It’s a rainy night in the Florida panhandle, but that won’t stop us from interviewing the ghost of a legendary gun-slinger! You may be familiar with the fictional Django Unchained, but did you know there was a real African-American outlaw and hero-of-the-people who once terrorized the Florida railways? Enter Railroad Bill, the slickest bandit in the Southeast.
Morris Slater was a turpentine worker throughout the American Southeast. He was tossed off a moving train by a worker of the Louisville-Nashville Railroad Company and swore vengeance on them for the rest of his days. And, just like that, the anti-hero & desperado, "Railroad Bill" was born. Railroad Bill earned his namesake by harassing the Louisville-Nashville Railroad Company to the point where gunfights broke out. Having successfully evaded some 17 shootouts, killed two sheriffs, and gained a bounty of over $1,250 along with the attention of bounty hunters as far out as Illinois (the Pinkerton among them), Bill finally met his end in 1896 after being caught in the crossfire of bounty-men and police who both were hunting him down to cash in on his reward.
Morris Slater had his corpse paraded around between Alabama and Florida by sheriffs looking to make a quick buck until finally being discarded in an unmarked grave among many other African Americans. His body was later identified and relocated within St. Johns Cemetery in Pensacola, FL, and given a proper tombstone.
The Talegate Podcast is an absolute supporter of the BLACK LIVES MATTER movement and encourage you to take part in the fight against systemic injustice to make the world an equally better place for all who share our little planet. Consider donating to Victim Funds or one of many other amazing organizations found here:
https://nymag.com/strategist/article/where-to-donate-for-black-lives-matter.html
Check out more on these topics by listening to The Talegate Podcast on Apple Podcast, Spotify, or any other fine podcast directories; and please rate, review, and subscribe. OR simply follow the link our user-friendly website at www.thetalegatepodcast.com! Also, be sure to follow us on Instagram @thetalegatepodcast and write us with your own stories at TheTalegatePodcast@gmail.com.
It’s a rainy night in the Florida panhandle, but that won’t stop us from interviewing the ghost of a legendary gun-slinger! You may be familiar with the fictional Django Unchained, but did you know there was a real African-American outlaw and hero-of-the-people who once terrorized the Florida railways? Enter Railroad Bill, the slickest bandit in the Southeast.
Morris Slater was a turpentine worker throughout the American Southeast. He was tossed off a moving train by a worker of the Louisville-Nashville Railroad Company and swore vengeance on them for the rest of his days. And, just like that, the anti-hero & desperado, "Railroad Bill" was born. Railroad Bill earned his namesake by harassing the Louisville-Nashville Railroad Company to the point where gunfights broke out. Having successfully evaded some 17 shootouts, killed two sheriffs, and gained a bounty of over $1,250 along with the attention of bounty hunters as far out as Illinois (the Pinkerton among them), Bill finally met his end in 1896 after being caught in the crossfire of bounty-men and police who both were hunting him down to cash in on his reward.
Morris Slater had his corpse paraded around between Alabama and Florida by sheriffs looking to make a quick buck until finally being discarded in an unmarked grave among many other African Americans. His body was later identified and relocated within St. Johns Cemetery in Pensacola, FL, and given a proper tombstone.
The Talegate Podcast is an absolute supporter of the BLACK LIVES MATTER movement and encourage you to take part in the fight against systemic injustice to make the world an equally better place for all who share our little planet. Consider donating to Victim Funds or one of many other amazing organizations found here:
https://nymag.com/strategist/article/where-to-donate-for-black-lives-matter.html
Check out more on these topics by listening to The Talegate Podcast on Apple Podcast, Spotify, or any other fine podcast directories; and please rate, review, and subscribe. OR simply follow the link our user-friendly website at www.thetalegatepodcast.com! Also, be sure to follow us on Instagram @thetalegatepodcast and write us with your own stories at TheTalegatePodcast@gmail.com.
THE TALEGATE PODCAST
Episode 6: Railroad Bill
Part 1: Intro
FLORIDA MAN: Howdy folks, and welcome to The Talegate!
CHEESEHEAD: For those of you just joining us, we’re on a roadtrip across America to uncover the mysteries behind tall tales, fairy tales, folktales, fishtales, & urban legends, one interview at a time.
FM: We inherited a truck from our late Granny May and discovered that the crystal hanging off the rearview mirror was more than decorative. It’s a Dowsing Pendulum leading us to the good folks behind the tales we all grew up with. With that, I’m Harrison, the Florida Man.
CH: And I’m Aaron the Cheesehead. And tonight we are parked alongside a set of train tracks not far off from St. John's Cemetery in Pensacola, FL. In fact, this appears to be our last stop in the Sunshine State.
FM: At least for this roadtrip anyway.
CH: Then we’re off to Alabama!
FM: Ugh.
CH: You got something against the Cotton State?
FM: For one, it’s called the “Cotton State,” and two...well you know.
