August 20, 2025 • 23 mins
15 - Chapter 15. Annie Oakley, Woman at Arms by Courtney Ryley Cooper.
Annie Oakley was without a doubt the greatest markswomen who ever lived. She was christened Phoebe Ann Mosey but was called Annie from childhood. Oakley was the stage name that she assumed when she first started to perform with Frank Butler. From obscure and impoverished beginnings, she made herself into the best known woman of her time, propelled by an indomitable spirit and an uncanny shooting ability. We learn of her enduring marriage to Frank Butler and their first meeting — a shooting match in which the seemingly delicate young girl defeated the professional marksman; her association with Buffalo Bill Cody’s Wild West Show and its triumphal tour through Europe and America; the train crash that nearly took her life and her years as an actress and teacher. Yet with all her many successes she preserved her warmth, dedication and integrity. Her story remains to this day one of the grandest to have come out of the Old West.
Annie Oakley was without a doubt the greatest markswomen who ever lived. She was christened Phoebe Ann Mosey but was called Annie from childhood. Oakley was the stage name that she assumed when she first started to perform with Frank Butler. From obscure and impoverished beginnings, she made herself into the best known woman of her time, propelled by an indomitable spirit and an uncanny shooting ability. We learn of her enduring marriage to Frank Butler and their first meeting — a shooting match in which the seemingly delicate young girl defeated the professional marksman; her association with Buffalo Bill Cody’s Wild West Show and its triumphal tour through Europe and America; the train crash that nearly took her life and her years as an actress and teacher. Yet with all her many successes she preserved her warmth, dedication and integrity. Her story remains to this day one of the grandest to have come out of the Old West.
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:00):
Chapter fifteen of Annie Oakley, Woman at Arms by Courtney
Riley Cooper. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain.
Read by Barry Eads, Chapter fifteen. There was still another
angle to the newspaper tangle, and that was the proof
which it gave to the unimpeachable character of a woman
(00:22):
who had proved, by her actions and by her accomplishments,
that the results of a lifetime are the responsibility of
the one who lives it, and not, as is so
often claimed, the result of the surroundings into which one
is thrown. Annie Oakley, in the opinion of many persons,
eternally damned herself when she became the wife of an actor,
(00:43):
But the investigations attendant upon the Chicago incident proved conclusively otherwise.
One defendant chose to fight with every possible weapon, believing
that a person who had led the wandering life of
an actress in variety, the sole white woman with an
aggregation of cowboys and Vicaro's and Western characters a circus
(01:03):
woman easily could be proved to be a loose, desolate
sort of human, and that the court action could be
nullified by counterclaims and accusations. It therefore raised a pool
for the purpose of investigation. Higher detectives pried into every
angle of the life of Annie Oakley, and strove mightily
for even a few grains of consolation in the discovery
(01:25):
of untoward actions. Naturally, it is the failing of a
biographer to exalt his character. All too often a person
under favorable observation becomes a paragon of virtue. Traits of
character that are not conducive to good reading or to
pedestal deserving qualities are overlooked. But in the case of
(01:46):
Annie Oakley, this biographer finds himself in the position of
the investigators who worked so indefatigably a quarter of a
century ago. For their sole findings were that Annie Oakley
was a determined, little, white haired woman who since her
childhood had adhered strictly, in the main elements of life
to the Quaker teachings of her mother. They found that
(02:07):
one of her favorite bits of reading matter was the Bible,
and that between shows and in periods of rest, this
book was the one which formed her chief solace and diversion.
They found that among the entire wild West, every cowboy,
every working man, was not only ready but eager to
fight for the honor of a woman who, in seventeen
years with the show, never had done an illicit thing that,
(02:31):
unostentatiously hiding her actions in a queer, stolid form of modesty,
she conducted her own charities, providing for whole families and
sending girl after girl who otherwise could not afford it
to school, that they might escape the longings for education
which she had possessed. Scratch and dig, investigate and furrow.
(02:53):
Neither those investigators nor this biographer had been able to
discover in the life of Annie Oakley anything save an
almost incomprehensible collection of virtues. One finds himself wondering if
the woman could have been real, if, after all, she
were not the fiction character which her life seemed to
make her quiet, modest, honorable, faithful to the man who
(03:16):
was so thoroughly faithful to her. For one finds Frank
Butler still writing poetry after the hair had turned white,
and the world seemed less rosyette than in the days
when the Prince of Wales applauded Little shore Shot, considerate, kindly, generous, gentle,
yet with a will as firm and as unbendable as
tungsten steel. These are the attributes which one must give
(03:39):
to Annie Oakley, when perhaps better reading might be vended
had she been a George sand or a rifle welding
Lucretia Borgia. Annie Oakley did not take advantage of her
new flare of publicity, even though many newspapers, in their
anxiety to make amends for a regrettable incident in which
they had played the part of the inner sat bystander,
(04:01):
would have been more than willing for the opportunity to
repay her by effulgent publicity of a favorable character. Instead,
with her husband, she continued her appearances at the various shoots,
and for a time gave exhibitions at gun clubs, where
the clientele was strictly concerned with the sportsman element, and
where most of the publicity came from papers which had
(04:24):
figured not at all in the Chicago fiasco. This continued
for a number of years, then came again the yearning
to return to the arena. However, conditions were not what
they had been in former times. The Buffalo Bill Show,
for instance, after many difficulties, had become the Buffalo Bill
Wild West and Pawnee Bills Far East, fighting against the
(04:46):
debts which had accrued in the past before the advent
of Pawnee Bill, and doomed to close its doors forever.
