Just before Christmas,1899, a grizzled old man was admitted to a Veterans’ home in Santa Monica, California. Like many of the other patients, he was “penniless and without any known relatives.” How he traveled from his home in Red Lodge, Montana, where he served as the town’s first sheriff, is unknown. Quiet, reserved, and very ill, he shed little light upon his life.
The man’s name was John “Liver-Eating” Johnston and he was born in New Jersey around 1823. His active career had included a stint in the United States Navy, several years as a fur trapper and trader in the northern Rocky Mountains, service in the Union Army during the Civil War, riding with the U.S. army as a scout, and performing in a Wild West show.
As he lay silent in his hospital bed during the last days of his life, he resembled so many of the other forgotten veterans in the home—deathly ill, destitute, and with little left but memories.
The staff at the hospital no doubt wondered how the old man had acquired his unique moniker, “Liver-Eating” Johnston. At the beginning of the twentieth century, with all of its modern conveniences, how curious it must have been for the doctors and nurses to look upon this dying man with such a preposterous name. If they had known Johnston’s life story, they would have understood.
Of all the several hundred intrepid men who called themselves mountain men, Johnston’s life and times in the Rockies was one of the most spectacular – almost unbelievable – on record. Johnston was not yet twenty years old when he arrived in the Rocky Mountains to trap beaver and see the vast homeland of the American Indian. He served his apprenticeship under such men as John Hatcher and Old Bill Williams, both experienced fur trappers.
In 1847, Johnston took a bride from the Flathead tribe and in return he paid her father, Bear’s Head, one rifle, two knives, and several pounds each of sugar and salt, in addition to gifts to be distributed to the woman’s immediate family.
The newly-weds settled in a small log cabin that Johnston had built on the Little Snake River, probably in what is today’s Idaho. His wife’s Flathead name meant “the swan” and she was said to have been as gracious and beautiful as the wild, white birds that flew over the mountains every fall on their way south.
For a few weeks, the couple enjoyed the rewards of marriage. But beaver season was coming soon and Johnston knew that he had to leave his bride and head for the icy streams that poured out of the mountains. He had to trap the rich furs that would pay for next year’s supplies. Making certain to leave Swan well provisioned, he bid her farewell.
A Shocking Discovery
Johnston was horribly shocked when he returned home from his trapping expedition. As he approached the cabin, he sensed that something was wrong. For a long time, he studied the area from a distance, and when he was satisfied that there was no danger, he proceeded into the forest opening in which the structure sat.
Inside, he quickly discovered the stark, white skull of Swan, and not too far away the rest of her skeleton. Mixed in with her remains were the tiny skull and skeleton of a human fetus. Johnston turned away as he wondered whether his wife would have borne him a son or a daughter.
The grieving mountain man pieced together what had happened. A Crow war party had killed and scalped Swan and smothered the life out of his unborn child.
Johnston carefully placed the skeletal remains of his family in an iron kettle which he carried to a secret place in the forest. He hid the pot in a deep crevice in the side of a cliff and, as far as anyone knows, there it still remains.
Johnston made a pact with himself that day. He vowed never to meet a Crow warrior who would not pay with his life for the murder of his family.
He became the archenemy of the entire Crow nation and his prowess and effectiveness at slaughtering Crow men became legendary throughout the native population.
One after another Crow warrior paid dearly for the war party’s attack that day on the Little Snake River. Horrified survivors observed that Johnston would cut open the bellies of his victims, extract their livers, and rub the blood from the organs into his long beard. Thus, the legend of “Liver-Eating” Johnston was born.
Time for the Big Screen
In December,1972, the blockbuster movie, “Jeremiah Johnson,” had its American premier in Boise, Idaho, followed by its first theatrical screening in New York City. Obviously, Hollywood didn’t know how to spell the man’s last name.
Starring Robert Redford and Will Geer and directed by Sydney Pollack, the nearly-two-hour-long film was based on Raymond W. Thorp’s and Robert Bunker’s biography, Crow Killer, and Vardis Fisher’s novel, Mountain Man.
Filmed in multiple, still pristine, sites across Utah, the movie thrilled audiences with rarely seen views of the West as it existed before the frontier army, the cowboys, the railroads, and the prospectors arrived. The classic is still shown regularly on television.
About the time that “Jeremiah Johnson” opened in theaters across the country, Tri Robinson, a teacher at Parkview Junior High School in Lancaster, California, was instructing twenty-five seventh graders in American history.
Most of the kids apparently saw the movie and were mesmerized by its adventuresome story to the extent that they decided to research the life and times of the real Johnston.
What they learned about the era of the American mountain man in general, and Johnston in particular, convinced them that the old gentleman, who had died at the Veterans’ home on January 21, 1900, was most unhappy for his bones to be buried among the greater Los Angeles area’s noisy freeways, massive apartment complexes, and high-rises.
So, with the help of Mr. Robinson, they mounted a campaign to have Johnston’s remains moved from California to his old stomping grounds in Wyoming.
A Far-fetched Scheme
The far-fetched scheme that Robinson and his students hatched required that they garner support from veterans’ organizations, government officials at all levels, historical groups, and just about anyone else who would listen.
Amazingly, in early 1974, they received approval for Johnston’s body to be removed to Cody and reinterred at Old Trail Town, a pioneer village that today houses twenty-six antique structures moved from all over the state and reassembled.
On June 8, 1974, John Johnston came home to Wyoming. Today, he rests at Old Trail Town among memorials to other legendary mountain men – John Colter, Jim Bridger, and Jedediah Smith – all of whom, like himself, rightly deserve to be called the real trailblazers of the American West.
James A. Crutchfield can be reached at TNcrutch@aol.com