CH: I do indeed. For folks at home wondering, Florida Man and I have family in Alabama and the college football rivalry is something fierce. At least for him. We Wisconsinites actually have a good NFL team, so we aren’t forced to define ourselves by the NCAA.
FM: Go Gators!
CH: Exactly. You gonna miss your home state, Florida Man?
FM: The animals and greenery more than the people, but yea. Case and point, we’re currently in the panhandle and people are still pretty old school.
CH: Ah. Would never have pegged the Florida panhandle for being diehard fans of hip hop.
FM: Ain’t exactly what I meant by “old school.”
CH: Oh, you mean they’re…
FM: Yeaaaa, generally. But before we get down to business, what we drinkin’ today, Cheesehead?
CH: Today’s growler of Brewski is “Black Treasure” whiskey-barrel-aged Imperial Porter by Pensacola Brewery.
FM: Ain’t that a mouthful.
CH: How’s about we have a mouthful of the brew first. Then we pass judgment.
FM: Sure. Serve me up a cold one.
CH: Here yah go, bud. [drinks] Gotta say, the whiskey notes are coming through without
hijacking the porter. Dark color, and tasty enough to live up to the name, “Black Treasure.”
FM: Cold, dark, and smooth for sure. I gotta confess though, Whiskey ain’t my thing nomore.
CH: Nomore?
FM: Not after I took out a bottle of Jefferson Reserve one night playing D&D. Now I can barely smell the stuff without gaggin’.
CH: While playing Dungeons and Dragons? I mean, losing the stomach for whiskey is tragic, but I do admire you going the extra mile while roleplaying a drunken character. Points for authenticity.
FM: Weeeell, it weren’t in character so much as me just being a stupid college kid. Whiskey has tasted like trash ever since.
CH: Eh, one man’s trash is another man’s treasure. Black Treasure, that is. [more drink]
FM: Glad to see you’re a man with a glass half-full.
CH: A tulip, more specifically. With a complex brew like this, I’d be remiss not to savor that flavor.
[Train whistle]
FM: Whoa now. You hear that, Cheesehead?
CH: Yah, it’s a train. Nothing too spectacular considering we’re parked beside train tracks, er no?
FM: What if I told you these here train tracks belonged to the once prosperous Louisville and Nashville Railroad Company.
CH: Once prosperous? What are you getting at?
FM: Yep yep. These here train tracks been defunct since 1982.
CH: But if these tracks are no longer in service...how could a train be in operation? Wait a second, look. It’s a g-ghost train!
[increasingly loud train roars by. Off jumps a cowboy-looking man]
BILL: Hyaaaaah! Hands up, peckerwoods.
FM: Alright, easy pardner. I’m ticklin’ the sky.
CH: And the Dude abides.
BILL: I don’t mean you boys no harm. ‘Least I don’t yet. Just got one question for you two gentlemen.
CH: [whispers] Florida Man, you said he was friendly. Does this look friendly to you?
FM: He called us “gentlemen.” That was pretty friendly. Plus, either way he’s just a ghost.
CH: He has pistols aimed right at us, loaded with bullets!
FM: Ghost bullets. [out of whisper]. Hey, you, uh, that Railroad Bill I heard so much about?
BILL: Don’t play coy with me, boy. If you’re here, then you know damn well who I am. So my question remains: did the no good yella bastards from Louisville & Nashville Railroad Company send you? Give you boys to the count of ten.
CH: Excuse me, what?
Bill: ...Nine
FM: Alright alright. We’re two podcasters: Cheesehead and Florida Man. At your service!
BILL: Didn’t answer the question, you pigeon-livered ratbags. ...Eight
CH: Pigeon-livered what now? He’s telling yah the truth, doncha know! We’re just two humble podcasters hoping to score an interview with a true renegade hero as we pass on through Pensacola.
FM: He’s right. And it’d sure be an honor as heroes is something Florida’s in short supply of.
BILL: Well I ain’t no hero, I ain’t from Florida, and I don’t know what a “podcast” is. ...Seven.
FM: Podcasts are a sort of narrative medium. Think like a stage performance or movin’ picture only without any visuals.
BILL: Sounds boring. Why not just read a book then? ...Six
CH: Yanno, he’s got a point, Florida Man. A GUNPOINT RIGHT BETWEEN MY EYES!
FM: Settle down, we’re gonna be fine. He ain’t got one damned reason to trust us yet, and who could blame him? Bill here’s a black man from the turn of the century. And I don’t mean Y2K. And if you think the South is racist these days, well….
CH: Fair point. Again, like the point on the fair skin RIGHT BETWEEN MY EYES!
BILL: Why don’t you calm down and tell Ol’ Bill how many fingers you got on your hand there?
CH: Huh? Oh, Five.
BILL: Exactly.
CH: Wait, no no no!