A year later in Denver, when Buffalo Bill ceased to
be a figure at the head of his organization and
became an individual feature with the Cell's Flatto circus. Annie
Oakley's engagement, this time it was nineteen twelve, was with
(05:08):
the Young Buffalo Wild West, a fair imitation of the
real Buffalo Bill Show. However, there was not the zest
of old. For one thing, the show was not the dashing,
tremendous organization with which she had once performed such an
important figure. Then two the years had taken their toll.
Annie Oakley was more than fifty now, That, combined with
(05:30):
the aging influence of her accident, made show life far
from the agreeable thing which it had been in other years. Consequently,
at the end of her contract, she retired from the
show world forever, and in nineteen sixteen took the position
as a teacher of gunship for women at the fashionable
resort at Pinehurst, North Carolina. Here, for two years was
(05:53):
the ideal life. There were her horses and her dogs,
the pleasant duties of professor at the traps or before
the target, Sally's after quail, rest and quiet with now
and then a professional match thrown in at which Annie Oakley,
in spite of the years which had departed, still displayed
the old prowess, the old keenness of action and of sight.
(06:17):
A clipping is before this writer. It is dated February
nineteen sixteen and reads quote. Annie Oakley delighted eight hundred
persons and proved that she had lost none of her
skill with firearms in an exhibition at Pinehurst, North Carolina, recently.
With a rifle, she hit coins tossed in the air,
and broke marbles on the fly. She shot a cigarette
(06:39):
from the hand of her husband, Frank Butler, and an
apple from the head of her setter Dave. With a revolver,
she rolled a tin can along the ground with a
tattoo of bullets on its upper crust, and exploded cartridges
thrown into the air. She broke a ball whirled about
a man's head while she sighted by looking into the
mirror formed by the blade of a table knife. With
(07:01):
a shotgun, Missus Butler proved her speed. Mister Butler threw
six balls into the air simultaneously. The woman expert using
three double barreled shotguns, broke them all before they struck
the ground. Nor was that all. A year later, at
the Wentworth Gun Club, New Hampshire, she broke the club's
(07:21):
record of ninety seven hits by a perfect score of
one hundred straight targets. This, if you please, at fifty
eight a white haired woman once condemned to die and
saved only by five operations. Perhaps the time spent at
Pinehurst was the happiest of Annie Oakley's later life. In
spite of the fact that more than three thousand, five
(07:42):
hundred women came to her as novices, only to depart
skilled in the use of firearms. There was plenty of
time for rest and for recreation and retrospect. Time too,
for wandering the hills and dales, for riding, and for hunting,
for training her dogs, of which Dave, the amiable set
up formed the most beloved, followed closely by Fred named
(08:04):
for fred Stone the Actor, as was her favorite horse.
Time for memories, as is indicated by a clipping and
a letter. The clipping was from the Conning Tower of
the New York Tribune, cherished in Annie Oakley's collection. Quote
advice from Pinehurst, North Carolina is to the effect that
Annie Oakley is down there giving instruction daily from eleven
(08:27):
to twelve in the art of shooting. Here she is,
writes h A w a white haired picturesque feature at Pinehurst,
teaching all the ladies to break glass balls with a
rifle or clay pigeons with a shotgun. No longer a
short skirted, dashing girl of the plains, but a nice
little old lady with spectacles and knitting. Only one thing
(08:48):
remains her one hundred percent ability to break glass balls.
End quote to which the Conning Tower conductor had added quote.
And in eighteen ninety three, Annie Oakley, who shot glass
balls with far greater precision than Colonel Cody used to
shoot them, was one of the few women we really loved.
And now all the new generation knows of Annie Oakley
(09:10):
is that she is in the high diurnal slang. Annie
Oakley wrote a letter to the Conning Tower in answer
to that statement, evidently a letter which gave her pleasure,
for she saved a carbon copy of it, pasted side
by side with the clipping. It was a missive of
retrospection of happiness in things long gone, and it is
(09:32):
too an excellent insight into the character of the woman
whom other generations knew as little sure Shot Pinehurst, North Carolina,
February two, nineteen seventeen. My dear mister Conning Tower Man,
what did I hear you say she is a little
white haired lady who wears spectacles and knits. I am
(09:53):
guilty as to the first two charges, owing to two
trains which tried to pass on the same track but
did not succeed. My hair turned white in seventeen hours
from the injuries received, and the result was five operations.
That was in nineteen o one and in nineteen eleven
blood poison caused by an infection from a slight operation
(10:14):
resulted in four days with a temperature of one hundred
and seven, which affected my right eyes, so that sight
was impaired for reading fine print or doing fancy work
of which I am very fond. Not guilty as to knitting.
I graduated from the knitting school at the age of
eight years. That was when I started to shoot. Since
then I have not handled the knitting needles. So your
(10:37):
friend mister White could not see at close range when
he mistook the embroidering for knitting. Why did I give
up the arena because I made hay in the heyday
of my youth and felt that I had earned a change.
