American History Tellers - Billy the Kid | Born to Lose | 1

Episode Date: January 12, 2022

Henry McCarty was born in an Irish slum in New York City in 1859. By the time he died from a lawman’s bullet twenty-one years later in New Mexico, he was notorious throughout the world under a different name: Billy the Kid.Born to a single, loving mother, young Henry was smart, charming and polite. But he soon faced tragic, devastating setbacks that sent him on a path from robbery to murder. Orphaned at 15, Henry was forced to survive on the western frontier, an unforgiving place where life was cheap. And he would soon become one of the most infamous outlaws in American history.Listen ad free with Wondery+. Join Wondery+ for exclusives, binges, early access, and ad free listening. Available in the Wondery App. https://wondery.app.link/historytellersSupport us by supporting our sponsors!See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Wondery Plus subscribers can binge new seasons of American History Tellers early and ad-free right now. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Imagine it's the evening of August 17, 1877, at a bar in the small outpost of Bonita, Arizona. Atkins Cantina is a rough place, filled with gritty Western characters in search of liquor, cards, and women. You're a part-time cattle rustler, and you've been working at a nearby hay farm laying low after escaping from jail. You were arrested for horse theft, but you're not worried about getting caught at the cantina. You've always had more friends than enemies. So you've dressed up in sharp boots, a fancy wide-brimmed Mexican hat, a bright red sweater, and at your hip,

a new set of pearl-handled pistols. You walk over to a poker game in progress. Oh, deal me in, boys. I'm feeling lucky. Well, well, if it ain't the kid. You turn to the man next to you. It's Frank Cahill, and as he smiles at you, you can smell the stench of cheap liquor and bad teeth. Last time I saw you, I was riveting shackles on your skinny ankles. Guess a runt like you slipped right out. It's true. Cahill is the local blacksmith, sometimes employed by the sheriff. He's also a bully, a hard-drinking, barrel-chested man known for starting trouble

just for kicks. He's tormented you many a time, slapping, pushing, and humiliating you in public. You're 17 and only 120 pounds soaking wet, but you've got a temper. Listen, Cahill, I don't want trouble. I'm here to play cards. Oh, hear that, boys? Kid doesn't want trouble. Well, is that why you come in here dressed up like a damn pimp? You grit your teeth and stare hard at Cahill. You can feel your blood beginning to boil. Oh, looks like the kid's getting mad. You getting mad, sweetheart? Maybe you need a spanking. Go to hell, you son of a bitch. Cahill's smile suddenly vanishes. He stands up.

What'd you call me? You heard me, but in case you didn't, I said you're a son of a bitch. Damn, son. You kiss your mama with that filthy mouth? You're incensed. Your mother died a horrible, painful death just two years ago, taken by tuberculosis. You loved her beyond words. You lean in and take a swing at Cahill, but he dodges and slaps your face hard. As you falter, he slams you to the floor, kneeling on your chest. You manage to free your right arm and wrench your pistol from its holster. Cahill lunges for your arm, but you're

too quick. You shove the gun barrel into his gut and pull the trigger. Cahill goes limp and rolls off of you. You jump up, panting. You stand above him, your gun still smoking. You asked for it, Cahill. You brought this on yourself, you son of a bitch. You holster your.45 and make for the door. No one gets in your way. Outside, you recognize a racing pony belonging to a card player you know. The animal is renowned for its speed, so you jump on. The pony rears back as you spur it in the ribs and gallop into the dark, racing from the bar. You started the night off as just a small-time cattle rustler.

But now, if Cahill dies, you're leaving as a killer. And even though you fired in self-defense, you know it's likely that soon, there will be a price on your head. Have you ever wondered who created that bottle of sriracha that's living in your fridge? Or why nearly every house in America has at least one game of Monopoly? Introducing The Best Idea Yet, a brand new podcast about the surprising origin stories of the products you're obsessed with. Listen to The Best Idea Yet on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. Now streaming. Welcome to Buy It Now, where aspiring entrepreneurs get 90 seconds

to pitch to an audience of potential customers. If the audience liked the product, it gets them in front of our panel of experts, Gwyneth Paltrow, Anthony Anderson, Tabitha Brown, Tony Hawk. Oh my God. Buy It Now. Stream free on Freebie and Prime Video.

