History That Doesn't Suck - 89: Closing the Wild West: (Wounded Knee, Buffalo Bill & the 1893 Colombian Expo)

Episode Date: April 26, 2021

“I wish to impress upon your minds that what you are about to witness is not a performance in the common sense of the term.” This is the story of the Wild West’s end and the close of the frontier. The West is settled. The buffalo are gone. The US government is seeking to assimilate Native Americans. In this environment, a religious movement promising a restoration of traditional indigenous life, called the Ghost Dance, is spreading across the continent. Fearful of it, the government sends the military to arrest Lakota Ghost Dancers. It ends in tragedy near Wounded Knee Creek. For Native Americans, this is the end of the frontier. Meanwhile, William Cody, a.k.a., “Buffalo Bill,” is keeping the Old West alive through an incredible performance: Buffalo Bill’s Wild West. He’s obsessed with authenticity, only hiring actual cowboys, vaqueros, Native Americans, gunslingers, and others. For Bill, progress is the story of the frontier. Professor Frederick Jackson Turner says the frontier is over and the nation has progressed. Frederick Douglass has a different view. We’ll take in all these different perspectives as the sun sets on the Old West. ____ Connect with us on HTDSpodcast.com and go deep into episode bibliographies and book recommendations join discussions in our Facebook community get news and discounts from The HTDS Gazette  come see a live show get HTDS merch or become an HTDS premium member for bonus episodes and other perks. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Hello, dear listener, and welcome to Conflicted, a podcast that tells stories of the Islamic past and present to help you make sense of the world today. Hosted by me, Thomas Small, author and filmmaker, and my good friend, Eamon Dean, an ex-Al-Qaeda jihadi turned MI6 spy, Conflicted is prepping its fifth season, which is coming to you very soon. And in the meantime, you can sign up to our Conflicted community. Subscribe to Conflicted wherever you get your podcasts. The Civil War and Reconstruction was a pivotal era in American history. When a war was fought to save the Union and to free the slaves.

And when the work to rebuild the nation after that war was over turned into a struggle to guarantee liberty and justice for all Americans. I'm Tracy and I'm Rich and we want to invite you to join us as we take an in-depth look at this pivotal era in American history. Look for The Civil War and Reconstruction wherever you find your podcasts. Welcome to History That Doesn't Suck. I'm your professor, Greg Jackson, and as in the classroom, my goal here is to make rigorously researched history come to life as your storyteller.

Each episode is the result of laborious research with no agenda other than making the past come to life as you learn. If you'd like to help support this work, receive ad-free episodes, bonus content, and other exclusive perks, I invite you to join the HTDS membership program. Sign up for a seven-day free trial today at htdspodcast.com slash membership, or click the link in the episode notes. Advisory. This episode includes racially charged violence and language that may be

difficult for some listeners. Listener discretion is advised. It's the afternoon of May 19th, 1908, in Washington, D.C. 17,000 spectators crowd into a massive, circus-style tent. They fill every row of stadium seating, while some are on the floor and still others stand just glad not to be one of the countless heartbroken hundreds turned away at the door. What's more, those inside include high-ranking generals and other military officers, members of Congress, and though not President Theodore, Teddy Roosevelt himself, members of his family. This is a sold-out event

brimming with the who's who of Washington. But what else would we expect? This is, after all, the 25th anniversary of Buffalo Bill's wild west. And how lucky is the president's young son, Quinton? Talking to Buffalo Bill before they got started today, the 10-year-old Roosevelt finagled his way into the next act. Quentin, or Quinnikens as Teddy calls his youngest child, is so excited as he climbs inside the old Deadwood stagecoach. He knows, of course, what's supposed to happen. They'll roll along, then a band of warriors, primarily if not exclusively Lakota, will attack.

But pretend as the situation might be, the boy is excited to feel as though it's real, to feel transported in this moment of make-believe to the bygone Wild West. According to the Washington Times newspaper, Quinican sits, quote, his face beaming, his eyes flashing, and his fists clenched, close quote. The boy begins excitedly talking to one of the cowboys. Gee, I wish they'd try to hold us up. Let me take one of your guns, will ya? Ha ha ha.

You might hurt yourself. Aw, rats. I know how to shoot. Go on. Let me take one and shoot at the Indians when they come. Almost instantly, 100 Lakota warriors have caught up with the stagecoach. As they reach for passengers, cowboys take aim with their revolvers. Two shots ring out, and two warriors crumple on their steeds, indicating they've been hit.

The audience is enthralled, and little Kinnikin's excitement is through the roof. With warriors all around their stagecoach, the boy renews his plea with the cowboy to let him have a revolver. Quinikins assures the rugged westerner that he can handle it. His father was a rough rider, but it's no use. The cowboy doesn't cave, and Quinikins finally, albeit begrudgingly, accepts defeat. Keep your old gun. You only got blank cartridges anyhow. Disappointed as he might be in the cowboy's response, the child remains mesmerized by this depiction of what he's been

told is the authentic Wild West. And that's a very simple story of good guy cowboys and cavalry fighting and killing bad guy indigenous warriors. Having the world presented to him as such, little 10-year-old Quinnican sticks his head out of the stage coach and yells a derogatory boast that echoes this line of thinking. Come on, you old redskins, we can lick a million of you. If I only had a gun, I'd show you. But suddenly, there's no more time for talk. With war cries that delight the audience, a hundred or so Lakota encircle the stage coach.

And today they put on an act unlike any other. According to the evening star, quote, "'The Indians, aware of the fact "'that the son of the great white father "'was inside the coach, "'were spurred by a desire to show off their horsemanship "'and prowess to the best advantage. "'And the fight, which is always a picturesque affair,