Why am I teaching ladies to shoot? Well, that is
my pleasure for which there is no charge or compensation
on my part. What else do I do? Go out
(10:59):
after mister rinerd once a week, and with the assistance
of Fred, my broncho, after a fifteen or sometimes twenty
mile chase, we bring mister Fox's scalp back to Pinehurst,
where my husband and I make our winter home. Or
arise with the sun and hie me off into the
woods or fields with my beautiful dog Dave in quest
of quail. A twelve or fifteen mile trip makes me
(11:22):
sleep and dream again of the days when I ran
barefooted over hill and dale, chasing the bees and butterflies,
or climbing nimbly up a dogwood tree to pick the
finest blossoms, to weave in a real queen's crown, with
the gorgeous wild roses festooned from my head to my
then little pink toes. How I loved the call of
(11:42):
the woods with their wealth of wild flowers, the hum
of the bees, the sweet notes of the turtle dove,
the drumming of the ruffled grouse, and the call of
the bob white. It was a haven of peace to
sit on the old moss covered logs and inhale the
scent of the tall ferns. Then at sunset, a sweet faced,
white capped little mother who watched smiling the home coming
(12:05):
of her one little tomboy of the family. The sweet
days of childhood are long past, and the dear mother
sleeps at the little resting place close by. Then the
great fight for recognition in the arena. It was uphill work,
for when I began there was a prejudice to live down.
But thanks to many of our good American people, they
gave me generously, both of their approval and their applause.
(12:28):
And so I am rather proud of your compliment in
the Tribune of January eleventh. She was one of the
few women we really loved. Thank you, mister Conning power Man,
And may you give some encouraging message to others who
are just beginning the great battle of life. Very truly yours,
Annie Oakley. But the dream days and the roving days
(12:50):
at Pinehurst, when Annie Oakley imaginative as she always was,
lived again the times of a childhood came to an
end as the result of an action by a man
whom she once had met, and whom a mis in
aim would have removed from the earth, Kaiser Wilhelm of Germany.
War came to America, and with it a militant spirit
(13:12):
arose in the breast of the crack shot. At first
she surged with the ambitious idea of raising a regiment
of women from those she had taught to be expert marksmen.
But with the application of her common sense to the thought,
it died. But there was something she could do. She
and Frank and Dave, and she set about it forthwith
(13:32):
that was to make life a bit lighter for the
men in camp, to aid with the raising of funds
and the setting of an example in the art of
hitting the enemy before he hit you. Consequently, with mister
Butler and the amiable setter Dave, the three set forth
upon a gratuitous tour of the army camps. Money for
their services was refused, likewise reimbursement for expenses. It was
(13:56):
Annie Oakley's way of doing her part in the Great War,
and there could be no return for it at camp.
After camp, they shot Frank Butler and Annie Oakley doing
their various feats, all this while Old Dave, a lop eared,
genial appearing setter, took a role that had already played
an important part in the lives of the two crack shots. Dave,
(14:17):
for the purposes of entertaining soldiers, stepped into the place
left vacant by George long ago, now grinning his tongue, lolling,
his tail wagging ever so slightly least a stronger motion
might displace the target. It was Dave who sat with
the apple on his head, waiting for his William tell
mistress to knock it off with a shot from her rifle.
(14:38):
Nor was it long until Dave did more than fill
the role of an ordinary performer. He became a money
getter for the Red Cross. There came the necessity for
odd ways of raising funds. Money was not coming as
fast as the demands called for. Then it was that
Dave he became Captain Dave of the Red Cross. Shortly
afterward stepped into the breach. Together Frank Butler and Annie
(15:03):
Oakley taught him the trick. Then spectators at the various
events were asked to allow Dave to scent a handkerchief.
After that, Dave was taken away where he could not
watch what followed. An amount of money whatever the participant
desired to risk on the trial was placed in the handkerchief,
and the bit of linen hidden anywhere the donor chose
(15:23):
within a distance of one hundred yards. Then Dave was
turned loose, with the agreement that, providing he found the money,
it was to go to the Red Cross, and if
he failed, the other partner in the game was to
receive credit for having offered it. But not in one
instance did Dave fail. The old setter would leap from
his captors and make a short circle of the enclosure. Then,
(15:46):
with his nose to the ground, he would strike the trail,
following it surely and quickly to the hiding place there
to dislodge it, and with wagging tail, await the arrival
of the Red Cross officer to take charge of it.
In this manner, in the vicinity of Portsmouth, New Hampshire, alone,
Old Dave raised sixteen hundred twenty five dollars for the
benefit of the men in France. So went the war
(16:10):
work followed through until the signing of the Armistice. Then
again the exhibitions fewer in number. Now the increasing rest
was earned at Pinehurst. Some time previous, she had met
one of the physicians who had attended her shortly after
the wreck of the Buffalo Bill wild West, at which
time the prediction had been made that she never would
(16:31):
shoot again. Their conversation brought forth the fact that since
the edict, Annie Oakley had participated in one thousand, four
hundred seven shooting events and exhibitions, during which time she
had broken the record of a number of gun clubs.
