tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87085094681376623012024-03-05T05:03:29.257-08:00Will Murray AuthorThe long and winding road...Will Murrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05750024316615455676noreply@blogger.comBlogger69125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8708509468137662301.post-85766098747112282092022-03-12T17:59:00.001-08:002022-03-12T17:59:36.973-08:00Strangers are welcomed to the wild and wooly west<p> </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The men shook hands, the Irishman
enthusiastically, the New Yorker somewhat hesitatingly, and the girl
just nodded politely and examined the two deputies with obvious
curiosity. Her father explained that the whole family had come to San
Francisco by train; then he and his daughter had come down to Mojave,
and by stage to Los Angeles to take a look at the real estate
opportunities he had read so much about back in Chicago.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Mr. Levitz explained vaguely that he
was on his way to join his brothers who were in some sort of
financial business in Los Angeles.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>Wonderful, </i>thought Cal. <i>Just
what we needed: another real estate sharp and another shylock.</i>
But he gave them all his Welcome to California smile, especially Miss
Peggy Brannigan.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Then the coach lurched forward and the
guard leaned down and shouted through the window on Clyde’s side.
“I put an old poncho on your friend up here. I know you boys
wouldn’t want him to catch cold.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Thank you,” said Clyde. “Much
appreciated.” He started to add something, then thought better of
it and smiled innocently.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The realtor pointed towards the roof.
“Who’s the bad man?”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Cal said, “Ah just another Calabasas
hard case tryin’ to discourage real estate sales around here.”</p>Will Murray Bookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08005455262726238542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8708509468137662301.post-34653372974782382052021-06-19T21:49:00.000-07:002021-06-19T21:49:12.242-07:00Union Vets and Rebs in the Old Pueblo<p> Brannigan nodded appreciatively. “Hard lines for you boys out there in Tennessee and Georgia.” Pausing a moment, he added, “I was on the East Coast, in the Irish Brigade. Quartermaster Department. Did my share of dodging shot and shell and whizzing rifle balls, but can’t claim I did any actual fighting. Never fired a shot in anger or otherwise.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Cal laughed. “Well, when you get to the Pueblo you may get to fight after all. Still lots of Rebs and Reb sympathizers around town. When I first got there in ‘67, Union vets weren’t real popular. You could get a fight most anytime— and you didn’t have to be whistlin’ ‘Marchin’ Through Georgia’ to get it.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">/Bad-Men-Angels-MacLamond-Western-ebook/dp/B07GNT699T</p>Will Murray Bookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08005455262726238542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8708509468137662301.post-7665241310174382872021-03-27T18:15:00.001-07:002021-03-27T18:28:49.261-07:00Up the Old Road with Prisoner in Tow.<p> </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Clouds
were rolling up along the Sierra Pelona, like big piles of wet
cotton; and a cold wind had picked up, raising swirls of dust along
the road where they now rode slowly alongside Amargosa Creek.</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">At
the wooden bridge two large ravens rose suddenly, squawking and
flapping their wide wings and sailing up the valley as the small
procession clattered over the stream. On the other side a small group
was watching silently. Cal looked them over as he rode past. It
looked like maybe two sheep herders and three Mexican or Indian
vaqueros, sombreros pulled down and ponchos flapping in the wind.
None of them looked like a threat, but no one spoke or smiled. They
had that familiar </span><span style="font-size: small;"><i>We
don’t know nothing </i></span><span style="font-size: small;">look
on their faces. </span>
</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">https://www.amazon.com/Amargosa-Ambush-Cal-MacLamond-Western-ebook/dp/B008MAGF6S</span></p>Will Murray Bookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08005455262726238542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8708509468137662301.post-35040462107113872342021-02-28T21:06:00.000-08:002021-02-28T21:06:06.275-08:00When Irish Eyes Are Smiling<p></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Goodness,” she said shivering a
little and wrapping her arms around herself. “I never knew
California had such cold Spring times.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Cal wanted to reach out and cuddle her
up to him, but he resisted the urge and looked over at the kindling
and wood already stacked in the fireplace. “How about I light a
fire to warm you up?”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “That would be nice,” she said
softly.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">He walked over, knelt down, and picking
a match out of the small brass holder, lit up the kindling. Then he
sat back down closer to her on the couch.
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">She smiled at him, then stood up and
turned to the large globed light beside her. “It’s so gloomy in
here,” she said, bending forward slightly and lighting the lamp.