"'took on the semblance of the real thing.'" Close quote. Well, now it truly looks as if all hope is lost for the stagecoach's occupants. But then help arrives. As the bugle sounds from the other side of the arena, cavalry charge into the fray. Right on cue and per the script,

the Lakota flee before the show of military might. This elite East Coast audience is absolutely thrilled. They clap, cheer, and feel like they've truly experienced a real attack on a real stagecoach in the real Wild West. Quinikens is just ecstatic. He wants to do it again. Alas, that can't happen. Buffalo Bill's Wild West has to continue to the next act,

likely a display of horsemanship. But the excitement doesn't end for Buffalo Bill's Wild West has to continue to the next act, likely a display of horsemanship. But the excitement doesn't end for the president's youngest son. Buffalo Bill presents him with a gift, a Buffalo Bill biography. Written by his sister Elizabeth, it's entitled Last of the Great Scouts. And in it, she sums up her brother as follows, he has not and never can have a successor. He is the vanishing point between the rugged wilderness of the past and Western life and the vast achievement in the present. When the Wild West disbands,

the last vestige of our frontier life passes from the scene of active realities and becomes a matter of history. Perhaps that's true. Maybe he does personify the Wild West. And when he's gone, that will be its end. After all, how many can claim to have been a Pony Express rider, buffalo hunter, army scout, settler, Indian fighter,

and Medal of Honor recipient? Or is he just a showman? I guess you'll have to decide what to make of the man and myth of the West for yourself. Either way, ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Honorable William F. Cody Buffalo Bill. Welcome to History That Doesn't Suck. I'm your professor, Greg Jackson, and I'd like to tell you a story. History That Doesn't Suck After numerous episodes on the subject, today we say goodbye to frontier life and the Wild West. That's more complicated than you might think,

because the closing of the frontier means different things to different groups with different perspectives, and I want to do justice to all of them. We'll start with Native Americans. I'll explain how new assimilation policies, a new religious movement called the Ghost Dance, and government fear of that movement culminates in a violent end of the frontier and the Indian Wars at Wounded Knee Creek. From there, we'll return to Buffalo Bill's Wild West. Incongruous as that transition might sound, it's crucial to understanding how the United States comes to remember the close of the frontier nostalgically as the advancement

of civilization. We'll attend a performance, then get to know Bill, the sharpshooter Annie Oakley, and renew our friendship with the Lakota chief Sitting Bull. We'll also examine the complicated relationship between Native Americans and Wild West shows. Finally, we'll head to Chicago's 1893 Columbian Exposition. Amid the fun at this World's Fair, Professor Frederick Jackson Turner is arguing that the frontier is closed and its existence has propelled the United States on a story of progress and civilization. But another Frederick, our old friend Frederick Douglass, that is, has a different take. He'll share it during this very same expo, too.

This is a multifaceted one, filled with jarring highs and lows, dark tragedies and light fun, and friendships you'd never expect. So here we go. We start with the Native American experience, and that means going back to the 1880s. Rewind. It's about 8 p.m., January 22nd, 1884. We're inside the Congregational Church at the corner of 10th and G Streets in Washington, D.C. The seats are packed, and everyone here is absolutely impressed by the eight-piece band playing patriotic tunes.

The musicians are gifted, there's no doubt about that, and each of its gray uniform-clad members are also indigenous. These boys are students at the Carlisle Indian School in Pennsylvania, and they're here today to take part in this public meeting addressing Indian rights. As the band finishes their prelude, the meeting's chairman, a distinguished- looking man with receding hair and a thick, full, salt and peppered beard, comes to the podium. This is the U.S. Senator from Massachusetts, Henry Lawrence Dawes.

He's opening this meeting by laying out his vision for Indigenous peoples, which is assimilation and citizenship. Let's listen to some of what he has to say. Ladies and gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure to be present at this meeting. The Indian problem has always been with us. Its history is the history of legal agreements, of spoilation, of wars, and of humiliation. We made war on him. We thought we would exterminate him if we could not civilize him. Then we thought we would drive him on a reservation on land we did not want.

His game has been driven from the reservation and he is there with nothing to live on. Latterly, it has occurred to us that if he is to be like the poor in the gospel, always with us, it were worthwhile to consider whether we could not make something out of him. The philosophy of the present policy is to treat him as an individual, a human being, and treat him as you find him according to the necessities of his case. Teach him to stand alone first, then to walk, then to dig, then to plant, then to hoe,

then to gather, and to keep. And so on, step by step, the individual is separated from the mass, made a citizen. This meeting is for the purpose of impressing upon the public at large that at last, in the philosophy of human nature and in the dictates of Christianity and philanthropy there has been found a way to

solve a problem which hitherto has been found to be insoluble by the ordinary methods of modern civilization and soon I trust we will wipe out the disgrace of our past treatment and lift him up into citizenship and manhood and cooperation with us to the glory of the country. Senator Henry Dawes has good intentions. He was very forthright about past wrongs perpetuated on indigenous Americans and wants them to have citizenship, which, despite the 14th and 15th Amendments, the U.S. Supreme Court is months away from deciding they do not have by birthright. That ruling will come in Elks v. Wilkins.

But citizenship doesn't mean creating a pluralistic society in which Native Americans maintain their language and culture. That's not on the table yet in 1884. It means getting indigenous peoples to surrender fully their traditional ways in favor of assimilating to those of the United States, specifically by embracing Christianity, private property, and speaking English. These are defined as the marks of civilization. As you might recall from episode 74,

this line of thinking tracks with former President Ulysses Grant's peace policy. It remains the prevailing view among U.S. citizens who, like Ulysses, care about indigenous peoples. I realize a willingness or desire even to stamp out indigenous cultures doesn't sound friendly to our 21st century ears, but those lacking sympathy are in favor of the very extermination the senator noted in his speech. Consider how one U.S. congressman from Nevada proposed, and I quote, extinction, and I say that with a full sense of the meaning conveyed by that word. Close quote.

And frankly, this isn't new either. We heard language or witnessed individual actions along these lines in the Indian Wars episodes. This view doesn't win out as official policy, though. As the frontier closes in the late 19th century, the U.S. government goes more in the direction of assimilation. We see this in a number of actions in the final decades of the 19th century. In 1871, Congress decided to no longer treat indigenous groups as sovereign nations. To quote that year's Indian Appropriation Act, Hereafter, no Indian nation or tribe within the territory of the United States shall be acknowledged or recognized as an independent nation, tribe,

or power with whom the United States may contract by treaty. The Act further clarifies that existing treaties are grandfathered in, but this sets the stage for indigenous peoples to be treated as wards, for the state to mold. Case in point, the Carlisle Indian School, whose students' brass band played at the Senators' meeting, is an example of this assimilation and ward-of-the-state mentality. Opened in 1879, Carlisle is a government-run boarding school with the express purpose of assimilating indigenous students. As its founder, Captain Richard Pratt will put it in a speech years from now, quote, kill the Indian in him and save the man, close quote. But while the captain's intention is to, quote unquote, save indigenous peoples,

he doesn't grasp the damage his boarding school and others like it are doing by forcing cultural assimilation. Yankton Sioux author and composer Zikala Shah will later recall her years in one such institution. Quote, the melancholy of those black days has left so long a shadow that it darkens the path of years that have since gone by. Close quote. And like the captain, Senator Henry Dawes' intentions don't translate in his namesake legislation, the Dawes Act of 1887. It aims to spur assimilation along the lines of the speech we heard him give. It does so by pushing Native Americans

