"I found him a loyal friend and good company. He was a dentist whom necessity had made a gambler; a gentleman whom disease had made a vagabond; a philosopher whom life had made a caustic wit; a long, lean blonde fellow nearly dead with consumption and at the same time the most skillful gambler and nerviest, speediest, deadliest man with a six-gun I ever knew."   – Wyatt Earp

Doc Holliday's father, Henry B. Holliday was a trained pharmacist who served in several wars, including the Cherokee Indian War, the Mexican War, and as a Major in the Confederate Army.  After serving in the Mexican War, he returned to his home in Griffin, Georgia with an orphaned Mexican boy named Francisco Hidalgo.  On January 8, 1849, Major Holliday married Alice Jane McKay and within just year had a daughter, Martha Eleanora, who died in infancy.  On August 14, 1851, John Henry (Doc) Holliday was born. 

In 1857, Major Holliday inherited a piece of land in Valdosta, Georgia and moved Alice, John, and Francisco to Lowndes County where John Henry attended grade school at the Valdosta Institute, studying Greek, Latin and French. Major Holliday quickly became one of the town's leading citizens, serving two terms as Mayor, acting as Secretary of the County Agricultural Society, a Member of the Masonic Lodge, Secretary of the Confederate Veterans Camp, and the Superintendent of local elections.

When John (Doc) was just fifteen, his mother died on September 16, 1866 of consumption (later called tuberculosis.)  This was a terrible blow to the teenager, as his relationship with his mother was very close.  Compounding this loss, his father remarried only three months later. 

The family’s status in the community, as well as the fact that his cousin, Robert Holliday, founded the Pennsylvania College of Dental Surgery, probably encouraged John’s choice of profession.  In 1870 he enrolled to the college in Philadelphia and on March 1, 1872, he was conferred the degree of Doctor of Dental Surgery, along with twenty-six other graduates.  Shortly after graduation, Doc Holliday began work as a dentist in the office of Dr. Arthur C. Ford in Atlanta.

Though an educated and respected man, John Henry was a hot-tempered Southerner and quick to use a gun.  On one occasion, there were “Negros” swimming in his favorite swimming hole and the outraged Doc started shooting over their heads.  While one of the Negroes shot back, no one was killed.  This seems to be the first account of Doc’s love affair with the six-shooter. 

Shortly after starting his dental practice, Doc discovered that he had contracted tuberculosis – most likely from his mother before she died.  However, his adopted Mexican brother was also diagnosed with the disease and later died from it, so it could have been from either one of them.  Doc consulted a number of physicians, was told he had an only a short time to live, and encouraged to move to a dryer climate to extend his life.  So, in October 1873, Doc packed up and headed for Dallas, Texas, which was the end of the railroad at the time.  Initially, Doc worked with another dentist by the name of Dr. John A. Seegar in Dallas.  However, as the coughing spells wracked his body during delicate dental procedures, his business declined and Doc was forced to find another way to earn a living.

Out west, Doc was a most unusual character, being an extremely educated and refined man, where such things were uncommon.  He was fluent in Latin, played the piano very well, was a “nappy” dresser, and displayed the manners of a Southern gentleman.  His intelligence made him a “natural” at gambling and this quickly became his means of support, where he was both an active participant, as well as a poker and faro dealer.  However, Doc was also miserable, with the knowledge of his impending death.  He was moody, a heavy drinker, and with no fear of death, perhaps was more prone to the life he ended up living.

The thin and weakened doctor knew that a career as a gambler was a dangerous profession, requiring that he have the means to protect himself.  Dedicated, he started practicing with a six- shooter and a long, wicked knife, honing his skills.

The first account of a gunfight occurred on January 2, 1875 when Doc and a local saloonkeeper named Austin, had a disagreement, which quickly turned to violence.  While several shots were fired, neither man was struck and both men were arrested, which was reported in the Dallas Weekly Herald. At first, the local citizens thought the gunfight was amusing, until just a few days later when Doc again got into a disagreement, this time killing a prominent citizen with two carefully aimed bullets.

Fleeing Dallas, with a posse right behind him, he headed to Jackson, Texas, a wild and lawless cow town near an army post.  Doc found a job dealing Faro, now carrying a gun in a shoulder holster, and another on his hip, along with the knife.  Having become an expert shot, he was involved in three more gunfights in a short amount of time.  Though he left one man dead in these gunfights, no action was taken against him in the lawless cow town.

However, in the summer of 1876, disagreement again led to violence, resulting in Doc’s killing a soldier from Fort Richardson, which brought the United States Government into the investigation.  A reward was offered for his capture, and he was aggressively pursued by the Army, Texas Rangers, U.S. Marshals, local lawmen, and simple citizens anxious to collect the bounty.

Aware of the imminent hanging if captured, Doc fled for his life to Apache country in Kansas Territory (now Colorado).  Making stops along the way in Pueblo, Leadville, Georgetown and Central City, he left three more dead bodies in his wake.  Finally, settling down in Denver, he assumed the name of Tom Mackey, while dealing Faro at Babbitt’s House.  Relatively unknown for a while, that changed when he got involved in an argument with Bud Ryan, a well-known gambling tough.  A fight ensued and Doc nearly cut Ryan’s head off with his lethal knife.  Though Ryan survived, his face and neck were terribly mutilated. Public resentment forced Doc to run again, first to Wyoming, then New Mexico, and finally back to Texas, where at Fort Griffin, he would meet both Wyatt Earp and “Big Nose” Kate. 

Doc Holliday Obituary
Leadville Carbonate Chronicle
November 14, 1887.

“There is scarcely one in the country who had acquired a greater notoriety than Doc Holliday, who enjoyed the reputation of being one of the most fearless men on the frontier, and whose devotion to his friends in the climax of the fiercest ordeal was inextinguishable.  It was this, more than any other faculty that secured for him the reverence of a large circle who were prepared on the shortest notice to rally to his relief."

"I mixed up with everything that came along. It was the only way in which I could forget myself”  – Doc Holliday

"Holliday had a mean disposition and an ungovernable temper, and under the influence of liquor was a most dangerous man. In this respect he was very much like the Missourian who had put in the day at the crossroad groggery and, after getting pretty well filled up with bug juice of the moonshine brand, concluded it was time for him to say something that would make an impression on his hearers; so he straightened up, threw out his chest and declared in a loud tone of voice that he was 'a bad man when he was drinking and managed to keep pretty full all the time'. So it was with Holliday.

Physically, Doc Holliday was a weakling who could not have whipped a healthy fifteen-year-old in a go-as-you-please fistfight, and no one knew this better than himself, and the knowledge of that fact was perhaps why he was so ready to resort to a weapon of some kind whenever he got himself into difficulty. He was hot-headed and impetuous and very much given to both drinking and quarreling and, among men who did not fear him, was very much disliked.

He possessed none of the qualities of leadership such as those that distinguished such men as H.P. Myton, Wyatt Earp, Billy Tilghman, and other famous western characters. Holliday seemed to be absolutely unable to keep out of trouble for any great length of time. He would no sooner be out of one scrape before he was in another, and the strange part of it is he was more often in the right than in the wrong, which has rarely ever been the case with a man who is continually getting himself into trouble."

– Bat Masterson