After the war, however, there was little of the old
work of matches and stakes. Annie Oakley and her husband
(16:53):
felt that they had garnered enough of worldly wealth. Henceforth
their main work would be exhibitions for the perpes of charity.
In this connection, she shot before her last great crowd
at this show, held by fred Stone at his place
at Mineola, Long Island, for the benefit of the Occupation
Therapy Society of New York, an organization devoted to the
(17:15):
rehabilitation of war veterans. Several other lesser exhibitions followed, and
then in November near daytona Florida, an automobile in which
Annie Oakley was riding turned turtle while speeding along a
Florida road. This time, the doctor said that her fate
was sealed. Sixty two years old, a hip fractured, the
(17:36):
tendons of her right leg pulled so badly as to
necessitate the steel support of a brace. These were the
barricades which raised themselves between the little missy and the
crack of a gun, which she loved so well. She
would never shoot again, they said, But they've said that before,
answered Annie Oakley. I've been near death four times in
(17:57):
my life, and the Good Lord has always pulled me through.
He'll pull me through this time too. I'll shoot again,
and I'll be as good as ever. When the spring
training season began for the ball clubs the next year,
an automobile rolled slowly out to Cookfield in Leesburg, Florida,
containing a gentle, smiling man who lifted a broken wisp
(18:18):
of a woman from the tonneau, and steadying her adjusted
her crutches. She moved slowly, painfully toward a table near
the grand stand, where some guns awaited. This place had
been selected because of friendship and because of its comparative seclusion,
save for those who knew the man and woman, and
who would sympathize if she failed. Slowly, crutch step after
(18:40):
crutch step, she covered the distance, frail, silvery haired, her
face lined by suffering. A look of apprehension was in
her eyes, almost to fear. Then, slowly, a thin hand
left its crutch handle, and reaching forward, touched a gun.
A smile came to the aged lips. Annie Oak turned.
(19:01):
You know, she said in her quiet voice. I haven't
had a gun in my hand since the eighth of
last October. I don't know. Across the field, a group
of Negro boys, worshippers of ball players had gathered watching
this little old lady who wanted to shoot. Slowly, she
steadied herself on her left foot so that it bore
the burden of her body and allowed her crutches to fall.
(19:24):
She raised a rifle, slowly, carefully, all right, she ordered,
and a penny flew into the air. There was the
crackle of a rifle, the sharp pain of contact, and
the coin, dented by a bullet, flew glittering over the
field to fall. At last, among the tumbling forms of
the black boys scrambling for the souvenir time after time
(19:45):
was the performance repeated until twenty five straight hits had
been recorded. Then disk of a larger size were thrown
at a greater distance. Annie Oakley hit those two. Finally,
with her left hand, still steadying herself upon that one foot,
she tossed five eggs into the air at once and
got them all before they could strike the ground. Proudly,
(20:07):
the elderly woman turned and put forth her hands for
her crutches. I knew I would be able to shoot again,
she said, nor was it the last time. Gradually she
improved until she could dispense with the crutches, her main
support being a steel brace about her right leg. And
as she improved in strength, she improved also in her shooting,
(20:28):
with the result that eighteen months after her accident, she
broke the club record of the Mayview Manor Gun Club
at Blowing Rock with a score of ninety eight out
of a possible one hundred targets while shooting at clay pigeons.
But finally the exhibitions dwindled gradually too. There began to
flow to Annie Oakley, now living in Dayton, Ohio, near
(20:49):
the scenes she had known in childhood, letters of cheer
from those who knew her well words spread to her
sister Holdy Haynes, to her brother John Mosey of far Off, Oklahoma,
and to her friendly niece Ferrine Campbell of Detroit, that
she was facing her last target. Gradually, the news passed
around among the stars of the theater who had known
(21:11):
and loved this woman for years, Will Rogers, Fred and
Aileen Stone, and their daughter Dorothy of stepping Stone's Fame,
and others, that a visit to Dayton must not be
complete without a visit to a modest home, where a
white haired woman, now becoming more and more of an
invalid as the result of her Florida accident, strove to
fight pain and loneliness, and the knowledge that the woods
(21:33):
and dales, the clearness of open sky, and the haze
of the stubble field were denied her forever. And at
last there traveled forth the despatch that Annie Oakley was dead.
A little later later, by less than a single turn
of the moon, her side partner Frank Butler, followed to
the grave. The mention of rifles and buffalo bill and
(21:56):
other romantic things caused more than one boy to read
carefully that notice of Annie Oakley's death. It caused too
a question which would never have been thought of thirty
years ago, but today, pop, Who is Annie Oakley? Came
the query in many a home when the short despatch
made known the fact that the little missy was gone,
(22:18):
And in many a home an interrogated father halted in
his reading. The room had faded. In its place, a
great amphitheater stretched in a vastness of distance, of flying
forms of scenery, of throng packed tiers of seats. At
one side. There waved and nodded the eagle plumed head
dresses of the representatives of the Sioux, the Kiawa, the Comanche,
(22:41):
and the Cheyenne. Yonder, a stalwart man in flowing hair
and straight brushed goateee, his buckskin coat fitting snug over
massive shoulders, rode like a god upon his prancing horse.