Then she sat back down, sipped her sherry and said, “The fireplace
makes it so cozy.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yep,” he agreed, thinking, <i>I’d
like to light a fire inside you, sweetheart.</i></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">She drained her glass then set it down
carefully. “Did you notice the song I was playing when you rode up?
It’s the one called ‘My Home in the West.’”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yes,” he said, draining his glass
also and setting it beside hers, and thinking that maybe he should
just pull her over and kiss her. “‘Home on the Range’, the
boys call it. We were all singin’ it the other night over at the
Silver Spur. Loud, but not too good.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I think it’s very appropriate for
our new little home here in the West.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Absolutely. And I hope you all
decide to stay here permanently.” He picked up her left hand,
kissed it and placed it back in her lap, still holding it.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Even in the dim light he could see she
was blushing, a gleam of excitement in her eyes</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">(on Kindle Books) https://www.amazon.com/Bad-Men-Angels-MacLamond-Western-ebook/dp/B07GNT699T)</p><p></p>Will Murray Bookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08005455262726238542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8708509468137662301.post-54085612572455716892021-01-21T21:49:00.005-08:002021-01-21T21:49:55.821-08:00Sanchez warns the two deputies<p> </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">He looked at Cal, a glint of humor in
his eyes. “A leetle bird told me that the Beeg Basque ees not happy
weeth you two boys.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yeah,” Cal said, sipping his
coffee. “I saw him the other night at the Pico House, and he looked
over at me plumb hateful-like.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Laughing, Sanchez said, “You look out
for that S.O.B. A couple of those <i>cabrons</i> working for him
could plug you two and take off for Yuma or the Border before anybody
even knew about it.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Nodding, Cal said, “Yep, it’s
possible. But we’re on the <i>qui vive</i>, and Alexander’s got
us kinda layin’ low for a while, switchin’ patrol areas and so
forth.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“<i>Bueno</i>. But keep your eyes
open, amigos. Maybe he should put you two out in the desert for a
while.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Cal smiled, thinking of blue-eyed,
blond-haired Mrs. Rezi Schmidt all alone at the ranch. He decided
that it might be a good idea to mention Don Tomas's suggestion to the
Sheriff.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">(from <i>Bad M</i>en<i> and Angels</i>, available on Kindle now) https://www.amazon.com/Bad-Men-Angels-MacLamond-Western)</p>Will Murray Bookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08005455262726238542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8708509468137662301.post-1130696501354050272020-11-14T21:58:00.004-08:002020-11-18T22:24:07.041-08:00Hot and Stormy in Little Egypt<p> </p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;">"Mom
and Dad told me again how good it was to have me home; then we headed
for our newly fan-equipped bedrooms and some much-needed shut-eye.
Which didn’t last too long in my case— for about midnight I woke
up with the curtains blowing in and a rumble of thunder not too far
off. I lowered the window half-way, turned off the fan, then lay
there knowing what was coming, and concentrating on ignoring it, glad
that at least I wasn’t on the wet rolling deck of a ship in a
Pacific storm. </span>
</b></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><b>I
fell asleep again, thinking about Pearl-- with rain drumming against
the side of the house, thunder-claps shaking the old place to its
foundations and lightning flashes turning the room electric white."</b></span></p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b> (</b></span><span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b>https://www.amazon.com/<i>Egypt-Burning</i>-Will-Murray-ebook/dp/B00MAMN3AA)</b></span></p>Will Murray Bookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08005455262726238542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8708509468137662301.post-25602200239899563032020-09-20T23:37:00.000-07:002020-09-20T23:37:52.438-07:00Outlaw Confessions in Old California<p> </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Sanchez laughed. “Well, lucky for him
it wasn’t the Army. But they suffered plenty from the jeers and
sneers of the rest of the posse. For a proud, tough bunch of boys
like them, it hurt plenty. So, anyway, parties were sent to watch San
Gorgonio Pass, and another went to San Diego. And the rest galloped
far and wide searching for Flores and Daniels.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">He smiled, a wicked glint in his eyes.
“Meanwhile, somebody had noticed that General Pico’s prisoners
were also missing. When asked about it, Andres just said he had
“confessed” them and sent them on their way. One old American
frontiersman was curious about these “confessions,” and took a
ride up the canyon for a look around. After a while he came riding
back with a big grin on his face and a necklace of ears around his
throat.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Clyde sat up straight. “Well, <i>bueno</i>,”
he laughed. “They say confession is good for the soul.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Sanchez and Cal looked at him with
approval, and Sanchez said, “Believe me, these cutthroat <i>cabrons</i>
had plenty to confess.”
