The lost letter of Jim Bowie
Recently, the lost journal of early American icon and Alamo defender, Colonel James Bowie, was anonymously donated to the office of Henry Wickwire, professor of Texas history at UT Austin. “Of course, there’s necessary research to verify its authenticity,” said Wickwire, “but then there’s, ya know, ‘necessary’ with air quotes. What do I care? I’m already tenured.”
The fact that Bowie, a gambler, drinker, slave trader, land speculator, smuggler, and inventor of the knife that bears his name, had kept a diary during his time fighting for Texas’ independence provides new evidence into what really transpired in 1836, much of it in direct opposition to otherwise romanticized narratives put forth in television, film, and song.
San Antonio, Texas
February 7, 1836
Today has been an exemplary day. First, we have received word from one of our Tejano scouts that General Santa Anna has decided to not engage the Alamo in battle. Apparently, he sees it as a waste of time, manpower, and munitions to take what is, as I readily admit, a crumbling heap unworthy of the dirt that coats its floors. In short, he and his army are going around us. I say, let Fannin and Houston deal with him. My men and I have better things to do. We are having ourselves a party!
Major Bonham has just learned that Davy Crockett will be arriving to join us at the Alamo by tomorrow evening. We are all beside ourselves with gleeful anticipation and want to welcome the former Congressman with the deserved fanfare and reverie. If the legends are true, Davy Crockett is 10-feet tall, can wrestle a bear that is wrestling an alligator that has swallowed a hornet’s nest, and can level any mountain with only the sound of his voice. Any man like that is sure to eat a lot of food.
Fortunately, Colonel Travis had on his person a coupon, to be presented upon delivery, for 50% off at Bexar Taqueria. So, in preparation of our party, we sent the following order by courier:
150 chicken quesadillas
150 orders of carne asada
130 Taco Supremes – 120 beef, 10 pork
125 Nacho Grandes – 100 chicken, 25 beef
100 chile relleno plates
100 XL Burritos – 99 meat deluxe, 1 organic, free-range, vegetarian-fed chicken (Travis)
80 pork tamales
65 orders rice and beans
50 flautas
28 chicken mole enchiladas
1 sustainably-caught fish soft taco w/gluten free tortilla (Travis)
When the delivery boy arrived at our gates and was presented with Travis’ coupon, he claimed that not only did the coupon explicitly specify ‘not to exceed 4 persons’ but that it had expired nearly seven months prior. Naturally, we refused to pay the full amount and, in fact, threatened to cancel the order altogether if the coupon was not honored. The young man pleaded with us to pay the bill in full, noting that, if we refused, the balance would have to be made up from his own earnings. This struck the majority of us as humorous and we guffawed accordingly.
In reaction to our continued refusal to pay full price, the delivery boy announced himself as Juan Gabriel Santa Anna, nephew, and godson of General Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna. Responding to an intentionally audible raspberry from a member of the garrison upon the north wall, the boy cautioned that one letter to his uncle explaining the situation would guarantee every one of us death at the hands of a willing Mexican army. “You will receive no quarter!” he shouted.
Before the delivery boy could elevate his threat with additional claims, a recently expelled horse chip, thrown from the men gathered near the stable, landed with a splat (not unlike a wet cabbage) directly onto his right shoe. At this, we tried (and failed greatly) to hide our obvious amusement.
In response to the boy’s comedic claim of heritage, I took the itemized bill and sliced it down the center with my knife. I presented him with the other half of the bill, the coupon, and exactly half the original sum. As the boy grew visibly angered, tightened fists and flared nostrils, Colonel Dickinson approached him, placed a hand upon the boy’s shoulder, and solemnly asked, “No quarter, you say?” When the boy nodded a confident affirmation, Dickinson placed a quarter in the boy’s hand and, with a howl of laughter that no doubt echoed for miles, exclaimed, “Well, now you got one!”
Finally, under the repeated threat of cannon fire to his backside, the boy took the offered sum without further protest and was followed back to Bexar by the mocking commentary of my men and myself. It was, indeed, a moment we will likely entertain our children and our grandchildren with well into our collective old age.
My only regret in this whole affair, if there be any, is that, at no point, did any of us have the forethought to ask for extra napkins. If ever the Alamo is to be remembered with any indelible recognition, I fear it may be for our inability to wipe our mouths properly.
– Col. Jim Bowie
The significance of this finding has not been lost on Wickwire nor his colleagues in the dissemination of American history. “For generations, the Alamo participants have been portrayed as righteous defenders of independence and embodying that rebellious nature of the West. But with this journal, we now know without uncertainty or ambiguity that, frankly, they were just cheap. And kinda dicks.”
