Doc Holliday was a dentist with a classical education in Greek and Latin who killed his first man at 19, coughed blood into a handkerchief for the next 17 years, and died in bed with a glass of whiskey, saying, "This is funny."
Funny because he'd spent his entire adult life expecting to die in a gunfight. He never did.
John Henry Holliday was born in Griffin, Georgia in 1851. He came into the world with a cleft palate and a partial cleft lip, a deformity that in 1851 was usually a death sentence for an infant. His uncle, a surgeon named John Stiles Holliday, performed the corrective surgery himself when the baby was two months old. His mother Alice spent the next several years patiently teaching the boy to speak clearly. She taught him piano. She taught him manners. She taught him how to bow to a woman and how to address a gentleman. By the time he was a teenager, John Henry could quote Virgil in the original Latin, play Chopin from memory, and dance a quadrille.
Then she died of tuberculosis when he was 15, and so did the small, soft world she'd built for him.
He was sent to Philadelphia to study dentistry. He graduated from the Pennsylvania College of Dental Surgery in 1872 at the age of 20, one of the youngest in his class, and his entry "Diseases of the Teeth" was considered exceptional. He won an award at a dental fair for "Best Set of Artificial Teeth in Gold." His diploma still exists. You can look at it.
He moved back south, set up a practice, and started coughing.
By 1873 the diagnosis was unmistakable. Pulmonary tuberculosis. The same disease that killed his mother. Doctors gave him a few months, maybe a year. They told him his only chance was to move west, where the dry air might slow the lungs from drowning. He kissed his cousin Mattie goodbye. He had been in love with her for years. She would later become a Catholic nun, Sister Mary Melanie, and she was the woman Margaret Mitchell would model Melanie Hamilton on in Gone With the Wind. They wrote each other letters until the day he died. Nobody has ever found those letters. The family burned them.
He went to Dallas. He set up a dental office. And his patients, watching this thin polite young man cough blood into a handkerchief between extractions, stopped coming.
So he turned to cards.
Faro, mostly. Poker when he could find it. He had a gambler's gift and a dying man's nerve, and within two years he was making more in a week at the tables than he'd made in a year pulling teeth. He moved through Texas and into the Colorado mining camps, then New Mexico, then Arizona. He drank an estimated two to three quarts of whiskey a day, partly because it numbed the lungs and partly because nothing else did.
Here is what made him terrifying.
Most gunfighters in the Old West were cowards in expensive boots. They picked fights they could win and avoided fights they couldn't. Doc Holliday already knew he was dying. There was nothing you could threaten him with. There was no future you could take from him. He would walk into a room of armed men with that thin slow smile and a Colt and a knife and sometimes a sawed off shotgun under his long grey coat, and the math running behind his pale blue eyes was simple. Every day he was alive was already stolen. The men across the table had something to lose. He had nothing.
He weighed about 135 pounds. He was five foot ten. He was usually drunk. And by the time he reached Tombstone, men crossed streets to avoid him.
His common law wife was a Hungarian woman named Mary Katharine Horony, better known as Big Nose Kate. She had been born to nobility in Budapest, run away as a teenager after her parents died, worked as a prostitute in Iowa, and ended up on the frontier with a temper that matched his. He once got her out of jail by bribing a guard. She once got him out of jail by setting fire to the hotel next door as a distraction, then walking him out at gunpoint. They fought constantly. They loved each other in the way two people love each other when they both know one of them is going to die soon.
He met Wyatt Earp in Fort Griffin, Texas, in 1877. The friendship that followed would shape both their lives. The legend goes that Doc saved Wyatt's life in Dodge City, walking out of the Long Branch Saloon to find Wyatt surrounded by cowboys with guns drawn, and putting his pistol to the leader's temple before anyone saw him move. Wyatt later said he owed Doc his life. He said Doc was "the most skillful gambler, and the nerviest, fastest, deadliest man with a six gun I ever knew."
Wyatt Earp said that. About a tubercular dentist who could quote Cicero.
At the OK Corral on October 26, 1881, the fight lasted thirty seconds. Doc was carrying a 10 gauge coach gun under his coat. He killed Tom McLaury with both barrels. When Morgan Earp was assassinated months later in retaliation, Doc rode with Wyatt on what history would later call the Vendetta Ride, a three week killing spree across Arizona that left every man they believed responsible dead in the dirt. They were never caught. They were never tried. They simply rode out of the territory and disappeared.
By 1887 the disease had finally caught up with him. He was 36 years old. He weighed less than 120 pounds. He had outlived nearly every man who had ever tried to kill him, and most of the ones who had only thought about it. He checked into the Hotel Glenwood in Glenwood Springs, Colorado, where the sulfur springs were said to ease the lungs. They didn't.
On the morning of November 8th, the nurse brought him a glass of whiskey. He had always sworn he would die with his boots on, the way a gunfighter was supposed to die. He looked down at his bare feet under the white hospital sheet. He looked at the whiskey. He started to laugh.
"This is funny."
Then he drank it.
And he died.
The U.S. team picked up six men’s freestyle medals, including a spotlight silver medal from Stephen Horton, on the first day of wrestling at the Veteran World Championships.
Being at the World Championships and getting to be around the highest level of wrestling reminded me of a few important things.
1) There’s no one “right” way to succeed.
Every country and athlete does it differently. Iran has a super structured warm-up, Japan is very individualized. Some guys take a slow descent to make weight, others cut all the water the last day, some wake up on weight, some even work out before weigh-ins. Same thing with match warm-ups. some just do light drills, others are live wrestling hard right before they step on the mat. The point is, there’s no perfect formula. It’s about finding what works for you.
2) Fundamentals and dictating the style win.
At the highest level, the one who controls the tie-ups almost always wins. You can’t live in someone else’s positions and expect to beat them. You have to force the wrestling into your best positions and dictate where the match is wrestled.
3) Physical shape is non-negotiable.
Every single guy out there are insanely lean (other than heavyweight) and incredibly strong. Some have explosive, fast-twitch strength. Others have slow, grinding strength that just wears on you. But all of them are in peak condition. Without discipline in training, nutrition, recovery, and sleep, winning becomes nearly impossible.
Those were my three biggest takeaways. At the highest level, success comes down to doing things your way to feel your best, sticking to solid fundamentals, dictating the fight, and living a disciplined lifestyle so your body can back it all up.
World Champion Helen Maroulis! 🏆🔥
She takes the 57 kg title with a 3-2 win over Il Sim Son (North Korea), sealing it with a last 10-second takedown. 5x World/Olympic Champion!
Wrestlers obsess over learning more moves, drilling new finishes, flashy stuff, scrambling tricks. But here’s the truth
Most of your moves don’t work because your positioning sucks.
You’re trying to hit a perfect single from a bad tie. You’re diving at legs when your feet are square and your head’s down. You’re working the finish, when you haven’t even won the setup.
Here’s what the best wrestlers understand.
Positioning and angles win matches. Moves are just how you close the deal.
You want to score more? Don’t learn five new shots.
Learn how to dictate the tie ups and use your hands with a purpose.
Learn how to move vertically & laterally to create angles.
Learn how to continuously threaten opponent to keep them at bay.
Because once you can do that… the shots become easy. The finish becomes automatic. The match slows down. You’re in control every second.
It’s not about how many moves you know.
It’s about how often you can get to them on your terms.
This man is a leader. Was great to meet and learn from @VivekGRamaswamy. Blessed he is in Ohio. Big things ahead for the people of this state! Go Bucks!