</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p>Will Murray Bookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08005455262726238542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8708509468137662301.post-84428236673235090162020-06-16T17:56:00.001-07:002020-09-14T13:35:25.395-07:00<br />
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;">"He pictured how she had looked
this morning, slipping out of her nightgown, naked and pale as a
Greek Aphrodite or a Roman Venus, with teasing blue eyes and a
tempting smile. A pretty German Lorelei, who claimed she loved him,
the first time she was ever in his arms. </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> Wishing he could forget
everything else and take that trail again, right then, he knew of
course it was a forlorn fantasy. He had no idea when they could meet
again, and he needed to keep his mind focused on the job at hand."</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Amargosa-Ambush-Cal-MacLamond-Western-ebook/dp/B008MAGF6S/">(from AMARGOSA AMBUSH, a Cal MacLamond Western, available on Kindle)</a></span></div>
<br />Will Murray Bookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08005455262726238542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8708509468137662301.post-78466143332145285582020-06-09T18:44:00.002-07:002020-09-14T13:34:12.312-07:00<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> The
two deputies left the dead gunman in the doorway of the line-shack,
and the bound one cursing in the other room. Then they cooked up a
breakfast of ham and eggs and sourdough bread, with a big pot of
coffee.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> The
third member of Leonis’ trio of roughnecks was still sitting in the
dog pen beside the back steps, hands tied behind him.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> It
was mid-morning now, and flies were beginning to gather on the bloody
shirt of the corpse at the front door; but that didn’t bother
Deputy Cal MacLamond or his partner, Deputy Clyde Grierson. In the
late war, both of them had often eaten their rations in the company
of dead men.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Amargosa-Ambush-Cal-MacLamond-Western-ebook/dp/B008MAGF6S/">(from AMARGOSA AMBUSH, available on Kindle.)</a></span></div>
<br />Will Murray Bookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08005455262726238542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8708509468137662301.post-43740474891447331462020-05-16T12:33:00.001-07:002020-05-16T12:33:31.094-07:00<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">In old California, Deputy
Cal MacLamond and his partner have earned the hatred of Leonis, The
Big Basque, by killing one of his gunmen and arresting the other. On
the bright side, Cal has met a pretty young lady from Chicago who
doesn't seem to mind his romantic attention . Two different kinds of
danger: one bad, one enjoyable.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">The Sheriff tries to keep
his two deputies out of harm's way for a while by sending them on
other deputies' patrol areas. The Verdugo Ranch trail allows Cal to
introduce his partner to Tomas Sanchez, who gives him some background
on the really bad old vigilante days in Los Angeles when he was
Sheriff. Things like the so-called Flores Rebellion.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">On the next patrol, taking
the old trail to Caheunga Pass, Cal tells him the true story of the
famous bandit Vasquez, and takes him to where Tiburcio was finally
captured, a victim of his overly amorous nature. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">But the easy times come to
an end when Leonis tries to lure them into a deadly ambush.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">(BAD MEN AND ANGELS, Kindle edition)</span></div>
<br />Will Murray Bookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08005455262726238542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8708509468137662301.post-47459511571864447442020-05-16T12:08:00.001-07:002020-05-16T12:08:50.220-07:00<div class="_1dwg _1w_m _q7o" data-vc-ignore-dynamic="1" style="font-family: inherit; padding: 12px 12px 0px;">
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"Well, we certainly had our share of country hicks and poor ignorant coal-miners, but they weren’t any more bloodthirsty than their fellow Americans in Chicago and New York— and they sure as hell weren’t Reds. In fact, most of them were a damned sight nicer people than a lot of folks I had met out in places like Long Beach and San Diego. Not to mention the San Pedro waterfront."</div>
<div style="display: inline; font-family: inherit; margin-top: 6px;">
(BAD MEN AND ANGELS, available on Kindle)</div>
</div>