toward farming and assimilation with citizenship by privatizing many tribal lands, then redistributing said land as individually owned 40 to 160 acre farms or 320 acre plots for grazing. Indigenous people who accept and abide by these terms will be judged as having, quote, adopted the habits of civilized life, close quote, and will become citizens. But many Native Americans still find the idea of individuals owning land to be a foreign and crazy notion. So the Dawes Act thrusts indigenous peoples

into an economic system many of them don't quite understand. The real winner here are American citizens interested in acquiring indigenous land. See, after tribal lands are parceled out, there's still plenty of tribal land remaining. But since the government is no longer treating tribes as nations, legislators justify auctioning it off in parcels to settlers. Add to that further legislation and land deals for more

sessions, and much of Indian territory is now available for homesteading. The most famous example of settlers moving in on these lands happens on April 22, 1889. By 9 a.m., 50,000 men, women, and children line designated areas in Indian territory. At 12 noon, they can charge out toward the 12,000 tracts of land now available to Homestead. Tensions are high. This is going to be competitive. Finally, 12 o'clock comes. The land rush begins. Settlers race against each other to snatch up a given claim. Those without horses anxiously ride the train provided for them. Shots are fired as competitors squabble over who reached a given claim first. Next year, Congress will reorganize Indian Territory. Its western portion will become known as the Oklahoma Territory. When all is said and

done, the Dawes Act and other such legislation will reduce indigenous land holdings in the United States by two-thirds, from roughly 150 million acres to 50 million. Beyond assimilation efforts, the arrival of trains, new towns, and barbed wire fences, all of which are a boon to the U.S. economy, are dramatically altering the landscape, sometimes in ways that make traditional Native American life impossible. This is especially the case with the near extinction of the buffalo, which isn't just a result of increased settler populations hunting them for game. There are also tourists hunting the buffalo for sport from trains.

I mean that literally. Upon approaching a herd, the engineer slows the train to match the animal's pace. Passengers then aim guns out of their windows and fire. The train doesn't stop. No one harvests the meat. They leave the 1,500-pound buffalo carcass to rot under the sun. American hunters will become more conservationist-minded in the 20th century, even embracing regulating legislation such as the Pittman-Robertson Act. But that's not the case at this point. Between the mid and late 19th century, the

number of buffalo roaming the Great Plains freely drops from as high as 60 million to 300. From assimilationist measures like the boarding schools to losing more tribal lands and the near eradication of the buffalo, many Native Americans, whose population is down to a mere quarter million as the frontier closes, desperately wish they could turn back the clock, live again by their customs in a world that no longer exists. Little surprise then that the 1880s see the rise of indigenous prophets

promising a return to better times. One such prophet is a Paiute man named Wovoka. He offers what we could call an indigenous take on Christianity, which he learned about while working on David Wilson's farm as a youth. Wovoka claims to have seen God in a vision. The Paiute prophet teaches Native Americans that, if they live in peace with each other and white people, one day all will become as it was.

Green lands, bountiful herds of game, their dead will return, and there will be no white people. Native Americans can hasten this by performing a five-day-long dance, which they should do somewhat regularly. Because the dance will return dead ancestors and a dead world,

it soon came to be known as the ghost dance. This new religion becomes quite popular with the Sioux in South Dakota. They're ripe for it. In 1889, the Great Sioux Reservation on which they live is broken into six smaller ones. Meanwhile, a dry season has led to crops failing, there's no game to hunt, and government-promised beef supplies are being reduced. So, a religion that promises a return of the old ways? Yeah, they're interested. Many believe hook, line, and sinker, and trust that when the spring comes in 1891, they'll find the fulfillment of all these promises as long as they keep dancing.

Now, I can't emphasize enough that this is a non-violent religious movement. Some government figures, like former Indian agent Dr. Valentine McGillicuddy, see that clearly and advise letting them be. Comparing the ghost dance movement to another faith that's developed in the past three decades, he comments, if the Seventh-day Adventists

prepare their ascension ropes for the second coming of the Savior, the United States Army is not put in motion to prevent them. Why should not the Indians have the same privilege? But as the ghost dance spreads across the nation, and particularly as the Lakota believe the ghost shirts they wear while dancing are bulletproof, plenty of officials grow nervous.

They wonder, is this a growing rebellion? By November 1889, efforts to shut it down are in full swing. On the 20th of that month, Commander of the Division of the Missouri, General Nelson Miles, aka Bearcoat, whom, I'll remind you, captured Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce back in Episode 79, is sent a list of suspected Ghost Dance leaders possibly fomenting rebellion. Well, Sitting Bull doesn't really seem into the ghost dance himself, but his name is nonetheless on the list. The commander assumes this traditionalist Lakota leader must be to blame.

To his credit, Bearcoat is wise enough not to send soldiers in guns a-blazing. He asks one of the few white men Sitting Bull considers a friend, Buffalo Bill Cody, to go to the Standing Rock Reservation and convince the spiritual leader to come along quietly for a talk. But Bill never gets that chance. Indian agent and noted Sitting Bull hater, James McLaughlin prevents the Western showman from doing so. Thus, 43 indigenous policemen are sent to arrest Sitting Bull instead. They do so on December 15th. Initially, sitting bull agrees to go peacefully, but others intercede to protect the revered spiritual leader. And as this happens, Catch the Bear fires at the Lakota officer bull head. Hit, the wounded officer turns and shoots his gun. The bullet strikes Sitting Bull square in the chest. The famous Lakota leader is dead.

Good God, Sitting Bull. There really might be a violent uprising now if the Ghost Dance religion didn't have the Lakota convinced they need to be peaceful for their ancestors to return in the spring. But efforts to arrest other Ghost Dance leaders and otherwise stop the religion continue. And in another two weeks,

the result will be a full-blown tragedy. It's the morning of December 29th, 1890. Colonel James W. Forsyth and his 500 men gather around campfires as they take their breakfast of hardtack and coffee. Yesterday, they apprehended the ghost dance leading Minakonju Lakota chief, Bigfoot, and his 350 followers, the majority of whom are women and children. Now, the combined groups are camping in the vicinity of Wounded Knee Creek. The plan is for this military unit to disarm the Lakota men, then take the whole group to the Pine Ridge Reservation's agency to await removal to Omaha.

No one expects this to be a difficult matter. I mean, despite the cavalry's numerous rookies, they have the numbers and four mounted Hotchkiss guns. Besides, Bigfoot and his people came peacefully last night. This should proceed smoothly. With both groups having finished their hardtack, Colonel James Forsyth calls the Lakota men to a council to separate them, the warriors, from the women and children. It's at this point that he announces through his mixed blood interpreter, Philip Wells,

that they must surrender their arms. The men aren't pleased. Sure, the colonel says they will be compensated, but guns are expensive, and they are vital for both protection and hunting. The Lakota produced some guns, all old, beat models, into the colonel,

suspiciously few in numbers for 120 warriors. James grows angry. He orders Bigfoot, who's bedridden with pneumonia, to be brought out into the cold. Further ordering his troops into tight formation around the Lakota men, the colon Colonel then demands that Bigfoot tell his warriors to surrender the rest of their guns.