From Wondery, I'm Lindsey Graham, and this is American History Tellers. Our history. Your story. On our show, we'll take you to the events, the times, and the people that shaped America and Americans, our values, our struggles, and our dreams. We'll put you in the shoes of everyday people as history was being made, and we'll show you how the events of the times affected them, their families, and affects you now. Billy the Kid was an iconic American, a legendary outlaw who became one of the greatest, most romantic embodiments of the Old West. Yet he's a contradictory and polarizing figure. As a young man in New Mexico territory, he was a cattle rustler turned killer. But he was viewed by many as a six-gun-toting Robin Hood, a defender of the little man against the ruthless forces of corrupt government and big business.

He lived in a time of rampant racism and prejudice, yet he had a lifelong affinity for Mexican culture. His crimes, captures, and escapes made him into a criminal celebrity, even as the true details of his life remain murky. By the time he died, he was a fugitive from justice with a bounty on his head, pursued by a legendary lawman across the West. But it was his early years that first shaped the course of Billy's brief and brutal life. This is Episode 1 on our three-part series on Billy the Kid, Born to Lose. The young outlaw of the Wild West would be known by many names during his short life, Kid Antrim, William H. Bonney, Billy Bonney, and El Chavito. But he was born Henry McCarty in New York City, a place far away from where

he would eventually make his reputation. The year of his birth was likely 1859. McCarty's first home was an Irish slum in the urban heart of the East Coast. It was squalid, overcrowded, and dangerous. The sky was smudged by factory soot. Garbage, horse manure, and carcasses of dogs and pigs were scattered throughout the streets, left to rot. Rats were everywhere. It was a stinking mess

in the heat of the summer and a frozen, treacherous world to navigate in the icy winter. Sanitation was poor and disease was common and spread easily. The crime-ridden Irish slums were jam-packed with immigrants, many of whom had arrived in droves during the 1840s to escape Ireland's potato famine, a crisis that nearly destroyed a generation. Henry's mother was among the emaciated masses who sailed into New York Harbor searching for a better life. Catherine McCarty was born in Ireland around 1829 and arrived in New York by the late 1840s. She had two sons, Henry and Joseph, born a few years apart. Both never knew their father, but there are plenty of Irishmen around them.

Henry's family was part of a fast-growing immigrant community. By 1860, there were more Irish in New York City than in Dublin, some 200,000, nearly a quarter of the city's population. But life for a single mother of two young boys in the sordid atmosphere of 1860s Manhattan was anything but easy. Still, Catherine was determined to give her sons the best life she could. The only way she knew how to do that was leave the city behind. In 1865, she packed their few belongings

and headed some 700 miles west to Indianapolis, Indiana. She rented a small house at 199 Northeast Street. The city was a prosperous community of some 45,000 people, quickly moving from agriculture to industry. So Indianapolis offered jobs, and Catherine needed to work. She was a loving, conscientious mother, determined to raise her boys right, and until she could find a husband, she was the sole provider. But in late 1865, she met William Antrim. He was a Civil War veteran who fought for the Union in the Indiana Volunteer Infantry. After the war, he'd found work as a delivery man for a general store.

When he first met Catherine, he was 23, she was 36. But the 13-year gap didn't get in the way of a budding romance. Neither did the fact that she was already a mother of two playful, rambunctious boys. In the summer of 1870, the family pulled up stakes, loaded a horse-drawn wagon, and headed further west. It was this move that would have a major impact on young Henry. They ended up in Wichita, Kansas, close to the center of the country. Bordered by Colorado, Oklahoma, Missouri, and Nebraska, Kansas bridged the West and the Midwest. And for the boys, Wichita was their first exposure to the rugged frontier.

The raw town of only about 600 people was a hub for cattle drives, a key location along the busy, dusty Chisholm Trail. It was a wide, dirt highway for moving miles-long herds of longhorn cattle from Texas to Kansas. The route made Wichita a destination for cowboys and cattlemen in search of amusement, and that meant plenty of after-dark attractions, saloons, brothels, and card parlors. With those places came countless drunken disagreements, clashes that turned into fights, and fights that turned into shootouts. For a budding, wide-eyed adolescent like Henry McCarty,

it was intoxicating. The exotic display of gritty, colorful characters paraded in front of him every day. Grizzled frontier trappers, trail-worn homesteaders, Osage Indians, snake oil salesmen, and saloon girls. It was the stuff he and his young friends had only read about back in Indianapolis. But outside Wichita,

there was nothing but flat fields of prairie grass reaching to the horizon. Downtown consisted of a treeless main drag lined with single-story businesses with wooden storefronts. But it was expanding. New buildings and homes were springing up all over the community. The railroad was about to reach the prairie town, which meant economic opportunities were on the rise. And Henry's mother, Catherine, was an ambitious person. Despite the fact that employment for women was hard to come by, she persevered and took advantage of the town's rapid growth. In 1871, less than a year after arriving, she opened the City Laundry on North Main Street. Wichita had plenty of dirty laundry, and her business quickly grew.

