Five reasons why a Poirot reboot would never work

Some ideas are terrifying enough to warrant a preemptive strike.

A reboot of the Poirot franchise would fail on several counts. Some would only be true if they chose to modernize him, a la Sherlock, some only if they tried to recreate the spirit of the original series.

But any one of the below is powerful enough to be fatal. To the rebooters. Because I would kill them.

Reason #1: Xenophobia isn’t cool anymore

By Poirot’s own admission, one of the principal factors of his success as an investigator is his image of an innocent, ignorant foreigner.

Poirot operates in a time when the Belgian refugees from the predations of the Hun were thought of as ineffectual man-children. They were curiosities from abroad, certainly deserving of our sympathy and respect, but surely incapable of Holmesian genius.

This attitude which Poirot must confront in almost every case is probably equal parts xenophobia and caste snobbishness (the latter of which is still in full bloom throughout Western culture).

But I still say that an essential element of the world of Poirot is his separation from his subjects by national identity. Nationalism has also fallen by the wayside in our time, a sometimes-welcome by-product of the shrinking of the world due to technology.

Without foreignness as an ever-ready misdirection, Poirot loses an important edge with his suspects. As he says in Three Act Tragedy:

It is true that I can speak the exact, the idiomatic English. But, my friend, to speak the broken English is an enormous asset. It leads people to despise you. They say – a foreigner – he can’t even speak English properly.  […] And so, you see, I put people off their guard.[20]

Reason #2: People would see Poirot as derivitive of Monk instead of the other way around

Poirot exhibits many obsessive-compulsive traits, especially in the BBC series: having his books arranged by height, adjusting the placement of ornaments on the mantle at a crime scene, his fastidious appearance. But Christie wrote in a time when it was okay to laugh at such things, instead of tut-tutting at a mental disorder.

Besides, in many ways, Poirot is enabled by these tendencies, whereas Mr. Monk must function as the poster boy for a disability. This distracts from the point of the stories, which should be (remember?) the mystery.

Reason #3: The inter-war years are distinctly ripe for the kinds of cases Poirot is best at

In the years between the wars, you had British affluence attaining its full height on the wings of the industrial revolution. And at the same time, you had a culture of people who had experienced first-hand the effects of mustard gas and the zeppelin bombing raids over London. The 20s was the decade of the backlash, the collective recoil against the nightmare that human nature had revealed itself to be.

The only rational response to the horrors of World War I was hedonism. Damocles’s sword had been revealed, so we’d all better drink up.

Hedonism nowadays has a much different tone. Nuclear-age, drone-strike hedonism is tempered by the knowledge that you will not see your killer. It is a hedonism stripped of humanity, its pleasure seen as an immaterial substance to be consumed alone.

But in 20s and 30s London, to embrace this fragile life meant clinging to people, which meant their successes and trespasses and big-ass emerald necklaces took on talismanic size within one’s society. A size big enough to kill over.

Reason #4: David Suchet will never be topped

Poirot has had many fine portrayals, including Albert Finney’s Murder on the Orient Express, which stands today as one of the great performances on film.

But no one ever “got” Poirot like David Suchet (pictured above). Every square inch of him is pitch-perfect.

A modern Poirot would be a grotesque caricature, inevitably. Ours is not a culture of refinement or subtlety, nor one that appreciates such in our crimefighters.

Reason #5: The gay issue

Of COURSE Poirot was banging Hastings. But that’s THEIR BUSINESS. That’s not what the show or the stories were ever “about”.

If they made a Poirot series today, even if they kept it in period, it just wouldn’t be sufficient to have two “confirmed bachelors” hanging out, solving mysteries. Oh no, the people just gots to know what their “deal” is.

Fucking modernity.

Only a thumb

The driver’s ed teacher tilted his plastic chair back on two legs. He sipped coffee out of a styrofoam Dunkin Donuts cup.

“I remember this one guy,” he said, “Larry Miller. Anyone know the Miller’s up on Rooster’s Fork Road up in Lonaconing? Larry used to work at the PVC plant down there in Hyndman, and the guy lost his four fingers driving forklift.”

