April 14, 1900

Ben Wherling, Denver Sun Times

I've been a reported for the Denver Sun Times for the better part of five years, so I've witnessed the evolution of lawmen, outlaws, and modern technology that has forced the old west territories and states into the modern structure of the twentieth century. When my newspaper asked me to write a series of stories about those lawmen, outlaws, and technologies, I jumped at the opportunity. I knew it would be a fascinating series.

In order to write this series, I sent letters to literally dozens of retired sheriffs, marshals, reformed outlaws, telegraph operators, railroad presidents, banking tycoons, and even a few soiled doves as they were called back then. I've received a handful of replys, mostly declining an interview. So I was both surprised and elated when Jedadiah "Kid" Curry agreed to meet me at Denver's Brown Palace Hotel for an interview.

So I dug deep and did my research. I felt comfortable with my understanding of Curry's life, his childhood, his outlaw days, his reputation with a gun, his quest for amnesty, his complicated partnership with Hannibal Heyes, his post retirement years. I went in to that interview prepared to tell Curry more about his life than he knew himself.

We met in the hotel bar. I made sure to arrive early, and chose a table near the back that offered some privacy. I sat at the table and spread out my notebook, a few newspaper clipping I had gathered, several pens, and a couple of photographs. I sat and watched several people enter the bar, and began growing a tad impatient when Curry was over half an hour late.

His physical appearance surprised me. He was considerably leaner than I had expected. His blonde hair was cut short which produced waves rather than the curls I had so often read about. His face carried a few days worth of stubble. He wore a dark brown tweed dress jacket and blue jeans and brown cowboy boots. I half expected to see a holster tied neatly to his thigh as everyone who had spoke of him had mentioned that he was seldom seen without his hardware.

What didn't surprise me were his eyes, the color of lake Tahoe on a cloudless day. His eyes were both intense and carefree at the same time, something many people had remarked upon during my earlier interviews.

I stood and approached him and with my hand extended, I introduced myself and thanked him for the interview. He shook my hand and caught the attention of the bartender. He raised two fingers and pointed to the table where we would be sitting.

I waited for him to sit and he glided easily into the chair, then leaned back and folded one leg over the other.

"What do you want to know?" he asked casually.

I found this demeanor offsetting. I had expected to see the remnants of a hardened outlaw, the defensiveness of a criminal, the calculating cunning of a gunslinger. But all my stereotypical assumptions were shattered by his open-book attitude.

"First, Mr. Curry, let me say it is an honor to meet you, a legend of the old west..."

He interrupted me with a laugh. "Get your head out of the clouds, son. There's nothing legendary about me. I weren't no different than any other man living through those hard times."

"How did you?"

"How did I what?"

"Live through those old times? Being the fastest draw of any man around, there surely were scores of men wanting to best you, to beat you."

"I had my share of challengers. Most were just young walk-offs that turned on their tails when I stood my ground. The trick is to watch a man's eyes. The eyes will tell you the man's true intentions. You decide how to handle it based on what you see in the eyes."

I quickly scribbled quotes on my notepad. He sipped his beer while he waited for me to catch up.

"Let's start at the beginning," I said and he nodded and took another sip of his beer.

"You were born in Kansas shortly before the Civil war. Tell me about your life then."

"Let's see, I was the sixth of seven children. My brothers were all ten or more years older than me., and most were out on their own by the time I was born. I reckon my little sister, Kate and I were both after-thoughts. My folks owned a farm near Darby. My cousin Han, Hannibal Heyes lived on a nearby farm. I lived on that farm till I was eight. That's when the Bloody Kansas Days began and Han and I were left orphans."

"You were on your own at eight years old?"

Kid shook his head. "I had Han. Him and me spent the next three years at the Valparaiso School for Wayward Boys. Stayed there almost three years, till we ran away. At that point we was on our own."

"At the age of eleven?"

"Uh-uh."

"How did the two of you survive?"

"Odd jobs here and there, a little pilfering. We managed."

"Is that why you became outlaws?"

Kid shook his head. "It might be how we became outlaws, but now why."

"So why did you become outlaws?"

Kid smiled. "We discovered it was easier to steal money than to earn money. Heyes eventually found his way into the Devil's Hole gang."

"Why didn't you?"

"Well I obviously did, eventually. But early on I wasn't keen on hooking up with others, having to depend on others. The only person I've ever trusted enough to depend on was Heyes. At the time, he just wanted something different than what I wanted."

"So you were on your own?"

Kid nodded. "For a few years. Found it didn't fare very well for me. So, I joined back up with Heyes again."

