The Honorable Cody

by Richard S. Wheeler

  There were so many theatre people about, and I scarcely knew how to approach him. I was curious. I wanted to experience this Buffalo Bill, absorb his energy, find out if he was as uncouth as the rest of those on the western borders. But it turned out I didn’t need an introduction. He spotted me and such was the force of his gaze, which left no part of me unexamined, that I felt prickly pleasure in his attention and favored him with a smile.

  It was high summer and I was lightly clad, a white chiffon frock with yellow ribbons that caught the light and revealed the shadow of me, and even in that soft afternoon light I could feel myself being devoured. I am, of course, a “celebrated beauty,” or so they say in the penny press, and I always make the most of it, liking my high cheekbones, enjoying the yearning of a thousand males and the attentiveness of those I choose to greet.

  So there I was, enjoying my conquest before I had even met William, knowing that sooner or later, and probably sooner, he would circle my direction and strike up the band. I sipped my pale amontillado and waited, content to let his eyes perform the introduction.

  He did not wait for someone to introduce us but found his way to me as I knew he would.

  “I’m Cody,” he said. “And you? Have I not seen you before?”

  I smiled. Many had seen me before on the boards of many theatres.

  “Perhaps, if you’ve attended one of my plays, Mr. Cody...”

  “Ah, no, but I’ll make it my business to attend... Miss?”

  “Clemmons, Katherine Clemmons.”

  “Miss Clemmons. And is that your stage name also?”

  “I sometimes appear as Olive Clemons. It’s a whimsy of mine.”

  “You’ll see me in the front rows.”

  “I will look for you. One can’t miss.”

  “You are not British.”

  “I’m an American.”

  All that without the slightest effort on my part. It happens to me now and then. I conquer a man, and I’m not averse to that, especially if the man is considerate and has a generous way of helping an actress who sometimes struggles to advance.

  “And as for you,” he said, “I shall give you passes—-one for you, and one for your escort?” He waited, a faint anxiety on his strong features. “Passes, anyway, to any performance of the Wild West.”

  And with that he handed me two gaudy tickets to his Wild West show. I knew I would have to attend one of those awful affairs, and he would know it when I did and salute me from the saddle as if I were Queen Victoria. She's the one woman in England who can upstage me. But it might be nice to be saluted.

  “I’ll be there,” I said.

  “Tell me your show,” he said.

  “Theodore,” I said, “a beautiful soul-searching drama but I fear it will soon be shuttered. I’ve had very nice reviews but London audiences are, I suppose, a bit jaded, or maybe they don’t enjoy an American like me.”

  “Yes, you don’t sound British. Tonight?” he said. “I’ve a few things to do, but I’ll cancel.”

  I was surprised. He wasted not a moment.

  That evening he attended my performance with a whole party from the Wild West stretched across the fifth row, but none of them in buckskins or coonskin caps or anything outré. I was quite marvelous that performance, inspired by the band of lustful frontiersmen blotting me up. And of course I accepted his invitation, sent by card, for a post-theatre prandial. He certainly didn’t wait at the stage door but stood outside my dressing room until I opened the flimsy door and invited him to button up the back of my frock. He greeted me effusively. He was alone.

  “What a grand performance, Miss Clemmons,” he said, taking my ivory hand in his sun-burnished one. “A triumph of acting. You slayed us.”

  I enjoyed the moment and enjoyed his boyish heat as he buttoned me up.

  He signaled a hansom and soon we were trotting off to a little bistro he had discovered, remarkably quiet and dark, with gold tasseled ruby velvet drapes at each booth, and many secrets. And there, by the light of a small oil lamp, we engaged in one another’s company. I thought he had made a very good choice for a rendezvous, a place so discreet and silent that we seemed to be all alone, there in the midst of a great and bustling city.

  I saw at once where this primrose path was leading and didn’t discourage it. Mr. William Cody was the most attractive of men and had a well-filled purse too.