Seeing success, Catherine began buying nearby lots in the thriving business district. She became active in the community and was the only woman to sign a petition to incorporate the town. She and her boys lived on the second floor of the business, while her partner William Antrim lived discreetly six miles out of town in a small 12-by-14-foot wooden house that he, Henry, and Joseph had built on a seven acre plot. The couple were still not married. Catherine tutored Henry and his brother in the basics of education as best she could. Eventually, she moved with them into William's house outside town. Henry's growing fascination with the rough and tumble frontier life made her nervous, and she hoped a quieter,

more rural setting would be a better influence on him her nervous, and she hoped a quieter, more rural setting would be a better influence on him. There, on their seven-acre property, the family cultivated fruit trees. Catherine and William fermented wine, enjoying a few glasses at dusk as the boys played in the yard. It seemed like an idyllic existence, but as much as Catherine labored to shield her boys from the darker elements of Wichita, on occasion she allowed Henry and Joseph to come into town when she was working at the laundry. One visit in particular she came to regret. Imagine it's high noon on a chilly February 28, 1871, in downtown Wichita. You are a skinny, adolescent kid.

You tend to be quiet and reserved, unlike your brother Henry, who's got a wild streak. The two of you are hanging out in front of your mother's laundry shop in the heart of the business district. Wagons, horses, and cattle trundle by, kicking up the dust of Main Street. But you and Henry are concentrating on a game of marbles, paying attention to little else. But a commotion down the street catches your attention. Hey, hey, Henry, what's that? Your brother follows your gaze. About two dozen army soldiers are moving down Main Street with a serious intent.

Oh, I bet it's a posse. Why do you think they have their guns drawn? I don't know. Looks like they're headed for the hotel. But there's someone in there. Maybe we should go inside. Go inside? Are you crazy? No, we're going to see what happens. Henry speeds off, and you follow behind anxiously, abandoning the marbles.

Behind the two-story hotel, you find the soldiers surrounding an outhouse. You hide behind some barrels so you can watch the action. One of the soldiers yells for someone named Ledford to surrender. Henry tugs at your sleeve when he hears the name. Ledford? That's Handsome Jack they're after. The guy who owns the hotel? Why would they be after him? Well, he may own the hotel and dress fancy,

but everyone says he's involved with counterfeiting and horse theft and who knows what else. I heard he's wanted for killing some men on a government wagon train. Maybe that's why the soldiers are after him. The men have their weapons trained on the outhouse. There's a tense stillness. Then suddenly, a man leaps from the outhouse with two six-guns blasting away. From his long purple coat and gleaming leather boots, you recognize him immediately. It is Handsome Jack Ledford. From his long purple coat and gleaming leather boots, you recognize him immediately.

It is handsome Jack Ledford. But he doesn't get far. He falls and a hail of bullets, struck many times. You flinch at each gunshot, but Henry leans out from your hiding place wide-eyed. They got him. They got him good. Several soldiers quickly grab Ledford and drag him up the street. It's pretty obvious he's not going to make it. You've seen more than enough. Come on, Henry,

let's get out of here. But when you look over at your brother, his face is glowing with an excited expression you haven't seen since Christmas. He's transfixed by the soldiers and the bloody trail Ledford leaves in the dirt. Then you hear a sound you recognize instantly. Your mother's boots treading hard and fast and calling your name. You turn and see she's scowling, making a beeline for you and Henry. You both know there's a punishment coming your way. But from Henry's delighted expression, you can tell that for him, it was worth it. In February 1871, Henry and his brother Joseph witnessed the shooting of a wanted man on the streets of Wichita. For Joseph, it was intense and frightening. But for young Henry, it was thrilling. He wasn't a violent child, but he was intrigued and fascinated by the action. It was a world he would be drawn to for the rest of his life. And soon, the most positive influence in his life, his mother, would no longer be able

to shelter him from it. Starting in late 1870, Catherine McCarty had begun coughing. Her boys put it down to hay fever. Lots of people coughed and sneezed all the time out on the prairie. She put on a brave face and didn't let on what she and William Antrim suspected. In the spring of 1871, Catherine was diagnosed with tuberculosis. For most people of the time, it was a death sentence. The illness prompted yet another move for the McCarty-Antrim family, this time in search of a better climate for Catherine's chronic respiratory issues. It was the only hope for a remedy. So in June, the family sold their property in Wichita and hit the road. Their travels over the next 18 months were not well documented.