The Chief says they already have. Tensions rise all the more as James sends his soldiers to search the tipis. As the soldiers go through the personal property of Lakota families, some are respectful, but others proudly announce which items they intend to keep as prizes. They do find more guns, but very few. The Lakota feel humiliated and angry. They complain, but stay calm. Still, the agitated colonel is sure they must have more guns.

He decides each Lakota man will now be searched. As this process produces two more rifles, a Lakota medicine man doing the ghost dance becomes more animated. The colonel's mixed blood interpreter informs him that the medicine man is telling the warriors in ghost shirts to trust their clothing to protect them from the soldier's bullets and resist. And as the colonel hears this, his troops approach a young and reportedly deaf Lakota man named Black Coyote. He has a rifle, and he isn't ready to just hand it over. A few soldiers grab him from behind and struggle to overpower Black Coyote,

and as they do so, the Lakota's Winchester goes off. Fire on them! The surprised, on-edge colonel screams to his men. Countless rifles crack as the soldiers do so. Some hand-to-hand combat ensues, and more guns fire as Lakota men, women, and children flee into the ravine. The rapid-firing Hotchkiss guns unload. Shocked non-military white civilians can only watch as the cavalry fires on any and all Lakota, like the eight- and ten-year-old boy and girl who are shot dead mid-flight.

Nine unarmed women in a wagon are blown apart by a cannon. Most of the carnage is over in 40 minutes, but some soldiers continue to hunt those who fled. The bedridden ghost dancer-in-chief, Bigfoot, lays dead. On top of him is the corpse of his middle-aged daughter, who instinctively ran to his assistance. Colonel James Forsyth was supposed to oversee a bloodless disarming. Instead, he oversaw a bloodbath that got 25 of his own men killed,

almost another 40 injured, and slaughtered about two-thirds of Bigfoot's people, mostly women and children. Officially, the tragedy is recorded as a battle, but in the years to come, many will call it the Wounded Knee Massacre. It is also the last large-scale, deadly confrontation between indigenous peoples and the United States as Native American resistance dies out. This is the end of the frontier for indigenous Americans. Or, to borrow the title of James Earl Fraser's early 20th century sculpture depicting an exhausted Native American meant to symbolize this point in history, this is the end of the trail. Some U.S. citizens

will genuinely come to think Native Americans are extinct as they read books making such claims. In short, Indigenous peoples see the frontier's closure as tragedy. And yet, in a world full of contradictions, some Native Americans find their best opportunities lay in joining shows that romanticize their traditional way of life while celebrating its downfall. Wild West shows. That alone gives us reason to look into them. But more than that,

these shows embody a very different memory of the Wild West. Here, the frontier is a place of heroes and celebrated in performances as the spread of civilization. So jarring as it might be to go from massacre to the world of theater, that's where we need to go if we want to understand the United States' post-frontier memory of the Wild West. But we can't settle for some hack job. We need the best of the best,

put on by a man who is so obsessed with authenticity, he refuses to even call it a show. So is his version real? Or is he just a showman and a fake? Decide for yourself as we head back five years to catch a performance of Buffalo Bill's Wild West and then analyze it. Rewind.

Napoleon Bonaparte rose from obscurity to become the most powerful and significant figure in modern history. Over 200 years after his death, people are still debating his legacy. He was a man of contradictions, a tyrant and a reformer, a liberator and an oppressor, a revolutionary and a reactionary. His biography reads like a novel, and his influence is almost beyond measure. I'm Everett Rummage, host of the Age of Napoleon podcast, and every month I delve into the turbulent life and times of one of the greatest characters in history, and explore the world that shaped him in all its glory and tragedy. It's a story of great battles and campaigns, political intrigue, and massive social and economic change, but it's also

a story about people populated with remarkable characters. I hope you'll join me as I examine this fascinating era of history. Find The Age of Napoleon wherever you get your podcasts. have such tiny arms? And why do so many more kids need glasses now than they used to? Spoiler alert, it isn't screen time. Our team of scientists digs into the research and breaks it down into a short, entertaining explanation, jam-packed with science facts and terrible puns. Subscribe to MinuteEarth wherever you like to listen. It's June 22nd, 1885. We're at Athletic Park in Washington, D.C., where the crowd's excitement is palpable. And of course it is.

I mean, we're about to experience Buffalo Bill's Wild West. As 3.30 approaches, more spectators file into their stadium seats. Oh, and the aroma of these piping hot fresh roasted peanuts is just making my mouth water. I knew we should have got some. Oh, never mind. Shh. It's starting. Master of Ceremonies Frank Richman steps forward. He bellows out an opening monologue that lets us know this isn't a mere show. This is, he asserts, the real Wild West. Ladies and gentlemen,

I desire to call your attention to an important fact. From time to time, it will be my pleasure to announce to you the different features of the program as they occur. Before the entertainment begins, however, I wish to impress upon your minds that what you are about to witness is not a performance in the common sense of the term, but an exhibition of skill on the part of the men who have acquired that quality while gaining a livelihood. Many unthinking people suppose that the different features of our exhibition are the result of what is technically called rehearsals. Such, however, is not the fact, and anyone who witnesses our performances the second time will observe that

men and animals alike are the creatures of circumstances, depending for their success upon their own skill, daring, and sagacity. In the East, the few who excel are known to all. In the far West, the names we offer to you this afternoon are the synonyms of skill, courage, and individual excellence. The cowboy band strikes up a tune as the Wild West's cast parades out. Pawnee, not actors, but actual Pawnee men and women, enter first. They're followed by authentic members of every group we've heard about in our Wild West episodes. Next are some of Mexico's famous cattle herders, vaqueros.

