Sometimes, for no reason at all, I’ll get a word or a name that comes into my head. And then it keeps coming back, over and over again. And over again.
The other day, I was minding my own business — probably washing a few dishes or something — and into my head, as clear as can be, was the name Bat Masterson.
I did not know who this was or what this meant. But there it was. And then it kept coming back.
Bat Masterson
Bat Masterson
Bat Masterson
So I got online after a couple of days of this and looked up Bat Masterson.
He was born Bartholemew William Barclay Masterson on November 26, 1853. Not here in Camden or anything close. He was born in Henryville, Quebec, Canada East.
He’d go on to live for 67 years. He died on October 25, 1921, in New York City. He is laid to rest at Woodlawn Cemetery in the Bronx, New York City, New York.
So. Who was he? Well, among other things, he was a buffalo hunter, U.S. Army scout, lawman (sheriff and U.S. marshal), gunfighter, gambler, and journalist.
His parents were Thomas M. Masterson and Catherine U. McGurk. These people are unknown to me.
He hung out in the Wild West, here in America, in the late 1800s as a buffalo hunter, a lawman, and a gunfighter. Well before I was born.
By the mid-1880s, Masterson had moved to Denver, Colorado, and established himself as a “sporting man” or gambler.
He took an interest in prizefighting and became a leading authority on the sport, attending almost every important match and title fight in the United States from the 1880s until his death in 1921. He moved to New York City in 1902 and spent the rest of his life there as a reporter and columnist for The Morning Telegraph.
An item of note. He became a close friend of President Theodore Roosevelt and was one of the “White House Gunfighters” who received federal appointments from Roosevelt. I’m not sure what a White House Gunfighter does. But Masterson was one of them.
By the time of his death in 1921, Masterson was known throughout the country as a leading sports writer and celebrity. He is remembered today for many things, including his connection to many of the Wild West’s most iconic people. And, of course, all his hobnobbing in New York as a writer.
There is a long depiction of him, a play-by-play, on Wikipedia if you care to read it. I read it. And none of it rings any bells.
So why am I writing about this?
Because it freaks me out a little. These names (and words) that I don’t know and have never heard before (to my memory) come to me out of the clear blue. And then they keep showing up, over and over, until I finally read about the person, place, or thing in question.
And when I do look them up, there is no connection to anything.
I think I have a loose wire.
Or that the Universe is playing hide and seek.
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“The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and science.” — Albert Einstein
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“The universe is full of magical things patiently waiting for our wits to grow sharper.” — Eden Phillpotts
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“The cosmos is within us. We are made of star-stuff. We are a way for the Universe to know itself.” — Carl Sagan
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“The mystery of life isn’t a problem to solve, but a reality to experience.” — Frank Herbert
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“I believe in the cosmos. All of us are linked to the cosmos. So nature is my god. To me, nature is sacred.” — Marilyn Monroe
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“The most incomprehensible thing about the universe is that it is comprehensible.” — Albert Einstein
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“Look up at the stars and not down at your feet. Try to make sense of what you see, and wonder about what makes the Universe exist. Be curious.” — Stephen Hawking
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The Bat that makes no sense to me.