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Will Murray Bookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08005455262726238542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8708509468137662301.post-65053750543571862492016-09-02T20:08:00.001-07:002016-09-02T20:08:33.555-07:00Shootout at the roadhouse<span style="font-size: large;">The boom that followed the sudden flash shook the shutters on the thick bullet-proof windows. That was followed quickly by two more shotgun blasts. Most of the vets and their ladies ducked down behind the tables, and two couples took cover behind the big brick fireplace in the railroad-tie reinforced front wall. The women were staring at the men, and the men were staring at the front door on the far end of the room, where Kelly was already off his bar stool and running, an automatic in each hand.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">(from <i>Egypt Burning)</i></span>Will Murrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05750024316615455676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8708509468137662301.post-9865818700000055062016-08-08T21:28:00.001-07:002016-08-08T21:28:59.061-07:00Bad Times in Little Egypt"I think you said a truck-load of strike breakers had just got shot up over between Carbondale and Marion."<br />
<br />
"Oh yeah-- that's right. Ol' Lester figures he'll bring in some reinforcements and to Hell with everbody. Well, Colonel Hunter heads over to the Sheriff's office and finds out that he's gone over to where the fellas had ambushed the truck. And his deputies had no idea how to get hold of him. Then the Citizens' Committee gets word that all Hell's about to break lose."<br />
<br />
(from <i>Egypt Burning</i>)Will Murrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05750024316615455676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8708509468137662301.post-41490215676122002692016-06-15T12:08:00.002-07:002016-06-15T12:08:37.640-07:00<span data-offset-key="aq8p7-0-0">I still think the best cowboy song I know is "When the Bloom Is on the Sage." I even like the Tom Mix version. </span>Will Murrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05750024316615455676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8708509468137662301.post-27655230740133948652016-04-25T21:33:00.000-07:002016-04-25T21:33:19.197-07:00Realism, romance, romantic-realism and realistic-romanceI like to read and write romantic-realism, not realistic-romance, and not just realism or romanticism. I think romantic-realism is what Mark Twain wrote.Will Murrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05750024316615455676noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8708509468137662301.post-4916846870595075152015-07-21T15:13:00.000-07:002015-07-21T15:13:06.861-07:00POV Freedom<span style="font-size: large;">Don't be trapped by the idea that everything in a scene must be only what the protagonist would see or hear, etc.. Omniscient point of view has been used by good writers since story telling began, and still is. If you and your readers think it works, do it. In moderation of course. Don't be cowed by the opinions of half-baked greenhorn post-grad editors. </span>Will Murrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05750024316615455676noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8708509468137662301.post-80552075764773199722015-06-17T20:31:00.001-07:002018-09-23T12:42:40.264-07:00PADRES, MISSIONS, INDIANS AND BS<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.51in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">"Well,' said Clyde smiling, "according to
Dutch and some of the others, some of those mission Indins weren't
too happy. Kinda slave labor for the padres."</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.51in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Cal frowned. "Ah, bullshit," he growled. "More
of that ol' anti-Catholic crap they peddle. I've talked to lots of
old-timers about that, including some old ex-mission Indins, like
Gabriel down there at the house. They say the Padres only took in
Indin families who wanted to sign up. Indins who thought it might beat
scratchin' a livin' out there in the toolies. Good food and shelter
for their families, and the chance to learn a White man's trade or
craft."</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.51in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Looking towards the mission, Clyde said, "They used
to whip 'em for runnin' away, didn't they?"</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.51in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">"Hell yeah they did. Just like any American
apprentice runnin' away back East. And lots of ways to punish them
without gettin' physical."</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.51in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">"True enough," agreed Clyde as they turned
onto the road and headed back towards town.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.51in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">"The wild ones still stayed wild," Cal added.
"Huntin', fishin', fightin' and stealin', like always.
