that Crockett surrendered. One reason for this is that I was born after the time of Disney’s movie, and Crockett has since faded back into relative obscurity. The fears that he addressed in the 50s are now less relevant; Communism is not the looming threat it once was, television has been accepted into society, and the rest of the concerns of post-war America don’t seem to matter. Also, I recognize that he has been pumped up, warped, and inflated over the last several decades, so I tend to regard his portrayal as the quintessential American hero with a little skepticism. As such, his execution at the hands of the Mexicans does not hold much symbolic value. The main lesson the proponents of the ‘fighting death’ want to take away is that independence is worth more than life; however, this point is already made when Crockett chooses to remain with the doomed defenders.

The significant parts of his legend come from his life. The mere fact that he chose to fight at the Alamo displays enough courage and determination for me; the details are not important; he made his decision and accepted the consequences. However he died, his life was what is important.

This week I read half of Charles A. Siringo’s History of Billy the Kid. Siringo was a cowboy of the same era, and he befriended Billy the Kid and his gang. After they parted ways, the author, a huge fan of the Kid, began collecting and recording stories about his exploits into this book. Published in 1920, it gives some insight as to what made the Kid so legendary to begin with, and it could also provide some source material for some of the legends about Billy the Kid.

The overall picture given of the Kid is one of a gallant criminal. He only kills when those who “deserve” it and takes the honor of himself and his friends seriously. For instance, most of the men he kills have either insulted him, stolen from him, or wronged his friends. The victims who do not fall into any of these categories are Mexicans, Jews, and Indians. By limiting his descriptions of violence to people readers dislike anyway, Siringo manages to avoid the stigma of murder and even garners support for the Kid’s actions.

Siringo also paints a picture of loyalty. Time and time again, the Kid rescues his friends and avenges their deaths.  He breaks his friend Segura out of jail (21), he goes back into the desert to find his partner O’Keefe (30), and he swears to “kill every man who took part in the murder of his friend Tunstall” (39). Society respected these values, and so they ignored the less savory parts of the Kid’s exploits.

Furthermore, the tone of the book lends to Billy’s rise as a legend. The author constantly refers to him as a “young hero,” which encourages readers to think of him in the same way. Also, the writing style is detached and clinical, though this may just be the style of 1920. In any event, the Kid shrugs off wounds and 72 hour waterless-stretches with stoic strength, further enhancing his larger than life persona.

Siringo fits into the Parson Weems mold here, building a historical figure into a legendary character. His motivation seems a little hazy, though. It’s not likely he felt Americans needed to model themselves after this outlaw, though he did have an enormous amount of respect for the Kid. Perhaps he magnified the Kid’s story in order to give Americans a common history. Prohibition was just starting up in the 1920s, so it’s possible that he felt a little rule-breaking could even be beneficial for Americans. In the coming week I hope read the final few chapters of the book, mostly to do with the Kid’s death, find some more background on Siringo and the time period of this piece, and discuss some of the legends he mentions here.

The Disney name is perhaps the most legendary in all of film. Generations grew up watching his animations and movies, adopting them into their own childhoods. The man himself possessed a peculiar attitude about his studio, insisting that his workers call him “Walt” and trying to maintain his ever growing company as a family business (Roberts 231). Walt Disney viewed the world as a father might view his children, and he transformed from sympathetic to cynical to idealistic as history unfolded.

His opinions changed over the years as he watched the world grow and struggle. The Great Depression left millions of Americans jobless and was a startling comedown after the heights of the 1920s. Disney saw this and gave the country lovable creations like Mickey Mouse to cheer them up and distract them from their present problems (Roberts 234). Much in the way a father might console his crying child by buying him an ice cream cone, Disney saw too much distress in the decade to ignore.

This changed, however, when one-third of his staff went on strike in the early 40’s (Roberts 232). Disney saw his paternal attitude thrown in his face as the workers he tried so hard to treat fairly erupted into unrest. He had tried to control the damage by giving a pep talk, but when that failed, it seems he lost a little faith in the spirit of his countrymen (Roberts 233). Rather than keep producing the optimistic Mickey Mouse of the 30’s, Disney switched to the cynical, sinister Donald Duck (Roberts 234). Internal affairs were not the only thing that led Disney to this shift; national events like the attack on Pearl Harbor also shifted his worldview to be more aggressive and nation-minded.

As the decade ended, however, and the prosperity of the 50’s arrived, he combined his views from the past two decade into a more nostalgic outlook. He brought back a little of the feel-good spice from his older cartoons mixed with the nationalism brought on by the war. The key to the whole picture was Disneyland, a place that, as he said, emphasized “the story of what made America great and what will keep it great” (Roberts 237). Here, he searched the past for figures that might put the strife and divisiveness of the 40’s behind him and return the country to the ‘good old days’ (Roberts 237).

This search led him to Davy Crockett. Amidst the escapism of the Crockett films, Disney maintained his view that America was a great country founded by great people. He consistently portrays Crockett as a fair individual, and the frontiersman’s backcountry wisdom wins out over the scheming of Washington politicians. His desire to unify Americans with a common history led him to make a hero out of Crockett, regardless of the recorded facts. To Disney, actual history mattered less than what history could become. With Crockett, he let his own views of Americans as a noble and fair people pervade the show, and he succeeded in expressing this to a generation of young Americans.

Today I went to the library and looked at some of the sources we could use for Billy the Kid. There are a bunch of promising books, and they can serve a variety of purposes. The biographies of his life are the most abundant, but the interesting thing is the time gap between them. I found one from 1920, some from the 50’s and 60’s, one from the late 80’s, and one from 2007. Using these, we could track how Billy the Kid’s legend has evolved over time. We could also compare perceptions of him to historical events and known societal attitudes to try and draw some conclusions about both the time period and Billy the Kid. Most of the books were broken up into chapters with descriptive titles that imply something about the period of his life they deal with. Interestingly, in the forwards, many authors emphasize how little information there is about the Kid, yet they manage to write authoritatively on him for several hundred pages. We could investigate why this discrepancy exists.

Also of interest was a collection of newspaper articles written about the Kid throughout his life. I looked through them, and they seem to indicate that he was not perceived as nearly as heroic as later peoples did. The sheriff who shot him was billed as a hero, yet in one of the books, he is described as going into hiding after killing the Kid for fear of public retribution. A question to address is why has history created so many different versions of the Kid’s tale? What time periods adopted which versions? What is the current impression of the bandit, and is he even worth remembering? There was recently a novel written about him, so we could draw on that.

I agree with Charli about Henry Ford; he is famous, but he might be a bit too dry for a legendary figure. Al Capone is certainly more exciting, but I like Billy the Kid the most. He provides a lot of potential discussion topics, and there are plenty of possible readings to choose from.

Books I looked at:

Billy the Kid : the best writings on the infamous outlaw / [compiled by] Harold Dellinger.

Billy the Kid; Las Vegas newspaper accounts of his career, 1880-1881.

History of “Billy the Kid,” by Chas. A. Siringo

Billy the Kid : a Short and Violent Life by Robert M. Utley.