Tune in.

Writer Rod Miller goes live on “Dusty Trails and Tall Tales” Thursday, July 23, at 5:00 p.m. Mountain Time. Tune in on YouTube Livestream or FacebookLivestream for a discussion about the infamous Massacre at Bear River. See you there.

In the news:

The paperback and eBook editions of This Thy Brother have just been released. The stories follow the Pate and Lewis families introduced in Father unto Many Sons, and while reading that one first may enhance enjoyment of This Thy Brother, each novel stands on its own as well. From expeditions to kidnap and enslave Navajos, to the Texas invasion of New Mexico, to building trade and ranching empires, the book covers a lot of country. Online booksellers and eBook outlets feature the new release. These links will take you there:

This Thy Brother paperback on sale now
v  Amazon US
v  Barnes & Noble

 This Thy Brother eBook on sale now 
v  Amazon US
v  Apple Books
v  Barnes & Noble
v  Google Play
v  Kobo Books 

As Flame to Smoke, meant to be released a few weeks ago, suffered a printing error so has been delayed. For unknown reasons, the printers put out the fire in the title on the book’s cover, and rather than bright yellow and orange flames it looks like black and gray ashes. The publisher tells me they are working on a fix, but have not informed me of a completion date. Amazon does say they have the book in stock, but they do not show a cover image so I don’t know if it’s the defective one or the correct one. 

 

Fire up your computer (or phone or wherever you watch podcasts) on July 23 at 5:00 p.m. Mountain Time and log onto “Dusty Trails and Tall Tales.” I will be talking with host Matthew Pizzolotto about the Massacre at Bear River, and it should be an interesting discussion. The United States Army killed more Indians (Shoshoni in this case) than at any other engagement in the history of the West, yet the 1863 massacre is largely forgotten to history. In this interview, we hope to shed a little more light on the tragedy and give it a measure of the attention it deserves.

That’s the news for now.

Sad Anniversary

January 29 marks 163 years since a Shoshone winter camp was attacked by forces of the United States Army, leaving as many as 350 children, women, and men dead. Events leading up to the attack are many and complicated and years in the making. But the government’s actions cannot, in any way, be justified, excused, or explained.

It was a tragedy unprecedented at the time and unmatched since. No other of the many unpardonable actions against the native people who have populated the West for thousands of years can match the Massacre at Bear River. By any measure it was the worst we—our white American ancestors—could do. And yet it is little understood and almost entirely forgotten by history. The few accounts that do exist in history books are often incorrect and inaccurate.

For one of the few times over the past two decades, I will miss the annual commemoration at the massacre site, hosted by the Northwestern Band of the Shoshone Nation. But my heart will be with the families and descendants of the victims, and the hundreds of supporters who will gather a few miles north of Preston, Idaho, to honor the fallen as well as the survivors.

The Massacre at Bear River has been something of an obsession with me. I have written a book of history about the massacre, as well as magazine articles and other nonfiction accounts. And I have attempted to capture the emotion and the human aspects of the event in poems, song lyrics, short stories, and a novel (available in hardcover, paperback, and eBook).

The Massacre at Bear River is a stain on our nation that is not pleasant to remember, but one that should never be forgotten.

On the air in Ireland.

This story starts a few years ago but got derailed when Covid shut the world off for a time. A radio producer from Ireland contacted me to say he lived and worked in County Kerry, homeland of Patrick Edward Connor. Connor was the army commander behind the Massacre at Bear River (promoted from colonel to brigadier general following the atrocity), the Father of Utah Mining, and was involved in other military and business pursuits here in the West.

The man from Radio Kerry, Jerry O’Sullivan, wanted to create a radio documentary about Connor, was coming to Utah, and wondered if he could interview me. Then came Covid.

But all things must pass, and early this summer he contacted me to say he was on his way. We spent some time at the remnants of Fort Douglas in Salt Lake City, including a spell at Connor’s gravesite in the cemetery there to record the interview. O’Sullivan interviewed other people here, then went back to Ireland to put the program together. It aired on Radio Kerry in early August, and “Glory Hunter” is now available on Spotify. (Just click on “Glory Hunter” and you’ll go there.)

O’Sullivan also wrote a commentary on Connor, the connections between Ireland and the USA, and the way we remember history. That article appeared recently in the Salt Lake Tribune. (Again, a click should get you there.)

Connor was an interesting man of many accomplishments—not all of them laudable. It will be worth your time to hear—and read—what Jerry O’Sullivan has to say about him.

At the Utah Arts Festival.