Then come members of the Wichita tribe, cowboys, the cowboy sheriff of the plaque, and members of the Sioux. Now one of the most exciting figures rides in. The great Hunkpapa Lakota Sioux chief, Sitting Bull. But does the crowd welcome or boo him? Depends on the day, and I don't have a source to tell you how most of our fellow spectators are reacting this afternoon. Finally, our emcee introduces the show's headliner. I next have the honor to introduce to your attention a man whose record as a servant of the government, whose skill and daring as a frontiersman, whose place in history as the chief

of scouts of the United States Army under such generals as Sherman, Sheridan, Hancock, Terry, Miles, Hazen, Royal, Merrick Crook, Carr, and others, and whose name as one of the Avengers of the lamented Custer, and whose adherence throughout an eventful life to his chosen principle of true to friend and foe, have made him well and popularly known throughout the world. You all know to whom I allude, the Honorable William F. Cody, Buffalo Bill. And so, with assurances of authenticity from our emcee and our introduction to authentic cowboys, vaqueros, and Native Americans, we enter the real Wild West. Or at least, Buffalo Bill's Wild West. This includes displays of gunmanship,

but maybe I should say gunwomanship. After all, none of the show's sharpshooters will be remembered quite like Annie Oakley. Dressed in a knee-length skirt, blouse, and cowboy hat, the petite, almost five-foot-tall, 24-year-old woman enters the arena, bowing, waving, and blowing kisses. Her husband-slash-manager-slash-assistant, bowing, waving, and blowing kisses. Her husband slash manager slash assistant, Frank Butler, launches a clay pigeon.

She nails it. Frank next launches two clay pigeons at the same time. Easy. Now Annie waits for him to launch multiple clays before even picking up her gun. Impressive. But still, that's nothing. Frank next throws balls in the air

as she shoots them while holding her rifle upside down and over her head. Good grief. And Annie has so many other tricks. My personal favorite is when she shoots just the ember of a lit cigarette as it rests between her husband's lips. But she won't perform that one today.

Annie is done and makes her exit. Bill's realistic depiction of the West and accompanying cowboy band entertain us with various other acts. Cowboys, vaqueros, and Native Americans race horses. A pony express rider changes steeds faster than you can blink. There's the Cowboy Fun event,

in which expert riders try to stay on bucking ponies for as long as they can. And how incredible is it to see these cowboys and vaqueros rope wild Texas steers? Hello, precedent for future rodeos. Introduced as the champion all-round shot of the world, the honorable William F. Cody puts on a show of his own brilliant marksmanship

with a shotgun, rifle, and revolver. Okay, that was amazing work, but his world champion title is over the top. I'm still team Annie Oakley. Of course, there's the Native American attack on a real stagecoach that actually used to run in Deadwood, South Dakota. And look at the hands flying up with

the call for audience participation. Seems everyone wants to ride in the coach. The Pawnee in Wichita perform a war dance. And last but not least, the grand finale. A Native American attack on a settler's cabin. And like the stagecoach scenario, Buffalo Bill and his cowboys heroically saved the day. The cast, or should I say these authentic Westerners, then gathered to bid us and the rest of the audience farewell. Oh, and they remind us to visit the Wild West camp. Ah, we don't have time for that today, but we should definitely see

if we can get some of those roasted peanuts on the way out. Wow, what a show. The man behind this production of the Wild West, William Cody, a.k.a. Buffalo Bill, has serious credibility because, as his contemporaries know, he lived it all. Born in Iowa in 1846,

young Bill moved with his family to Kansas in 1854. Here, pro-slavery settlers brought violence down upon the anti-slavery Cody family. A pro-slavery agitator sank a Bowie knife into Bill's father that September. The man never fully recovered and died a few years later in 1857. So, fatherless at only 11 and needing to help support his mother, five sisters, and baby brother, young William began his storied career. As a preteen, he freighted with rough teamsters and prospected for Colorado gold. At 13, he rode for the Pony Express.

Well, allegedly. More on that later. Still a teen during the Civil War, he nonetheless served in the 7th Kansas Cavalry. After the war, the Kansas Pacific Railroad hired the talented marksmen to hunt buffalo in order to feed their construction crews. This is how William acquired his famous nickname, Buffalo Bill. As the 1860s gave way to the 1870s, he further upped his frontier cred as an Army scout and Indian fighter. His most famous and controversial moment as an Indian fighter

came during the Great Sioux War. On July 17th, 1876, just one month after George Custer and much of his 7th Cavalry had met their end at the Little Bighorn, there was a minor engagement in which Buffalo Bill and Cheyenne sub-chief Yellow Hair came face-to-face quite unexpectedly. No words exchanged, both men reached for their guns. Buffalo Bill proved the luckier of the two. Then, and here's the controversial part, Bill scalped him. The first scalp for Custer! The victorious, avenging Army Scout yells as a small skirmish ensued. Buffalo Bill would later tell this tale in some versions of his show. But the frontiersman has already become a performer.

He was even wearing a stage costume when he killed Yellow Hair, or Yellow Hand if you're reading a mistranslation. Writer Ned Buntline had already noticed Buffalo Bill's star qualities years before in 1872 and convinced him to star in a Wild West show. Soon, Bill was putting on performances with other legit Westerners, like gunslinger James Butler Wild Bill Hickok. His robust frontier life that seemed to touch all things Wild West. Freighting, prospecting, the Indian Wars, gunfights, buffalo hunting, railroads, you

name it. Combined with his decade on the stage gave him the frontier legitimacy and necessary showman skills needed to create the production we just experienced, Buffalo Bill's Wild West. It first debuted in 1883, just two years before the performance you and I attended in late June, 1885. Though it is well done, and despite his cred, you may have noticed some cracks in Buffalo Bill and his Wild West production by now. For instance, it's simplified, Cowboys vs. Indians, or in other words, Good Guys vs. Bad Guys. So why would Native Americans sign on for a show

that paints them as villains? More broadly, who are the people in this show and what do they bring? Let's address these points by zooming in on two individuals I highlighted during the June 22, 1885 performance. Annie Oakley and Sitting Bull. Born as Phoebe Ann Mosey, Annie Oakley isn't from the American West. She hails from Ohio. But she was welcomed into Buffalo Bill's Wild West earlier this year, 1885, because she's the real deal. While many sharpshooters rely on tricks and illusions, she's actually that good. So if Annie misses, the audience sees it, and that happens spectacularly when Bill tries to do a night

performance illuminated by electric lights. Yet, here's the great and ironic thing. When things do go wrong, it proves that Buffalo Bill's Wild West isn't a gimmick. It's real. And while Annie's incredible shooting enables her to shatter flying targets and glass ceilings alike, her stage presence and appearance allow her to do so while still projecting a femininity

that her late 19th century audience finds appealing. As we saw during the show, Annie wears skirts and performs with her husband. All this and more assures middle-class mothers and East Coast women less acquainted with firearms that they can enjoy this rough-and-tumble, violent entertainment without compromising their Victorian sense of womanhood. In short, women, no, ladies, belong in the now industrializing and civilized American West, too. Now what about Annie's friend, Sitting Bull? And they are good friends. The two actually met in 1884 before either had joined Buffalo Bill's Wild West. That year, Indian agent James McLaughlin,

