“Virgil [Earp] commanded, ‘Throw up your hands, boys. I intend to disarm you.’ Frank McLaury answered, ‘We will’ with the possible intention of adding ‘not,’ but even as he uttered the first two words the cowboys began to move. Their friends gaping from the street would testify that Frank and Billy [Claiborne] started to raise their hands while Tom [McLaury] threw open his coat to indicate he wasn’t armed, but the Earps would recall that they heard instead the sound of pistol hammers being cocked. Everyone’s nerves were so overwrought that even the slightest twitch of a hand on either side was instinctively interpreted by the other side as initiating an attack…”
- Jeff Guinn, The Last Gunfight: The Real Story of the Shootout at the O.K. Corral – and How it Changed the American West
Some years ago, back before we had children, my wife and I drove into Tombstone, Arizona as part of a summer road trip. It was late in the season, and hot as an oven, and my first reaction was that it was like Deadwood without the people.
The streets – asphalt, not dirt – were desolate, and it took little imagination to conjure tumbleweed blowing across our path. There were stores – a collection of western outfitters all selling the same boots and Remington paintings – but few customers. To no one’s surprise, there was a restaurant called the O.K. Café, an establishment name so obvious I didn't even take a picture.
Well, I took a picture, but I didn’t feel proud of myself.
The putative site of the gunfight – the legendary O.K. Corral itself – was locked up for the day. I wasn’t too distressed, because I wouldn’t have paid to get inside anyway, seeing as how the actual gunfight took place in a vacant lot on the corner of Fremont and 3rd. We went to the Courthouse Museum where we learned a lot, but mostly that empty old courthouse museums are a bit creepy. Finally, we ended up eating at Big Nose Kate’s Saloon, named after Doc Holliday’s erstwhile lover and traveling companion. There were no other patrons, so the flat-screen televisions that played Tombstone on an endless loop flickered to an audience that did not exist.
In short, the Tombstone we visited was doing a pretty good impression of its late-19th century self. That is to say, like any boom town gone bust, it was empty.
Our brief visit perfectly encapsulates what I feel about the O.K. Corral. It’s all hat and no cattle.
The O.K. Corral barely rates as a historical footnote. It was a gang fight, a local quarrel played out on a tiny stage with few actual reverberations other than to those directly affected by it. Yet, for whatever reason, the seconds-long shootout has become part of the mythology of the American West, dramatically overrepresented in novels and films.
(One theory as to its longevity: that catchy name. I venture a guess that if the gunfight took place at Kjellfrid Dagfinn’s Corral, we might all have forgotten about it long ago.)
Jeff Guinn’s The Last Gunfight is a densely-detailed, serious-minded, 300-plus page account of a fleeting scrap of western lore. Though the ingredients here are the stuff of dime-novels, Guinn is a rock-solid historian who is impressively unwilling to go anywhere but where the facts lead.
With that said, let’s start with what this book does not do.
The Last Gunfight’s subtitle – no doubt the fault of some eager copy editor – proclaims the O.K. Corral as the gunfight that “changed the American West.” To Guinn’s credit, at no point does he attempt to prove this lofty claim. I doubt he could.
By 1881, the year the gunfight occurred, there wasn’t a whole lot of time left for the American West to change. It would not be long before it drifted inexorably over the clifftop of reality into the chasm of myth. Custer was already dead; Wild Bill Hickok was already dead; Crazy Horse was already dead. In nine more years, the 1890 census would close the American Frontier.
That doesn’t mean that Guinn still doesn’t blow this event out of all proportion. This is the kind of book that unabashedly opens with a chapter called “the West,” and then brazenly attempts to distill its history into less than 20 pages. This is also the kind of book where the build-up to the bloodbath is agonizingly drawn, freighted with repeat references to tumbling dominoes.
With that said, I still enjoyed parts of this a lot.
Despite what I’ve expressed, I appreciate the earnestness with which Guinn treats his subject. He is obviously fascinated by it – gathering minutiae as though it were gold flakes – and he takes apparent joy in sharing every last scrap of his research. I would never begrudge a person their passions and obsessions, having more than a few ones of my own.
The story Guinn tells has all the familiar ingredients familiar from Hollywood renditions. Tombstone, the booming center of a silver rush, with pretensions to be an arid San Francisco. Wyatt Earp, the “famed” lawman from Dodge, fresh arrived with brothers Morgan and Virgil. The Cowboys, a gang of rustlers that included quick-draw artist Johnny Ringo, enigmatic Curly Bill Brocius, and preposterous bumbler Ike Clanton. Nipping at the edges of this circus was suave little Johnny Behan, the county sheriff.
And at the center was a woman, Josephine Marcus, of whom little is known and much is speculated.
In common telling, the Earps are the white hats and the Cowboys are the black hats; the Earps represented law and order and civilization, while the Cowboys held to the lawless, violent past. If only things broke so clean.
The Last Gunfight probably classifies as a “deconstruction” of the O.K. Corral. Sometimes, however, it felt less like Guinn was stripping away mythological elements, than he was adding plot convolutions. By the time I finished this, I was actually a bit confused. Relative to other western gunfights, it’s really quite complicated!
When we finally get to the main event – two hundred pages into the book – it is delivered with confidence and aplomb and ridiculous specificity. Of course, much of the eyewitness testimony – on which Guinn bases his account – has to be viewed critically, since all the participants had reason to lie (with one of the biggest fibbers being Wyatt himself). I don’t think that really matters. This is not the kind of book that had me constantly turning to the endnotes or parsing the sources (though this is scrupulously sourced). Instead, I mainly enjoyed the ride.
While the leadup to the O.K. Corral can be distractingly tedious, the aftermath is excellent. Wyatt Earp’s infamous “revenge ride” after his brother Morgan’s assassination gets surprisingly little treatment, likely due to a dearth of credible sources. Instead, the bulk of the post-O.K. Corral material is made up of the Inquest into the deaths of Billy Clanton and Tom and Frank McLaury, who died at the hands of the Earps and Doc Holliday. This section if probably the best of the book, combining an interesting primer on Federal Territorial law with a lot of first-person testimony regarding the Earp/Clanton feud.
The Last Gunfight is not nearly as good as Guinn’s books on Charles Manson and Jim Jones. The reason, I think, is that Manson and Jones live up to their ghoulish reputations. The truth about those two charismatic murderers beats all fiction you can dream.
The O.K. Corral, on the other hand, becomes less interesting the more you excavate it. By the glaring lamp of the historian, a classic morality tale becomes a complex turf war over intensely local stakes. In the end, the drama emanating from Tombstone – the gunfight, the revenge killings, the mysterious death of Johnny Ringo – lend themselves far better to dramatists than the scholar.