Especially the young single braves. Takin' their chances with other
tribes, outlaws, bandidos, drunken miners and soldiers. Not willin'
or able to see that the old days were gone for good." </span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.51in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">(from BAD MEN AND ANGELS) On Kindle now.</span></div>
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Will Murray Bookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08005455262726238542noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8708509468137662301.post-6683445583925966512015-04-20T19:45:00.001-07:002015-04-20T19:54:56.173-07:00Micks, Krauts, and Bootleg Gin"The little Irish vet who played the spoons yells, "He's probably one of Kaiser Bill's Krauts," which makes the women at the table start laughing, and sends the tough-guy right over the top. He hits the big Mick in the chest with a surprise short jab then draws back his right arm for the finishing blow. But this vet is as big as he is, and faster. He skips the fancy stuff and nails the tough guy with a pile-driver right between the eyes. The bouncer staggers back, and the two others rush in to help him. Now women are screaming all over the place, fists are flying; and I figure it's time to take the girls home." (from EGYPT BURNING)Will Murray Bookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08005455262726238542noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8708509468137662301.post-91530786278064298672015-03-09T19:57:00.001-07:002015-03-09T20:00:17.581-07:00Flapper in the Making" 'Welcome home, sailor,' says she, and sliding her bare arms around my neck gave me a kiss that was as unexpected as it was sensual. Her warm, small-breasted body rested against me for a second, then she was hugging Sis and Owen and giving me a charming view of her back-side, thinly draped in a dark-green dress that was way ahead of its time, tighter and shorter than anything I'd seen since Shanghai. Our dear Norah was definitely a pioneer version of what would come to be know as a Flapper."Will Murrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05750024316615455676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8708509468137662301.post-39935312290311799452014-10-08T19:16:00.001-07:002015-04-20T19:54:37.177-07:00KKK, SCABS, AND BOOTLEGGERShttp://www.amazon.com/Egypt-Burning-Will-Murray-ebook/dp/B00MAMN3AA/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1412738152&sr=1-1&keywords=egypt+burningWill Murrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05750024316615455676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8708509468137662301.post-38308432769523534172014-09-29T21:32:00.002-07:002014-09-29T21:32:47.951-07:00Doughnuts and War<span style="font-size: large;">"Otto the baker was another nice old Herrin guy I remembered from way back. But he didn't seem as happy as Joe; maybe because Italy had been our ally in the War, and Germany had been the enemy-- the Hun. Otto had never been the Kraut type with a big picture of Kaiser Bill on the wall, but a lot of people were still down on Germans in general, even though they still loved the fresh bread, doughnuts and cakes."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">(from EGYPT BURNING)</span>Will Murray Bookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08005455262726238542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8708509468137662301.post-6773965529243745662014-09-11T21:16:00.000-07:002014-09-11T21:16:30.228-07:00Hot Times in Little Egypt""Yeah," Owen chuckled, "you yell 'Joe' at a ball game around here, and half the place turns around."<br />
"Or yell 'Mike' at an Irish picnic," said Nora.<br />
"Or 'Pierre' over in French Village," I laughed.<br />
"Yeah," agreed Owen. "But according to the Klan dragons and what-not, foreigners are what's ruining the country. And if you ain't a good ol' American Scotch-Irish, English, German Protestant, you just as well get back on the boat."<br />
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(from EGYPT BURNING)Will Murrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05750024316615455676noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8708509468137662301.post-22798564190077377282014-08-25T21:34:00.000-07:002014-08-25T21:34:46.548-07:00Ragtime and 80-Proof Rootbeer"Alexander's Ragtime Band" ended with a loud flourish on the drums. Norah unglued herself from me, and we worked our way through the happy perspiring crowd, back to the table where Sis and Owen were greeting people they knew. We ordered drinks from a cute little red-haired waitress, who it turned out was the girlfriend of Kelly, the kid I'd met at Milo's. He was parked at the bar over by the gray-haired lookout, his unsmiling blue eyes watching the crowd, and sipping from a big mug of what I knew certainly wasn't rootbeer."Will Murrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05750024316615455676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8708509468137662301.post-24939965187639789552014-08-19T21:06:00.000-07:002014-08-19T21:06:26.344-07:00EGYPT BURNINGSouthern Illinois, Little Egypt, in the early Twenties. Bad times mixed with good times. Miners versus mine owners, bootleggers versus KKK, The Herrin Massacre, hot Dixieland jazz and sweet romantic tunes, and the dancing that went with them. Ed Murry home from the China Fleet, with two very different girls on the line, and a .45 in his suitcase.Will Murray Bookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08005455262726238542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8708509468137662301.post-6816037036021537782014-04-29T21:20:00.000-07:002014-04-29T21:20:39.400-07:00Southerners, Indians, and Sheridan "The officer smiled and shrugged, and the engineer from Georgia said, 'I guess Phil Sheridan hates Indians about as much as he hates Southerners.'<br />
Grierson made a derisive sound. 'No offense, Lieutenant,' he said softly, 'but I served with that son of a bitch, and I got no use for the man.' "<br />
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(from <em>Amargosa Ambush</em>)<br />
Will Murrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05750024316615455676noreply@blogger.com0