"By then Mr. Heyes was leader of the Devil's Hole gang?"

Kid nodded and grinned. "He'd be smiling at your use of the word Mister. He was just plain Heyes to everybody."

"How long were you and...Heyes outlaws with the Devil's Hole gang?"

Curry caught the attention of the bartender and ordered another beer. "With Devil's Hole I'd say seven, maybe eight years."

"And you were his gunslinger?"

"Nope."

"I don't understand."

"I've never been a gunslinger. I've always been a very fast draw and always had a very accurate aim. But a gunslinger intends to use a gun, to kill if he has to, might even be willing to sell his gun skills for hire. I was never any of those things."

"Then what were you?"

He smiled almost sadly before speaking. "I was Heyes' other half. He was mine. He could talk our way out of almost anything. I could shoot our way out of most things."

"Partners?"

He shook his head again. "Partners described the whole kit and caboodle of our relationship. You were just asking about one aspect."

"So what is the whole kit and caboodle?"

The beer arrived and Curry glanced up at the bartender and thanked him. He took a big gulp of the beer before setting the mug back down on the table. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before crossing his arms across his chest.

"Son, you got anybody in you life that you would trust knowing every dark, dirty little secret about you, and was willing to share his same secrets with you?

"I thought a minute and shook my head.

"That is the whole kit and caboodle."

I wondered what it would feel like knowing someone that closely, that intensely. But the interview time was brief, so I moved on.

"What was your most difficult robbery?"

"For me or for the gang?"

"For you."

He thought a minute before answering. "I can't say there was just one. The most difficult ones for me was when one of us got hurt. That wasn't real uncommon. Lord knows I've got the scars to prove it... Lot of other ones do, too. If one of us got hurt, one or another of us would pull back and try to help... Most times we were successful. A few times we weren't."

"Were you proud of any of the robberies?"

"I was proud of a lot of the plans. Heyes was a thinker. He'd have every detail thought out. Made sure we all knew exactly where to be and when, what to do and how to do it, who to spot, which was mostly him, when to act and when to call it quits... Yea, Heyes was damn good at what he did."

"How long did it take you and Heyes to get amnesty?"

"A hell of a lot longer than it should have... We worked hard for that. Wyoming just couldn't hold on to a governor long enough to grant the damn amnesty. The state went through four governors in two years. That dragged the amnesty out way longer than it should have. We spent four years out running posses and bounty hunters, trying to hide who we were. Spent more time in a saddle than out of it. Making hasty exits out of two bit towns when someone recognized us. It was a long four years."

"After you both got amnesty, you stayed together?"

"Yep. Didn't see no reason to split up."

"Did either of you settle down, get married?"

Curry nodded. "Heyes did. They had a good life together."

"Is she still living?"

Curry looked at me as though I had suddenly crossed the boundaries of the interview. Finally he shook his head, but didn't actually reply. I wondered why this was such a sensitive topic of conversation, but, looking at his eyes, I knew he was very protective of that topic and I knew not to pursue it.

"Are you pleased with your life, Mr. Curry?"

He sighed heavily. "It ain't worth dwelling on regrets. "All that does is make you dwell on the past, and dwelling on the past just takes you down some bad roads. I just don't think about the possibility of regrets."

"Would you say you've had a good life?"

"Some good. Some bad. I suspect that's true of most folks."

Is there anything you'd like the readers to know about you?"

"Well I know you started this interview thinking I was some kind of hero, some kind of legend. I'd like people to know that ain't true. The simple fact is I am Jedadiah Curry, not Kid Curry, not Thaddeus Jones. I've lived my life the best way I knew how. I was lucky enough to have traveled through life with the best partner anyone could ever ask for. I hope I was the same for him. When one day I'm standing in front of those pearly gates, I hope the good Lord sees fitting to have Heyes there helping to open the gates of heaven for me. That's the only thing left for me to want."

"Unless there is anything you'd like to add, or like to expound upon, I think we can conclude the interview, Mr. Curry."

He stood up and shook my hand. He gave me a charming smile. But his comments about being able to read things in a man's eyes caused me to take note of his eyes. They looked sad and weary to me, like life without his partner wasn't really life at all. I felt a twinge of sorrow for him. Suddenly I realized he was reading me, reading him.

"Better to have loved and lost?" I asked.

He patted the left side of his chest and smiled. "I haven't lost. He's right here," he said and turned on his heels and walked away.

I regretted having ended the interview. In those parting moments I realized how much more there was to that man, that ex-outlaw, that person who really did have all the secrets of life figured out, and kept those secrets so carefully guarded, protected, and treasured.