Putting on a Reenactment - Part Five

Part Five: Finding Reenactors to Perform in a Reenactment

Being in charge of putting on a reenactment for my hometown’s 150^th anniversary proved such a daunting task; I began to wonder if making a movie wouldn’t have been easier.

The local historical society had been burned with a revisionist version many years earlier, and the curator refused to allow any participation in another one. Although we had the help of many other historical society members, including two officers who were being pushed out of that circle, we were on our own without official backing. We weren’t in it for the money—everything would be free—but we were not an official 501c.

Before doing a script, I checked and triple-checked facts, going to great lengths trying to make sure all the community knew the history and understood how we were going to tell it. We would be presenting the legend—something I believed was as close to the truth as we were ever going to get.

Attorney David Bragg had written a play about part of our history, the killing of Deputy Sheriff Isaac “Bose” Heffington that was put on as a fundraiser by the Bastrop County Bar Association. David put me in touch with one of Bose’s great-great-grandsons. Would he be willing to play his great-great grandfather in our reenactment? Yes, he would. And fortunately for us, although he wasn’t a professional reenactor, he was a professional with handguns. Being the actual descendant of the intrepid deputy added a wonderful touch to our story.

In addition, one of my friends, a fellow author and member of the Arizona gunfighters, agreed to drive to Texas to play George Milton, one of the vigilantes who was drawn into a gunfight on Christmas morning. One committee member had a good strong voice and would be the narrator. My cousin would play our great-great aunt, Bose Heffington’s wife. I talked my son into being a bartender and his girlfriend into being a saloon girl. I only needed a dozen more experienced reenactors and about 20 more non-shooting actors.

In the meantime, I realized the only director I was probably going to find was the person I saw looking back at me in the mirror every morning. I changed strategies and advertised for a videographer. After replies from people who looked like they had been filming for Facebook with their phone, I found one who had taken a break because of Covid and was trying to get back into filming. He’d never done a reenactment, but he was willing, and we were able to come to a financial agreement that didn’t make me weep.  

After beating my head against the computer searching for reenactors, I stumbled across the Texas Actors for Western Movies Facebook page and hit pay dirt. My Arizona Gunfighter had told me to get five reenactors for every part, but I don’t think I really understood that advice until later.

Bastrop County has so many amateur actors, I thought I would have a line of them signing up for non-shooting parts. That didn’t happen either. I began to panic, getting in touch with cousins I hadn’t seen in thirty years, begging them to help.

Two of the four Notch-cutters rancher Print Olive had blessed out in the Rock Front Saloon had been black, and I tried my best to find black actors to play them. I had visions of a black saloon girl belting out “Can’t Help Loving That Man of Mine,” to one of them. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to pull that off. But someone else, a cancer survivor who was ready to experience life to the fullest, volunteered to sing the song. The trouble was, I couldn’t find anyone to play the music for her. Most people had never heard of the song, much less wanted to play it. But her husband, who had grown up in the town, agreed to be the Notch-cutter she sang to.

While doing this, I was getting up at five in the morning to search for props or going outside to build them. My father and various boyfriends had shown me a little carpentry, and now I was digging through the lumber pile in my shed, hoping I wouldn’t find any critters except the horned lizards that lived there.

In the middle of all this word came down. Although we had paid for three days, the historical society was only going to allow us to use the annex building for one day. I felt like I had been hit by a truck. What else could go wrong?

Attorney David Bragg’s booklets were invaluable resources as was the McDade Historical Society’s book with the rather dubious title: “McDade—Where Santa Scheduled a Visit, but the Devil Came Instead.” The museum’s curator had done a fine job of gathering information for the book, but the subsequent involvement in the revisionist reenactment marred the achievement.

The Bastrop County Bar Association put on a marvelous reenactment of The State vs Jeff Fitzpatrick, the trial accusing Fitzpatrick of being Deputy Sheriff Bose Heffington’s killer. He was found not guilty. My cousin told me the Fitzpatrick family had hidden the real killer, a distant cousin of my grandfather’s, after he shot Heffington. These feuds lasted a long time. When one of the Harrisons (who had strong ties with the Heffingtons) married a Fitzpatrick, they were ostracized by both families well into the 1950s.

Rod Timanus had been working with the Arizona Gunfighters for over 15 years and agreed to come help us out.

Storeowner George Milton, one of the supposed vigilantes, was drawn into a gun battle on Christmas morning.

Tom Bishop, who along with George Milton and Allen Wynn, were partners in various business ventures in McDade. A feisty, small man, he was a scrappy fighter. He was also a good reader of cattle, owning the butcher shop next door to Milton’s store.

Mike Heffington would play his gg-grandfather Bose Heffington, while distant cousin Reta Ward would play her gg-aunt, Bose’s wife, Clarinda Harrison Heffington. To have those two roles filled was a great relief.

The gun Deputy Sheriff Isaac “Bose” Heffington carried with him into McDade the night he was killed.

Coming up in Part Six: Organizing a Reenactment - Getting Down to the Wire