The Last Ditch by Tom Paine

Dodge City did not disappoint me. This place of my childhood imaginings, this scene of a thousand cowboy shows, has made a good fist of preserving its brief moments of infamy. The truth is the Dodge we all “remember” did not exist for very long at all. Bodies were buried in Boot Hill for just six years. The dangerous place of gunfights and debauchery was calmed in one violent year by Wyatt Earp and his “committee”. 

For most of its history, Dodge City has been what it is now; a little rural town. I am not sure many of its inhabitants think much about its history. Many of them are quite recent arrivals. The lawyers in town all seem to specialise in immigration and advertise their services in Spanish. More than half the population is Hispanic and there seemed to be more shop signs in Spanish than English.

The reconstructed Front Street in the private “Boot HIll Museum” is good. The introductory movie gave me a start as it explained, quite uncritically, how the US Government had ordered the slaughter of all the buffaloes – millions of them – in order to starve the native Americans into submission. Of course it wasn’t news but I suppose I am accustomed to hearing more sensitive accounts. In fairness, the narrator was in historic character. History can’t be unwritten and I am not in favour of sentimental nonsense about restitution by people who had nothing to do with the barbarities to people who happen to be descended from the victims. The best things those descendants can do is what many of them are doing; pitch in and profit as best they can from the way things turned out.

There are interesting exhibits to be seen. There’s not a lot left of the Boot HIll cemetery, but enough to give an idea. The whole museum is well-organised in a folksy, easy-going way. The saloon and some of the other buildings are the real deal, relocated to the current position. It amused me immensely to have a sarsaparilla in the bar, having walked through the swing doors. I even dressed up as a cowboy to have my portrait taken in the photographic studio. If you have taken the trouble to drive all the way to Dodge City, why hold back?

The Trail of Fame is a bit lame, to be honest. There are few actual relics to see. The town’s tourism boosters have installed plaques in the sidewalks to commemorate real historical figures, like Wyatt Earp and Bat Masterson but also the actors from the long-running TV series “Gunsmoke”. Marshall Matt Dillon never existed, but he seems to mean every bit as much to some tourists as Earp. I followed the trail, dutifully though, if only because the nice lady in the Visitor Center seemed pleased that I wanted to. It made me smile. I reflected that it has a greater connection with reality than, say, the Loch Ness Monster and people make a living from that “attraction” too.

I liked the people I met during my day in Dodge. The town needs a break and, in my small way, I was it. So I did my best and spent money in the General Store on the museum’s Front Street on souvenirs to ship home to my mum and my Western-loving dad. I only wish English law would permit me to buy one of the fund-raising specials for the town; a special edition Ruger Vaquero revolver “in Deep Blue with gold lettering and white grips”. It would look great in a display cabinet, but even with the firing pin removed it would be illegal back in the home of the Great Nanny.

If the history of the Old West means anything to you, Dodge City is worth a visit. I am certainly glad I went. I spent so much time there that driving to Colorado was not really on today. There are not many significant places en route, so I settled for moving just 50 miles West and staying for the night in Garden City, KS.

On the way, I visited another attraction slightly more historical than the Loch Ness monster, but almost as difficult to discern; the remaining tracks of prairie schooners on the Santa Fe Trail, nine miles west of Dodge. There’s precious little, if anything, to see and I am not sure without the authority of the experts who badged the site I would have believed that the tracks are what they are said to be. Still it was something to stand in the cold Kansas air, with a slight rain falling, and think of ancestors risking all to make a new nation – and of the natives they so ruthlessly displaced to do so.

I was about to head out to dinner when I noticed a group of people admiring my car, parked just outside my window. I waved to them and went out to chat. I opened her up, fired up the engine and showed them her party trick (coupe to convertible in 14 seconds). As I went back to my room I ran into another of her admirers who told me that while he had been standing there smoking a succession of people had come to take a look. I am happy for people to take an interest and am becoming accustomed to answering their questions. Speranza has started a lot of conversations here, and I am learning a lot from them, once she has broken the ice.