But by March of 1873, they were living in the town of Santa Fe in New Mexico Territory, the region that would not become a state until 1912. The move brought Henry to the land that would define him. Even compared to the rough standards of Kansas, New Mexico was a violent, lawless place where boys grew up quickly and life could end over a simple misunderstanding. It was an environment that offered hope for Catherine's unstable health, but she worried about what its effect would be on her hot-headed son. For now, Henry was still a playful, innocent teenage boy. But the thrills and temptations of New Mexico were many,

and he would soon find himself drawn into a new life as an outlaw. Richard Bandler revolutionized the world of self-help all thanks to an approach he developed called neurolinguistic programming. Even though NLP worked for some, its methods have been criticized for being dangerous in the wrong hands. Throw in Richard's dark past as a cocaine addict and murder suspect, and you can't help but wonder what his true intentions were. I'm Saatchi Cole. And I'm Sarah Hagee. And we're the hosts of Scamfluencers, a weekly podcast from Wondery that takes you along the twists and turns of the most infamous scams of all time, the impact on victims, and what's left once the facade falls away. We recently dove into the story of the godfather of modern mental manipulation, Richard Bandler, whose methods inspired some of the most toxic and criminal self-help movements of the last two decades.

Follow Scamfluencers on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to Scamfluencers and more Exhibit C true crime shows like Morbid and Kill List early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus. Check out Exhibit C in the Wondery app for all your true crime listening. In the Pacific Ocean, halfway between Peru and New Zealand, lies a tiny volcanic island. It's a little-known British territory called Pitcairn, and it harboured a deep, dark scandal. There wouldn't be a girl on Pitcairn once they reached the age of 10 that was still a virgin.

It just happens to all of us. I'm journalist Luke Jones Jones and for almost two years I've been investigating a shocking story that has left deep scars on generations of women and girls from Pitcairn. When there's nobody watching, nobody going to report it, people will get away with what they can get away with. In the Pitcairn trials I'll be uncovering a story of abuse and the fight for justice that has brought a unique, lonely Pacific island to the brink of extinction. Listen to the Pitcairn Trials exclusively on Wondery Plus.

Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app, Apple Podcasts or Spotify. On March 1st, 1873, the lengthy courtship of Catherine McCarty and William Antrim came to a happy conclusion. After eight years together, the couple finally tied the knot in the small First Presbyterian Church in Santa Fe, a humble building made of adobe brick. Young Henry McCarty was an official witness to the ceremony, along with his brother Joseph. The union also gave Henry and Joseph a new legal last name, Antrim. It was a joyous moment for Catherine. Her sons now had a father. But her need for another guardian in their life was born out of a grim reality. Her illness

wasn't getting any better. Her coughing fits were becoming more frequent. The handkerchief she held to her mouth often came away dotted with blood. Catherine was aware her days were numbered. The Antrim's hope was that the cooler, dry climate of New Mexico would offer her some relief, but their new home came with its own set of challenges. In 1873, New Mexico was a vast territory established just two decades earlier that included portions of what would become Arizona, Colorado, and Nevada. It was isolated and hard to reach. Railroads were still under construction. The region was a mix of high desert, flat grassy plains, and treacherous mountains,

crossed by the Rio Grande and Colorado rivers. It was a stark, beautiful country, where life was difficult and violence was common. By the mid-1870s, New Mexico Territory's entire population was just shy of 100,000 people, an often combustible mix of Native American, Hispanic, and Anglo residents, both poor and prosperous. Territorial government and law enforcement were rarely guided by honorable principles. Might made right, and might was defined by the gun. Firearms were pervasive throughout the West, where they carved out a powerful, lasting stronghold in American culture. But the wild, untamed region offered boundless adventure and opportunity. In New Mexico,