Oh, we thought, pens poised over note paper, this was going to be some grisly tale about not paying attention while you’re driving, resulting in horrible disfigurement. Tasteless, but in keeping with the general tone of the class so far that week.

“Yeah, he used to keep his hand up here on the side rail as he worked, and he drove into a bay with the door not all the way up and it sheared his four fingers clean off. Just left the thumb.”

The class winced. Oh, we thought, it’s a lesson about overhead clearances. A bit odd; not sure how often that comes up in the real world. And a bit of a stretch, with the forklift. But okay, the teacher is working with the material he has. He’s teaching from his life. Can’t blame him for that.

“Yep, just a thumb on that hand. But man, eventually that thumb got so strong. You’d see him coming out of Martin’s with four bags of groceries and two gallons of milk just clutched in that thumb. Or coming out of Lowes holding two drywall buckets with just that thumb. Got so strong.”

He sipped his coffee.

“So Larry’s got this son Phil, and Phil’s just got his license, just off his permit. And one evening Larry gets a call from the cops, ‘Mr. Miller, we’re suspending your son’s license for reckless driving. Would you come down to the station and pick him up, please?’

“And the first thing Larry does when he sees his son in the police station is to whap – !” The teacher made a flicking-striking motion with his right thumb. “Right in the chest. Knocks the wind right out of him. He was so mad.”

We waited for the story to have an ending or a lesson or something, but the teacher just took a sip of coffee.

“Yep, hit him right in the chest,” he said. “That thumb was so strong.” Our pens continued to hover. He took another sip of coffee. “So funny.”

The cultural cost of being vegetarian

Becoming a vegetarian is not about what you eat. It is not a decision that should be made based solely on what you want to keep eating and what you want to stop eating.

Vegetarianism is a lifestyle, a hobby, a second job, and the true cost is not just what you don’t eat, it’s in giving up certain cultural rituals that happen to involve meat.

Below is a partial list of foods which hold a particular place in western culture, which are forbidden to vegetarians, and which have no vegetarian equivalents that are acceptable in context. Please help me complete this list in the comments.

I present this list partially to indulge my tendency towards whining and asking for sympathy, but also in the hope of scaring off any potential vegetarian dilettantes who may be ignorant of the commitment. Dilettantes and flip-flopper vegetarians weaken our cause and lose us credibility in the eyes of the carnies.

Partial list of meat-based, culturally significant foods

  • Steak
  • Buffalo wings
  • Steamed blue crabs
  • Philly cheesesteaks
  • Beef jerky
  • Fried chicken
  • Bacon
  • Jell-O
  • Pepperoni pizza
  • McDonald’s cheeseburger
  • Thanksgiving turkey

Gunfight at the O.K. Corral: Afterword and bibliography

The previous three posts are driven and inspired by Gary Roberts’s insanely compellingly detailed description of these events in his book Doc Holliday: The Life and Legend. His writing reminded me that creating heroes retroactively robs our culture by replacing true acts of astonishing skill and luck with vague and poorly understood myths.

As as blogger, I have no responsibility to academic comprehensiveness, and I have chosen a skeleton of the events of that day in October on which to drape the true emotional story which I need to tell.

That said, I have a responsibility to those men, and to you, to resist the common temptation of revisionist mythmaking. The men and the events can only be hurt by my intervention. The facts are as accurate as I can possibly make them, and everything inside quotation marks is an actual documented quote from a reasonable source, usually Roberts’s book or Wikipedia. Please feel free to call bullshit and I will attempt to support or redress.

The creative aspect of this endeavor was in the crafting of an arc from the events, and in the men’s internal monologues, which are about 60% supported by my sources. However, what leaps I felt compelled to make for the sake of narrative are of the minimum emotional distance. I felt that these liberties were an important link between the modern reader and that distant, dusty past, without which the story would lay dry and academic on the screen. It was my sole purpose to allow this story to avoid that fate, and I hope I may be forgiven.

Gunfight at the O.K. Corral: a monologue (conclusion)

Sheriff Behan catches up with the Cow-Boys who are in a narrow lot off Fremont Street getting ready to saddle up. Behan first tries to reason with Frank McLaury, trying to get him to surrender, but to Frank it just seems like he and his brother and the rest of the Cow-Boys are just being bullied by the Earps.

