The Last Shootout in Hollywood

There's a dark, sordid remnant of Hollywood's history in the middle of Sunset Boulevard and you probably didn't even realize it--and I'm not talking about William Holden's body floating in Gloria Swanson's pool in Sunset Boulevard.

It's called Gower Gulch Plaza, just a few blocks away from the Walk of Fame, but before it was a strip mall, this section of Los Angeles was a hang-out for real-life cowboys looking for a taste of fame. In the days of silent films, these cowpokes would stand on the corner of Sunset and North Gower Street dressed in their Levis and Stetsons, hoping to get chosen to appear in the next big western film.

The Columbia Drugstore, which was close by, had a phone that they would use to take calls from casting agents, since most of these men didn't have a phone of their own. Their constant presence at this LA hotspot earned them the nickname "Drugstore Cowboys," a moniker that has changed over time.

One famous western personality of note who passed through Gower Gulch was Wyatt Earp, long past his days in Tombstone, now looking to make a name for himself on the silver screen. But in 1940, life imitated art in a very real and serious way--and one man ended up losing his life in the process.

His name was John Tyacke, though he went by Johnny Tyke. Tyke was a cowboy extra with a long rap sheet and a history of stick-ups under his belt. And lingering nearby at the corner of Sunset and Gower was Jerome "Blackjack" Ward. He'd been a range rider once upon a time and even claimed to have been Pancho Villa's partner some years earlier. He was also quite familiar with Tyke, claiming:

"I had known Tyke for quite a while — I fed and helped that varmint for years. A few months ago, he was in jail for drunk driving, but I didn’t go to see him and, when he got out, he kept pestering me because of it. We had arguments and he threatened me. One day he said he was going to beat me to death or else use his Bowie knife on me."

Well, Ward, now in Hollywood, was hoping to be cast in whatever B-western was hiring, but when the two found themselves in the same place, an old wound was reopened in plain view of everyone at the drugstore.

"You've been fooling around my girl again," said Ward.

Tyke replied, "What makes you so sure she's yours?"

The two went back and forth, just like they might have in an Old West saloon or the middle of a dirt-covered street. Ward said "Julie's mine and I'm going to see things stay that way." Tyke tried to calm him down, but Ward wouldn't hear it. He pulled out his .45 and took aim, shouting "Johnny Tyke, there's six steps to hell, and according to what I know of your lousy record, you've taken all six of them!"

Tyke lunged forward, trying to wrestle it away from him. Blackjack fired, and Tyke was wounded in the shoulder. Blackjack told him that was the first step--lying. It should have ended there. The fight was over, but Blackjack, still running on pure hatred, loomed over Tyke's bleeding body and counted off the other five steps, each punctuated by another gunshot. Horse-stealing, woman-stealing, cowardice, double-crossing a friend...and finally MURDER.

Tyke was dead, the other cowboys standing around the two men in a circle. Blackjack had just "dry-gulched" Johnny Tyke, apparently a term from the Wild West days that meant he'd killed a man in cold blood and then tried to hide the evidence by tossing him in a dry-gulch. The area was given the nickname Gower Gulch as a result.

Blackjack was arrested. And you might think, with all those witnesses present, this was a clear case of murder. The trial lasted a handful of days, highlighted by a parade of witnesses who looked like they'd stepped out of a John Ford movie. It was To Kill a Mockingbird by way of The Searchers. Blackjack pleaded not guilty by reason of insanity and self-defense, claiming Tyke had attacked him with a bowie knife.

And wouldn't you know it? It worked. The case was dismissed and Blackjack walked. Tyke, on the other hand, was buried in Valhalla Memorial Park in North Hollywood. According to an article in the Los Angeles Times dated July 16, 1940, "Of course there were some who put on their Sunday clothes and attended the funeral, but the rest of them who took up a collection Wednesday to send flowers still hung around the ‘quickie’ center at Sunset Blvd. and Gower St. waiting a call for extra work." 

The life of a cowboy, I guess.