the rules were still being made, which attracted young, ambitious, intrepid people to the territory. For 14-year-old Henry Antrim, it was a rugged paradise. He was a small, wiry kid with deep curiosity and a keen intelligence, but he continued to be shaped by his beloved mother. Catherine left Ireland with few possessions, but she brought along a passion for the country's emotional ballads and high-stepping jigs. She passed it all on to Henry, who would sing and whistle to himself. The big hit of 1873 was Silver Threads Among the Gold, a sentimental tune that seemed to be wafting from any building with a piano. It quickly became a staple of Henry's repertoire. Henry was also drawn to the local Hispanic culture, a rare thing among whites in New Mexico

where prejudice was rampant. Anglos generally treated the territory's Hispanics, Native Americans, Chinese immigrants, and African Americans as second-class citizens. These groups were usually relegated to the most menial of jobs for rock-bottom wages. But Hispanic culture was dominant and well-ingrained in the territory, which had been part of Mexico until 1848, when the United States seized the land in the Mexican-American War. So, despite the discriminatory attitudes of the day, Henry became fluent in Spanish. He loved the local Mexican cuisine, too, and he put his boyish charm, sense of humor, and abiding confidence to good use in flirting with Santa Fe's many young Mexican ladies. By all accounts, even as a young teen,

Henry was quite appealing, and not just to the señoritas. He made friends easily across the many ethnicities of Santa Fe. He treated people like people, regardless of their race or background. But the Antrim family did not stay long in Santa Fe. William was drawn to the prospects of silver and mineral mining in the rugged high desert. Word was spreading that out there, a man could get rich quick. And if it was silver you were after, you went to Silver City.

The booming community was nestled in the Pinos Altos Mountains, about 300 miles southwest of Santa Fe. It was Apache country, and confrontations with Native American warriors could turn deadly. But the family hoped the mountain air would be beneficial to Catherine, and the silver prospects might get William closer to striking it rich. When the Antrims moved into a three-room log cabin on Main Street in the spring of 1873, Silver City already had a small public schoolhouse, something that was important to Catherine.

She wanted her boys to be educated. There were also 15 saloons, three dance halls, and a hotel with card games. Silver City was rife with gambling, prostitution, and plenty of other options for those looking to spend their sudden fortunes from the silver mines. But for the first year in Silver City, things were good for the Antrim family. The new climate appeared to be positive for Catherine. At the very least, her tuberculosis didn't seem to be getting worse. Henry and Joseph were in school and doing well. Henry especially was proving to be a bright student, excelling in reading and writing.

And among his classmates, what he lacked in size he made up for in courage, whether he was taking on a bully or eagerly accepting a dare. The other kids found him fun to pal around with. Adults saw Henry as a mischievous but courteous young man, fond of dropping Spanish phrases into his conversations. William found work as a carpenter and mined for silver unsuccessfully whenever he could. Catherine took in laundry, sold pies, and made cookies for her sons and their friends. When she was feeling up to it, she was known to kick up a lively Highland fling at the weekly dances in the local social halls. Henry was always by her side, beaming at his mother as they sashayed around the floor.

They were quite a sight, the slender, kinetic boy and the graceful, smiling woman with flushed cheeks, clomping their boots on the rough wooden floors to their favorite songs, Turkey in the Straw, Arkansas Traveler, and the Irish Washerwoman. But their time together dancing didn't last. It was becoming clear that the Silver City climate was not going to cure Catherine's tuberculosis. By now, even her boys were aware that things were getting serious. While William was away on his never-ending quest for silver,

Henry and Joseph tended to their mother's needs. They were shocked at her rapid decline. In the months of summer and fall of 1874, Catherine became bedridden, coughing and wheezing horribly, often unable to sleep. She lost her appetite and withered away to skin and bones

as her body was wracked with chills and fever. With their mother incapacitated and their stepfather gone to parts unknown, the Antrim boys were left to their own devices, and there was no money coming into the household. The desperation led to Henry's first brush with crime. He had been eyeballing a load of costume jewelry in the window of a shop downtown. He convinced a young neighborhood friend to partner up and rob the place. The night before the deed was to go down, the friend got cold feet and revealed the plan to his father, who promptly dragged his son to the store to come clean to the shop owner.

Under questioning, the tearful boy blubbered out that he didn't know why he agreed to the burglary. It was all Henry's idea, and his magnetic personality was hard to resist. As the boy put it, Henry had him hypnotized. When Catherine Antrim discovered her son's foiled scheme, she was determined, despite her illness, to put him in his place. Imagine it's late August of 1874. You're a 45-year-old mother of two young boys in Silver City, New Mexico, and you're dying of tuberculosis.