Because what we’ve got to remember here is that at this time in history, the line between the law and the outlaw was much blurrier than it is now. And just because some of the Earps carried badges doesn’t mean that they were universally acknowledged to be authority figures. In a certain sense, the lawmen of the old west were essentially gunfighters whose fighting had been endorsed by whatever proto-government existed in the area at the time. So Frank McLaury has no more reason to obey the orders of Virgil Earp or Johnny Behan than those of any other man.

And so Frank says, “Johnny, as long as the people of Tombstone act so, I will not give up my arms.”

And really, what can Sheriff Behan do. Ike is the only one of the Cow-Boys that lets himself be frisked. The rest of them just stand there with God knows what under those long dusters, never too far away from the Winchester rifles sticking up from the scabbards on their horses.

Someone down the street cries out, “Here they come!,” and Behan turns around to see the Earps and Doc Holliday making the turn from Fourth Street onto Fremont. They’re walking four abreast with Virgil slightly ahead of the others and Virgil’s still got Doc’s cane in his hand. He’s holding it in his fist at his side and the man’s able to make a silver-headed cane look as threatening as hell.

Behan turns back to the gang members and he says, in a voice a little squeaky from panic at this point, “I won’t have no fighting. You must give me your firearms or leave town immediately.” The poor man’s grasping at the straws of his authority.

Frank replies, “You need not be afraid, Johnny. We are not going to have any trouble.” Now listen to the beautiful ambiguity of that sentence. “We are not going to have any trouble.” Behan interprets this to mean that the Cow-Boys intended to avoid a gunfight, and seeing as he isn’t going to get them to disarm anyway, he decides to be satisfied with this. But maybe what Frank means is that he and his brothers in arms won’t “have any trouble” dealing with the Earps.

Behan scurries back down the street to where the Earps are marching towards the Cow-Boys like a phalanx of goddamn angels of justice. Behan holds up his hands and he begs them, “Hold up, boys! Don’t go down there or there will be trouble.”

But Virgil isn’t afraid of ‘trouble’. “Johnny,” he says, “I am going down to disarm them.”

The sheriff says, “I have been down there to disarm them.” Meaning, “I’ve already tried that, and it didn’t work.” But what the Earps and Holliday think he means is, “They have already been disarmed,” which is a very different thing. So the Earps and Doc Holliday just shoulder past Sheriff Behan to make sure that the deed is done. They relax and holster their weapons. Their guard comes down a little bit.

So imagine their shock when they come around the side of Fly’s Photograph Gallery and they see not four unarmed Cow-Boy members waiting to be taken into custody. They see six Cow-Boys, two of which are clearly armed, all standing around two horses, both of which have Winchester rifles sticking out of their saddles.

Wyatt calls out “Son of a bitch!”, and without any communication at all, the Earps and Holliday start to get into their battle positions. Wyatt and Morgan move slightly away from Virgil to more evenly cover the area of the lot. Doc Holliday with the big scatter gun moves back into the street to act as containment man. Virgil steps forward, the prow of the ship of justice, showing that there is someone in charge here. And He’s still holding Doc’s cane in his right hand, and he raises it up over his head, like a wizard trying to cast a spell.

He says, “Throw up your hands, boys. I intend to disarm you!”

But this is the last straw for the Cow-Boys. This isn’t just western justice run amok; this is persecution. The law states that if you’re on your way out of town, you can be wearing a gun. How else are people supposed to get out of town with their guns! They were on their way out! But the Earps and that perfumed lackey Holliday, they just wanted to pick a fight. That’s how it looks to them.

Frank McLaury steps forward, and in answer to Virgil’s question, he says, “We will!” And he goes for his revolver, and it’s clear to everyone present that he’s not just going to pull it out butt first and throw it in the dirt. His hand is a blur.

Two of Frank’s comrades behind him take his cue. His brother Tom throws back the sides of his duster to clear his guns. Billy Clanton goes for his gun too, looking all the time at Wyatt, the next biggest threat, since Virgil doesn’t appear to be armed.

