The Killings of Stanley Ketchel

by James Carlos Blake

  Thus, in September of 1910, she began making her way back to Missouri, hoping her mother and stepfather would once more give her shelter while she considered how she might best confront the future looming so bleakly before her.

  On a sunny Sunday morning, after a change of trains in Springfield, she at last arrived at Chadwick, the end of the line. To get to her mother’s, she would have to hire a rig. She had a cup of coffee at the station, then went to the livery. And there ran into Walter Dipley.

  WALTER DIPLEY HAD also been born in the Ozarks, in Webb City, where he grew up. He was twenty-three years old and strikingly handsome, short but well muscled, having labored in the lead mines of Jasper County through most of his teenage years.

  His widowed sister lived in Blue Creek, a hamlet just south of Chadwick. She was a kind woman who supported herself with an insurance settlement and she had always doted on Walter. In his boyhood he spent every summer with her, and at a barn dance in his fourteenth summer he met the thirteen-year-old hellion Goldie Bright. Soon afterward they happily fumbled through the first coitus for both of them, and they were ardent lovers through the rest of that summer. But when he came back to Blue Creek the following year he learned she had run off to be married, and so he forgot about her.

  In February of 1908 he enlisted in the navy in order to see more of the world, and see more of it he did. He was assigned to a transport ship that made ports of call in Hawaii and countless islands of the South Pacific, in the Philippines, in Hong Kong. He had adventures of sundry sorts and acquired a vast sexual education. He also acquired a razor scar on his neck from a fight over a Manila whore. And a welter of outlandish tattoos. His chest and back came to be covered with dragons, flaming swords, esoteric emblems of wizardry, willowy naked women. Each of his pectorals was emblazoned with a circle of yin and yang, a symbol he thought beautiful although he had difficulty grasping its concept. One arm was entirely entwined with a fearsome long-fanged snake, the other bore the words HONG KONG, CHINA down the outer bicep, and, on the inner side of the forearm, a bleeding heart impaled by a poniard.

  He liked everything about the navy except its premium on regimentation and ranked authority. He was frequently punished for insubordination. He spent a large part of the return voyage to the States in the brig. The day after the ship docked in Oakland, he deserted.

  For months he drifted through the West. He used a different name in every town. He worked odd jobs, including an entire day in a copper mine of Butte, Montana, which, on applying for the job, he had thought couldn’t be as bad as the lead mines of Jasper County. But the experience made him promise himself to jump in front of a train before ever again stepping into a copper mine. He baled hay, cut wheat, laid track, he hewed timber, he graded roads. He broke a wrangler’s arm in a South Dakota bar fight over a half-breed girl. And in the late summer of 1910 he headed back to Missouri.

  When he got to Webb City, he learned from his parents that a navy investigator had been to their house twice, the second time only two weeks before. The investigator had talked to the neighbors as well, to some of the people in town. Dipley agreed that it was unsafe for him to stay there, and so he decided to go to his sister’s.

  He caught the evening train to Springfield. The following morning, a brilliantly sunny Sunday, he took the flyer to the end of the line in Chadwick, then went to the livery to hire a carriage. And there ran into Goldie Smith.

  WHEN SHE ASKED the stableman about a conveyance to her mother’s house, he told her a fellow had just hired a rig to take him to Blue Creek, which was in the same area. He suggested she see if the man was willing to split the cost with her. “He’s around the side where my boy’s getting the rig set.”

  She knew him the instant she saw him. He was watching the boy harness the horse and wasn’t aware of her until she stepped up beside him and said, “Pardon me, but aren’t you Walter Dipley?”

  He did not know her at first, this shapely blonde with bold gray eyes whom he had not seen in the nine years since she was thirteen.

  She saw his lack of recognition and made a face of mock injury. “I must say, I’m deeply hurt. Do you suppose Captain Ajax has forgotten me as well?”

  Captain Ajax was the name she had given to his penis in the course of their lickerish summer those years before.

  His face warmed at the sudden recollection, and he cut a look at the stable boy, who was paying them no mind. “My God,” he said, “is it Goldie Bright?”

  “The same,” she said, “though the name’s Smith. It’s the one I was born with.” Her eyes danced over his reddened face, which seemed to her even handsomer than when he was a boy.

  “We’re all set, mister,” the boy said, leading the horse and rig to them.

  She said she was going to her mother’s, which was on his way, and asked if she might share the carriage with him.

  Well, of course.

  THE DISTANCE TO her mother’s house was only some five miles, and the horse moved at a brisk trot. From the moment of their meeting, however, they’d felt the same carnal draw of their passionate childhood romance, and they did not need much time to arrive at an understanding.

  The rig had barely cleared sight of Chadwick when she pressed closer to him and said in low voice, “Do you remember when we—” And then his mouth was on hers. The kiss lasted a few fast heartbeats before they glanced at the boy in the driver’s seat to ensure his attention was on the road ahead, and then they kissed again, this time touching tongues before pulling apart. The boy at the reins seemed engrossed in his own thoughts.