Farther away, the old deadwood stage coach awaited the queue
for the daily encounter with the deadly aborigine of mountain
and plain, And right out there, less than a score
(23:04):
of feet away, shooting against Johnnie Baker for the championship
of the wild West. Who is Annie Oakley? Asked many
a father that night. She was my first sweetheart son.
The end end of Chapter fifteen. End of Annie Oakley
Woman at Arms by Courtney Riley Cooper
Chapter fifteen of Annie Oakley, Woman at Arms by Courtney
Riley Cooper. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain.
Read by Barry Eads, Chapter fifteen. There was still another
angle to the newspaper tangle, and that was the proof
which it gave to the unimpeachable character of a woman
(00:22):
who had proved, by her actions and by her accomplishments,
that the results of a lifetime are the responsibility of
the one who lives it, and not, as is so
often claimed, the result of the surroundings into which one
is thrown. Annie Oakley, in the opinion of many persons,
eternally damned herself when she became the wife of an actor,
(00:43):
But the investigations attendant upon the Chicago incident proved conclusively otherwise.
One defendant chose to fight with every possible weapon, believing
that a person who had led the wandering life of
an actress in variety, the sole white woman with an
aggregation of cowboys and Vicaro's and Western characters a circus
(01:03):
woman easily could be proved to be a loose, desolate
sort of human, and that the court action could be
nullified by counterclaims and accusations. It therefore raised a pool
for the purpose of investigation. Higher detectives pried into every
angle of the life of Annie Oakley, and strove mightily
for even a few grains of consolation in the discovery
(01:25):
of untoward actions. Naturally, it is the failing of a
biographer to exalt his character. All too often a person
under favorable observation becomes a paragon of virtue. Traits of
character that are not conducive to good reading or to
pedestal deserving qualities are overlooked. But in the case of
(01:46):
Annie Oakley, this biographer finds himself in the position of
the investigators who worked so indefatigably a quarter of a
century ago. For their sole findings were that Annie Oakley
was a determined, little, white haired woman who since her
childhood had adhered strictly, in the main elements of life
to the Quaker teachings of her mother. They found that
(02:07):
one of her favorite bits of reading matter was the Bible,
and that between shows and in periods of rest, this
book was the one which formed her chief solace and diversion.
They found that among the entire wild West, every cowboy,
every working man, was not only ready but eager to
fight for the honor of a woman who, in seventeen
years with the show, never had done an illicit thing that,
(02:31):
unostentatiously hiding her actions in a queer, stolid form of modesty,
she conducted her own charities, providing for whole families and
sending girl after girl who otherwise could not afford it
to school, that they might escape the longings for education
which she had possessed. Scratch and dig, investigate and furrow.
(02:53):
Neither those investigators nor this biographer had been able to
discover in the life of Annie Oakley anything save an
almost incomprehensible collection of virtues. One finds himself wondering if
the woman could have been real, if, after all, she
were not the fiction character which her life seemed to
make her quiet, modest, honorable, faithful to the man who
(03:16):
was so thoroughly faithful to her. For one finds Frank
Butler still writing poetry after the hair had turned white,
and the world seemed less rosyette than in the days
when the Prince of Wales applauded Little shore Shot, considerate, kindly, generous, gentle,
yet with a will as firm and as unbendable as
tungsten steel. These are the attributes which one must give
(03:39):
to Annie Oakley, when perhaps better reading might be vended
had she been a George sand or a rifle welding
Lucretia Borgia. Annie Oakley did not take advantage of her
new flare of publicity, even though many newspapers, in their
anxiety to make amends for a regrettable incident in which
they had played the part of the inner sat bystander,
(04:01):
would have been more than willing for the opportunity to
repay her by effulgent publicity of a favorable character. Instead,
with her husband, she continued her appearances at the various shoots,
and for a time gave exhibitions at gun clubs, where
the clientele was strictly concerned with the sportsman element, and
where most of the publicity came from papers which had
(04:24):
figured not at all in the Chicago fiasco. This continued
for a number of years, then came again the yearning
to return to the arena. However, conditions were not what
they had been in former times. The Buffalo Bill Show,
for instance, after many difficulties, had become the Buffalo Bill
Wild West and Pawnee Bills Far East, fighting against the
(04:46):
debts which had accrued in the past before the advent
of Pawnee Bill, and doomed to close its doors forever.
A year later in Denver, when Buffalo Bill ceased to
be a figure at the head of his organization and
became an individual feature with the Cell's Flatto circus. Annie
Oakley's engagement, this time it was nineteen twelve, was with
(05:08):
the Young Buffalo Wild West, a fair imitation of the
real Buffalo Bill Show. However, there was not the zest
of old. For one thing, the show was not the dashing,
tremendous organization with which she had once performed such an
important figure. Then two the years had taken their toll.
Annie Oakley was more than fifty now, That, combined with
(05:30):
the aging influence of her accident, made show life far
from the agreeable thing which it had been in other years. Consequently,
at the end of her contract, she retired from the
show world forever, and in nineteen sixteen took the position
as a teacher of gunship for women at the fashionable
resort at Pinehurst, North Carolina. Here, for two years was
(05:53):
the ideal life. There were her horses and her dogs,
the pleasant duties of professor at the traps or before
the target, Sally's after quail, rest and quiet with now
and then a professional match thrown in at which Annie Oakley,
in spite of the years which had departed, still displayed
the old prowess, the old keenness of action and of sight.
