The Pink Flamingo :: In Memory of My Friend, Tim Rich

My friend, Tim Rich died on October 20. It is rather ironic and quite appropriate that he be memorialized and buried today on St. Crispin’s Day.

St. Crispin’s Day is important to me for two things. First, the Battle of Agincourt on Friday, October 25, 1415. One of my ancestors was knighted for valor, there on the field at Agincourt, for saving the life of Henry V. It is also the day before October 26.

St. Crispin’s Day is a remembrance of warriors, thanks to Agincourt. My friend Tim was a warrior – one of the early Navy Seals. His service was truly heroic. It also effected the rest of his life. He once told me he wanted his military records sealed so his children would not know the things he had done in the service of his country. He had taken a life, more than once. He knew how to kill with his bare hands. He spent many years after his military service wondering if he would ever be able to atone for those years and those deeds, eventually finding forgiveness and that atonement in the Episcopal church.

Tim was my friend for ten years. I first met him during the Christmas season of 1998 when I first started attending the same church. That year he was the Senior Warden, and took his duties quite seriously. When the time came to hang the annual Christmas greens, Tim was there, swaying back and forth on a very high ladder. He fell and broke his arm. A few weeks later, annoyed with the cast, and ignoring the advise of his physician, he literally removed his own cast.

He called me his ‘little sister’, and that’s the way he treated me. He was the one I called when I truly needed help. I could count on him. For several years I was in charge of our youth group at church. When times were tough, I could call him and he would be there in a moment. I remember one afternoon when I caught a strange looking man giving some of my pre-teen girls ‘the eye’. It terrified me. I locked the kids down and called Tim, who was right there. I had no doubt if someone were to threaten either the girls or me, he would not hesitate to ‘take them out.’

I was friends with his wife, Bonnye, who ironically ‘went home’ in her sleep three weeks ago. Tim just couldn’t cope with life without her. They were always together, through thick and thin. Bonnye and my mother became very close friends. Tim and my father became pals, buddies, and partners in crime. When one of our priests, and dear friend, The Very Reverend Ron Thomson was added to the mix, the three were like something out of the Marx Brothers. We never knew what was going to happen.

There was one Wednesday evening when Fr. Ron was having problems with the plumbing at the church. He unwittingly allowed my father (who is notorious for his plumbing disasters) and Tim to talk him in to allowing them to fix the problem. So there we were, sitting inside the church for the 5:50 service on that Wednesday evening, watching my father and Tim dig half-way to China. I don’t remember if a geyser erupted from their little endeavor. Not long after my mother suggested Fr. Ron have special prayer for the church and the plumbing, we saw my father leave Tim to watch over their pending disaster. Ten minutes later he reappeared with someone who was quite expert at plumbing. He and Tim “saved the day”.

One Saturday afternoon I realized the battery was dead in my Durango. Fortunately my father was out of town, so I called Tim to come jump the battery for me. Unfortunately not long after Tim arrived, so did my father. My mother came inside my condo and called Bonnye to tell her that the ‘two of them’ were at it again. The three of us know disaster would ensue.

They quickly managed to get the car started. I don’t know which one, either my father or Tim managed to lock both sets of my car keys inside the now running Durango. As they tooled off to the dealership for another set, I called the garage, so they could have a set ready for them.

We never knew what would happen when my father and Tim decided to pool their resources. We only know it would not be good and would lead to eventual comic disaster.

October 26 was a special day for Tim and for me. It wasn’t all that important to Tim, but it is to me. On October 26, 1881, around 2:30PM in the center of what is now Highway 80 between Third and Fourth Streets in front of Fly’s Boarding House there in Tombstone, Arizona an incident occurred that cemented the friendship between Tim Rich and myself. There, near the OK Corral four cowboys faced Wyatt Earp, his brothers and Doc Holiday in the most infamous shoot-out in American History.

I am a biographer of Wyatt Earp, having written several books dealing with Wyatt’s life and the history of Tombstone in general. You might ask what this has to do with Tim Rich. It’s like this, if it had not been for Wyatt Earp, Tim Rich would never have been born. Neither would his father.