Wyatt pulls his gun, and Doc Holliday pulls back both hammers on the shotgun and lifts it from under his coat.

Virgil feels his control of the situation slipping away, and he cries, “Hold! I don’t mean that!” He’s still holding the silver-headed cane over his head. He’s trying to make everyone look at him and not at each other.

Wyatt and Frank fire at the same time. Wyatt’s shot hits Frank in the belly. Billy Clanton pulls and fires at Wyatt and misses. Virgil, in one of those weird prioritizations of panic, doesn’t drop the cane. He tries to shift it to his other hand as he struggles for the pistol on his hip.

Doc Holliday, from his wider point of view, sees the movement of Tom McLaury behind one of the horses and he starts to move in towards him.

Ike breaks from out behind where Frank is staggering backwards. He runs up to Wyatt and grabs his lapels. Remember, Ike’s guns are still at the hotel where the Marshall had deposited them after the trial that morning. He tries to grapple with Wyatt Earp, but Wyatt won’t play. He throws Ike off and says, “The fight’s commenced. Go to fighting or get away!” Ike turns and smashes through the door of the photography shop and on through to the next lot. Billy Claiborne and West Fuller go with him.

So now it’s four lawmen against three Cow-Boys.

Frank McLaury, even though he’s shot, he keeps fanning the hammer of his revolver and firing, as does Billy Clanton. Virgil goes down with a bullet through the meaty part of his calf. Morgan goes down with a chipped vertebra, yelling, “I am hit!” But he gets back up again.

Doc’s aware of all of this, but he’s still got his eyes on the shape of Tom behind that big chestnut mare. Tom’s reaching across the top of the saddle, trying to get at the Winchester in the scabbard. But the horse finally decides that he’s had enough of all this shooting and he bolts.

Tom’s left there exposed for a split second, and that’s all that Doc Holliday needs. Doc pulls both triggers on the shotgun and thunder erupts. buh-BLAM. Tom’s blasted back against a telegraph pole with twelve buckshot across his body. Doc throws away the empty shotgun and pulls a nickel-plated revolver from his waist. The revolver is the same color as the head on his cane.

Billy Clanton is hit in the chest and in the wrist of his gun hand, but he leans up against a wall for support, and he shifts his gun to his other hand and keeps firing.

Frank, bleeding from his gut is trying to use the other horse as a shield. Then it decides to bolt too. He was focused on trying to take down Morgan who had almost managed to flank him on his left. But with the horse gone, he sees that Doc Holliday is almost close enough to touch.

So Frank lifts his pistol and he says to Doc, “I’ve got you now.”

Doc, who already has his pistol leveled at Frank, says, “Blaze away. You’re a daisy if you have.” Doc’s bullet goes through Frank’s chest and Morgan’s goes into head.

Frank gets off one shot before he falls. It tears into Doc’s coat and clips his hip. Holliday overreacts. “I’m shot right through!,” he says, and although Frank McLaury has gone down like a sack of potatoes, he starts towards him again with his gun raised. He says, “The son of a bitch has shot me, and I mean to kill him.” Morgan pulls him off.

The fight is over and witnesses arestarting to make towards the wounded. Billy Clanton is collapsed against a wall, a bloody mess, trying to reload his pistol with one wrist smashed, which is pathetic and impossible. He looks up at the men standing around him, and he says, “Give me some cartridges!” But Mr. Fly, the man who owns the photography studio next door, just snatches the pistol out of his hand.

The wounded Cow-Boys are taken into a nearby house, where brothers Frank and Tom McLaury die together without saying another word. Young Billy Clanton, 19 years old, victim of the first and only gunfight he’s ever involved in, he begs the men tending to him to “go away and let me die”, which he does. 

Billy’s brother Ike is arrested later that day, and later tries to bring murder charges against the Earps for the death of his brother, but he’s unsuccessful. So instead Ike embarks upon a vendetta ride with the Cow-Boys to exact his own revenge. As a part of that ride Virgil Earp is permanently disabled, and Morgan is fatally wounded.

Back when they were kids, Morgan and Wyatt had promised each other that whoever was the first to die would report back to the other one what the next world looked like. As Morgan lay dying, he gripped his brother’s hand and he said, “I can’t see a damned thing.”