(06:17):
A clipping is before this writer. It is dated February
nineteen sixteen and reads quote. Annie Oakley delighted eight hundred
persons and proved that she had lost none of her
skill with firearms in an exhibition at Pinehurst, North Carolina, recently.
With a rifle, she hit coins tossed in the air,
and broke marbles on the fly. She shot a cigarette
(06:39):
from the hand of her husband, Frank Butler, and an
apple from the head of her setter Dave. With a revolver,
she rolled a tin can along the ground with a
tattoo of bullets on its upper crust, and exploded cartridges
thrown into the air. She broke a ball whirled about
a man's head while she sighted by looking into the
mirror formed by the blade of a table knife. With
(07:01):
a shotgun, Missus Butler proved her speed. Mister Butler threw
six balls into the air simultaneously. The woman expert using
three double barreled shotguns, broke them all before they struck
the ground. Nor was that all. A year later, at
the Wentworth Gun Club, New Hampshire, she broke the club's
(07:21):
record of ninety seven hits by a perfect score of
one hundred straight targets. This, if you please, at fifty
eight a white haired woman once condemned to die and
saved only by five operations. Perhaps the time spent at
Pinehurst was the happiest of Annie Oakley's later life. In
spite of the fact that more than three thousand, five
(07:42):
hundred women came to her as novices, only to depart
skilled in the use of firearms. There was plenty of
time for rest and for recreation and retrospect. Time too,
for wandering the hills and dales, for riding, and for hunting,
for training her dogs, of which Dave, the amiable set
up formed the most beloved, followed closely by Fred named
(08:04):
for fred Stone the Actor, as was her favorite horse.
Time for memories, as is indicated by a clipping and
a letter. The clipping was from the Conning Tower of
the New York Tribune, cherished in Annie Oakley's collection. Quote
advice from Pinehurst, North Carolina is to the effect that
Annie Oakley is down there giving instruction daily from eleven
(08:27):
to twelve in the art of shooting. Here she is,
writes h A w a white haired picturesque feature at Pinehurst,
teaching all the ladies to break glass balls with a
rifle or clay pigeons with a shotgun. No longer a
short skirted, dashing girl of the plains, but a nice
little old lady with spectacles and knitting. Only one thing
(08:48):
remains her one hundred percent ability to break glass balls.
End quote to which the Conning Tower conductor had added quote.
And in eighteen ninety three, Annie Oakley, who shot glass
balls with far greater precision than Colonel Cody used to
shoot them, was one of the few women we really loved.
And now all the new generation knows of Annie Oakley
(09:10):
is that she is in the high diurnal slang. Annie
Oakley wrote a letter to the Conning Tower in answer
to that statement, evidently a letter which gave her pleasure,
for she saved a carbon copy of it, pasted side
by side with the clipping. It was a missive of
retrospection of happiness in things long gone, and it is
(09:32):
too an excellent insight into the character of the woman
whom other generations knew as little sure Shot Pinehurst, North Carolina,
February two, nineteen seventeen. My dear mister Conning Tower Man,
what did I hear you say she is a little
white haired lady who wears spectacles and knits. I am
(09:53):
guilty as to the first two charges, owing to two
trains which tried to pass on the same track but
did not succeed. My hair turned white in seventeen hours
from the injuries received, and the result was five operations.
That was in nineteen o one and in nineteen eleven
blood poison caused by an infection from a slight operation
(10:14):
resulted in four days with a temperature of one hundred
and seven, which affected my right eyes, so that sight
was impaired for reading fine print or doing fancy work
of which I am very fond. Not guilty as to knitting.
I graduated from the knitting school at the age of
eight years. That was when I started to shoot. Since
then I have not handled the knitting needles. So your
(10:37):
friend mister White could not see at close range when
he mistook the embroidering for knitting. Why did I give
up the arena because I made hay in the heyday
of my youth and felt that I had earned a change.
Why am I teaching ladies to shoot? Well, that is
my pleasure for which there is no charge or compensation
on my part. What else do I do? Go out
(10:59):
after mister rinerd once a week, and with the assistance
of Fred, my broncho, after a fifteen or sometimes twenty
mile chase, we bring mister Fox's scalp back to Pinehurst,
where my husband and I make our winter home. Or
arise with the sun and hie me off into the
woods or fields with my beautiful dog Dave in quest
of quail. A twelve or fifteen mile trip makes me
(11:22):
sleep and dream again of the days when I ran
barefooted over hill and dale, chasing the bees and butterflies,
or climbing nimbly up a dogwood tree to pick the
finest blossoms, to weave in a real queen's crown, with
the gorgeous wild roses festooned from my head to my
then little pink toes. How I loved the call of
(11:42):
the woods with their wealth of wild flowers, the hum
of the bees, the sweet notes of the turtle dove,
the drumming of the ruffled grouse, and the call of
the bob white. It was a haven of peace to
sit on the old moss covered logs and inhale the
scent of the tall ferns. Then at sunset, a sweet faced,
white capped little mother who watched smiling the home coming
(12:05):
of her one little tomboy of the family. The sweet
days of childhood are long past, and the dear mother
sleeps at the little resting place close by. Then the
great fight for recognition in the arena. It was uphill work,
for when I began there was a prejudice to live down.