  “Some day,” he said, “you’ll be the queen of the stage. Your way of saying your lines, your grace and poise, your magnetism, Katherine, all those things...”

  “I still lack the right vehicle, but it will come along,” I replied. “Theodore’s a bit stiff, and it’s hard to get myself into the role.”

  “Oh, now, I thought it was splendid,” he replied.

  We conversed lightly through the late hours and I saw at once he was without cultivation but it didn’t matter. He lacked guile as well, and was as direct and charming as a boy, and I thought I could always tell his mood, if not his very thoughts, just by observation.

  I engaged him in telling about his Wild West, and the red Indians, and the virginal little lady who shot glass balls so well. He was not a theatre person but a circus man, and what intrigued him most was not the subtlety of a performance but the rapture it achieved in his audiences. A gaudy man, that was Mr. William Cody, and I smiled at him, encouraging his attentions. He had an easy way, confident among men, courtly among women, and I knew at once that he was not a difficult or temperamental person and I could count on his affection at any time.

  The hour grew late, and I yawned delicately, knowing what was coming. I had no intention of encouraging him, not just then, for my favors do not come cheaply, not even for a rough-hewn impresario.

  “And how is Mrs. Cody?” I asked.

  He was not expecting it. “Ah, Louisa? Yes, she doesn’t travel with the show, you know, finding her solace in North Platte, Nebraska, that’s a place out on the prairies. Yes, she tends the home fires.”

  “You must adore her,” I said, relentlessly.

  He was not an unsophisticated man and took his time fashioning a measured response. “Katherine, in many ways she’s an admirable woman. But our lives diverged long ago. She wants no part of show business and disapproves of my successes. So... to be quite frank, I have no marriage other than the legal formality of it.”

  I smiled. “I am unattached,” I said.

  “Then let me escort you safely to your door,” he said.

  I let him summon a hansom out of the night fog, and gave my address, where I had leased rooms by the week, and we sat in the chill compartment, listening to the clop of hooves, feeling our shoulders rub, until at last the hansom cabbie drew up at my door.

  “What a lovely evening, William,” I said.

  “Ah, Katherine...”

  “We will meet again, I hope.”

  He saw how it would be and gallantly escorted me to my door, and waited while I unlocked.

  That was the first of our many evenings and I remember it so well. I would not be an easy conquest but neither would I give him any cause to despair. And looked at from the other side, he was already my conquest. It was only a matter of time before I would enjoy his generous company.

  I had no great faith in that play as the proper vehicle for me, but William seemed quite smitten by it and perhaps it would tour better than it would play in London, where audiences are perhaps a little bored. I thought William might well approve of a tour, but that would be something to broach to him in a few weeks; not just yet.

  The afternoon when I and some of my troupe appeared at Earl’s Court he somehow knew it and soon rode his white charger to the very box where I sat. He swept off that great sombrero of his, made a grand bow to me, and I saw at once that I was the center of attention and smiled back at him, glad that I wore lip rouge so all could see my smile. But then he was riding off. He had a show to stage, on a scale so grand I could scarcely imagine it.

  Of course I don’t care about the frontier, it’s
a crude and hollow and dangerous place, but I endured the show and clapped heartily and watched the various acts with genuine interest. He engaged in some trick shooting, and was quite as good at it as that little vixen Annie Oakley. I saw that William had genuine skills. I learned that he had been a scout for the army and acquitted himself well; at least the testimonies of so many officers in that army attested it. He was, in his way, a most admirable man and I soon had a great fondness for him.

  “You are,” he said over dinner one night, “the most beautiful woman in the world.”

  “How can you possibly know that, William? You’ve seen so little of me.”

  He laughed, and I laughed with him.

  “Maybe I can help with your show,” he said tentatively. “You just need some exposure, and all the world will kneel at your feet.”

  “You would do that?”

  “My show’s a grand success; I think I could help a bit. A few weeks, anyway. I’ll talk to your backers and see about a tour. We’ll put you up in lights.”

  “Oh, my dear William,” I said, greatly touched.