who, in many ways, controls Sitting Bull's life, allows the Hunk Papa Lakota Sioux chief to leave the Standing Rock Reservation with him on a visit to St. Paul, Minnesota. While there, Sitting Bull saw Annie in action. He was absolutely floored by the sharpshooter's skill and asked to meet her. Annie was more than happy to do so. She gave Sitting Bull her photo, and this meeting had a sizable impact on Buffalo Bill's Wild West. It was only with a promise that he'd get to see Annie Daly, well, that and permission from the U.S. government, that got Sitting Bull to join the production in early June 1885. That's right, we witnessed one of his first performances. By the time this touring season

ends later this year, in October, the Hunkpapa Lakota chief will adopt Annie as his daughter, with a name she'll use proudly, Little Sure Shot. Okay, so Annie and Sitting Bull are friends, but let's get to his inclusion in Buffalo Bill's Wild West. Now, obviously, all indigenous participants give legitimacy to a Wild West show, but no one parallels Sitting Bull of the Battle of the Little Bighorn fame. It's easy to see why Bill wants him. The Lakota chief brings as much legitimizing star power as Buffalo Bill himself. But why does Sitting Bull, who's spent his life fighting for his people in their traditional ways, willingly participate? I'd say

he's still fighting for them, but in the world of 1885, he knows his best weapon isn't a rifle. It's leveraging his own celebrity status. Let me give you an example of one such effort. Just a year before he joined Buffalo Bill's Wild West, Sitting Bull participated in Alvar and Allen's Wild West show, The Sitting Bull Combination. Now, I can't speak to how every show went, but one night, a 16-year-old Lakota student from the Carlisle Indian School named Luther Standing Bear attended. He later described Sitting Bull giving a speech. Here's an excerpt. My friends, white people. I see so many white people and what they are doing and it makes me glad to know that someday my children will be educated also. There's no use fighting any longer. The buffalo are all gone,

as well as the rest of the game. Yeah, peace, education, opportunity. That's what Sitting Bull wants. Alas, that's not what the audience hears. Luther goes on to say that a quote unquote interpreter lied to the audience, saying that Sitting Bull detailed how he and his people massacred Lieutenant Colonel George Custer. But despite that dishonesty, at least we know what the Lakota chief

is trying to accomplish. By the way, Sitting Bull's experience with this show is at least a reason why he hesitated to join Buffalo Bill's Wild West at first. But now that he's here, Sitting Bull continues to take opportunities to use his words and influence for his people's benefit. On June 22, 1885, the same day we saw him parade in the Washington, D.C. show, Sitting Bull also dropped by the White House. We don't know if he actually spoke with President Grover Cleveland. We do know, however, that Sitting Bull left him a letter. More generally, Wild West shows are often the best opportunity Sitting Bull and

other Native Americans have in life. Now, I don't say that to hold up Buffalo Bill or other showmen as heroes. It actually speaks to the bleak reality of the limited options Native Americans have. Do they participate in shows that often make them the villain and, maliciously or not, miss the mark in displaying their culture? Or do Native Americans refuse and in so doing pass on one of the few places in which they're actually encouraged to speak their language and exhibit cultural practices. Though exaggerated, these shows become a rare opportunity for Native Americans to make the nation somewhat aware of their existence and earn money. Some shows also treat their indigenous cast members better than others, and frankly, Buffalo Bill's Wild West is among, if not flat out, the

best. Bill personally shows genuine concern for his Native American cast, paying them well and ensuring they get to and from reservations between touring seasons. In his drive for authenticity, he also refuses to let white actors portray Native Americans. To speak of Sitting Bull specifically, Buffalo Bill treats him well. He refused to lean into the circulating falsehood that Sitting Bull, quote-unquote, slayed George Custer. Bill has his exaggerations, like dressing Sitting Bull in a war bonnet with more feathers than the great Lakota chief

otherwise ever wore. But he only advertises Sitting Bull as, quote, the renowned Sioux chief, close quote. Sitting Bull's terms aren't bad either. He's paid well, $50 per week, and his job is to be in the

show's parade and do meet and greets in a teepee. That's it. Otherwise, he signs autographs and everything he makes on those are his to keep. He could be quite well off. Instead, he just gives his money away to the poor everywhere the show goes. By all reports, Buffalo Bill and Sitting Bull get along quite well, and despite coming from opposite sides of the Indian Wars, they develop a real friendship. This isn't to say the Lakota chief doesn't have his bad days. He is, after all, the villain to many Americans. He never knows if he's going to be loved or hated by a crowd. And I know, you may have heard that Sitting Bull curses his

audience in Sioux. If he ever did, we have no record of it. Besides, when I think on his speech that Luther Standing Bear recorded, and just who he is, that doesn't add up for me. Not that Sitting Bull wouldn't be justified. He's just a better person. That said, the aging warrior can still handle himself. At one show in Pittsburgh, a man whose brother died at the Little Bighorn charges out to attack the Lakota chief. As the man draws close, Sitting Bull smashes his assailant in the face with a hammer.

Huh, defending himself from an actual attack. How's that for realistic? I can't tell you exactly what Sitting Bull thinks of Buffalo Bill's Wild West. I struggle to imagine he doesn't have his critiques. But the evidence is he sees at least some good. He tells a reporter that he likes show business, and the reason he won't return for a second season isn't a lack of interest. It's because James McLaughlin won't let him. And yeah, that's the same Indian agent who, five years from now, will prevent Buffalo Bill from talking to Sitting Bull, thus leading to that tragically botched arrest. When Sitting Bull has to depart the show in

October 1885, Buffalo Bill gives him two gifts, a large white hat and the light gray horse he rode in the parade. The Lakota chief will cherish both until his dying day, which, as we know all too well, is December 15th, 1890. So what do we make of Buffalo Bill and his authentic, not-a-show Wild West show? It clearly lacked perspective. And we won't go far down this road out of time considerations, but let's briefly acknowledge the questions many have asked about Bill's own life.