FM: Bill, know what? If you’re gonna shoot us, shoot us. But if you wanna voice yourself to the world, now’s your chance! You’re a legend; a symbol of hope to those who know of ya, and an important piece of history ain’t taught in the classrooms.
BILL: How do I know you’re not just here for your own gains. Can’t say I trust you one hair for your whole scalp.
CH: If it easies your nerves, our hair-to-scalp ratios are mighty low. Have you the size of our foreheads?
BILL: Your what heads?
CH: Fore. Ah, dagnabbit
FM: Yea, but what can you expect? 30’s are rough, man.
BILL: And 30 divided by ten is...?
CH: Easy. Three! Ah geez, he got me again.
FM: Why don’t we drop the countdown and settle this like gentlemen? Over a beer perhaps? More specifically, “Black Treasure” by Pensacola Brewery!
BILL: Why’s it got to be “black treasure?”
FM: That’s a good question…
BILL: Read the room, boy ...Two
FM: Shit. Come on now, we ain’t the ones named the damned thing!
CH: You said they’re just ghost bullets, right, Florida Man?
FM: Sure.
CH: And ghost bullets can’t hurt the living, right?
FM: You tellin’ me or askin’ me, ‘cause I sure as shit don’t know one way or the other.
CH: What do you know!
FM: Know we ain’t with no railroad company for damn sure.
CH: Fat lot of help that’s going to do us.
BILL: One…
CH: If you make it out alive, Florida Man, make sure to…
FM: Hide your MLP plushie collection, I know. I know. It’s been a hell of a ride, cousin. I love you, man.
CH: Love you, too, buddy!
BILL: [two bullet shots]
[yelps followed by night silence.]
CH: Hey, ah, Florida Man...
FM: Yea, Cheesehead?
CH: You still alive over der? My eyes are too pinched shut to see for myself.
FM: Yea, yea, think I’m alright...lookin’ for holes...and uh, peachykeen. You?
CH: Ah, let me check for holes, too. Found one! It’s just my ass, though. I’m fresh as a hot fried cheese curd otherwise.
FM: Means we ain’t dead!
CH: Waaaahoo! We’re alive!!
BILL: Unless I just took you to the other side with me.
FM: Well, fuck.
CH: My pony collection! Sorry, Mah.
BILL: [breaks into laughter] You should see your faces!
FM: Hey now, this funny to you?
BILL: It’s just that… it’s just that after a lifetime of being haunted by groups of y’all whitefolks dressed like ghosts, all it takes is one black ghost to have whitemen pissin their drawers.
FM: I’ll have you know, I ain’t piss my drawers one drop!
CH: What’s that wet trail down your pant legs then?
FM: More than one drop.
BILL: Alright, boys, alright. You want a conversation with Railroad Bill? How ‘bout we walk and talk.
CH: Walk and talk where exactly? Not all boots are made for walking. My legs are all cramped up from driving all day.
FM: Yea, ain’t gonna lie, my crocs is worn to shit. Practically walking barefoot. People here gonna think I’m some kinda swamp rat.
CH: I mean, if the croc fits.
FM: Hush it up.
BILL: You’re speaking to the son of a slave, born and bred under Jim Crow laws that are shackles in their own right, and you boys want to talk about pain and inconvenience?
FM: Shit, man. I’m sorry. We ain’t got legs to stand on in that regard.
BILL: I’d say not. I will walk with you. I will talk with you. But don’t pretend you know a damned thing of hardship or prejudice unless you want me to give it to you like I did those LEASE-MONGERIN’, GOUT TOE SUCKIN’ LOUISEVILLE & NASHVILLE RAILROAD COMPANY!
FM: Ooookay. Deal.
CH: So where exactly are you taking us anyway?
BILL: Taking you boys to the grave.
CH: You mean you’re going to kill us after all? We’re too old to die this unaccomplished!
FM: I was gonna start a family!
CH: You were?
FM: Of fish! In tank!
CH: You got tank?
FM: ...that I was hopin’ to buy eventually.
BILL: QUIET! What is it with your type and everything having to be about you? I’m taking you boys to my grave, on a plot I didn’t choose that remained unmarked for a century and some change.
FM: Yikes.
BILL: White “yikes” and railroad spikes.
CH: Wow, Florida really is into Hip Hop.
[Night sounds and footsteps]
BILL: You said I could voice myself to the world. In the world I know, my people are muscled out of voting, packed like a can of sardines in segregation burrows, and seen as a subclass of God’s own image. So tell me, what’s the world like today?
CH: I have to be honest with you. People of color have equal rights on paper. But at the very same time, they don’t. At least not in practice. The diction of laws may change, but racism is still pretty systemically ingrained.
FM: Same shit, different day, basically. America’s got a long ways to go by African-Americans.
BILL: “African-American,” this ain’t a term widely used in my time.
FM: It’s politically correct.
BILL: In your world, politics even dictate what we’re called?
FM: Yea. When you put it like that, yea. Reckon it’s a new-fangled phrase.
