American Legend: The Real-Life Adventures of David Crockett by Buddy Levy Page A
Book: American Legend: The Real-Life Adventures of David Crockett by Buddy Levy
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Authors: Buddy Levy
Tags: United States, General, Historical, Biography & Autobiography, Military, Political, Religious, Soldiers, Legislators - United States, Legislators, Adventurers & Explorers, Tennessee, Frontier and Pioneer Life, Pioneers, Soldiers - United States, Crockett, Frontier and Pioneer Life - Tennessee, Tex.) - Siege, Davy, Alamo (San Antonio, Tex.), Pioneers - Tennessee, 1836
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be a good fit and for introducing us, and to Rob Buchanan for first taking an interest in the book. Chris Pepe, my editor at Putnam, offered excellent advice and keen insight throughout, her wealth of experience showing in her deft sense of pacing and brevity. Working with her has been a genuine pleasure.
Four noted (and oft-quoted) scholars quickly responded to a barrage of unsolicited e-mail queries, and I very much appreciate their passion, their scholarship, their forthcoming and candid responses, their depth of knowledge. Thanks to William C. Davis, Michael Lofaro, Andrew Burstein, and H. W. Brands.
I am indebted to a number of archivists and librarians for their good-spirited assistance as I researched this book. Notably, the entire staff at the Tennessee State Library and Archives in Nashville was extremely helpful, immensely knowledgeable, and always professional. Thanks especially to archivists Susan Gordon and Darla Brock, as well as Marylin Bell Hughes. At the Smithsonian National Portrait Gallery, Lizanne Garrett was cheerful, expeditious, and efficient in helping me with images and portraits.
The Center for American History at the University of Texas in Austin was an invaluable resource, and their entire staff made my visit and work enjoyable and efficient. The Daughters of the Republic of Texas Library at the Alamo is a remarkable place, and one senses the history all around those hallowed grounds. The folks there are friendly, detail-oriented, and passionate about Texas history. Warren Stricker, archivist, was particularly helpful and provided me with timely assistance and ideas. At my own institution, Washington State University, I have benefited immensely from interlibrary loans in Holland New Library. The fine, hardworking staff, especially David Smestad, Nancy Beebe, Bob Davis, Shirley Giden, and Kay Vyhnanek, have allowed me to obtain a wide array of materials from a web of libraries and research institutions around the nation, with impressive speed and efficiency.
My early readers included dear friends John Larkin and Kim Barnes, whose sharp eyes and attentive scrutiny I need and greatly appreciate. Longtime friend and muse Sara Aglietti provided spirit, affirmation, and sense of humor. Computer guru Sharon Harris kept me from blowing up my computer. I value her kind patience.
Thanks, finally, to my entire family, immediate and extended, whose support is unequivocal and deeply appreciated. To my lovely children, Logan and Hunter, who endured my absences, and to my wife and partner, Camie, who has always believed in me: you give me more than you will ever know.
Prologue
THERE ARE MEN, and there are legends, and in rare instances the two converge.
On a late December evening in 1833, a weather-worn but well-dressed man of forty-seven heads down the blustery Washington City (present-day Washington, DC) streets toward the Washington Theatre. There is a distinct swagger in his gait, a cockiness and confidence in his purposeful stride and compact, stocky frame. His angular face and aquiline nose are ruddy and wind-scoured, betraying a life outdoors, and his hands, though they have not felt the sure tug of reins or the smooth stock of a hunting rifle in quite some time, are still calloused and craggy.
As he walks, people call out, and some crane their necks as he passes, hoping to get a better look. When they do, their faces brighten with recognition. He smiles and walks on, nodding and waving as he goes.
He has plenty to smile about, and much on his mind as he nears the theater.
He has just begun a new book, a memoir, one he has determined will be “truly the very thing itself, the exact image of its author,” 1 though he knows there is a bit of tongue-in-cheek to that claim. The book will contain politics, too, and if he plays it right, the book might just make him some money and keep him in Congress for another term or two. Better yet, it could set him up for a run at an even bigger prize—the
Four noted (and oft-quoted) scholars quickly responded to a barrage of unsolicited e-mail queries, and I very much appreciate their passion, their scholarship, their forthcoming and candid responses, their depth of knowledge. Thanks to William C. Davis, Michael Lofaro, Andrew Burstein, and H. W. Brands.
I am indebted to a number of archivists and librarians for their good-spirited assistance as I researched this book. Notably, the entire staff at the Tennessee State Library and Archives in Nashville was extremely helpful, immensely knowledgeable, and always professional. Thanks especially to archivists Susan Gordon and Darla Brock, as well as Marylin Bell Hughes. At the Smithsonian National Portrait Gallery, Lizanne Garrett was cheerful, expeditious, and efficient in helping me with images and portraits.
The Center for American History at the University of Texas in Austin was an invaluable resource, and their entire staff made my visit and work enjoyable and efficient. The Daughters of the Republic of Texas Library at the Alamo is a remarkable place, and one senses the history all around those hallowed grounds. The folks there are friendly, detail-oriented, and passionate about Texas history. Warren Stricker, archivist, was particularly helpful and provided me with timely assistance and ideas. At my own institution, Washington State University, I have benefited immensely from interlibrary loans in Holland New Library. The fine, hardworking staff, especially David Smestad, Nancy Beebe, Bob Davis, Shirley Giden, and Kay Vyhnanek, have allowed me to obtain a wide array of materials from a web of libraries and research institutions around the nation, with impressive speed and efficiency.
My early readers included dear friends John Larkin and Kim Barnes, whose sharp eyes and attentive scrutiny I need and greatly appreciate. Longtime friend and muse Sara Aglietti provided spirit, affirmation, and sense of humor. Computer guru Sharon Harris kept me from blowing up my computer. I value her kind patience.
Thanks, finally, to my entire family, immediate and extended, whose support is unequivocal and deeply appreciated. To my lovely children, Logan and Hunter, who endured my absences, and to my wife and partner, Camie, who has always believed in me: you give me more than you will ever know.
Prologue
THERE ARE MEN, and there are legends, and in rare instances the two converge.
On a late December evening in 1833, a weather-worn but well-dressed man of forty-seven heads down the blustery Washington City (present-day Washington, DC) streets toward the Washington Theatre. There is a distinct swagger in his gait, a cockiness and confidence in his purposeful stride and compact, stocky frame. His angular face and aquiline nose are ruddy and wind-scoured, betraying a life outdoors, and his hands, though they have not felt the sure tug of reins or the smooth stock of a hunting rifle in quite some time, are still calloused and craggy.
As he walks, people call out, and some crane their necks as he passes, hoping to get a better look. When they do, their faces brighten with recognition. He smiles and walks on, nodding and waving as he goes.
He has plenty to smile about, and much on his mind as he nears the theater.
He has just begun a new book, a memoir, one he has determined will be “truly the very thing itself, the exact image of its author,” 1 though he knows there is a bit of tongue-in-cheek to that claim. The book will contain politics, too, and if he plays it right, the book might just make him some money and keep him in Congress for another term or two. Better yet, it could set him up for a run at an even bigger prize—the
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