As the days and nights drag on, you cough until your throat is raw, spitting out blood and phlegm in the small, dark bedroom of your rented log cabin home. Death doesn't scare you. Between the famine in Ireland and the brutal slums of New York, you've seen your share of it. Your real fear is for your boys. Joseph you're not worried about. He's a quiet lad who toes the line. But Henry, Henry's smart, but impatient and prone to recklessness. It's a dangerous combination. Today, you've just learned that Henry has already crossed a line. You've

summoned him to your room, furious. And even though the tuberculosis is taking a terrible toll, you've always had a strong spirit. The bedroom door opens slowly. You turn your head and see it's Henry. He looks sheepish. You can tell he feels guilty, and he should feel that way, you think. Hello, mother. How are you feeling? I'm fine, but never mind that. Mr. Stevens tells me you are making plans to commit a crime. He says you are going to steal Henry. Yeah, but it's only because we need the money. You don't dare give me excuses.

No son of mine is going to become a thief. You glare at the boy as he stands meekly next to your bed in the flickering light of a single oil lamp. You can tell the boy as he stands meekly next to your bed in the flickering light of a single oil lamp. You can tell he's on the verge of tears. I'm sorry, mother. It's just... I don't want to hear it. You know what I've always told you? It's a hard world we live in. I don't want you and your brother to fall prey to it. You're young, and it's easy to fall in with the wrong types and make bad decisions. But you've got to be smarter than that. I will. I will. Mark my words, son. If you choose a life of crime, it'll be a short one. You'll hang before you're 21.

Tears have appeared on Henry's face. He looks gravely shaken. And you are exhausted. Now, leave me alone, please. I need some rest. Henry slinks out of the room, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand. You can see you've made an impression. You just pray to God it sticks. Because the truth is, you're not sure how much longer you're going to be around to keep your unruly son in line. Two weeks later, on September 16, 1874, Catherine took her last breath. Henry and Joseph were with her mother to the end, kneeling at her bedside. William Antrim was still away, prospecting.

He didn't attend the funeral, held two days later, in the front room of the cabin where she had died. Henry was devastated. His mother had been the only constant in his life, the single source of structure and support throughout his fourteen years without a father. He loved her beyond measure, and now she was gone. But along with the sadness came a creeping desperation. How would he survive? She had been right. The New Mexico territory was a rough place to be, especially for a teenager with no means of support. Just days before she passed, Catherine had begged a family friend, Clara Louisa Truesdale, to look after the boys as much as she could. Truesdale was the mother of a young friend of Henry's. She knew what could befall a boy in this wild environment, and she swore to

Catherine that she'd do her best for Henry and Joseph. But her time and influence proved to be limited. She had her own family to keep together. And when William Antrim finally returned from his silver hunt, he was not much use either. He'd found nothing in the hills, but wasted no time in splitting the boys up, sending them to live with local families. After a brief stint working in a butcher shop, Antrim disappeared for good, leaving Henry and Joseph with little more than a last name and a deep sense of abandonment. At just 14 years old, Henry was on his own, with no parents, no adult guardians of any kind. He was feeling fearful and lonely, but also exhilarated. For the first time in his life, he was experiencing true freedom.

He could do whatever he pleased, even if that included breaking his promise to his mother and venturing even deeper into a life of crime. For more than two centuries, the White House has been the stage for some of the most dramatic scenes in American history. Inspired by the hit podcast American History Tellers, Wondery and William Morrow present the new book, The Hidden History of the White House. Each chapter will bring you inside the fierce power struggles, the world-altering decisions, and shocking scandals that have shaped our nation. You'll be there when the very foundations of the White House are laid in 1792, and you'll watch as the British burn it down in 1814. Then you'll hear the intimate conversations

between FDR and Winston Churchill as they make plans to defeat Nazi forces in 1941. And you'll be in the Situation Room when President Barack Obama approves the raid to bring down the most infamous terrorist in American history. Order The Hidden History of the White House now in hardcover or digital edition, wherever you get your books. In a quiet suburb, a community is shattered by the death of a beloved wife and mother.

