Larger than Life: The Mystery of Billy the Kid

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Welcome to Civics and Coffee, a history podcast. The show all about United States history, delivered to you and the time it takes to enjoy your morning cup of coffee. I'm your host, Alicia, a historian trained in United States history with a passion for telling both the known and unknown parts of America's past. So grab your coffee and get ready for some bite-sized history. This band, Bonnie, was a notorious character. Large awards had been offered for his arrest by the territorial authorities and frequent attempts made to capture him. He was finally captured by my deputy, lodged in jail, and afterwards shot by Deputy Garrett in attempting to escape. U.S. Marshal John Sherman Jr. November 20th, 1882. Hey everyone. Welcome back. The legends say he killed 21 men before the age of 21. He was a gunslinger, an outlaw, and a talented escape artist who didn't meet a cell he couldn't open. For more than a century, the legend of the young man known as Billy the Kid has sparked curiosity for millions. A perfect symbol of the frontier west, the story of Billy the Kid is one filled with danger, adventure, and righteousness. But just how much of it is true? Longtime listener and supporter of the show, Darren, asked that I take a dive into some of the characters that make up the quote unquote wild west, including Billy the Kid. And so this week I am exploring the life and legend of the young outlaw. Who was he? How did he become so notorious? And why is it that his story has such stamina? Grab your cup of coffee, Peeps. Let's do this. The legend that became Billy the Kid was born Henry McCarty, likely on September seventeenth, eighteen fifty nine, in New York City. His mother Catherine was made a widow when Henry was quite young, not even five, and she, along with Henry's brother, packed up and headed west, landing in locales like Indianapolis and eventually New Mexico, where she met and married William Antrim in Santa Fe. Henry enrolled in the local school where he did well and demonstrated a high level of literacy, uncommon for the folks he would soon become associated with. Unfortunately, Catherine died from tuberculosis in 1874 when Henry was still a young teenager, and despite marrying, Antrim displayed no interest in raising a son. Suddenly on his own, Henry relied on his instincts and charm for survival. It wasn't too long, however, before the young man had a brush with the law. No doubt frustrated, lost, lonely, and struggling to find his way in the world, Henry was first arrested in september eighteen seventy five for theft with a boarding mate, George Schaefer. Per the legends, he was new to the life of crime, and so Henry was put on watch duty, while George was set off to conduct the actual robbery. When they were caught, Henry was charged with larceny, only to escape up a chimney two days later. However, it wasn't until two years later, in 1877, when the young outlaw would commit his first murder, just shy of his eighteenth birthday in Arizona. His victim was Francis Wendy Cahill, described as a longtime antagonist of Henry's. Cahill was a local blacksmith who rode into town for a drink at the local saloon. Wendy and Henry, who was also known as Kid at the time, got into a verbal back and forth, which led to the two getting physical. Kidd pulled a gun, and before anyone could grab it from him, the pistol went off, hitting Wendy in the stomach. He died from his injuries the next day. Kidd was arrested and put into jail where he once again escaped, fleeing to New Mexico, where he took the assumed name William H. Booney, or Bonnie, I've seen it spelled both ways, and tried to blend in and not attract too much attention. Kid, who also answered to Billy, was known to be agreeable and quick to make friends. Despite having what one historian described as two squirrel-like front teeth that blemished his appearance, Billy was overall a decent looking young kid, only 140 pounds with a smooth face that was a dead giveaway to his lack of age and experience. While on the run, Billy befriended and briefly rode with the Jesse Evans gang, but was soon headed toward Lincoln County, where he met John Tunstall, a man that maybe did not so much as alter his life's path as much as expedited its end. Tunstall was an Englishman who had come to the United States with visions of gold. But his gold wasn't sitting in the rivers and waterways like California in the 1850s and 1860s. Tunstall's dreams of riches were bound up in cattle and the federal contracts he hoped to secure to supply the nearby army post and local Indian reservation. There was just one small problem with his dream. There was already somebody in place. Lawrence G. Murphy ran an outfit known as the House, a tweed style ring built on corruption. Murphy partnered with James J. Dolan and John H. Riley to dominate the local economy, deriving their success mostly due to nefarious activities, including stealing cattle from local ranch owner John Chisholm, which they then sold at an inflated price for maximum profit to