Gunfight at the O.K. Corral: a monologue (part two)

An hour passes, and then another. Rumors continue to fly about the Cow-Boys continuing to make threats against the Earps. Now the Cow-Boys have their pride to consider. Their members have been publicly shamed, and that sort of thing just doesn’t stand.

Virgil is standing on the boardwalk outside the marshal’s office and he’s hearing these reports, and he’s trying to sift the genuine evidence of danger from rumor. One citizen says he saw Tom McLaury with a gun hidden in his trousers. Another says that Ike Clanton had been down in the telegraph office, maybe calling for backup (the Cow-Boy gang had 300 members at this point). Wyatt himself reports that he’d seen Frank McLaury, and Ike and Billy Clanton inside Spangenberg’s gun shop buying ammo. And George Spangenberg himself reported that Ike had tried to buy a gun, but George had refused him.

So there is this huge mass of reports that seems to suggest to Virgil that there is some legitimate trouble brewing. So Virgil goes to the Wells, Fargo office and he borrows a ten-gauge double-barreled shotgun.

Meanwhile, the Cochise County Sheriff Johnny Behan is hearing about this situation as he getting shaved. Now, Behan has generally been categorized by history as a crooked politician and a Cow-Boy sympathizer. He and Virgil never saw eye to eye on where their jurisdictions overlapped in Tombstone. But Behan is a wise enough lawman to know that a showdown is on its way, and a showdown in the middle of a Wednesday afternoon in a town like Tombstone, buildings all close together, women and children all over the place, that’s just bad for everybody. In a way, Behan is the one man in this story who has a vested interest in peace. He has no interest in vendettas or damaged honor. He just wants this to go away. So he runs across town still dripping wet from his shave trying to find the marshal, and his only thoughts were of his ten percent kickback on the fees he collects for gambling, liquor, and prostitution Tombstone, and he’s thinking how if he allows a major shooting to happen on his watch, he’s reelection chances are nil.

Finally, Behan finds Virgil on the corner outside Hafford’s Saloon. And Virgil is in the middle of a mob of citizens who are just spewing rumor. There’s a dozen different citizen vigilante groups that are there too to pledge their support to the Marshal. This thing is heating up

Behan says, “What is going on, Marshal?”

And Virgil replies, “Some sons-of-bitches have been looking for a fight and now they can have it!”

And an odd sound goes through this crowd, a kind of groan that’s halfway between terror and anticipation.

The sheriff says, “You had better disarm them. It is your duty as an officer.”

Because Behan knew that playing up to Virgil’s sense of duty is the only way to counter this red mist he sees rising in the marshal’s eyes.

But the marshal replies, “I will not. I will give them their chance to make a fight.”

And there’s another sound from the crowd. Behan realizes he’s got to get Virgil out of this mob. They’re just egging each other on. So he pulls Virgil into the saloon. He says, “Let me buy you a drink.”

Virgil declines, but he does start to cool down a little bit. He says to Behan in a tone of compromise, “Will you help me arrest the Cow-Boys?”

Behan says “No, I cannot. Don’t undertake to disarm that bunch, or they will kill you.”. He is starting to take another tack at this point. He says, “They were just down at my corral having a gun talk against you and threatening your life. I will go down to where they are. They won’t hurt me. And I will get them to lay off their arms.”

Virgil agrees to this and Behan goes off.

But the rumors keep coming, news of Cow-Boy sightings, reports of threats against the Earps, just fueling the fire. Now these reports, at this point, were probably just delayed reports of events that had happened earlier in the day. But law enforcement in Tombstone just didn’t have the ability collate all these reports. And frankly Virgil wasn’t in much of a collating mood. Because from where he stood, peering down the street, tapping his foot for Behan’s return, each report to him looks like another piece of evidence that the Cow-Boys are a clear and present danger to himself, his brothers, and the townspeople he has sworn to protect.

And it was then that out of the crowd walks John Henry Holliday, D.D.S. To Doc, it looks like the Earps are just getting ready to go somewhere. So he asks, “Where are you going?”