BILL: You’re wrong. Here’s a little trivia for you boys: the term “African-American” dates back to 1782 sermon found in print. Some say a black man wrote it. Others say the sermon is too tonally white. Whichever the case, it’s queer that the phrase has resurfaced so many years forward. What year is it now, anyway?
CH: Ah, it’s 2020.
BILL: And still my people suffer?
CH: Your people. Indeginous People, Latin-American people. In short, yes.
BILL: I admire your boys’ honesty, though my heart remains heavy and hot as a mornin’ skillet.
FM: Hey now, all the skillet talk’s gettin’ me hungry.
CH: Hungry for knowledge! Say, Railroad Bill, thanks for giving us the time of day. Well, the time of night, I should say. I know you could have chugged along right past us on your ghost train without giving us a second thought.
BILL: I try not to let my bias get the best of me, though, if you know anything about my legends, you know I’m shit for that.
PART 2: The Legend
FM: While we’re walkin’, mind tellin’ us a bit more about yourself, Railroad Bill, sir?
BILL: In brief, I was a 19th century outlaw out to stop the coal-shoveling, scrotum-scratching stooges of the LOUISVILLE & NASHVILLE RAILROAD COMPANY!
FM: Man. Like, you reeeeally got a thing against railroads huh.
BILL: [mocking tone] “Railroads.” No, not just railroads. More like those fungus fuckers at the LOUISEVILLE & NASHVILLE RAILROAD COMPANY!
CH: Whoa, so like JUST the Louisville & Nashville Railroad?
BILL: The Louisville & Nashville Railroad and all they’ve come to represent. These railroads were created on the broken backs of exploited immigrants and blacks. Slavery dressed in a shiney new suit. And to serve who? Why, who else but the mid-to-upper class whitefolk who think they were sculpted out of a different clay than the rest of us.
CH: You absolutely aren’t unreasonable there. Creation of the railroads are a pretty Heartbreaking and overlooked page of American history.
BILL: Plus, a bastard brakeman of a Louisville & Nashville Railroad train caught me stealing a ride to Mobile and tossed me off the train car like I’s his unwanted child. I’ll never forget landing so hard as I did on the soil my ancestors died tillin’. On that very soil as I lay, struggling to regain the wind knocked out of my lungs, I vowed to never again get tossed off a train by those Louiseville Nashvillle bastards. Saw to it them trains would never again toss off a black man without payin’ Hell for it, at my hand.
CH: I just got chills.
BILL: Became known as “Railroad Bill” before long.
CH: Railroad Bill sounds so gritty and cool. So is Bill short for William?
BILL: Funny, nobody’s ask for my real name for some time. They’d rather cling onto the dust I kicked in the wake of my anger all those decades back, as if Railroad Bill was just a character in some kid’s penny-paid adventure book. But I assure you there is more to me than trains and guns. At least, there was. I was born Morris Slater.
FM: Pleased to finally meet the real you, Mr. Slater. My name is Harrison Mayhew.
CH: And I was born Aaron Mayhew.
BILL: You said you’re from the South?
FM: Florida, born and raised.
BILL: Just, I lived all over the South and I haven’t never heard no “Mayhew.”
CH: Like Chewbacca! R.I.P.
BILL: Sure, I can rip open a tin of chewing’ tobacco for you boys.
FM: Hell yea! Awfully kind of ya, man.
CH: Wait wat?
BILL: So “Mayhew,” huh? Guess I shouldn’t run my mouth. “Railroad Bill” just goes to show how little is in a name. First name sure ain’t “Railroad,” after all. What is important now is that we know each other as people, not as characters. People with hearts that beat, brains that spark, souls that burn.
CH: I know you’re a gunslinger and all, but I’d just as soon peg you for a poet.
BILL: I was a vigilante for a spell, yes, though that’s but a sliver of the whole pie. Morris Slater, was a hard worker-- blood, sweat and the like. A turpentine laborer out of the Carolinas. Loyal and hard working to a fault. I followed the turpentine enterprise from my home clear out to Baldwin County, AL. From Alabama to Bluff Springs, FL. I went where the work was and didn’t complain a day. Not until that trainmen did me wrong.
CH: Turpentine, you say?
BILL: Breathed in fumes that raked my lungs for the tiniest chip of mint and for what? The praise of a few blue bloods? “Top notch” they said. “Great athleticism,” they praised. A prized cock fighting my life away for a handful of kernels.
FM: And that shit ain’t good less it’s popped.
CH: And drenched in butter with a pinch of kosher-ass mother-fucking salt.
BILL: Oh, things popped off, you butter believe that. As in lead popped off in the face of those bowlegged baboons from the...
FM: : I’m guessin’ the Louisville & Nashville Railroad Company?
BILL: Those bright-eyed, sun-burnin’ bitchass clowns, YES! If all it takes is one hard-working black man to derail their reputation, then I’ll be damned if I don’t derail their fleet of locomotives while I’m at it.