How much of his story is true? Did he really ride for the Pony Express? We have no proof of that other than his word. And who wears a costume into battle other than a man who wants to get on stage and say he was wearing those very same clothes when reenacting the scene. At the same time,

countless people who experienced the West, like Generals Phil Sheridan and W. Tecumseh Sherman, and even the author Mark Twain, all sign off on its authenticity. So how do we square that with everything we know about the frontier and don't know about Bill? Maybe we can't. If we can, it's probably this. Buffalo Bill's Wild West authentically represented

how the United States, its armies, and its settlers perceived the frontier as the progress of civilization. There's so much more that could be said about Buffalo Bill and his show. I mean, his not-a-show show. But this episode isn't really about the great showman, his tour to Europe, or his failing marriage. It's about the closing of the frontier. Keeping our eyes on the prize, we need to head to the 1893 Columbian Exposition in Chicago, but not to watch Buffalo Bill set up his production just outside of it. Two great intellectuals are speaking here. One is directly addressing the frontiers of clothes,

and both are contemplating the idea of American progress. But they have two fairly different perspectives. This is a tale of two Fredericks, Frederick Jackson Turner and Frederick Douglass. Was the Sphinx 10,000 years old? Were there serial killers in ancient Greece and Rome? What were the lives of transgender, intersex, and non-binary people like in the ancient world? We're Jen. And Jenny. From Ancient History Fangirl. We tell you true stories and tall tales of the ancient world. Sometimes we do it tipsy.

Sometimes we have amazing guests on our show. Historians like Barry Strauss, podcasters like Liv Albert, Mike Duncan, and authors like Joanne Harris and Ben Aronovich. We take you to the top of Hadrian's Wall to watch the Roman Empire fall at the end of the world. We walk the catacombs beneath the Temple of the Feathered Serpent under Teotihuacan. We walk the sacred spirals of the Nazca Lines in search of ancient secrets. And we explore mythology from ancient cultures around the world. Come find us at ancienthistoryfangirl.com or wherever you get your podcasts. When Johann Rall received the letter on Christmas Day 1776, he put it away to read later. Maybe he thought it was a season's greeting and wanted to save it for the fireside. But what it actually was was a warning delivered to the Hessian colonel, letting him know that General George Washington was crossing the Delaware and would soon attack

his forces. The next day, when Raw lost the Battle of Trenton and died from two colonial Boxing Day musket balls, the letter was found, unopened in his vest pocket. As someone with 15,000 unread emails in his inbox, I feel like there's a lesson there. Oh well, this is The Constant, a history of getting things wrong. I'm Mark Chrysler. Every episode, we look at the bad ideas, mistakes, and accidents that misshaped our world.

Find us at constantpodcast.com or wherever you get your podcasts. It's a summer day, July 1893. We're in Chicago, Illinois, at the Columbian Exposition. If you're not familiar with expositions or world fairs, these events consist of exhibits that amuse its visitors while conveying the greatness of a theme or its host nation. The British hosted what we typically call the first such expo, the Great Exhibition, in 1851, during which they flexed their industrial might with a gorgeous, massive cast iron and glass building called the Crystal

Palace. Not to be outdone, the French hosted their own expo in 1889 that showcased their industrialization with Gustave Eiffel's wrought iron tower. More than a thousand feet tall, many Parisians consider it a gaudy blight on their fair city's otherwise gorgeous skyline. Thank goodness it's only meant to be temporary. They'd hate to see Paris defined by Monsieur Eiffel and his tower. But now, the United States is hosting such an expo in the windy city of Chicago. It's been 400 years since Christopher Columbus arrived in the New World, and this Colombian exposition, as it's called, celebrates the progress and strength of America.

Adults and children alike enjoy all sorts of foods, including hamburgers and caramel-coated popcorn called Cracker Jacks. A Pennsylvanian named Milton Hershey loves the German chocolate so much, he's later going to make some of his own. And everyone loves George Ferris Jr.'s take on the pleasure wheel. Unlike its small wooden predecessors, it's made of steel and has 36 beautifully designed cars that take passengers around and around, up to 264 feet in the air. Look at this view! Brought to you by American Industrial Might. It's incredible. Eat your heart out, Gustav Eiffel. Then there are the new inventions. Laundry machines, moving pictures, electric, everything.

Most here have never seen Thomas Edison's decade-and-a-half-old invention, the light bulb. But here, the dark of sunset means nothing. Countless electric lights turn the night into day. My God, these advancements are mind-blowing. The countless exhibits come from across the nation, even the new district of Alaska, as well as 46 other countries and span 600 acres. With all of this decked out in neoclassical architecture,

the message is clear. America is the greatest civilization since Rome. It is the peak of humanity's progress. It is a light to the world. Just seven miles north of the fairgrounds, the newly built Art Institute of Chicago is hosting another event between July 11th and 13th, a meeting of the still relatively new American Historical Association, or the AHA. Yes, history is starting to become a professionalized thing. In fact, get this, there's one participant who recently received a PhD in history. Yeah,

just history. Who gets a PhD in such a narrow subject? Well, at this point, I guess the answer is Dr. Frederick Jackson Turner. Currently a professor at the University of Wisconsin, he's come to the AHA this year to deliver a paper entitled The Significance of the Frontier in American History. Care to hear it with me? Excellent. Let's head to this history conference. It's the evening of July 12, 1893.

Having enjoyed the afternoon at the expo, AHA members filter back into the Art Institute of Chicago. The discerning audience is soon seated and ready to lend critical ears to the well-coiffed, mustachioed, 31-year-old academic now standing before them, Frederick Jackson Turner. Paper in hand, the professor now reads from his much-labored-over article.

In a recent bulletin of the superintendent of the census for 1890 appeared these significant words. Up to and including 1880, the country had a frontier of settlement. But at present, the unsettled area has been so broken into by isolated bodies of settlement that there can hardly be said to be a frontier line. In the discussion of its extent, its westward movements, etc., it cannot, therefore, any longer have a place in the census reports.

So, the U.S. Census of 1890 proclaimed the frontier over? Damn. Okay. Where are you going with this, Frederick? He continues. The peculiarity of American institutions is the fact that they have been compelled to adapt themselves to the changes of an expanding people. The changes involved in crossing a continent, in winning a wilderness, and in developing each area of this progress out of the primitive economic and political conditions of the frontier into the complexity of city life. Interesting. Frederick is arguing that the United States and its institutions have basically been defined by westward movement.

But that's not all. He now argues that the rugged, uncivilized frontier has also made the American as an individual. Says the professor, The frontier is the line of most rapid and effective Americanization. In short, at the frontier the environment is at first too strong for the man, and he must accept the conditions which it furnishes or perish, and so he fits himself into the Indian clearings and follows the Indian trails.