  He stared dreamily at me, and I smiled back and slid closer to him in our red-curtained alcove and our world changed that evening.

  (From the memoir of Colonel William F. Cody)

  While I was in London that first season I met an American actress named Katherine Clemmons. I believe it was at a Mayfair tea party to which I had been invited. They love to serve Darjeeling and tarts at four, you know. It was incumbent on me, for business reasons, to attend as many such social events as I could squeeze into my schedule. I had not heard of Miss Clemmons, nor of the play she was starring in, Theodore, but I always take interest in Americans abroad and engaged her in a lively conversation about Londoners and theater and the fierce local critics.

  It turned out that her play was not well received. The jaded critics didn’t think much of her acting, either, but that can be ascribed to a disdain for Americans who trod the boards in the heart of the theater district. Miss Clemmons invited my entourage to see a performance so I took many of my Wild West company to the theater, where we enjoyed a splendid performance by a compelling actress. She and her cast, in turn, visited us at Earl’s Court one fine afternoon, enjoying the Wild West and applauding our every act. I learned later she hailed from the Carolinas and had that gentle charm one sees in Southern women. She was a most handsome lady, especially with the gaslights upon her, and carried herself well before audiences.

  Still, I soon discovered that she was filled with dread and heartache, for the play was not doing well and its producers threatened to close if no profit could be earned. That struck me as most pitiable. The more I thought on it, the more opportunity I saw, as well as a chance to help out a fellow countrywoman. The problem was those London audiences. Out in the provinces she would do much better. Indeed, what manner of Englishman could resist so attractive and bright an American woman?

  We had some long and heartfelt conversations at teatime. Katherine told me of the yearning she felt for her beloved family in Carolina. But she was determined to make a success of her London sojourn and spent hours each day practicing her lines before a looking glass so she might improve the show with every performance. No woman was ever so dedicated to her art.

  I saw a fine business opportunity here. I saw the chance to make some good money as well as help a new friend. Out on the road her play would surely turn a profit, given the dazzling nature of its star, and I could make something from it if I invested in the show. The result was that, for a percentage I would fund a tour of the show. It seemed sound business and I had the papers drawn up. I was then flush with profits from the Wild West over in Earl’s Court and was looking for some solid ventures with which to improve my own fortunes. I thought there might be a thousand pounds in it.

  Miss Clemmons and her company did tour England but alas, received the same chilly reception she had received in London, and my investment came to nothing. But Miss Clemmons was most appreciative of the support and I resolved that if she returned to the United States and chose an appropriate vehicle, I would continue the venture and gain back what had been lost in England. It seemed a good bet to me that Katherine Clemmons would take New York by storm.

  I am a business man, of course, and know the ins and outs of show business, and it was my judgment that Miss Clemmons was well worth backing. Of course I became engulfed in my duties with the Wild West, and she was similarly preoccupied, and it was some while before I again saw her. I certainly have counted it a great pleasure to render aid to so gifted a talent, who is very like a sister to me.

  Chapter 14

  Lieutenant General Nelson Appleton Miles

  In recent years Colonel Cody took to staging delightful hunts near the Wyoming village named for him. He would invite a few overweight business tycoons, a few lean politicians, a few gaudy people from his show business, and a few brusque old army men like me, and put us up at Pahaska Teepee or out in the wilderness a day or two’s wagon ride from his fancy hotel there in Cody.

  These were sybaritic events and no one was a better host. He saw to our creature comforts, even to the point of setting up tents over planked floor to keep us off the earth, and stretching a few rugs in our tents, along with lamps, a fine stock of whiskey, and crisp bedding on the steel cots.

  He could always lead us straight to game, and most everyone who wanted an elk or a pronghorn or a deer or a bear would have a shot. Cody’s stock of arms probably exceeded the armaments of a few European duchies, and his guests could take their pick of the finest Sharps rifles or Purdy scatterguns in existence.