FM: Hot shit, seems like you was gunning for their livelihoods. Shooting them where it hurts most.
BILL: If my own livelihood didn’t mean a damn to them, then you can bet your chapless ass their’s don’t mean shit to me either.
FM: Wait, how’d you know I have assless… nevermind; so what’d all you do to avenge yourself?
BILL: You’re simple to think I did anything only to avenge myself. I did what every self-respecting man would do; to avenge people bringing pickets to a gunfight. Boy, I got guns of my own and an outfit to match.
PART 3: Building a Bounty
CH: You became quite the wanted man in your time, is that correct?
BILL: Wanted? Oh, everyone wanted a piece of Big Bill alright. But enough about the ladies, let’s talk about how I accrued myself a top bounty spanning as far as Chicago. Like I mentioned, I was tossed off a train and swore to make the company’s operations a living hell and I’m here to tell you that I made more than due on that oath.
CH: Sounds like you made a righteous stink.
BILL: Like a trapped possum in the Florida summer.
FM: I hear that. Hell of a waste.
CH: Wait, trapped possum? You guys eat...yanno, don’t answer that. So beyond shooting at trainmen and highjacking locomotives, what drove your bounty so high?
BILL: Probably started around the time I threatened to kill James McKinnie. At the time, he was Superintendent and Super dumbass of Louisville & Nashville in the lower sects of Alabama. So, he had it coming. Overnight I became a man not worth two-cent to those sister-stealin’ rednecks to a sudden prize of $350. That’s a lot of money in my day.
FM: Considerin’ inflation, I reckon that’s somewhere around $9,000 today. Shit, that’s triple was what Tiger fella paid to assassinate that Cat lady.
CH: Yah, but he got what he paid for, I’d say.
FM: True ‘nuff. So about your bounty, Mr. Slater, Sir?
BILL: People didn’t know the name Morris Slater when I was taking stabs at the railways, so papers started calling me “Railroad Bill,” a name that grew on me like my nethers in a cat wagon.
CH: Me-ow, that sure is an analogy.
BILL: With my head becoming ever more valuable to fame-thirsty lickfingers, I became wanted in more states by the day. Primarily Alabama and Florida, as those were my bases of operations.
FM: All them people after you and none got the jump on ya?
BILL: Nah, they got the jump on me from time to time, but I always answered back. One such case which comes to mind was the shootout at Hurricane Bayou.
CH: They get yah real good over there at the Bayou?
BILL: Sure thought they did. Some freight workers stumbled across my snoring ass while I was fast asleep behind one of their water tanks. Clobhoppers quietly slipped both my repeater and pistol off my person. Can’t say I blame them. But just before they found the courage to pounce, I sprang to my feet and bolted out there faster than hurricane winds. I used my concealed cannon to pepper those unsalted steaks something spicy.
FM: Well damn, Bill. Sounds like you coulda gotten out there Scott free if you wanted to.
BILL: Coulda? Boy, I hopped on a docking train and convinced the dick-strumming engineer to pull out of the station at top speed by pressing the hot end of my pistol on his big dumb head.
FM: Some diplomacy you got here.
CH: And guy with the big head was an engineer though. Couldn’t have been that dumb.
BILL: Any silly son-a-bitch who choses a career with the Satan-spawned Lousieville & Nashville FUCKING RAILROAD COMPANY got to be stupid and spineless as a sponge.
CH: Perhaps one who lives in a pineapple under the sea?
BILL: Pineapple grow on ferns not under the sea, were you born under a rock?
CH: No, that would be Patrick.
BILL: Who the hell is Patrick?
CH: Hey now, no to need to be Crabby…(paddy)
BILL: What was that?
CH: Nothing.
FM: Sounds like you at least you made a clean getaway holdin’ that dumb head hostage which seems like no easy feat considering you were mostly disarmed, greatly outnumbered, and jolted out of a deep sleep.
BILL: Story doesn’t end there, boy.
FM: It don’t?
BILL: It does not. Once I was well in the clear, I hopped off train and made my way right back to the station to finish what I started. Didn’t get all the bastards, but I made enough craters of their turf to rival a full moon. Once I was all out of ammo, I fled deep into the bayou where white folk are too afraid to go.
FM: As someone raised in the swamplands myself, can’t say I blame ‘em. You got gators, snakes, and all kinds of nocturnal critters out for blood. And all a one of ‘em less scary than the people out there stalkin’ the night.
CH: So you didn’t exactly pick that fight, but you do seem to have a temper about yah.
BILL: You don’t know the half of it. Not long after that, my temper turned to a gunfight which brought on a whole lot more attention than I aimed for. Sometime in April, 1895. Hive of lawmen came buzzin at me like I stole their honey and fucked their queen. In the shuffle, I shot dead the Deputy Sheriff James Stewart before making a grand exit. Bounty increased to $500 and it weren’t like to stop there.