And Wyatt Earp, he looks at Doc and he takes a moment to process what he is seeing. Doc Holliday is wearing a brilliantly clean gray suit with a pastel shirt and a long gray overcoat. He has a beautiful silk tie tied around a crisp, crisp white collar, and he is carrying a silver-handled cane. If Wyatt had just seen him in the street and hadn’t known him as one of the hardest motherfuckers in the territory, he would have just called him a dandy. Because nobody dresses like that in a town where most of the streets didn’t even have wooden sidewalks. Doc Holliday was a character out of myth even to people who knew him well like the Earps.

Wyatt nods hello and he says, “We’re going to make a fight.” Because Wyatt doesn’t trust Behan any more than his brother does, and he doesn’t have to hide it.

Doc says, “Well, you’re not going to leave me out, are you?”

Wyatt goes, “This is none of your affair.” Essentially pulling rank on him.

Doc bristles a bit at this. He says, “That is a hell of a thing for you to say to me!”

Wyatt says, “It’s going to be a tough one.”

But Doc just puts his cigar back in his mouth and he says, “Tough ones are the kind I like.”

As if Wyatt was expecting any other answer.

Virgil’s nearby and he’s thinking he can use another man that he trusts. So he gives the shotgun that he’s holding to Doc Holliday. Now, Doc needs two hands to handle a shotgun, so he hands Virgil his cane in exchange. And this is fine with Virgil, because he doesn’t really want to have to do any fighting. It might actually be a good play to have something in his hand that’s not a gun.

Now at this point about twenty minutes have passed since Behan has gone to allegedly get the Cow-Boys to throw down their guns. And the Cow-Boys themselves have had several hours to leave town. It’s clear from this nervous mob of townspeople that the Cow-Boys remain a threat to peace and quiet in Tombstone.

The moment has come for Virgil to put his credibility on the line, his credibility as an agent of the law. He turns to his brothers Morgan and Wyatt, and to Doc Holliday who is standing with the shotgun under his coat, looking like a French duke completely out of place, and Virgil says, “Come along.” And the four of them set out to put an end to this.

Gunfight at the O.K. Corral: a monologue (part one)

It’s Wednesday October 21st, 1881, around 9am. Tombstone police officer A.G. Bronk shakes Virgil Earp awake. “Ike Clanton’s making a fuss, Marshal,” he says. “There’s liable to be hell.”

Ike Clanton is the leader of a notorious outlaw gang called the “Cow-Boys” who have been a thorn in the side of the Earps since they took power in Tombstone about a year ago. Ike is a killer, a thief, a master manipulator, and what we would now call a terrorist. But Ike is also a big drinker and a big talker an d this is not the first time that a morning tour of Tombstone’s saloons had turned Ike into a blowhard, and Virgil does the only sensible thing under the circumstances: he thanks the officer for the report, and he turns over and goes back to sleep.

However, by the time Virgil finishes sleeping off his card game and he comes downtown to start his rounds, Ike Clanton still hasn’t run out of threats. He’s still out drinking and threatening to kill the Earps on sight. Virgil meets up with his brothers Morgan and James, and they tell Virgil that Ike is carrying a Winchester rifle and had a six-shooter stuck down his breeches. Now the situation has a new tone, this could be serious, but more importantly, now we have a pretense to put a stop to this nonsense: it’s a misdemeanor to carry a firearm inside the city limits.

Virgil, Morgan, and James meet up with Wyatt coming out of the Oriental Saloon where he’d been hearing the same rumors of his own impending demise as the others. Together they find Ike, well-soaked and frothing with drunken rage, down on Fourth Street between Fremont and Allen. Virgil walks up to him and without a word, grabs the Winchester out of his hand. Ike goes for his pistol, but his reflexes are slow from whiskey, and you can’t draw very fast out of a 19th century pair of pants. Virgil draws his own gun and hits Ike across the head, like spoiled child. Ike falls to his knees, and Virgil grabs the six-shooter away from him too.

Virgil stands above him and says, “You been hunting for me, Ike?”

“I surely am,” says Ike, “and if I’d seen you a second sooner, you’d be a dead man.”