Tim’s grandfather was one of those legendary Texas Rangers who helped tame the Wild West. Wyatt Earp was one of those legendary lawmen who helped tame the Wild West. In 1871, when Wyatt Earp was a young man, his bride of approximately one year died of typhoid. Wyatt allegedly went a little bit wild and ended up allegedly conning a notorious horse thief and running afoul of the worst judge/sheriff combination in the history of the Reconstruction. Wyatt was tossed in jail in Arkansas, and ends up back in home in Lamar Missouri a few weeks later.

History suggests, based on very limited records, that Wyatt broke out of jail and was on the lam for stealing a horse from a horse thief.

For the next couple of years Wyatt Earp hunts buffalo. He allegedly disarms Ben Thompson in Ellsworth, Kansas in 1873. In 1874 he is in Wichita working as a cop. The big problem with all of this is the fact that, aside from a few records, the only sources we really have are the notes Stuart Lake took while writing Wyatt Earp, Frontier Marshal in the 1930’s.

And, that was that.

There is a reference in Lake’s notes that states that Wyatt Earp was involved in a US Marshal’s posse rounding up renegade Indians out of Fort Smith in the Oklahoma Territory, under Judge Parker, in 1875. There is nothing else to confirm or deny this information. If the information could be confirmed, it would go a long way to proving that Wyatt Earp’s involvement in the “horse theft” incident is not what appears to be on the surface.

And, that was that.

Then, in 1998 I met Tim Rich. It just so happened that Tim’s Texas Ranger grandfather was involved in a US Marshal’s posse rounding up renegade Indians out of Fort Smith, in the Oklahoma Territory under Judge Parker, in 1875.

There is more.

Tim’s grandfather and Wyatt Earp were caught in a cross fire between groups of renegade Indians during that posse. Tim’s grandfather took a shot at one, and hit him. He fired at Tim’s grandfather. Wyatt Earp, pushed Tim’s grandfather out of the way of the bullet, and saved his life. Wyatt then told him to finish him off, or he would kill them both.

I stood there, in the Parish Hall at the Episcopal Church of the Holy Mount, listening to Tim render a family tale that completely exonerated both Stuart Lake and Wyatt Earp. There is no way Wyatt Earp could have been in that US Marshal’s posse rounding up renegade Indians out of Fort Smith, in the Oklahoma Territory under Judge Parker, in 1875 if he had been found guilty of horse theft in 1871.
Tim’s story also raises the possibility that Wyatt Earp was a US Deputy Marshal by 1875 instead of the 1881 that I have recently been able to document. This is very, very important because it helps prove the fact that Wyatt Earp was more of a lawman than people believe him to have been.

As the years went by, Tim began telling me more about his grandfather and what he knew of Wyatt Earp. His grandfather had a tremendous amount of respect for Wyatt Earp. That in itself was unusual because Wyatt Earp did not get along with Texans all that well.

Tim helped me understand Wyatt Earp. He helped me understand Wyatt’s Vendetta Posse (spring of 1882) where Wyatt went after and took out the Cowboys who were responsible for the murder of his brother, Morgan.

This was something I could never really understand. Tim explained that there are times when good, decent men are put in a position where they must do truly horrible things in order to survive and in order to ensure that good triumphs over evil. He explained that when a man is doing the things that Wyatt did those weeks in the spring of 1882 in Cochise County, Arizona, that he doesn’t really stop to think about what he is doing. He is on something akin to auto-pilot. After it is over, then he can stop and think about what he has done, and to make things right in his soul and with the Lord.

Because of my friendship with Tim Rich, I have been able to write four books dealing with the life of Wyatt Earp. Tim understood Wyatt Earp, because he too had been required to do terrible things for the good of his country. And like Wyatt Earp, I think Tim was haunted by those memories and found salvation and peace in his relationship with Christ.

Tim was active in a number of local civic organizations. He loved his family dearly. He could not survive without his beloved, Bonnye. He was a hero, a patriot, a devout Christian, and a good Republican.