Last Words in Deadwood: Literacy and Mortality on the Frontier

night, the series opener of HBO’s Deadwood cuts to a close-up of Seth Bullock’s hands: he dips a pen into ink with his left, switches it to his right, and puts it to page. The camera tilts up, revealing the sling on his injured right arm and resting on his face. From behind bars comes the first line of dialogue: ‘‘Is that some sort of a letter, Marshal?’’ asks the imprisoned horse thief. ‘‘Journal,’’ replies Bullock. ‘‘Journal,’’ repeats the prisoner, surprised: ‘‘Good’’ (Deadwood 1). His surprise reflects our own: we may not know Bullock yet, but we do know plenty of other western marshals—Will Kane, Wyatt Earp, Rooster Cogburn, Matt Dillon—and they do not, as a rule, keep diaries. The prisoner again interrupts Bullock: ‘‘You know, I was going to Deadwood, same as you.’’ Now his impatience reflects our own: we do not watch Westerns—or subscribe to HBO, for that matter—to watch rugged leading men sit quietly writing. Bullock finishes his entry, puts down the pen, tucks the journal into his coat pocket, and resigns himself to the necessary exposition: