Many Loves of Buffalo Bill (2 page)

Chris Enss gives us the stories behind many of the beauties who captivated Buffalo Bill. She gives us a clearer insight into a simple yet complicated man—the showman Buffalo Bill and the man Bill Cody. Yet for all of his fame, money, and problems, he was a complex hero, and Chris Enss gives us some clues and answers to his character. It's great how writers and researchers uncover questions that so many of us curious followers of American history have. My hat is always doffed and a glass is raised to the hero of the West, Buffalo Bill, and now, thanks to Chris—a glass is raised to her.

Chris Enss is truly a woman of the West. Her previous books, mostly about women of the frontier West, are enjoyable and informative. We met several years ago at a mutual book signing in Tombstone, Arizona. I was impressed not only by her charm and style but also by her incredible knowledge and passion for what Buffalo Bill called “God's biggest playground.” We are indeed lucky today that a whole new breed of people are influencing, educating, and entertaining those of us who are interested in American history. Chris Enss is truly one who has blessed us with her knowledge and passion for stories of the West that haven't been, but need to be, told.

R
IDE HARD AND SHOOT STRAIGHT
!

—P
ETER
S
HERAYKO

If he isn't a pet with the women he ought to be
.

—O
BSERVATION FROM A FEMALE NEWSPAPER REPORTER
, J. M. W.,
IN AN ARTICLE ENTITLED
“C
OLONEL
C
ODY
T
ALKS
” (1894)

A sea of elegantly dressed, excited guests lined the hallway of a refined hotel in Omaha, Nebraska. The buzz of conversation was deafening as they clustered into an open door leading to a gigantic suite. Waiters in tails and white gloves and carrying trays of champagne-filled glasses weaved around the congregation. It was the winter of 1877, and people from all walks of life were at the posh inn. Entertainers, businessmen and -women, cattle barons, and politicians helped them-selves to the abundance of wine and toasted one another's good fortune.

The chatter and drinks were set aside when the guest of honor arrived on the scene. The entire room was galvanized into a tumultuous applause as thirty-one-year-old William F. Cody entered and made his way through the crowd. He smiled appreciatively in response to the enthusiastic welcome. Standing six feet one inch tall, the man was draped in a tuxedo-style waistcoat, vest, and perfectly pressed trousers.
¹
His dark, curly, shoulder-length hair, thin mustache, and small goatee completed his handsome, polished look.

Beautiful women in taffeta gowns and lace bonnets jockeyed for a place beside him. He reveled in the attention and politely allowed one of the coquettish disciples to slide her dainty arm into the crook of his.

He held the audience that had gathered around him captive with his genteel manner and fascinating tales of life on the wild frontier. “I was fourteen when I signed on as one of the Pony Express riders,” William proudly announced. “They argued that I was too young for the job, but I insisted I could do it, and finally they gave me the shortest route, a ride of thirty-five miles with three changes of ponies.”
²
William explained to the crowd that he rode seventy miles every day for three months. “When it became apparent to the men in charge that the boys could do better than forty-five miles a day the stretches were lengthened,” he continued. “The pay of the rider was from $100 to $125 a month. It was announced that the further a man rode the better would be his pay…. In stretching my own route I found myself getting further and further west. I never was quite sure when I started out when I should reach my destination or whether I should never reach it at all.”

William's admirers gushed and commended him for his service. As he was graciously accepting the praise, his wife, Louisa, entered the room from an adjoining suite and faded inconspicuously into the crowd. She surveyed the inspired faces watching her husband, taking particular notice of the ladies flanking him on either side. The petite, porcelainskinned woman fought to maintain her composure as one of the brazen ladies leaned in closely to William and whispered in his ear. He grinned a schoolboy grin and casually glanced around the room. His expression changed slightly when his eyes met Louisa's.
³

The occasion for this well-attended event was a farewell party for William's theatrical troupe. The couple's marriage, already strained because of months of separation, was further harassed by rumors of infidelity. Louisa had spent the better part of her relationship with William struggling with insecurities.
⁴
Vying for his attention were the vast, untamed plains, the love of adventure and scouting, and the intoxicating limelight. At the beginning of their marriage, she had tried to get him to settle into a predictable and steady life-style. William made a valiant effort. He purchased an inn in Leavenworth, Kansas, and tended to the needs of travelers passing through. His overly generous nature nearly brought the business to ruin, however. Guests with little or no money were allowed to stay at the hotel for free, and meals were included in the price.
⁵

In addition to William's abysmal business practices, there was another hint of his restlessness: an absent, far-off expression that lingered in his eyes. Louisa's sympathy for his passion to travel was heightened by the many books on the subject of frontier life. Knowing he would never be truly happy as a landlord, she released him from the obligation of the inn and sent him back to work on the open range. In the decade since that time, William had been appointed Chief of Scouts for the Fifth U.S. Cavalry, won the Medal of Honor with George Custer, and hunted buffalo for the railroad, subsequently earning him the nickname Buffalo Bill. Along with those accomplishments, William and the dime novelist Ned Buntline formed a successful theatrical troupe with Bill Hickok and Texas Jack Omohundro called the Buffalo Bill Combination.

Reports in newspapers and magazines about William's many heroic deeds helped make him famous from coast to coast. Such notoriety brought more demands on his time. Home and family were sandwiched between jobs such as scouting for the military and performances onstage and in lecture halls.

Louisa resigned herself to waiting supportively in the background while William shared his exciting exploits with an adoring public, but she resented the overt attention of many of the women in his sphere of influence. Against warring Indians, inhospitable terrains, and wild animals, he was a strong, resilient man, but he was vulnerable to charming female supporters.

The party was in full swing, and Louisa helped herself to a glass of wine and occasionally chatted with a guest or two. The evening progressed without a clear opportunity for her to be in William's immediate orbit. The festivities slowly wound down, and one by one the guests said their good-byes and left the hotel suite. Undaunted by the late hour, William continued to hold court with the actresses who had been with him throughout the night. Eventually, they too realized it was time to go and bade farewell to their host by kissing him on the cheek. Louisa's eyes were glued to the scene. She was shocked by such a public display and even more so when she saw William return the women's kisses.
⁶

Louisa pushed through the dwindling group of partygoers and marched over to William. He could see she was upset and attempted to calm her distressed demeanor. She disregarded his attempt to talk to her and loudly scolded him for his insensitive behavior. A hush fell over the room, and only Louisa's heated words rose above the quiet. William handled the intense, embarrassing exchange with as much dignity as he could muster. After she spoke her mind, Louisa stormed out of the room. William watched his wife walk away; then he turned his attention to the uncomfortable guests and wished them well as they made their way out.

Looking back on the incident years later, William didn't understand why Louisa objected to the simple gestures of appreciation. “I do not think most wives would have felt a little angry to know and hear her husband in an adjoining room on Sunday morning, drinking beer and kissing theatrical girls of his company,” he wrote in his memoirs. “I think they would have been rather proud of a husband who had six or seven months work with a party of people who were in his employ, to know and feel that they were on a kindly footing…. Not one of them got up and kissed papa goodbye, but all four of them rushed up and kissed papa, their old manager, goodbye.”
⁷

The Codys made the trip from Omaha to their home in North Platte, Nebraska, with barely a word spoken between them. Both were occupied with their own thoughts. William was only nineteen when they had met, but he had already lived more life than most men twice his age. Louisa liked that about him, and although she would never readily admit it, she knew that was a big part of what drew other women to him as well.

William Frederick Cody was born on February 26, 1846, in Scott County, Iowa, near the little town of LeClaire. His parents, Isaac and Mary Ann, had seven children total, four girls and three boys. Isaac was an adventurer at heart and, in 1850, set out for California to take part in the Gold Rush. After hearing stories from prospectors returning from California about how difficult it was to find gold, Isaac decided against going west. He decided instead to relocate his family to a homestead near Fort Leavenworth, Kansas.

The first visit to the fort stirred a desire in Bill to travel and explore unsettled lands. “The Cavalry—or dragoons as they called them then,” William wrote in his autobiography, “were engaged in saber drills, their swords flashing in the sunlight. Artillery was rumbling over the parade ground. Infantry was marching and wheeling. About the Post were men dressed all in buckskin with coonskin caps or broad-brimmed slough hats—real Westerners of whom I had dreamed. Indians of all sorts were loafing about—all friendly, but a new and different kind of Indian from any I had seen. Kickapoos, Possawatomies, Delawares, Choctaws, and other tribes of which I had often heard. Everything I saw fascinated me.”
⁸

The pull to leave home and head west was great, but Mary Ann convinced the seven-year-old boy to content himself with life on a farm until he was a bit older. Life in the Salt Creek Valley wasn't without excitement. Bill grew up in the midst of Indians and the wild life of the plains as well as in the very thick of the early fights that occurred between northerners and southerners over the question of slavery.

Isaac Cody took a firm stand against slavery and was persecuted for his position. Southern sympathizers threatened his life and that of his family if they didn't leave Kansas. Isaac refused to go, and as a result his wife and children were forced to hide from groups sent to kill them. Bill, who was an expert with a gun by that time, thwarted an attempt by pro-slavery leaders to steal his prize pony and shoot his father. Isaac was stabbed shortly after the incident, however, and eventually died from the wound.