Little by little, he transforms the wilderness, but theings and follows the Indian trails. Little by little, he transforms the wilderness, but the outcome is not the old Europe. The fact is that here is a new product that is American. Now, I'm not going to sit here and quote an academic paper at you all day, so I'll leave the actual quotes there. But if, as Frederick claims, the frontier has created both U.S. institutions and the American people itself, what does it mean that the frontier is now closed? It's a bit terrifying. But for the professor, the United States is ending its first period of history and moving into another. And this second phase is one defined by the progress seen down at the fairgrounds. A frontier-driven civilization evolving

to wield the most excellent political and economic systems to date, democracy and capitalism. The paper is well-received. Surely, many a pioneer can relate to the lack of opportunity in Europe or the Eastern states and heading west to face down

the daunting, life-threatening challenges of homesteading life. Like the story of progress on display down the road at the Columbian Exposition, Frederick's vision of the frontier driving American individualism and the nation's robust representative government ring true to many.

But not all agree with this thesis of progress. As we've already seen in this very episode, westward expansion and the closing of the frontier is a tale of heartbreak and loss for Native Americans. A Pottawatomie man named Simon Pokigan is at the exposition, selling his written rebuttal to it. I suppose you could also call it a rebuttal to Frederick Jackson Turner. It's called The Red Man's Rebuke, and in it, Simon counters,

quote, Your hearts in admiration rejoice over the beauty and grandeur of this young republic. It's called The Red Man's Rebuke, and in it, Simon counters, quote, Your hearts in admiration rejoice over the beauty and grandeur of this young republic. Do not forget that this success has been at the sacrifice of our homes and a once happy race. Close quote. Black leaders are outraged as well. They're angry that African tribes are depicted, to cite Frederick Douglass, as savages. They're also

sickened at the depictions of slavery. In the Hall of Agriculture, former slaves sell small souvenir replicas of cotton bales. Another big hit is the R.T. Davis Milling Company's booth. Here, formerly enslaved Nancy Green serves pancakes while playing a happy antebellum plantation mammy named Aunt Jemima. Furthermore, Black visitors will only be welcomed on August 25th, called Jubilee Day or Colored American Day. Some Black Americans, like civil rights leader Ida B. Wells, are so angry they plan to boycott. Frederick Douglass, on the other hand, will not. He has the opportunity to speak, and he's not going to waste it.

It's Friday, August 25th, 1893. The Columbian Exposition's Jubilee Day. Now in his mid-70s with long, white hair, the long-ago self-emancipated abolitionist Frederick Douglass walks onto the fairgrounds. Nearly everyone here is black, but looking around, something else makes his blood boil. Watermelon stands are everywhere. Growing and selling the fruit after the Civil War has helped formerly enslaved black Americans achieve some economic independence, but as they've done so, many white Southerners have associated

watermelons with laziness and a lack of cleanliness. Frederick can't help thinking of this new association with the fruit, as he sees the numerous stands clearly intended for today's black visitors. He has half a mind to leave. But no, swallowing that impulse, he continues to Festival Hall to give his speech. Festival Hall is packed. According to the Chicago Tribune, 2,500 people have shown up. Two-thirds of those present are black. The other third are white.

Various black musicians perform beautiful renditions of classical pieces. A young and upcoming black writer, Paul Lawrence Dunbar, reads his poem, The Colored American. Then, at 3 p.m., it's time for the keynote. Frederick Douglass rises to speak. From the crowd's edges, hecklers call out. It throws Frederick for a second, but he soon shakes it off. He came here, to this expo celebrating American progress, to give his thoughts on the nation and that narrative as it relates to Black Americans in the years since the Civil War.

And he means to do so. The aging civil rights leader lifts his head and runs a hand through his thick white hair. He then bellows out over the jeers. We fought for your country. We ask that we be treated as well as those who fought against your country. We love your country. We ask that you treat us as well as those who love but a part of it. Men talk of the Negro problem. There is no

Negro problem. The problem is whether the American people have honesty enough, loyalty enough, honor enough, patriotism enough to live up to their own constitution. During the war, we were eyes to your blind, legs to your lame, shelter to the shelterless among your sons. Have you forgotten that now? Today we number 8 million people. Today a desperate effort is being made to blacken the character of the Negro and to brand him as a moral monster. In 14 states of this union, wild mobs have taken the place of

law. They hang, shoot, burn men of my race without justice and without right. Today, the Negro is barred out of almost every reputable and decent employment. But stop. Look at the progress the Negro has made in 30 years. Measure the Negro, but not by the standard of the splendid civilization of the Caucasian. Bend down and measure him. Measure him from the depths out of which he has risen. Frederick's speech ends,

but his efforts to speak against the Columbian Exposition and for Black Americans do not. Five days later, 10,000 copies of a pamphlet he's been working on with Ida B. Wells and others becomes available. It's entitled, The Reason Why the Colored American is Not in the World's Colombian Exposition. From Wounded Knee to Buffalo Bill's Wild West to the Colombian Exposition, we have been all over the place in this episode. But I suppose that's to be expected. The Wild West, or the frontier, is a vast thing to bring to a close. And I don't just mean that physically, even if the Transcontinental Railroad episodes helped drive that point home for us.

I mean that in terms of our memory, myth, and imagination of the old American West. Above all, I'd say the Gunslinger episodes showed us that. This is a place where even the smallest outlaw or deed can be steeped in legend and tall tales. Maybe the biggest surprise we should see in Buffalo Bill is how much his story can be corroborated. But as we grapple with a United States that no longer has a frontier, what do we make of its divergent legacies? Buffalo Bill's Wild West, the Columbian Exposition of 1893, and Frederick Jackson Turner all present a story of progress. Sitting Bull certainly wouldn't say that, though. And while Frederick Douglass doesn't

address the American West so much as America, he rejects the Expo's celebration of progress as well. Is one narrative right? Or can they all be true, or at least contain truth at the same time, as this imperfect union alternately fails and succeeds to become a yet more perfect union? And ample opportunities for this union to make more rise and fall decisions are coming. We still have to open Ellis Island, meet larger-than-life industrialists and inventors, see labor strikes, witness the rise of Jim Crow, go to war with Spain, expand overseas, and experience another U.S. presidential assassination. The Wild West might be over, but the late 19th century? Not at all. I'm just getting warmed up. Thank you. John Boovey, John Keller, John Oliveros, John Radlavich, John Schaefer, John Sheff, Jordan Corbett, Joshua Steiner, Justin M. Spriggs, Justin May, Kristen Pratt, Karen Bartholomew, Cassie Conecco, Kim R., Kyle Decker, Lawrence Neubauer, Linda Cunningham, Mark Ellis, Matthew Mitchell, Matthew Simmons, Melanie Jan, Nick Seconder, Nick Caffrell, Noah Hoff, Owen Sedlak, Paul Goeringer, Randy Guffrey, Reese Humphreys-Wadsworth, Rick Brown, Sarah Trawick, Samuel Lagasa, Sharon Thiesen, Sean Baines, Steve Williams,

Creepy Girl, Tisha Black, and Zach Jackson.