Halloween Party on Commercial Street

When I was a kid growing up in Fair Grove in the 1950s, most residents of the town and those from the outlying areas bought groceries and other essentials in Fair Grove, at least until the large supermarkets in Springfield started taking that business away in the latter part of the decade. Even in the early and mid-fifties, though, Fair Grove residents did most of their shopping in Springfield for bigger items like home furnishing and appliances. Most also did their Christmas shopping in Springfield.

There were basically two main business districts in Springfield: the public square and the Commercial Street district. There was still something of a competition between the two districts, which was likely a holdover from the 1870s and 1880s when North Springfield (i.e. the Commercial Street district) was its own separate town.

Many, if not most, Fair Grove residents did their Springfield shopping at the Commercial Street district. I know that my parents tended to go there quite a bit. The popularity of Commercial Street as a destination for Fair Grove folks might partly have been simply a result of the fact that it was slightly closer to Fair Grove than the square, but I think the loyalty to Commercial Street was more than just a matter of convenience. 

At any rate, Commerical Street and the surrounding area was a thriving business district in the 1950s and into the 1960s when I lived at Fair Grove. It went downhill for a while after that, but it has since rebounded to a large extent, designated as a historic district.

Prior to the 1950s, I think Commercial Street was an even more flourishing district than it was when I remember it. For instance, for a few years in the late 1930s and early 1940s, the Commercial Street Business Club hosted a street party on Halloween evening that was apparently quite a big deal, However, it lasted only a few years, cut short no doubt by the beginning of World War II.

The first Commercial Street Halloween Party was held in 1939. In the lead-up to the event, the Springfield Leader and Press announced that "a huge jack-o'-lantern will leer from every lamp post on Commercial Street from Boonville to Jefferson, and the whole street for those two blocks will be roped off for one of hte biggest Halloween parties ever given hereabouts." 

People were invited to come to the event dressed up, ready to "frolic in the carnival grand parade" and "dance in the street afterwards." There were to be prizes for the best costumes in several categories, including men women, children, and couples. Prizes for the best square dance couple and the best jitterbugger were also going to be offered. A seven-piece orchestra was scheduled to play in the Community Building with the music broadcast on the street by loudspeakers for the benefit of the dancers. Bill Ring, whom I recall as a radio personality in Springfield two to three decades later, was going to be master of ceremonies of the event.

The day after the event, the Daily News reported that thousands of people had attended the street dance, and there was much laughing, singing, and dancing among young and old alike. The crowd was so large that "spectators were forced to find refuge in doorways of store buildings."

The following year, 1940, organizers were expecting a crowd of up to 15,000 people to attend the Halloween street dance on Commercial Street.  The length of the parade was lengthened so that it started at Washington Avenue and marched to Boonville, and Commercial was blocked off from Benton to Boonville. As it turned out, only about 5,000 people showed up, but it was still considered a great success. 

The next year, 1941, cold weather put a damper on activity in Springfield on Halloween night, including the Commercial Street party. The event was not well attended, and the Daily News commented the next day that even Bill Ring and his orchestra "had to be jitterbugs to keep warm." 

I can find no mention of the Halloween party in succeeding years; so I assume that the U.S.'s entry into World War II put an end to the celebration. 

A Greene County Bigamist

Sometime around January or early February 1951, a woman filed a complaint with the Greene County (MO) prosecutor claiming that her sister's husband, Jack Wilson, was also married to another woman under the name Coy Burney. Apparently, Wilson and his wife, Eula Mae, had recently traveled from Springfield to Nichols Junction to visit another sister, and a friend of the other sister recognized Jack Wilson as Coy Burney. The woman said Burney lived at Bois D'Arc and that he had a wife named Alma. The sister did not believe her friend until the two women started comparing pictures and realized that Jack Wilson and Coy Burney were one and the same.

Shortly afterwards, the first sister filed her complaint with the prosecutor, who undertook an investigation. It revealed that the man's real name was Coy Burney and that he had married Alma Leigh at Fort Scott, Kansas, in 1944, shortly after getting divorced from his first wife. He had a child by his first wife and had been arrested about the same time as his marriage to Alma for nonsupport of the child. But that didn't keep him from having two more children with Alma.  