But this tragic loss of life quickly turns into something even darker. Her husband had tried to hire a hitman on the dark web to kill her. And she wasn't the only target. Because buried in the depths of the internet is the Kill List, a cache of chilling documents containing names, photos, addresses, and specific instructions for people's murders. This podcast is the true story of how I ended up in a race against time to warn those whose lives were in danger and it turns out convincing a total stranger someone wants them dead is not easy follow kill list on the wandry app or wherever you get your podcasts you can listen to kill list and more exhibit c true crime shows like morbid early and ad free right now by joining

check out exhibit c in the wandery app for all your true crime listening. After their mother's death, the Antrim brothers' lives changed dramatically. Joseph found work in the Orleans Club, a notorious gambling joint in downtown Silver City. He poured drinks, ran numbers, and did whatever else was called for. In his free time, he began smoking opium, nodding off in the many dank dens in the local Chinatown. Henry, who was never attracted to drink or drugs, was taken in by the Truesdale family. He worked washing dishes at the Star Hotel, an establishment run by the Truesdale patriarch, Dell. But a career as a

dishwasher didn't much interest Henry. He stopped attending school, trading his textbooks for pulp fiction. Always a reader, Henry devoured lurid crime-themed dime novels. He continued his self-education at the local saloons, playing cards whenever he could. There, no one cared how young he was. He became adept at gambling, branching into dealing poker and Monty. In the Western culture of the 1870s, cards were considered to be a near-legitimate way of earning a living. And Henry was beginning to enjoy his new life as a card sharp.

He liked the edgy characters he met and the high-stakes action. He found this dark world welcoming. People liked him. He was charming and funny. And the saloons became places to go that offered him socializing, female attention, and often, the money he needed to survive. In July of 1875, Henry was earning enough to move out of the Truesdale home. He took up lodging in a Silver City boarding house. He was just 15 and embracing a new life. By November, Henry had a second brush with crime, this time stealing several pounds of butter from an unattended wagon. He tried to sell the pilfered goods to a local shop, but was quickly arrested. The Silver City sheriff, Harvey Whitehill, gave him a stern dressing down and a spanking. The humiliation

didn't do much. Henry quickly threw in his lot with a bad character he'd met at the boarding house, George Schaefer. A thief and a heavy drinker, Schaefer was known in western underworld circles as Sombrero Jack after his preferred choice of hat. Henry began tagging along with his new mentor on various capers. One night in September 1875, Sombrero Jack made off with clothing and pistols from a home in Silver City and hid the stash outside of town. He convinced Henry to smuggle the goods back to his room at the boarding house, and his teenage apprentice jumped at the chance.

But when Henry's landlady discovered the stolen items a few days later, she informed the sheriff. Meanwhile, Sombrero Jack had left town and Henry took the rap. Once again, Sheriff Whitehill stepped in, but he felt sorry for this young kid who'd lost his mother. Sheriff Whitehill needed to teach Henry a lesson. Hoping a stern punishment would scare Henry straight, the sheriff and the justice of peace decided a few days in the local jail

would do the trick. It was a brand new facility with a reputation for being escape-proof. But from the minute the door to his cell closed, Henry began plotting how to break out. Imagine it's September 25th, 1875 at the Silver City Jail. Sheriff Whitehill has charged you and a fellow deputy with keeping an eye on a local kid,

some young whippersnapper named Henry Antrim, not yet even of shaving age. The sheriff didn't tell you much, just to let the boy stew for a time in the back cell. He just wanted to put a hitch in the boy's giddy-up, was the way he said it. Whitehill also told you not to mistreat the boy. So a little while ago, you let him out into the hallway to stretch his legs. The hall is just as secure as the cells, windowless and sealed behind a heavy locked door. He's not going anywhere. So while the kid paces, you and your associate are killing time in the front office, playing cards and smoking. Ah, full house. Read them and weep. Oh, you got some luck today. You stand up,

yawn, and square your shoulders. You pull out your pocket watch from your vest and take a look. When was it we let that boy out of his cell? Oh, about 30 minutes or so, judging by how much money I've lost. Well, let's get him back behind bars. As your fellow deputy stands aside, you step over to the heavy oak door leading to the cells and unlock it. Good God almighty, he ain't here. What do you mean he ain't here? Where'd he go? The hallway is empty. The kids' cell door is still wide open. It's impossible. A vanishing act. Damn it. We're gonna catch hell for this when the sheriff gets back. As you stand there slack-jawed, searching for an explanation, your eyes rest on a small, unlit fireplace.