CH: Didn’t you have any old friends to fall back on? Seasoned buddies to back you up?
BILL: Oh sure. Mark Stinson was one of them, that was until he fell in cahoots with the law. Crotch-lickin’ coward sure got what came to him.
CH: You rough him up real bad?
BILL: Didn’t have too. See, boys, I had just robbed an armory earlier in the day and was set to rendezvous with my good buddy, Stinson, to share the spoils. Only, I caught the foul stench of his betrayal and set him on a goosechase to an empty house. When lawmen arrived at that house gunning for my hide, they shot Mark Stinson by mistake.
FM: Thought they nailed ya, huh?.
BILL: Insulting, if you ask me. I was much better looking than that snitchin’ sonofabitch. But one thing led to the next. Before long I had more sheriff's knockin’ on my door. By the time I killed the next sheriff, my bounty shot skyhigh to $1,250.
FM: Jumpin’ Jesus. You may as well have just branded a target on your back at that point.
CH: Yah, I’m reading here you had all kind of bounty hunters and lawmen trying to sniff you out, only you successfully evaded every last one of them. It almost seems a suicide mission to try and take you on.
FM: Money’ll do that to a man. Make ‘em dumb as a stump.
BILL: Hell, in the Murder Creek incedent I had more than a hundred men at once chasing my tail over the better part of a week. Escaped them, too.
FM: Yikes. Just how many clean getaways did you get away with in your haydays?
BILL: Something around seventeen.
CH: About the same number of ladies who made a clean getaway from me.
FM: What are you talkin’ ‘bout, Cheesehead? You JUST had a girl singin’ your praises back at the beach.
CH: Yah, that was the same mermaid who tried to kill us both to eat our bloated, drowned flesh.
FM: I thought you said earlier your glass was half full!
CH: That was earlier, now my glass is two halves empty.
FM: Mine, too. ‘Nother beer?
CH: Donchu know it!
FM: Beer, Bill?
BILL: Sure, why not. We’ve come to the end of our road anyway.
CH: St. John's Cemetery?
BILL: My final resting place.
PART 4: Death of Railroad Bill
FM: Sounds like your past finally caught up to ya.
BILL: Bound to happen sooner or later. Owner of a store I often visited one day decided money was worth more than loyalty. Had two limpdick lackeys hide in the store to gun me down when I stopped in to make purchase. Didn’t quite go to plan though.
CH: You dodge them like all the others and make an escape?
BILL: Likely would have if not for the fact that at the very same time them bastard planned to riddle me with holes, two bountymen entered the fray. One of them shot me in the back the first chance they got. Some say it was Atmore Constable Leonard McGowin, others claim it was Texas bounty-chaser, Dick Johns.
CH: You mean you don’t even know who shot you?
BILL: The worm shot me in the back. Don’t know about you, but my eyes face forward.
CH: True enough, true enough.
BILL: After the first shot took, the other monkeys saw and did. Sure was a hell of a party.
FM: Sounds more like a genuine cluster fuck.
BILL: And the train don’t stop there.
CH: What can be worse than dying?
BILL: My dead body was sent to Montgomery for preservation and a positive identification to validate the reward. Bastard coppers then took it upon themselves to sideshow my body for 25 cent a peek. Body was moved to Pensacola after a spell and those bastards, too, made a side-hustle of my corpse. Shit like that makes a spirit mighty restless.
CH: Ah geez, I can only imagine. As if killing you and receiving money wasn’t good enough, they displayed your dead body for profit?
FM: Shit’s disrespectful.
BILL: Eventually, Mayor and folk spoke my Christian interments and dropped my ass 6 feet under in the black-section of the yard. Didn’t dignify my grave with any markings so I remained buried there unbeknownst and fell in obscurity until recently.
FM: Yea, you made big news in 2012 when historians used internment logs to find you and pay you a proper tombstone. And just look at it.
CH: I am. It reads, Morris Slate, “Railroad Bill,” Died March 1896 with a detailed image of a train above the text. Pretty spiffy!
BILL: Only I hate them damned trains.
CH: Ah shoot, I didn’t think of that.
FM: Reckon it was engraved with good intentions.
BILL: I’d like to think so. Still. This is how Ol Railroad Bill meets his end.
FM: Don’t mean our interview has to.
BILL: This is true. But I pretty much exhausted all my stories. What more is there to talk about?
FM: How about your legacy?
BILL: My legacy? Boy, that’s what you’re looking at. A shiny stone that I hate, picked out by people I don’t know, a century after I was passed on.
PART 5: Legacy of Railroad Bill
CH: Yah know, you were a slippery devil with such an incredible story that’s it’s hard to imagine there aren’t any movies or shows about you. Not formally anyhow.
FM: You’d assume movies like Django Unchained would be based on your exploits, ‘least a tad bit, but I ain’t found no direct link between y’all two.
BILL: What’s Django Unchained?