Virgil shares a look with his brothers, four mustachioed, well-armed men of the law standing in a half-circle around a bleeding drunk cattle rustler yelling threats from his knees. It’s hilarious.

They drag Ike to the courthouse, and rather than throwing him in jail to sleep off his drunkenness, they thought it’d be best to just fine him for the firearms and get on with their day. Virgil leaves Ike and Ike’s guns in Morgan’s charge and goes to find the judge.

But even being buffaloed by Virgil had not damped Ike’s drunken bullshit. He starts screaming at Morgan. “You fellows haven’t given me any show at all today,” he says. “You’ve treated me like a dog. Fight is my racket, and all I want is four feet of ground.” Ike’s on his feet now, strutting back and forth like an actor. Now the courtrooms starting to fill up with townspeople who’ve heard the racked. Ike says, “If you fellows had been a second later, I would have furnished a coroner’s inquest for the town.”

Morgan Earp is the youngest brother, only 30. He’s sitting and trying to maintain his calm. During the Civil War, he stayed behind to tend the farm with Wyatt, while his brothers James, Newton, and Virgil went off to enlist. The only war he’d ever seen had been in the streets of the West, where patience and nerve went farther than bravery.

But like all the Earps, the only thing he loves more than the law are his brothers, and this drunken idiot is an offense to both, and getting worse every minute.

Ike comes close and says to Morgan, “I will get even with all of you for this. If I had a six-shooter now, I would make a fight with all of you.”

Morgan snaps. He turns on Ike and thrusts Ike’s revolver at him. “Here,” he says, “take this. You can have all the show you want right now.”

The crowd scatters. In less than a minute, the courtroom’s completely empty except for Ike, Morgan, Wyatt, and a deputy. Because when Morgan speaks, it is an event, and when Morgan threatens, you scatter.

Ike jumps for the gun, but Deputy Sheriff Campbell shovs him back into his chair.

Wyatt’s sitting behind Morgan throughout all of this, and he’s had enough as well. He starts yelling at Clanton, “You have threatened my life two or three times and I have the best evidence to prove it and I want this thing stopped.” He stops for a breath, and then he says, with great care, “You cattle thieving son of a bitch, and you know that I know you are a cattle thieving son of a bitch, you’ve threatened my life enough and you’ve got to fight.”

But before this goes any farther, Wyatt storms out, half embarrassed at his outburst in the courtroom, and half still fuming about the threat to the law and his brothers that Ike Clanton and his Cow-Boys represent.

As he’s leaving the courthouse, he collides with Tom McLaury, one of Ike Clanton’s lieutenants in the Cow-Boys. Tom had heard the news around town of Ike’s mouthing off and had come to see what kind of trouble he’d gotten himself into. He’s surprised to see Wyatt so worked up.

Wyatt says, “You get out of my way too, Tom!”

Tom says right back, “If you want to fight, I will you fight you anywhere!”

“Are you heeled?” saysWyatt. “Right here, right now!,” and Wyatt slaps him in the face.

Before Tom can react, Wyatt has drawn his gun and knocked Tom to the ground with it. He storms off, muttering, “I could kill the son of a bitch.” He spends the next hour at the cigar counter of Hafford’s trying to puff himself back into calmness.

Ike is fined $25 plus court costs for his crime. He’s told he can pick up his weapons at the Grand Hotel whenever he’s ready to leave town. The Earps go away confident that they had diffused a dangerous situation and had asserted their authority.

But now the Cow-Boys are gathering. Tom McLaury’s brother Frank, and Ike Clanton’s brother Billy had arrived in town earlier to do a deal on a herd of beef cattle. They hear from a sympathizer what transpired at the courthouse, and they both decline the offer of a drink. On their way to the O.K. Corral to have their horses tended to, they run into another Cow-Boy, Billy Claiborne, a young hot-headed gunman who is awaiting trial for killing a man who refused to call him “Billy the Kid”. Claiborne tells Billy Clanton that his brother is at Doc Gillingham’s having his head wound treated.

Billy Clanton says that they should go get Ike and then get out of town. But then all five of them are seen inside Spangenberg’s Gun Shop filling their gunbelts with ammunition.