  She slid her hand over his thigh and clasped him, her eyes bright. “Captain Ajax seems in happy disposition,” she said. And whipped her hand away as the boy said over his shoulder that they’d be at the turn-off road to the Bright place in another quarter mile.

  Dipley talked low and fast. She could come with him to his sister’s house. They could tell her they were married, that they’d eloped a few days ago and intended to live in Springfield, but the house they would be renting wouldn’t be available for a while yet and they needed a place to stay in the meantime. His sister would be happy about his marriage and welcome them for as long as they wished. There was an extra room where he always stayed, and they would have their privacy.

  Given her circumstance, what deliberation was called for? She kissed him quickly and squeezed his thigh. He told the boy to forget the turn-off and go on to the Widow Dipley’s place in Blue Creek.

  THEY WERE AT his sister’s for almost three weeks, and from the first it was as if the nine years had been a mere nine days, so familiarly did they tend each other’s flesh, the sole difference between then and now being in the greater expertise each brought to their lovemaking. He’d been her first ever, and now was the first in a long time to show her anything in the sexual arts she didn’t already know. She relished the flex and feel of his muscles, was enthralled by his tattoos. They made love deep into the nights. His sister heard them and smiled in recollection of her own honeymoon ardor of so many years ago. They did it in the barn, deep in the woods in the shade of the trees, under the sun in the high grass of the riverbank while a flock of cackling crows wheeled overhead. If Walt Dipley had a time or two in the past mistaken lust for love, he was sure that this time it was the real thing. Even after she had confessed most of her mistakes of the past nine years, just as he had confided to her most of his own, he was no less certain that she was the one, the woman with whom he could finally settle down. He told her he loved her and wanted to marry her. He would work hard and save some money and somehow finance the purchase of a small farm. They would have lots of children. He wasn’t worried about the navy. They wouldn’t hunt for him forever. If he took a different name and stayed well away from Jasper County, they’d never track him down.

  She had to think fast. She dearly enjoyed herself in bed with Walt Dipley, but marriage was another matter. She’d come to believe she wasn’t truly meant for it, for sure not with gamblers, station agents, or drum
mers. And not, she knew, with Walter Dipley, whose idea of a better life was not at all hers. Her early dislike of farming had now grown to abhorrence. And though she would never admit it to anyone, she no longer missed her daughter. She had come to accept that she was no more meant to be a mother than she was a wife. She was not sure what she was meant for, but believed she would know it when she met it. Still, what was she to do? If she were not with Dipley, where else might she be? None of the available alternatives owned the least allure. What she needed was time. Time for another possibility to present itself.

  And so she told Dipley that nothing would make her happier than to be married to him, but there might be a slight problem. She had earlier told him she’d run away from her third husband, Osborne, because he beat her once too often, but, she now clarified, they were not yet divorced when she fled. She had assumed Osborne would file for divorce on grounds of abandonment, but what if he hadn’t? Bigamy was a serious crime. She could write to him and ask if they were divorced, but he was a vindictive man and couldn’t be trusted to tell her the truth. She would have to write to the court clerk in Coffeyville to find out if a divorce decree was on record. If Osborne had not filed, she would have to do so herself.

  “It might all take a while, darling,” she said, “but it will be worth it, so we can be married without any doubt over our head.”

  He was not pleased by this turn but knew she was right. They had to ensure she was lawfully free to remarry. It was important to steer clear of any legal complication that might help the navy to find him.

  All right, he said, for now they would just say they were husband and wife. They would be Walter and Goldie…Hurtz. He’d known a fellow in the navy by that name. Luckiest dice roller he’d ever seen. Besides, living together was sort of like being married too, wasn’t it? Married by the common law. Only not so it was bigamy.

  How very true, she said, that was the way to look at it. The thing to do now, he said, was for both of them to get some kind of jobs and put aside some money. As soon as they could afford it they would go to Coffeyville and talk to the court clerk and see for themselves what was what with her divorce.

  She patted his arm and said it was a fine plan. She said it was a comfort to be with a man who knew how to get things done.

  “Stick with me, girl,” he said, “and you’ll go places.”

  ON MONDAY AFTERNOON a few days later, they presented themselves as man and wife in a Springfield employment office and interviewed with a Mr. Spears. In answer to the man’s questions, Walter Hurtz assured him that he was an able ranch hand with plenty of experience working in the fields, and Goldie Hurtz assured him she was indeed a good cook, if she did say so herself, and a first-rate housekeeper.

  Spears excused himself and went into a glass-walled rear office and they saw him make a telephone call. Then he came back out and gave them directions to get to R. P. Dickerson’s office.

  The interview with Dickerson was brief. He was pleased they were natives and therefore familiar with the region. He made clear the sort of help he was looking for on the ranch. He asked to see Walter Hurtz’s palms and seemed satisfied with their calluses. He asked Goldie Hurtz her recipe for fried chicken and she was but half-finished telling it to him when he flicked his hand dismissively and said, “Good enough, girl, good enough. Can’t wait to taste it. The job pays thirty a month plus room and board. You folks want it?”

  “Sure do,” Walter said.

  “Then it’s yours. We’ll go out to the ranch morning after tomorrow. Meet me at the depot. Train leaves at ten-forty-five sharp.”