But thanks to many of our good American people, they
gave me generously, both of their approval and their applause.
(12:28):
And so I am rather proud of your compliment in
the Tribune of January eleventh. She was one of the
few women we really loved. Thank you, mister Conning power Man,
And may you give some encouraging message to others who
are just beginning the great battle of life. Very truly yours,
Annie Oakley. But the dream days and the roving days
(12:50):
at Pinehurst, when Annie Oakley imaginative as she always was,
lived again the times of a childhood came to an
end as the result of an action by a man
whom she once had met, and whom a mis in
aim would have removed from the earth, Kaiser Wilhelm of Germany.
War came to America, and with it a militant spirit
(13:12):
arose in the breast of the crack shot. At first
she surged with the ambitious idea of raising a regiment
of women from those she had taught to be expert marksmen.
But with the application of her common sense to the thought,
it died. But there was something she could do. She
and Frank and Dave, and she set about it forthwith
(13:32):
that was to make life a bit lighter for the
men in camp, to aid with the raising of funds
and the setting of an example in the art of
hitting the enemy before he hit you. Consequently, with mister
Butler and the amiable setter Dave, the three set forth
upon a gratuitous tour of the army camps. Money for
their services was refused, likewise reimbursement for expenses. It was
(13:56):
Annie Oakley's way of doing her part in the Great War,
and there could be no return for it at camp.
After camp, they shot Frank Butler and Annie Oakley doing
their various feats, all this while Old Dave, a lop eared,
genial appearing setter, took a role that had already played
an important part in the lives of the two crack shots. Dave,
(14:17):
for the purposes of entertaining soldiers, stepped into the place
left vacant by George long ago, now grinning his tongue, lolling,
his tail wagging ever so slightly least a stronger motion
might displace the target. It was Dave who sat with
the apple on his head, waiting for his William tell
mistress to knock it off with a shot from her rifle.
(14:38):
Nor was it long until Dave did more than fill
the role of an ordinary performer. He became a money
getter for the Red Cross. There came the necessity for
odd ways of raising funds. Money was not coming as
fast as the demands called for. Then it was that
Dave he became Captain Dave of the Red Cross. Shortly
afterward stepped into the breach. Together Frank Butler and Annie
(15:03):
Oakley taught him the trick. Then spectators at the various
events were asked to allow Dave to scent a handkerchief.
After that, Dave was taken away where he could not
watch what followed. An amount of money whatever the participant
desired to risk on the trial was placed in the handkerchief,
and the bit of linen hidden anywhere the donor chose
(15:23):
within a distance of one hundred yards. Then Dave was
turned loose, with the agreement that, providing he found the money,
it was to go to the Red Cross, and if
he failed, the other partner in the game was to
receive credit for having offered it. But not in one
instance did Dave fail. The old setter would leap from
his captors and make a short circle of the enclosure. Then,
(15:46):
with his nose to the ground, he would strike the trail,
following it surely and quickly to the hiding place there
to dislodge it, and with wagging tail, await the arrival
of the Red Cross officer to take charge of it.
In this manner, in the vicinity of Portsmouth, New Hampshire, alone,
Old Dave raised sixteen hundred twenty five dollars for the
benefit of the men in France. So went the war
(16:10):
work followed through until the signing of the Armistice. Then
again the exhibitions fewer in number. Now the increasing rest
was earned at Pinehurst. Some time previous, she had met
one of the physicians who had attended her shortly after
the wreck of the Buffalo Bill wild West, at which
time the prediction had been made that she never would
(16:31):
shoot again. Their conversation brought forth the fact that since
the edict, Annie Oakley had participated in one thousand, four
hundred seven shooting events and exhibitions, during which time she
had broken the record of a number of gun clubs.
After the war, however, there was little of the old
work of matches and stakes. Annie Oakley and her husband
(16:53):
felt that they had garnered enough of worldly wealth. Henceforth
their main work would be exhibitions for the perpes of charity.
In this connection, she shot before her last great crowd
at this show, held by fred Stone at his place
at Mineola, Long Island, for the benefit of the Occupation
Therapy Society of New York, an organization devoted to the
(17:15):
rehabilitation of war veterans. Several other lesser exhibitions followed, and
then in November near daytona Florida, an automobile in which
Annie Oakley was riding turned turtle while speeding along a
Florida road. This time, the doctor said that her fate
was sealed. Sixty two years old, a hip fractured, the
(17:36):
tendons of her right leg pulled so badly as to
necessitate the steel support of a brace. These were the
barricades which raised themselves between the little missy and the
crack of a gun, which she loved so well. She
would never shoot again, they said, But they've said that before,
answered Annie Oakley. I've been near death four times in
(17:57):
my life, and the Good Lord has always pulled me through.
He'll pull me through this time too. I'll shoot again,
and I'll be as good as ever. When the spring
training season began for the ball clubs the next year,
an automobile rolled slowly out to Cookfield in Leesburg, Florida,
containing a gentle, smiling man who lifted a broken wisp
(18:18):
of a woman from the tonneau, and steadying her adjusted
her crutches. She moved slowly, painfully toward a table near
the grand stand, where some guns awaited. This place had
been selected because of friendship and because of its comparative seclusion,
save for those who knew the man and woman, and
who would sympathize if she failed. Slowly, crutch step after
(18:40):
crutch step, she covered the distance, frail, silvery haired, her
face lined by suffering. A look of apprehension was in
her eyes, almost to fear. Then, slowly, a thin hand
left its crutch handle, and reaching forward, touched a gun.