Every summer (pandemics permitting) some 70,000 people make their way to downtown Salt Lake City for the Utah Arts Festival. On display is art of every kind, from sculpture and painting to music and dance to film and photography and more.

There’s literary art as well, and that’s where I come in. Or go on, if you’d rather.

On Friday, June 24, at 4:00 p.m. I’ll be reading selections from my writings about the 1863 Massacre at Bear River, the bloodiest encounter between the US Army and Indians in the history of the American West. It’s a tragedy largely forgotten and ignored in our collective memory, and that needs to change.

Selections from song lyrics, poetry, short stories, a novel, as well as a nonfiction book and magazine article are on the agenda.

If you’re anywhere near Salt Lake City from June 23 through June 26, be sure to visit the Utah Arts Festival. I’ll be there, and watching for you.

A healthy obsession.

For several years now, I have been obsessed with the Massacre at Bear River. I can’t say for sure when this obsession took hold, but I do remember why.

The history of the American West has always been of interest to me, and that interest has always included our growing nation’s history of eliminating any competition for the land and its resources. In other words, the systematic exclusion and eradication of the native tribes that occupied the land.

At some point in my education, after years of study, I learned about the Massacre at Bear River where, on 29 January 1863, the United States Army launched a dawn attack on a Shoshoni village and killed some 250 to 350 men, women, children, and babies. Most of the dead were noncombatants. And the annihilation included rape and torture, as well as the destruction of food, clothing, lodges, and the theft of the horse herds on which the people relied. It was the deadliest massacre of American Indians by the Army in all of Western history.

I was astounded—dumbfounded—that such a pivotal event had largely escaped notice in American history. Little had been written about it, and most of what had been published was incomplete at best, and inaccurate at worst.

Thus began my obsession. The result, to date, is represented above. I have written a lot about the Massacre at Bear River. Most recently, a novel. Before that, in no particular order, a nonfiction book and shorter pieces of nonfiction included in a book and for a magazine. Short fiction for an anthology, and published in my own collection of short stories. Poems in an anthology and a chapbook. And a poem that became a song.

There may well be more to come, as the Massacre at Bear River continues to haunt me.

When January 29 rolls around again, as it will in a few weeks, I hope to be at the site of the Massacre at Bear River to once again join the Northwestern Band of the Shoshone Nation in honoring their departed ancestors, who have yet to claim their proper place in history.

January 29, 1863, is one of the darkest days in the history of the American West. That morning, United States Army troops slaughtered some 250 to 350 Shoshoni men, women, and children on the banks of the Bear River in what is now southeastern Idaho. No other encounter between the army and Indian tribes in the West approaches that massacre in terms of Indian blood spilled, brutal savagery, or body count.

Just released from Five Star Publishing is my latest book, And the River Ran Red—A Novel of the Massacre at Bear River.

Earlier, I wrote a nonfiction book about this tragic event, Massacre at Bear River: First, Worst, Forgotten. I have also written about it for magazines, short stories, in poems, and, with Western singer and songwriter Brenn Hill, song lyrics.

This short novel—as with the fictional stories, poetry, and song—allowed me to build upon the known facts and consider the thoughts, feelings, and words of those involved in all facets of the massacre. So, while the novel is fiction, it presents truths of a different kind as it both hews closely to the facts and expands upon the emotional color of the times.

I hope many will read And the River Ran Red for the sole reason that it may help spread knowledge of, and horror about, what may well be the greatest of all tragedies in the history of the American West, as well as an appreciation for the people of the Northwestern Band of the Shoshone Nation who press on with determination and triumph still today.

Where I was on January 29.

 

As regular readers know, January 29, 1863 is the date of the Massacre at Bear River, during which US Army soldiers slaughtered hundreds of Shoshoni Indians, many of them old people, women, and children. It was the deadliest massacre of Indians by the military in the history of the West.
    For many years, members of the Northwestern Band of the Shoshone Nation have met at the site to commemorate the lives and deaths of their ancestors, who were nearly wiped out in the massacre. The public is graciously hosted at the ceremonies.
    This year, 2021, things were different.
    Owing to the Covid pandemic, the affair was smaller in scale, with formal invitations extended only to members of the Band. Some interested parties, including yours truly, drove to the site to honor the day in whatever way was possible. We were welcomed.
    But, more important, for the first time the ceremonies were held in a new location—on bluffs above the river bottom on land owned—for the first time in 158 years—by the Band, and near where the Boa Ogoi Cultural Interpretive Center is taking shape. (Boa Ogoi means Big River in Shoshoni, and is the traditional name for the Bear River.)
    Pictured is the relatively small but caring crowd at the commemoration; former tribal chairman and main force behind the Interpretive Center, Darren Parry; and tribal elder Gwen Timbimboo Davis. Both Parry and Davis are descendants of Sagwitch Timbimboo, tribal leader who was wounded at but survived the Massacre, and held the remnants of the band together in the aftermath.
    Donations toward the development of the Boa Ogoi Cultural Interpretive Center are welcome, and certainly a worthwhile expenditure for lovers of Western History who recognize the importance of remembering even its darkest days.