  All of which was fine. Colonel Cody was an old hand at that, having feted all sorts of dignitaries for the army, sometimes at my own behest when I was commanding. And of course the hunt he staged for Grand Duke Alexis of Russia remains a legend that army men still talk about. And through it all, the affable Cody was the perfect wilderness guide, scout and host.

  But what I came to enjoy at the more recent hunts around Cody was his reminiscing. He liked nothing better than to pour a few tall bourbons over pond ice with some old army hands, and spin stories of the frontier and the plains and the conquest of the West. He would light up, his eyes would glow, his eyebrows would arch, his long thin hands would gesticulate, his voice would rise and fall. I discovered early on that he had no gift for remembering detail, and the stories meandered their own direction each time he spun them, but somewhere in the middle of his yarns lay hard truth, the reality of a gifted scout who performed one dangerous and desperate mission after another, and whose courage shone on every occasion.

  He’s put some of this stuff into his autobiographies but each succeeding edition of those books shows the busy hand of drones at his publishing houses, and the stories would stretch and break. It’s better to pour a little Tennessee barrel whiskey, gather in one of those larger wall tents of his, sit back in our canvas camp chairs, and pump him a little until he starts his recitations. Those evenings stick in my mind as the true Cody, the real man, the Cody little known to the public.

  I remember once cornering him about the visit of Grand Duke Alexis, third son of Czar Alexander II, back in 1872. Actually, the young man had set sail with a formidable chunk of the Russian navy in 1871 on a state visit to the United States. His announced intention was to hunt buffalo out on the wild prairies.

  When Phil Sheridan heard that, and realized that the army was about to host the Czar's boy, he immediately made sure that Cody would be on hand at Fort McPherson, where the scout had been attached to the Fifth Cavalry. There wasn’t much for Sheridan to do until later, when the Grand Duke, running weeks late, had finished his official visits and was ready to head west. But by the time the huge royal party was headed out to the borders, the army was ready for him.

  After consulting young Cody it was decided to set up shop in a valley well populated by buffalo near present-day Hays. The army went to work, putting up floored and stove-heated wall tents, a commissary, and all
the rest. By the time the Russians arrived on the train we had a regular tent city ready for them, and even though it was January we could make them perfectly comfortable in those stove-heated tents.

  Meanwhile, Sheridan had dispatched Cody to invite the Sioux chief, Spotted Tail, to come in for some hunting and dancing. That was a risky trip. The chief was friendly but not all of his young warriors were, and Cody, riding alone, could well have ended up a corpse out on the endless plains. But Buffalo Bill made it safely.

  “Actually, my friend Spotted Tail, he was delighted with the whole idea of a hunt with the royal Russian after I’d palavered with him a bit. And so he gathered up his band, several hundred of ‘em, with all their buffalo robes, paint and feathers, and headed our way,” the colonel reminisced.

  Camp Alexis was enormous. Cody figured it held about five hundred, including the whole Russian entourage and an army contingent strong enough to prevent any disasters. What’s more, there was more brass on hand than had been seen since the Civil War, and all of them sporting their brevet-rank uniforms. Sheridan once told me he was probably the only active-duty general in the lot, but you wouldn’t have known it from the gold-thread stars on display around there, including those of Brevet Major General George Custer.

  “Well, the prince, he was a fine fellow,” Cody told me, as we sipped Louisville sour mash whiskey one chill eve. “Big, handsome, good looking fellow, perfectly pleasant. I just called him Alex, and that suited him fine, and he called me Buffalo Bill, and that suited me fine.”

  “He was a grand duke, not a prince, colonel.”

  “Is that so? I can’t tell a marquis from a duchess.”

  “Was he much of a hunter?”

  Cody smiled. “Well, fiddle. He made a good student.” That was Cody’s way of talking. I don’t think I ever heard him disparage others.

  “We had plenty of buffalo around, and we had more arms than most armies, and we had Spotted Tail and a few hundred Sioux, and then it was up to me. I had to take the young fellow out and let him shoot the one. That was the way of it. The Russian got the first shot and then the rest of the crowd could go to town.