  “We’ll be there, Mr. Dickerson.”

  “Call me colonel.”

  Three Ranch Days

  Dickerson was waiting for them when they got to the depot. He gave them their coach tickets and said he was riding in a different car. When the train reached Conway they were all to meet at the baggage carrier. He then went off to the smoking car, where Ketchel was already ensconced.

  It was nearly noon when they pulled into Conway. Ketchel and Dickerson stepped down to the platform and the colonel pointed. “There they are.”

  The couple was making their way toward them, the young man holding a valise in each hand, the woman carrying a smaller valise and a handbag.

  “Fella seems fit enough,” the colonel said. “Got a good grip on him. I always test that the first time I shake a man’s hand. I think he’ll do all right. Who in hell needs Bailey anyway?”

  Ketchel’s attention was entirely on the woman. She wore no hat, her yellow hair knotted in a bun atop her head. As she came nearer he saw that she was pretty, her eyes gray.

  The colonel introduced Walt and Goldie, and beamed as he told them, “And this fella here is none other than Stanley Ketchel, middleweight boxing champ of the world. He’ll be your boss.”

  Dipley put down a valise and put out his hand. “Heard of you,” he said. Ketchel’s once-over and handshake were perfunctory.

  Goldie had not heard of him, but she was entirely familiar with the way he looked at her. “A champion!” she said. “I’ve never met a champion before.”

  “Let me help you with that,” Ketchel said, taking the valise.

  “Why, thank you, kind sir.”

  He told himself she could not possibly be the girl who’d smiled at him from a passing streetcar in San Francisco two summers ago, the girl whose face had come to him in the night so many times since. But she could have been her twin.

  ON THE RIDE to the ranch he sat up front with the colonel, who drove and did most of the talking, and the girl and Hurtz sat in the rear seat. Ketchel intermittently glanced back at her as casually as he could, and she every time smiled at him.

  During a pause in the colonel’s monologue, she asked, “Does your wife live on the ranch as well, Colonel Dickerson? Or at your home in Springfield?”

  “Not married,” the colonel said. “Never had the good fortune to find the right woman like your man Hurtz here.”

  “What about you, Mr. Ketchel?” she said. “Have you had such good fortune?”

  He had a fleeting vision of Kate Morgan’s lovely face.

  “Sorry to say I haven’t,” he said. And returned her smile.

  When the carriage reined up in front of the house, the Baileys came out to meet the new couple. Dickerson and Ketchel took down their bags, and then Bailey drove Walt and Goldie to a cabin just the other side of the hollow, where they would be staying for the next two days until the Baileys had moved out of the ranch house and they could move in.

  Ketchel did not see her again that day.

  THE CABIN HAD been stocked with canned goods and baking supplies. That evening, over a supper of beans and beef stew and biscuits, Goldie said they’d been lucky to get jobs at such a fine place.

  Walt said the place was all right. There was no ignoring the pique in his voice, so she asked if something was bothering him. Was there was something about Colonel Dickerson he didn’t like?

  “The colonel’s all right,” he said. “It’s just, well, that damn boxer sure thinks he’s something, don’t he? The way he looks at everybody like he’s so much better. So what he’s a champion? Just means he’s got a harder head than everybody else is all.”

  She laughed as though he’d made a good joke, then leaned across the table to stroke his arm. “I bet he could crack walnuts on that hard head, huh? I bet he could use it for an anvil.”

  “I bet,” Walt said. “But say, I wish you wouldn’t, well…be so damn friendly with him. I think he’s a wolf.”

  She made a wry face and said, “Oh now, honey, I don’t think he is, but don’t worry, I know how to handle wolves. Besides, he is our boss. I think we ought to try and get along with him, don’t you?” She squeezed his arm. “Listen, every time we think of something that hard head might be good for, we’ll save it up to tell each other when we’re alone.”

  “Hell, we’ll be laughing to beat the band every night.”

  She came around the table and t
ook him by the hand and over to the bed and began to undress him. And took his mind off Mr. Stanley Ketchel.

  Afterward, lying under the covers against the cool night, Walt snoring lightly beside her, she thought: You best play it mighty careful, girl.

  But oh, did he give you the eye, this famous champion. This surely prosperous and famous champion.

  Play your cards right and, well…who knows?

  SOMETIME IN THE night she was jostled awake in darkness when Walt leaned over her to get at the lamp.

  “What is it?” she said.

  He struck a match and the walls quavered in the sudden flare of light.

  “Jesus!” he yelled.

  Hunched over the supper dishes she’d left on the table was a huge yellow rat. Its eyes flamed at them and then it streaked to the floor and vanished through a crack in the boards she wouldn’t have believed it could fit through.

  THE COLONEL SPENT the following morning attending to paperwork up in his quarters. He had pressing business in Springfield and would be departing for the Conway depot that afternoon, taking Mrs. Bailey and Hilda in the carriage with him. He would check the women into a Springfield hotel for the next two nights. Bailey would arrive in Springfield on Saturday and they would leave for Kentucky on that evening’s train.