The week that was, Part One.

The week that turned January to February was a busy one around here. Or, not around here, as the case may be.

On January 29, we boarded a bus with a group from Utah Westerners and traveled north on the more-or-less same trail Colonel Patrick Edward Connor took with his cavalry troops in 1863 on a mission to seek out and destroy a Shoshoni winter camp—and the people there.

Every year, the Northwestern Band of the Shoshone Nation, descendants of the few survivors of the massacre, meet on the killing field to remember the fateful day. And they gracefully host all interested parties who care to join them. One newspaper report estimated this year’s crowd at 500. Larry Echohawk (pictured), former United States Assistant Secretary of the Interior for Indian Affairs, offered the keynote address.

I have written widely about the Massacre at Bear River, the latest effort being a novel based on the horrors of the day. When released in 2021, It will carry the same title as a song I wrote the lyrics for, “And the River Ran Red,” by the great Western singer Brenn Hill. Brenn was at the ceremony and, as he did last year, sang “And the River Ran Red.”

The Northwestern Band of the Shoshone Nation, under the direction of tribal chairman Darren Parry, is in the process of creating the Boa Ogoi Cultural Interpretive Center at the site. Your financial support will help. Donations of any size are welcome.

Thank you.

These Honored Dead.

A few weeks ago, on January 29, I once again had the opportunity to attend ceremonies commemorating the Massacre at Bear River. As always, it was a moving occasion.

Brenn Hill opened the program with the song “And the River Ran Red,” moving the audience to stunned, reverent silence.

Utah’s Attorney General spoke. And, for the first time ever, officials from the State of Idaho attended, with the governor, Brad Little, finally getting his state involved in remembering the tragedy and honoring the Northwestern Band of the Shoshone Nation.

Tribal chairman Darren Parry also spoke, briefly outlining plans for the Band’s ambitious improvements at the site, including restoration of the landscape and construction of an interpretive center. The project has finally become possible, 156 years after the massacre, owing to the efforts of Parry and other tribal leaders to acquire significant acreage at the site. A campaign is now underway to raise funds.

While I don’t ask readers to do much, I hope you will find it in your heart to contribute. Large or small, every donation will help the world recognize and remember this overlooked chapter in the history of the West.

Please.

And thank you.

A song in my heart.

Brenn Hill, cowboy songster extraordinaire, just released his fourteenth album, Rocky Mountain Drifter.

There are sixteen songs to enjoy and, as with all things remarkable, it’s hard to pick a favorite. “Old Black Joe” and “Buffalo Beard” appeal to me for their originality. And I like “My Angel Wings.” It’s a sort of old-timey, touching kind of tune. You can’t listen to “Muddy Creek” without tapping your toes. Brenn does a fine job with one of my favorite Guy Clark classics (there are two tunes on the album written by someone other than Brenn), “Desperados Waitin’ for a Train.” I could go on and on, because everything on the album is good listening.

I confess I am drawn to one song in particular: “And the River Ran Red.” It’s a haunting, reverent song about the Massacre at Bear River, a tragedy I have written widely about. One reason I really like this song is that I had a hand in writing the words. Brenn makes those words sound better than they are.

It’s unlikely any more of my words will ever be set to music. But when it’s this good, once is enough.

Turn to page 26.

The latest issue of True West magazine features an article I wrote about the Massacre at Bear River (a subject I have written a lot about) and Sagwitch, the Shoshoni leader who managed to hold the survivors together and maintain the very lifeblood of the band.

The United States Army slaughtered some 250 to 350 children, old folks, women, and men on January 29, 1863 on the banks of the Bear River in Cache Valley. Colonel Patrick Edward Connor, the man behind the massacre, estimated 164 Shoshoni survived. That survival was tenuous, given that the army destroyed their lodges, pilfered or ruined food stores, stole the horse herd, and left them to die in sub-zero cold.

Sagwitch, wounded in the hand and having a horse shot out from under him, managed to escape the slaughter and, later, led his people to a future much different than any of them could have imagined.

Read about it in the November 2018 issue of True West. If you’re not a subscriber, pick up a copy from a newsstand. Then turn to page 26.