FM: It’s a western movie. A talkin’ picture ‘bout a former slave-turned bounty hunter out to kill the white folks done his wife and him dirty. And boy does he.
BILL: I think I like this Django character.
CH: Yah, you’re like his spiritual successor. At least you would be if he were real. Maybe I got that criss-crossed because his story takes place before yours but you were actually alive long before his movie was conceived so maybe he’s your successor? I don’t even know what I’m saying at this point.
FM: I can say that Django Unchained pays homage to the 1903 silent film, The Great Train Robbery. Now, I know plenty of bandits done robbed trains throughout the history of American railways. But this movie only came out seven years after you passed on so I’d like to think “Railroad Bill” lent the film some inspiration, which in turn, contributed to Django.
BILL: I may not be the face of moving pictures like this Django fella, but my reputation sure did spin a web of stories all their own. Some folk started seeing me as a sort of anti-hero. A deep-down do gooder, robbing the rich to feed the poor.
CH: You were seen as a real hero of the people. Like The Legend of Zorro or Robin Hood. Yanno, now that I think about it can’t be coincidence that Disney’s Robin Hood is portrayed as a fox while Zorro is a literal Spanish translation for the word, “fox.”
BILL: You saying I’m foxy?
CH: I mean, yah. Look just at you! All ruggedly handsome with your tight core, strong grizzled chin, and the penetrating eyes of a horned owl.
BILL: So I’m foxy and horny?
CH: Not what I meant, but definitely not not wrong either.
FM: My understandin’ is that you were seen as more than just some rawboned desperado.
BILL: How do you mean?
FM: What I’m gettin’ at is that people allegedly started attributing your uncanny knack for escapin’ the law and death itself to you possessing the supernatural ability to shapeshift into animal forms during retreat. Foxes and owls could certainly be ideal if that were the case.
BILL: Yea, I heard tales like that, too. Everybody’s got something to say about ol ‘Railroad Bill. Truth of it though is much simpler. I was wronged most my life and was fed bullshit from my oppressors til my eyes turned brown.
CH: But your eyes are brown.
BILL: That’s what I just said.
CH: I mean, beyond the metaphor, your eyes are naturally brown--yanno, I’ll just hush.
BILL: Like I told you boys from the very beginning, I ain’t no hero.
FM: Sounds like you were, though, to lots of folks who needed one.
BILL: People had it bad in my days. Even after emancipation, racism in the South was rampant, even deadly. My people were poor and kept that way by design. Then I come along wreaking havoc on the whiteman and their precious railways, making a mockery of the lawmen who have stopped it nothing to keep us down, and proved beyond shadow of a doubt that a black man was just as capable or more than anyone else, have they a badge or conductor’s hat.
CH: I don’t know, Railroad Bill, sounds pretty heroic to me.
BILL: A hero fights for a greater cause. I’d make a liar of myself to say I wasn’t just an infuriated man with a very personal vendetta--be it rightful or otherwise. In short, when people need heroes, they make them out of what they got. I happened to be what they got.
CH: We’ve covered your influence on film and folklore, but we haven’t covered your legacy in music yet. As it just so happens, “Railroad Bill” is the topic of a beloved and rather enduring ballad written all the way back in 1895.
BILL: What’s the song title?
CH: The Ballad of Railroad Bill.
BILL: Spared no creativity on that one, I see. Is it at least a good song?
FM: I think so, Good enough to inspire several covers by artists such as the "King of Skiffle, Lonnie Donegan. His version went on to inspiring the Beatles back when they were just aspiring muscicians. Bob dylan did a cover as well. Plus it ushers us into our final segment: a game we like to play here on The Talegate called, “IS THIS YOU?” Usually this game is played with photos and video so we’re going to have to adapt the title to fit. We’ll read you a lyric of the ballad and you tell us, “IS THIS TRUE?”
CH: That’s right. We’ll read you some of the lyrics and you’ll let us know whether or not they are accurate by answering the question: IS THIS TRUE?
BILL: “Is this true.” Got it. What’s the first stanza?
FM: Railroad Bill, Railroad Bill. He never worked, and he never will. And it's ride, ride, ride. Railroad Bill's a mighty mean man. Shot the light out of the poor brakeman's hand. Ride, ride, ride. So, Railroad Bill, IS THIS TRUE?
BILL: We’ve covered some of this already, but no, that first part is false. Like I told you boys, I was a turpentine worker for years before going rogue. As for the second bit, sure I’m mean if you’re a spineless turkey of the Louisville & Nashville Railway and sure, I shot a poor a brakeman’s lantern. And his hand for that matter. Like to see him toss me off a train now.
CH: Railroad Bill, up on a hill. Lightin' a cigar with a ten-dollar bill. And he’ll ride, ride, ride. Railroad Bill took my wife. If I didn't like it, gonna take my life. Ride, ride, ride. I can probably answer the latter half myself, but I’ll ask yah anyway: IS THIS TRUE?
