People who hail from all over the world know about the tiny Village of Fort Sumner, New Mexico (population 1,200) largely because of the Billy the Kid Museum, which gets about 20,000 visitors each year. My father was good friends with Ed Sweet, who began collecting Southwestern artifacts as a child and built the Billy the Kid Museum single-handedly, opening for business in 1952.
Decades ago, Ed and his wife, Jewel (Billie) lived in an apartment above the museum, accessible by a slow-moving but fascinating elevator. These beloved people are gone now, but their son Don, his wife Lula and their son Tim now manage the museum. The museum’s website is here.
The summer before I was in the fourth grade, in 1970, Mrs. Sweet asked my mother and me to work at the museum. My father was sick with a debilitating case of multiple sclerosis, and Mrs. Sweet knew that my mother needed to get out of the house for a few hours each day. Mama worked behind the counter, telling guests about the museum, working the cash register, and wrapping fragile souvenirs with back issues of the De Baca County Newsto keep them from breaking en route to their worldwide destinations.
I was the tour guide, telling visitors how to get around the outside, then the inside, portions of the museum: I would tell the visitors, “Go through the yellow gate, and follow the redarrows on the sidewalk all the way around.”
Mr. Sweet sat in his rocking chair at the front of the museum’s gift shop, challenging the visitors with this offer: “If you can stand still and hold your arm straight out with this gold dollar in your hand for five minutes, you can have it.” Many tried, and all failed, myself included.
He loved to chat with these people who had traveled from distant lands through Fort Sumner, on their way to somewhere else. Even if it meant delaying their trip for an hour or two, who could resist the bold red and yellow signs that read “60,000 Relics of the Southwest” and “Indian Curios”? To further entice visitors, a stagecoach, a teepee, a six-foot-high totem pole, and a Native American horno oven stood in front of the museum.
Inside the building, visitors were greeted first by a shop full of Southwest curios, second by a greeting from Mr. Sweet, and third by Mrs. Sweet’s invitation from behind the counter to see the museum. The Sweets spent a lot of time answering questions from visitors who were fascinated with the infamous outlaw. They explained how, in 1881, Billy the Kid was shot by Sheriff Pat Garrett at the tender age of 21 after allegedly killing 21 men—one of them just because The Kid didn’t like the way the man was looking at his mother.
At the end of each day, Mrs. Sweet opened the regal old cash register with a melodic “chalang-chang” and paid me three dollarbills. Mama got $25 a day. The job sure did beat hoeing weeds in the hot sun for 25 cents an hour, which is what my Dad paid my four siblings and me.
Of course I would have done the job for free. I got to meet people from all over the world, hear their unfamiliar accents, and listen to them offer glimpses into their urban and suburban lives, which were vastly different from my rural existence on a sheep and alfalfa farm. I loved to play on the stagecoach outside and check the soda machines and pay phones to see if hurried visitors had forgotten their change.
On those extra-exciting days when the postman delivered a big, heavy cardboard box, Mrs. Sweet would let me open it, unwrap the new souvenirs, and place them on the shelves. There were Indian dolls, drums, headdresses, and bows and arrows; decorated cedar boxes that smelled deliciously earthy; postcards with pictures from all over New Mexico; books about Billy the Kid; leather bull whips; longhorns mounted on wooden plaques; turquoise and sterling silver jewelry; beaded and fringed leather moccasins; Mexican jumping beans in tiny plastic boxes; and so much more.
When there were no visitors, I would roam around the outdoor part of the museum by myself, marveling at the tens of thousands of items that Mr. Sweet had collected over a span of decades. Along these walls, vestiges of the Wild West stood quiet. A dainty, worn, floor-length riding dress hung next to a pair of worn leather chaps. A rusty pair of spurs rested against an 1800s grade-school primer with yellowed, torn pages. The stuffed calf with two heads intrigued me. Camping gear, boots, infantry jackets and regalia, guns, and simple wooden home furnishings and implements from the 1800s were only the beginning. Mr. Sweet also had a room full of well-preserved antique cars in one area, along with an antique fire engine. The collection also includes John Tunstall’s travel case, John Chisum’s cavalry sword and a rifle carried by Billy the Kid that has 21 notches etched into it.
Toward the end of the outside tour was a glass cage with live rattlesnakes in it, with a big sign that warned, “Do NOT tap on the glass.” After reading this sign, the first thing most visitors did was look to see if anyone was watching them. The second thing they did was tap on the glass. I discovered this through many hours of furtive research.
My favorite museum job was cleaning out the wishing well. Because I was the only one around who was small enough to fit into the narrow, 14-ft.-deep well, Mr. Sweet’s grandson, Timmy, would lower me into it, and I would collect in a bucket the coins that visitors had thrown into the well for good luck. Cockroaches, spiders, and an occasional lizard scurried as I invaded their dark territory, but I was too excited about the coins to be squeamish. After I had collected all the coins, there was nothing left on the dirt floor but the vermin, and Timmy would pull me back up. I would run inside to help Mama and Mrs. Sweet clean and count the coins. In the 40 years since that experience, I still have recurring dreams about seeing coins glistening in the dirt.
It was one of the most exciting and rewarding experiences of my lifetime, and I thank the Sweets for the opportunity.
And if you’re looking for an exciting and rewarding day trip in New Mexico, plan a drive to Ft. Sumner. Let them know Libbye sent you!
(Note from Bunny Terry: Libbye wrote this post years ago when this blog was brand new. I found her ghostwriting website yesterday and was thrilled to see that she’s continuing to use her considerable writing skills to help others find their voice. You can check her out here.)