A smile came to the aged lips. Annie Oak turned.
(19:01):
You know, she said in her quiet voice. I haven't
had a gun in my hand since the eighth of
last October. I don't know. Across the field, a group
of Negro boys, worshippers of ball players had gathered watching
this little old lady who wanted to shoot. Slowly, she
steadied herself on her left foot so that it bore
the burden of her body and allowed her crutches to fall.
(19:24):
She raised a rifle, slowly, carefully, all right, she ordered,
and a penny flew into the air. There was the
crackle of a rifle, the sharp pain of contact, and
the coin, dented by a bullet, flew glittering over the
field to fall. At last, among the tumbling forms of
the black boys scrambling for the souvenir time after time
(19:45):
was the performance repeated until twenty five straight hits had
been recorded. Then disk of a larger size were thrown
at a greater distance. Annie Oakley hit those two. Finally,
with her left hand, still steadying herself upon that one foot,
she tossed five eggs into the air at once and
got them all before they could strike the ground. Proudly,
(20:07):
the elderly woman turned and put forth her hands for
her crutches. I knew I would be able to shoot again,
she said, nor was it the last time. Gradually she
improved until she could dispense with the crutches, her main
support being a steel brace about her right leg. And
as she improved in strength, she improved also in her shooting,
(20:28):
with the result that eighteen months after her accident, she
broke the club record of the Mayview Manor Gun Club
at Blowing Rock with a score of ninety eight out
of a possible one hundred targets while shooting at clay pigeons.
But finally the exhibitions dwindled gradually too. There began to
flow to Annie Oakley, now living in Dayton, Ohio, near
(20:49):
the scenes she had known in childhood, letters of cheer
from those who knew her well words spread to her
sister Holdy Haynes, to her brother John Mosey of far Off, Oklahoma,
and to her friendly niece Ferrine Campbell of Detroit, that
she was facing her last target. Gradually, the news passed
around among the stars of the theater who had known
(21:11):
and loved this woman for years, Will Rogers, Fred and
Aileen Stone, and their daughter Dorothy of stepping Stone's Fame,
and others, that a visit to Dayton must not be
complete without a visit to a modest home, where a
white haired woman, now becoming more and more of an
invalid as the result of her Florida accident, strove to
fight pain and loneliness, and the knowledge that the woods
(21:33):
and dales, the clearness of open sky, and the haze
of the stubble field were denied her forever. And at
last there traveled forth the despatch that Annie Oakley was dead.
A little later later, by less than a single turn
of the moon, her side partner Frank Butler, followed to
the grave. The mention of rifles and buffalo bill and
(21:56):
other romantic things caused more than one boy to read
carefully that notice of Annie Oakley's death. It caused too
a question which would never have been thought of thirty
years ago, but today, pop, Who is Annie Oakley? Came
the query in many a home when the short despatch
made known the fact that the little missy was gone,
(22:18):
And in many a home an interrogated father halted in
his reading. The room had faded. In its place, a
great amphitheater stretched in a vastness of distance, of flying
forms of scenery, of throng packed tiers of seats. At
one side. There waved and nodded the eagle plumed head
dresses of the representatives of the Sioux, the Kiawa, the Comanche,
(22:41):
and the Cheyenne. Yonder, a stalwart man in flowing hair
and straight brushed goateee, his buckskin coat fitting snug over
massive shoulders, rode like a god upon his prancing horse.
Farther away, the old deadwood stage coach awaited the queue
for the daily encounter with the deadly aborigine of mountain
and plain, And right out there, less than a score
(23:04):
of feet away, shooting against Johnnie Baker for the championship
of the wild West. Who is Annie Oakley? Asked many
a father that night. She was my first sweetheart son.
The end end of Chapter fifteen. End of Annie Oakley
Woman at Arms by Courtney Riley Cooper
Popular Podcasts
Stuff You Should Know
If you've ever wanted to know about champagne, satanism, the Stonewall Uprising, chaos theory, LSD, El Nino, true crime and Rosa Parks, then look no further. Josh and Chuck have you covered.
New Heights with Jason & Travis Kelce
Football’s funniest family duo — Jason Kelce of the Philadelphia Eagles and Travis Kelce of the Kansas City Chiefs — team up to provide next-level access to life in the league as it unfolds. The two brothers and Super Bowl champions drop weekly insights about the weekly slate of games and share their INSIDE perspectives on trending NFL news and sports headlines. They also endlessly rag on each other as brothers do, chat the latest in pop culture and welcome some very popular and well-known friends to chat with them. Check out new episodes every Wednesday. Follow New Heights on the Wondery App, YouTube or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to new episodes early and ad-free, and get exclusive content on Wondery+. Join Wondery+ in the Wondery App, Apple Podcasts or Spotify. And join our new membership for a unique fan experience by going to the New Heights YouTube channel now!
24/7 News: The Latest
The latest news in 4 minutes updated every hour, every day.