June 1, 2006 issue
Editor’s Note: The following column is from the archives of Bill Walraven, written several years ago, used with permission of the author.
“Sometimes I know when to keep my mouth shut. One of them is when I feel the urge to sing.
Most guys can let go in the shower when they have a sudden urge to be an Enrico Caruso. I mean the closed door, the noise of the shower, ought to hide discordant sounds in the enclosed shower stall.
I don't even try that anymore since the time I was singing a little ditty to myself and the rest of the household got the idea that I had injured myself seriously. Maybe I had fallen through the glass shower enclosure and badly mutilated myself and was lying there screaming and bellowing, unable to reach the lock on the bathroom door.
As I paused for breath, I heard voices outside. "Naw, he ain't hurt," Star Boarder said. "No emergency. He's just singing. I mean he's making noise and thinks he's singing."
There shouldn't be critics around for a one-man act with no audience. You can accompany the radio in the car with the windows up, but you get strange looks there, too.
One time, back in college, some guys were singing and invited me to join in. I did. One of the other guys stopped and yelled, "What in the #$%&# are you doing?"
"Singing," I said.
"Don't do it," he said, "and nobody will ever know."
I don't know what happened. One of my ancestors was in the War of 1812 - as a musician. Something went awry somewhere along the genealogical track. Grandma's brother's family all turned out musical, singing in choirs, playing musical instruments. One was a vocalist for a West Coast dance band.
All the talent took a turn somewhere. My mother played the piano. But the other side of the family took over - the tone-deaf side.
I remember a Christmas party years back. Some of the guys from the office were harmonizing and sounding pretty good. They sang in church choirs. As the party progressed, their singing seemed to get better and better.
It got so good that Fritz Harsdorff, a reporter here then who also has no business singing, and I felt compelled to raise our voices in the joyous occasion.
All of a sudden the songfest came to a screeching stop. The songsters looked at each other. "I think I need a drink," one of them said.
"Yeah," said another. "I'm tired of singing. Let's do something else."
I felt like the grinch who stole Christmas. Because I like Christmas carols. Now I hum or mumble them under my breath so people won't think I'm making fun of Christmas.
I also like the old hymns. A lot of people can't sing a lick sing hymns. I was never a Baptist, but I like their sounds, "The Old Rugged Cross," "Onward, Christian Soldiers," and a bunch more. Sometimes the people singing them are so terrible I can join in and nobody notices.
But once at church a little old lady turned around to see what all the racket behind her was. Ever since them, (not lately, I confess) I open my mouth to the words so everybody thinks I am singing. I wouldn't want church to let out early.
The only success I have every had with my voice was with the Javelina Hog Call. It's an ear-splitting screech. After you do three or four of them, you can't talk for at least a week.
Last time I tried it was a New Year's Eve party. I gave out one of those mighty yells. A fellow standing nearby said "Attaway. You tell 'em, Tarzan."
I never tried it again. And I would never attempt the "Star Spangled Banner." I'm afraid I'd have hogs coming up the center aisle for sure.

Three-Fingered Jack wounded

By Ben Traywick, Guest Columnist, Tombstone, Arizona

Reprinted with permission of the author

June 1, 2006

Editor’s Note: From a collection of short stories by Ben Traywick, used with permission of the author. This story is called “Jeff Milton, Lawman Extraordinaire.” Following is part 4.
   The "Prospector," a Tombstone newspaper, printed the story of the attempted holdup and incidents that followed:
"Last evening, Jack Dunlap, known as Three Fingered Jack, who was one of the robbers in the holdup at Fairbank, was brought to town by Deputy Sheriff Bravin and placed in the hospital for medical treatment. Three Fingered Jack was in bad condition and suffered terrible agonies from his wounds received by Messenger Milton at the holdup. He was given medical attention and his wounds dressed after which he rested as easily as could be expected. 
Jack was found alone lying on the ground near a burned cactus, when run onto by the posse. He suffered intensely from his wounds and fallen from his horse. The rest of his comrades, five in all, were riding hard and never stopped when he fell, leaving the sufferer to his fate. Jack had fallen from his horse about 10 p.m. and laid unconscious until early morning. Being cold he lighted a cactus, where he fell. All again was a blank until he was aroused by his clothes being on fire, a hole the size of a hat having burned through his overcoat and clothes and scorched his skin. The bottom of his pants had also caught and slightly burned his foot. He managed to put out the fire but laid on the ground until the posse arrived about 1 p.m., being unable to move. He had lain in his wretched condition over 14 hours without water and was famished for drink. He was fixed up as comfortable as possible. He was very weak but told his above experience.
Asked how many robbers implicated in the holdup Jack answered five and notwithstanding the heartless and inhuman treatment of his companies in leaving one of their number to die on the prairie, he did not divulge their identity. He stated the five men separated in different directions and met near Contention. They arrived as per program and were all together headed this way, when Jack fell from his horse.
A posse of six men, headed by and in charge of Deputy Sheriff Sid Mullen, continued on the trail. When near Tombstone last night they came here, secured a fresh start, and continued the hunt. Deputy Mullen is confident of running down the men and proposed to stay with it until the end. The posse comprises Deputies Mullen, Thos. Vaughn and Chas. Wood, Geo. Kuntz, Jas. White, and Mr. T. Broderick of Santa Cruz County. The latter was on the train at the time of the holdup and joined the posse.
Sheriff White is leaving no stone unturned to apprehend the fugitives.
At last reports today the posse was on a hot trail. It is believed the fugitives will fight before surrendering and news is anxiously awaited.
Three Fingered Jack was seen in the hospital today by a 'Prospector' reporter. Jack was very weak and feeble and could scarcely talk. Seven wounds were found on his body, all buckshot wounds, four of which grazed his skin and three entered his body, one in his abdomen and two in the groin. He had bled considerable internally and was weak and exhausted. There are faint chances for his recovery.
Jack recognized the reporter and feebly whispered, 'I am too weak to talk. I am getting weaker all the time. I guess it's all up this time.'
'Did your partners know you were wounded?' asked the reporter. The reply was in the affirmative,
'Did they offer you no assistance when you fell?' 'None. I was treated pretty rough," was the feeble reply and yet he remained silent when pressed for the names of his companions or any information which might lead to their capture.
Jack is continually growing weaker and it is probable he may never be able to leave his bed alive.
To be continued next issue... 

contact Kathy at katintn@crazycropper.net

Students visit Capitol

Over 70 third graders from Watertown Elementary recently visited the Tennessee State Capitol, where State Rep. Stratton Bone, above left, greeted them as they disembarked two school buses. Bone then spoke with the children, top right, and had them debate and vote on issues such as the dress code and school recess in the House Chambers. Bottom photo, Chase Kennedy and Devin Swain (seated at Bone’s desk) were among students participating.