It's far too narrow for a full-grown man to wedge up into, but this Antrim kid was just a skinny beanpole of a boy. You grab your partner's arm. Gosh darn it, follow me. You run outside to the rear of the jail. There's an older Mexican man sitting in the shade of a tree. Say there, amigo, you see a boy running by just now? The old man points to the chimney and smiles.

You look up and see a series of small handprints in black soot on the adobe brick. You swallow hard. You underestimated this kid. Sure enough, he's escaped. And when the sheriff finds out, there's going to be trouble. For you and for him. In September 1875, Sheriff Whitehill's deputy, Dan Tucker, discovered that Henry Antrim had broken out of the escape-proof Silver City Jail.

After his unlikely escape, Henry Antrim left town for good. His mother was dead, his stepfather had abandoned him, his brother Joseph had his own problems, and as far as Henry knew, the law was on his trail. There was nothing to keep him in Silver City. There was also nothing to keep him on the straight and narrow. For the next two years, Henry spent time punching cattle, riding, roping, and picking up other cowboy skills at the ranch of Henry C. Hooker near Camp Grant, a military post in Arizona Territory. His gambling skills came in handy,

allowing him to make a few dollars from less experienced card players. He was living the nomadic Western existence of a saddle tramp. Due to his youthful appearance, Henry earned his first nickname, Kid Antrim. But it was far from an insult. In the New Mexico and Arizona West of the 1870s, some of the most feared, bloodthirsty killers weren't out of their mid-twenties. One noted gunslinger in the area was only twelve. By the winter of 1876, Henry was probably about seventeen and had teamed up with an older friend and began stealing horses. Some nine months later, he crossed another line in his criminal career by killing a man.

In Bonita, Arizona, during a barroom confrontation instigated by local bully Frank Cahill, Kid Antrim shot Cahill in the gut. The wound proved to be fatal. Some witnesses said it was self-defense, but the kid didn't stick around to see if the authorities would agree with him. It was a wise move. A coroner's jury judged the shooting was criminal and unjustifiable, and that meant that Kid Antrim could be tried for murder. But the kid had vanished into the wilderness of the West, riding a stolen horse, when such an offense often resulted in a swift lynching. But it was a risk he was willing to take.

Kid Antrim was now firmly entrenched in the violent culture of the American West, a renegade desperado living in a place where life was cheap and few could be trusted. The kid had no idea what his next move would be, no thought of where he would land. His life had turned upside down. Though still only 17, he was now a feared and wanted man with blood on his hands. And soon he would find himself at the center of a violent feud that would force him to kill again. From Wondery, this is episode one of Billy the Kid from American History Tellers. On the next episode, under unlikely circumstances,

Kid Antrim finds a job and a new father figure. But when his employer is gunned down in cold blood, the kid is forced to choose between going back on the lam or seeking revenge. If you like American History Tellers, you can binge all episodes early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Prime members can listen ad-free on Amazon Music. And before you go, tell us about yourself by filling out a short survey at wondery.com slash survey.

If you'd like to learn more about Billy the Kid, we recommend Billy the Kid, The Endless Ride by Michael Wallace, and To Hell on a Fast Horse by Mark Lee Gardner. American History Tellers is hosted, edited, and produced by me, Lindsey Graham, for Airship. Audio editing by Molly Bach. Sound design by Derek Behrens. Music by Lindsey Graham. This episode is written by Peter Gilstrap, edited by Dorian Moreno. Our senior producer is Andy Herman. Our executive producers are Jenny Lauer Beckman and Marsha Louis for Wondery.

How did Birkenstocks go from a German cobbler's passion project 250 years ago to the Barbie movie today? Who created that bottle of red sriracha with a green top that's permanently living in your fridge? Did you know that the Air Jordans were initially banned by the NBA? We'll explore all that and more in The Best Idea Yet, a brand new podcast from Wondery and T-Boy. This is Nick. This is Jack. And we've covered over a thousand episodes of pop business news stories on our daily podcast. We've identified the most viral products of all time. And they're wild origin stories that you had no idea about. From the Levi's 501 jeans to Legos. Come for the products you're obsessed with.

Stay for the business insights that are going to blow up your group chat. Jack, Nintendo, Super Mario Brothers, best-selling video game of all time. How'd they do it?

Nintendo never fires anyone. Ever. Follow The Best Idea Yet on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to The Best Idea Yet early and ad-free

right now by joining Wondery Plus.