How Did Davy Die? -- What does it matter?

By Phil Rosenthal

How Did Davy Die – What does it matter?

A lot of time and effort has been spent over the years trying to determine just how David Crockett died at the Alamo. There have been many scholarly works arguing the many possibilities as to Crockett’s death.

As a kid in the 50’s, I remember Fess Parker dying (well, we never did actually see him die) and fighting to the last, swinging his rifle on the steps of the Alamo. I remember trying to figure out from the picture on the Davy Crockett card just which Mexican killed Davy. I had always been a “true believer” when it came to Davy’s death until I myself faced the realities of combat.

Upon returning home from overseas, after I got attuned once again to everyday civilian life, I once again became interested in things other than keeping my weapons clean, my socks dry and my grenade pins taped. One of these things was the Alamo, a subject I had been mesmerized with since I saw Davy go to the Alamo on my 5th birthday. Along with that, there were stories – for the first time I had noticed – that Crockett might not have gone down fighting, that he might have in fact – sins of sins – surrendered.

Dan Kilgore led the charge in his book “How Did Davy Die” – I’m not quite sure which side he took; I can’t remember – and there were numerous books and articles speculating or announcing as indisputable truth one side or the other. It finally got to the point that while some impressive scholarship came out of this still unsolved question, I finally realized that it didn’t matter much to me what Old Davy did there on the morning of March 6th, 1836.

The truth is, Crockett was a hero whether he died fighting or surrendered. Anybody who fights in combat, for his or her country or his closest friends or whatever, is courageous. It is a terrifying and horrendous thing to kill and see people killed all around you. As a combat veteran and thus somewhat of a pragmatist when it comes to such things, how Crockett died – to me – is immaterial.

Picture yourself in the same situation. While it is very difficult to know what is going on during a battle, except maybe for the twenty yards or so in each direction from you, you can see the carnage. The fact that you have been backed up against the chapel, the last point of refuge in the four acre compound, instinctively tells you that you could be among the last of the Alamo defenders. You see Mexican soldiers where Texicans had been posted not an hour ago. You look quickly, because that’s all the time you have, and you see Texican bodies lying strewn all over the compound, none upright any longer. You stole a quick glance at the northwest wall where the commander Travis was, and there are only Mexican soldiers streaming in there.

You are fifty years old and incredibly tired – 45 minutes of intense fighting feels like days – and maybe you are even hurt. There are maybe four or five of you left, you’re not sure. The enemy has overrun your post, the palisades, and they are closing in from every direction. You look back through the chapel and see that they are even on the dirt platforms leading to the back of the chapel. You see Texican bodies inside the chapel. Now you know the enemy is everywhere and there is no place for you to go.

You think quickly, even though your mind is muddled and tired, but the adrenaline allows these quick thoughts, and you realize that dying now – the Alamo has been taken it is quite clear – will not change anything. It won’t reverse the outcome and maybe, just maybe, you can live to fight another day. Hopefully, some of the more humane Mexican officers will get to you before Santa Anna – he of the Deguello and blood red flag of “no quarter”- does. After all, we’re in the middle of the barbarity and blood here, an unlikely place for an army commander to be.

You look in the eyes of the enemy soldiers. Some have eyes of madmen, caught up in the bloodlust, but more are just tired and numb with the barbarity and suffering of it all. You’re gambling that the ones with the dull eyes and not the dilated ones will get to you first. You’ve never wanted to live so much in your life as now and you’re willing to take that gamble. The worst that can happen is they attack and kill you, but that’s sure to happen if you keep fighting. Besides, you’ll never get the time to reload and all you’ll be able to do is swing that now very heavy rifle, which just a short time ago, full of adrenaline, wasn’t quite so heavy. Now, as they come closer, and you steal a quick look at the south entrance, seeing soldiers leave Bowie’s room, you realize what that must mean. Now, you make your decision.

What the decision was, probably nobody will ever know for sure. How many of have wished we could go into the “Twilight Zone” and see what really happened at the Alamo. How many have wished we could go back in an M-1 Abrams firing an M-60 machine gun and a 105 millimeter cannon. Boy, would we make some noise and change the course of history! But the fact is, we can’t and despite all of the impressive scholarship and discussion, and all of the “eye-witness” contemporary accounts, we still don’t know and likely never will. So, like Stephen Colbert, we have make our own “truthiness” and make true in our mind what we wished happened, though it quite possibly didn’t. We don’t have a choice is if mattes so much to us how David Crockett died.

For all we know, he could have been killed by the first shot of the battle, even though we – and I am certainly included – are all loathe to even think about such a thing. But then again, isn’t that one of the controversies swirling around the death of Travis? Again, we have no idea.

In my opinion, which is worth as much or as little as anybody’s, I have to tell you I haven’t an idea as to how Crockett died. The important thing to me is that he was there, and though one of the oldest defenders there, he apparently gave a good account of himself, and what more could anyone ask?

While it is fairly certain that David did not anticipate this kind of fight when he decided to join Captain Harrison’s Tennessee Mounted Volunteers to ride to Texas, he was certainly savvy enough and informed about the state of affairs – and potentialities – of the region. Just his action to join Harrison’s Company was somewhat courageous in itself. Yes, I know all about his wanting to become Texas’ president, but he was willing, it would seem, to pay the price for this office.

The fact is, there did not seem to be an ounce of timidity in the man’s entire character. Yes, I know he was given to some tall tales, but he had already experienced combat in its most grizzly during the Creek Wars in Alabama, so he knew what he might be facing. Only this time, he would be on the outnumbered and trapped side.

Was the man a hero? What is a hero anyway? To tell the truth, in combat, today’s hero might be tomorrow’s coward given a different set of circumstances. All that means is that the terms hero and coward are meaningless. They could be the same person at different times. But you know what? To me, David Crockett was a hero when I saw him swinging Old Betsy at the Alamo on Disneyland TV and after having lived a full life and participated in a number of combat actions, I’ve gone full circle and still consider David, Travis, Bowie, Bonham, Seguin and all the rest as true heroes, whether they fell fighting or not.

Again, this is only my opinion and I don’t begin to hold myself out as an expert or even a serious historian, but that’s the way I see it. I could be completely wrong, but you know what? It doesn’t matter. Nothing could ever tarnish how I feel about David Crockett, the man for whom my oldest son was named.

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