the U.S. government at both the Moscalero Apache Indian Reservation and Fort Stanton Army Post, both in Lincoln County. Their outfit, the house, got its name thanks to the imposing structure built on the town's lone street, and there wasn't much anyone could do as the partners enjoyed protection from local politicians, law enforcement, and judges. The house felt secure in their position, and they weren't interested in sharing, but these facts did not seem to matter to Tunstall. Financed largely by his father's businesses in London, Tunstall partnered with a junior attorney, Alexander McSween, who shared his ambitions, and a local rancher, John Chisholm, to open a store in direct competition with Murphy's house. Aware that his encroachment might provoke a violent response, but unwilling to engage in violent tactics himself, Tunstall made sure to hire a series of men who could serve as his proxy should things go south. Brought on under the auspices that they were simply ranch hands, these men, who were usually better with a pistol than they were with any cattle, would be prepared in theory should a fight break out. The kid was one of the so-called cow hands, hired on by Tunstall after he was apparently caught with one of Tunstall's stolen horses. Although Tunstall thought he was prepared for a fight with hiring a small band of misfits, they proved ineffective in keeping him alive, and his murder in february eighteen seventy eight served as the launching point for the Lincoln County War. The war, considered by some historians as a crucial moment in contributing to creating a period of turmoil for Arizona and New Mexico for several years, was a relatively short affair, with brief moments of violence spanning a period of months and actual engagement only lasting days. Billy, who would go on to be memorialized as a result of the war, was with Tunstall when he died. It's hard to know whether Billy would have eventually turned to a life that did not involve guns and crime, but given his trajectory up to that point, Tunstall's death seems to be just one more piece in a complicated puzzle, and it set him on a course that launched the kid into the history books and dime novels and pop culture memory. Billy and the other hired hands vowed to avenge their employer's murder and eventually organized as the regulators. While little more than a vigilante group, they operated in a bit of a gray area, thanks to collaborating with local authorities. Justice of the Peace, John Wilson, and a special constable, Dick Brewer, were given authority to make arrests, and the regulators received compensation in their quest to identify and take in John Tunsell's murderers. However, they weren't the only ones claiming legal authority. The men associated with the house took legal cover behind the local sheriff and district court judge, making for a very messy, confusing quote unquote war. Regardless of the questionable legality of either side, the regulators went on the hunt for the posse responsible for the murder of their employer. Before long, they captured several suspects, all of whom were killed. Although likely not a leader of the group just yet, the kid was present and actively participated in the violence. And in March 1878, he came face to face with Sheriff William Brady, the man associated with the house, and launching a surprise attack from behind a ten-foot adobe wall, Billy and friends opened fire that ended the sheriff's life. The kid suffered a shot in the thigh, but was otherwise unharmed and managed to escape. Over the next several months, additional spats of violence between the two sides rang out, culminating in the five-day battle known as the war. It all climaxed on Lincoln's Seoul Street on July 15th, leading to the defeat of McSween and those under his charge. Some 60 regulators were ensconced inside the store once shared by Tunstall and McSween when it was set on fire by Murphy supporters. The men inside went to a fleet of safety, and Billy, who always seemed to have a bit of luck on his side, made it out alive. But McSween would not be so lucky and would be shot to death. And it was his death that elevated Billy to the leader of the mismatch group. Hearing of the chaos happening in the New Mexico Territory, President Hayes appointed Lee Wallace as governor. Wallace, a former Civil War general and the future author of the novel Ben Hur, decided the best approach to get a handle on the situation was to issue amnesty to all parties involved in the Lincoln County War, and extend an invite to Billy, where he promised a full pardon in exchange for Billy's testimony against two men responsible for murder. Billy agreed and was taken into custody at Lincoln, where he stayed until the spring of 1879, giving the surrounding area some peace. And Billy fulfilled his commitment, testifying in court in April 1879, which led to the indictments. The promised pardon, however, never came to fruition. Realizing he could not realistically live on the right side of the law, Billy ditched the safety of his holding location, mounted a horse, and left town. Billy sought payment for his service in the war from John Chisholm, the cattle rancher, but was denied. Left with little other options, Billy gathered the group of gunfighters who he fought alongside with during the Lincoln County War and continued on a brief life of crime, killing another man, a bounty hunter named Joe Grant in January of 1880, and stealing cattle. Soon, Billy went from a vengeful but charming outlaw to a nuisance that needed handling. Cattlemen in the area banded together to establish the Panhandle Stock Association in Mobody, and a $500 price tag was put on his head. Billy was briefly captured in a little town northwest of Lincoln, only to escape and get recaptured in November 1880, where he and his gang were transported to Las Vegas, then Santa Fe, and finally to Missilla, where they faced trial for the murder of Sheriff Brady. Despite being one of several involved in the shooting, Billy was used by the prosecution as an example and portrayed as the murderer during the trial. He was convicted and sentenced to hang, but made yet another escape on April 28, 1881, killing two deputies in the process. Yet again, another manhunt was underway, this time led by Sheriff Pat Garrett and aided by John W. Poe, who was serving as a special detective on behalf of the Panhandle Stock Association. The drama all came to an end on the night of July 14th, 1881. Billy was tracked down to Maxwell Ranch, where he was visiting his paramour, Celsa Gutierrez. As the lawmen approached, Billy appeared with his pistol, demanding to know who they were. In the chaos, the detectives tried to talk the young men off the ledge, and as Billy backed into a darkened bedroom, he was shot and killed by Sheriff Garrett, who recognized his voice. Billy the Kid's luck had finally run out, and he died without ever knowing who pulled the fateful trigger. He was just months shy of his 22nd birthday. Despite his brief life of crime, the death of the outlaw, who the press coined Billy the Kid, made international news. The mythmaking continued in death when the authentic life of Billy the Kid hit shelves in early 1882. While touted as a biography written by Pat Garrett, the man who shot and killed Billy, the book was actually ghostwritten by a journalist and was filled with more fiction than biographical details. The novel further fueled the creation of a frontier outlaw that was romanticized by future generations who transformed Billy into an anti-hero that came to dominate pop culture. His story became so famous that even famed folk singer Woody Guthrie recorded a song in his honor in the mid-20th century. Henry the Kid McCarty packed a lot of adventure into his 21 years and in the process shot his way into the imagination of millions. As of 2012, he held the record for the most motion pictures made about a single individual. Of course, much of the legend turned out to be just that stories cobbled together from rumors and fiction, including his moniker. While the press dubbed him Billy the Kid, there is no evidence to suggest he ever went by or was known by that name. Friends and acquaintances called him either Billy or Kid. McCarty operated outside of the law and was responsible for the murder of a number of men, but he was not the rabid, bloodthirsty murderer who took the life of a man for each year he walked the earth. He was a poor orphan forced to grow up too soon in an environment that wasn't very kind to adolescent men trying to figure their way in the world. This isn't to excuse his behavior or to diminish the harm he caused, but it is an attempt to contextualize the life and time that he lived and humanize someone who has become so fictionalized it's hard to know where the myth ends and the truth begins. McCarty may not be everything the legends have described, but the anti-hero portrait created after his death continues to embody the iconic American West of the late 19th century, an image likely to remain for generations to come. My thanks to Darren for suggesting I dive into some of the wilder sides of the West. I will be back next week with another one of his requests that touch on the same theme, so be sure to come back for more. And if you ever want me to cover a topic, just let me know. I always love fielding your requests, and they usually send me down some very interesting rabbit holes. You can reach me via the social channels or of course on the website. And before I sign off, I want to say a big thank you and welcome to Tibbs and Kate, who recently joined the Patreon. I am so happy to have you, and your support means the world to me. You too can join the Patreon where for as little as $3 per month you can enjoy a little extra Civics and Coffee. Your support goes right back into the show and pays for things like research material and hosting fees. If you want to learn more, be sure to check out the website at www.civicsandcoffee.com. Thanks, peeps. I'll see you next time. Thanks for sitting down with me as I explored this chapter of American history. If you liked what you heard, be sure to subscribe and share with your friends. I look forward to our next cup of coffee together.