ALASKA KEMOSABE

“My ultimate goal was to create the best, funniest, and most creative book ever written on the 49th State, and I feel as if I’ve accomplished that.”

Over 30 years ago, a reporter from the Anchorage Daily News told me you sometimes have to toot your own horn to get noticed.

He mentioned this when I called his newspaper to see about getting a certain story published, with it ending up front and center, along with an awesome color photo.

That was the first and last time I’ve ever brought attention to myself where journalism credit is concerned. I prefer to remain in the shadows, not soliciting ribbons, awards, or trophies. The finished product is gratitude enough.

Two years ago, I set off on a writing project unlike anything I’ve ever attempted. It was a grueling undertaking, with me spending countless hours late at night and into the morning sunrise, tediously putting things together.

There were nights I wondered what was I doing as my wife and our parrots slept peacefully in the next room. During this time, I also kept busy composing articles for our local Lake Havasu City newspaper, Today’s NewsHerald. I’d venture out in the garage between writing sessions to tinker on my old truck and garner needed sanctity — or pray.

A total of 50 entertaining and unique stories on Alaska, as well as creating 51 photos with help from AI, was, for me, a monumental task. As a car nut, I’d say it’s akin to sanding a vehicle down to bare metal, performing all the priming and sanding, and then spraying on a custom paint job. The book will be around 400 pages, making it the largest I’ve composed.

My ultimate goal was to create the best, funniest, and most creative book ever written on the 49th State, and I feel as if I’ve accomplished that.

Over 10 years, six books later, and a blog with almost 500 submissions, my work has been read in 104 countries and all 50 states, including Puerto Rico. I find that totally amazing. ALASKA KEMOSABE will be featured via several yet-to-be-scheduled podcasts. Thankfully, those can be done from home.

I’ve always been careful to not cross the line where language or humor is concerned in my writing. I know that what I compose is always being scrutinized by the Man upstairs, including those non-believers that I dare not lead astray.

ALASKA KEMOSABE is unlike anything ever placed on the market. Not holding back one iota in putting things together, creatively speaking, there will never be another book like it. I say this because I’d have to be the one composing a sequel. My publisher is pushing me here, although I’ve yet to agree.

Neither an inflated ego nor bravado has anything to do with the above comments; it’s based entirely upon my thought train instead.

Everyone on this planet thinks differently, and there’s no counterfeiting our uniqueness, especially where writing is concerned — unless, of course, plagiarism comes into play.

God is responsible for us being different, with him blessing me with an outrageous and creative mind. It’s gotten me in trouble more than once when I crossed the line, so to speak.

The Choctaw Indians of North America are known as perhaps the best storytellers of all the tribes. They were able to paint a vivid picture by using their hands and gestures, along with artwork, to convey messages.

Their stories often incorporated life lessons passed down from elders, along with moral and religious teachings. Having no written language, they sometimes relied upon animal characters to get their point across.

My Great-Great Grandmother Minnie Pearl Redus-Hankins was half Choctaw, and undoubtedly, a tiny portion of her blood is in my veins. I give God first credit, and then Minnie Pearl for providing me the ability to relay tales of my own, both verbally and in print.

A friend that I personally never met, other than on the phone and email, Jeff Maddox, coaxed me into writing books more than anyone. Jeff was on another writing project when he was suddenly taken to Heaven before finishing.

ALASKA KEMOSABE may never make The New York Times bestsellers list, yet that wasn’t the reason for writing it. If only one person finds the finished manuscript a hoot as I do, all of that time and work was well worth the effort.

I laugh each time I see the cover alone, and I’d love to share it, but the publisher wants things kept totally under wraps until release time.

*ALASKA KEMOSABE will be available by late July 1 through Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and via eBook.

“HAPPY JACK”

“Thanks to Deana, Karon, Renee, and Starr for helping me with this project.”

On the way to Kingman from Lake Havasu City, a little-used byway crosses over Interstate 40, named Happy Jack Road. A sign identifying it is visible on this overpass. Access to the Happy Jack Road bridge or overpass is via the Santa Fe Ranch Road exit, and then one must head east for approximately one-half mile on a side road that follows alongside I-40. This side road is a remnant of old Route 66.

I’ve been on Happy Jack Road numerous times, following it until hitting Happy Jack Wash and Sacramento Wash. A BNSF railroad bridge back there has quite the history. A story could be written about it alone. Loose sand and a steep rocky incline make getting to this bridge a bit tough unless you have a four-wheel drive.

Approximately one mile west of this railroad bridge is an abandoned railroad stop named Haviland. Today, trains park there, but they only remain in place for a short time until the tracks are clear. The area is popular with meteorite hunters.

I’ve often wondered who Happy Jack was. The Jacks I know for the most part are all happy individuals—at least the ones still living. This fellow must’ve been someone special for a road and a wash to get named after him.

I presented that question to a Yucca forum site and ended up with several valid answers. One individual thought that Happy Jack was a train engineer, with two others saying that he was a former rancher in the area who owned a large section of land. A forum member said that she had an old newspaper article dictating such. It took some digging, but I eventually found several articles. Thanks to Deana, Karon, Renee, and Starr for helping me with this project.

Henry Jack Bowman is the real name of “Happy Jack.” Moving to Yucca from Tombstone in 1881, he came to the area at the same time the railroad was being constructed.

Henry owned The Yucca & Signal Stage Line in Yucca and provided service to and from the mining town of Signal. This business also hauled the mail. Henry was also a successful ranch owner and miner, along with keeping burros either to be sold or leased to other prospectors. Signal is now a ghost town.

Newspapers paint a vivid photo of Henry Bowman. He had a partner in this stage and freight operation, Charles Wilson, but the two men eventually had a falling out and went in separate directions. Meeting on a trail one spring day near Yucca in their wagons—neither gave way to the other.

“Happy Jack” was shot in the arm by his former business associate and survived, with Charles Wilson eventually turning himself into Sheriff Robert Steen.

Seven years later, Bowman went on a mining expedition into the surrounding mountains, only for his burros to return to his Cienega Ranch without their owner. Charles Wilson was one of the first men to help look for him. Two weeks later “Happy Jack” turned up a bit weathered from the experience yet alive. He was definitely a tough old buzzard.

Having researched and written this short story, the next time I drive under Happy Jack Bridge on a sweltering 120-degree summer day in an air-conditioned vehicle, with a large Coke within easy reach, I’ll think of Henry “Happy Jack” Bowman sitting on top of his stagecoach with sweaty passengers inside.

How he and others survived back then is a testament to their strength, grit, and tenacity!

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Yucca (1943)