BILL: Why the in God’s green hell would I light a ten dollar bill instead of spend it? False. Also, I don’t recall ever taking your wife. Considering your ring finger there is naked as baby, I’d reckon you never had one to begin with. Plus, I’m not into white chicks.
CH: And who said I was?
BILL: Respect. Hit me with another verse.
FM: Railroad Bill, he ain't so bad. Whupped his mama, shot his old dad. Ride, ride, ride. Early one morning, standing in the rain. Round the bend come a long freight train. Ride, ride, ride. IS is is THIS this this YOU you you?
BILL: Lordy, I hope not. Why would anybody think I beat my own mamma and shot my pa? What monster wrote this song?
FM: That’s up for debate, it’s an old song.
CH: Finally, “Railroad Bill a comin' home soon. Killed McMillan by the light of the moon. McMillan had a special train. When they got there they was prayin'” Railroad Bill, IS THIS YOU?
BILL: Now we’re gettin’ somewhere. Hell yea, that was me killed the sap-suckin McMillan. Made a real name for myself with that one, too. McMillain was actin’ sheriff from Brewton, AL, but deputized in the state of FL where he heard tell I was staying. It was July 3, 1895, when Sheriff McMillan thought he had me cornered. Got the drop on he and his posse and killed him clean.
FM: Jumpin’ Jesus, ain’t sure whether I’m in a state of awe or pure terror.
BILL: Terror? Don’t blame me. It was his fault.
CH: Now that’s a heck of way to frame it.
BILL: No, really. He’s been after my ass since I killed James Stewart all them years back. I even wrote the sheriff a letter after he vowed to capture little ol’ me, reading: "I wish you hadn’t made that statement because I love you, Mr. Ed, and I don’t want to kill you."
FM: Ain’t that heart warmin’.
BILL: His heart wasn’t warm much longer. After that blood babblin’ bastard bit the bullet, I had all kinds of would-be heroes after my bounty as far out as Illinois. Even Pinkertons were gunning after my black ass.
CH: I’m guessing they never found you.
BILL: You guessed correct, boy.
[Train heard whistling in the background]
PART 6: Farewells
CH: Is that your ride?
BILL: Sure as the sun’s rising.
CH: Wowzers, the run actually is rising. Anything you’d like to say to people before you ride off?
FM: Yea, mic’s all yours.
BILL: If you’re looking for me to cry over my regrets for murdering so many of them badged honkies, you got another thing coming. What I will say is that I do fess up to my actions and I was certainly held accountable in the end. What still chaps my ass to this day is just how little-to-nothing I meant to them railroad workers who tossed me off the train.
FM: Hey, we ain’t castin’ shade at you for what you did. Hard to imagine I’d a done much different.
BILL: Doubtful you’d be in my predicament in the first place. See, white folk weren’t tossed off trains as if sacks of unwanted kittens like brown people were.
CH: Yah, I’d say you had a pretty strong motive.
FM: Loca-motive.
BILL: What was that?
FM: Nothin’.
BILL: What heats my collar more than the physical pain of being thrown from a train is just how insignificant they made me feel. It’s as if my life, our lives, didn’t matter at all. Which is bullshit.
CH: And that’s a problem that has remained uncorrected at large and people are still dying over it, it hurts me to say. Though, I have been out protesting with thousands of other good people and, Florida Man, I know you guys have been donating to several like causes, we still have a long ways to go.
BILL: Warms my heart a little knowing we got allies who do more than talk the talk. Even folk in South are protesting?
FM: Yep yep, people’s eyes have been opening--not just nationally but all over the world. And we here at the Talegate would like that state for the record that Black LivesMatter and encourage yall folk at home to do your part to fight systemic injustice.
CH: And before anyone blows a fuse, just know that phrase doesn’t mean black lives matter more than yours, it’s just that, so far as society has evolved, they have remain underprivileged since day one.
BILL: Preach.
FM: Furthermore, if you are a person of privilege and you still got a problem with Black Lives Matter, I’d here to offer you an additional privilege on top.
CH: You are?
FM: Sure. Privilege to kiss my ass.
BILL: Is...is that something people do in the future?
CH: Oh, ah no. No. It’s a metaphor.
BILL: I got to get going, but I just wanted to say that you boys are alright.
CH: You’re pretty alright yourself, Mr. Bill.
FM: Oh Noooooo.
BILL: Haven’t a goddamned clue what that’s about but it’s time for Railroad Bill to board. So thanks for stopping bye and hearing my story. And thank you even more for sharing it.
CH: Take care of yourself!
BILL: Farewell for now.
FM: And on that traaaaain of thought, at least for you folks at home we ain’t offended yet, feel free to shoot us an email at thetalegatepodcast@gmail.com and follow us on Instagram @TheTalegatePodcast for photos, cast info, updates and more!
CH: Be sure to return in two weeks for our next interview!
FM: See ya later, Talegaters!