In January of 1950, Burney, under the alias Jack Wilson, married Eula Mae Rowden at Berryville, Arkansas, while still married to Alma. Jack and Eula Mae took up residence on North National in Springfield, while Coy continued to live off-and-on with Alma at Bois D'Arc, only about ten miles away. Wilson was a truck driver, and he managed to pull off the balancing act by telling each woman that he was away on an over-the-road trip when he was really with the other wife. 

The 25-year-old Burney was arrested on February 21, 1951. He denied his double life at first, but, when he was brought into the prosecutor's office as Eula Mae was leaving, he admitted that she was "one of my wives." He said, "I was in love with Eula Mae and did not want to hurt Alma at the same time." He was charged with bigamy and jailed in lieu of $2,500 bond. 

In June of 1951, Burney pleaded guilty to bigamy and was released on $2,500 bond to await sentencing. I have not found the final disposition of the bigamy case, except I know that Alma was granted a divorce from Burney in October 1951 and given custody of their two children. 

Note: photo of Burney, alias Wilson, above is from the Springfield Leader and Press, as is most of the info for this post.

Rural Vs. Urban

When political observers and other national media types talk about a rural-urban divide, they are normally talking about the difference between the way people in Podunk, Arkansas, for instance, see things compared to residents of New York City or Los Angeles. However, Susan Croce Kelly, in her recent book about legendary Springfield newspaperwoman Lucile Morris Upton, which I'm currently reading, makes the point that there was, at least during Lucile's time, a rural-urban divide even within the Ozarks.

And she's not talking about a divide just between country folk and people living in the larger towns or cities like Springfield. Ms. Kelly says that while many of Lucile's contemporaries during her youth and young adulthood identified more with the hills and valleys and woods and streams of their own farms than they did with the community down the road, Lucile strongly identified with the small town of Dadeville where she grew up. 

This observation made an impression on me because I realized that the same was true for me when I was growing up. I think many of my classmates at Fair Grove Schools, those who lived on farms, identified much more strongly with the land they and their families lived on than I did with the small plot of land in the town of Fair Grove where I and my family lived when I was growing up. 

The majority of my classmates were farm kids. Most of them did farm chores either before school, after school, or both. Many of the boys took agriculture classes and were active in FFA, while I was involved in those two pursuits only during my freshman year and only because taking ag was such a given in Fair Grove that nothing else was offered for me to take during the particular time slot that ag was offered. 

Don't get me wrong. I had nothing at all against agriculture or farming. In fact, I sometimes felt left out because I often didn't know what my classmates were talking about when they'd start talking about certain animals, or certain crops, or certain farming techniques. 

It's just that farming wasn't something I was really interested in and was not something I identified with. I was a town kid. Most of my best friends were boys who, like me, lived in the town of Fair Grove rather than classmates or people I met at school, although at least a couple were both pals from town and classmates.

During my childhood, from the time I was six or seven years old, my friends and I largely had the run of the town. The whole town, although initially it was just the south side, was our playground, from the feed room at the MFA Store to the little stream than ran by the old mill. I came to know not just all the kids in Fair Grove who were anywhere near my own age but also most of the adults, particularly the old-timers who used to sit on benches in front of the stores whittling, telling tall tales, and passing the time. 

As I got a little older and had more freedom to go wherever I wanted to, I got to know the town even better. This was especially true after I got to be about junior high age and started delivering newspapers and mowing lawns in Fair Grove. There were few people in Fair Grove whose yard I didn't mow or whose paper I didn't deliver, one or the other if not both.

So, I grew up strongly identifying with Fair Grove. Fair Grove the town, not Fair Grove the school. Oh, I identified with the school, too, but the town came first. It was the town first, then the school, and then my own home place, in that order. For many of my classmates, I suspect the order may have been exactly reversed. 

That's a revelation I really hadn't given much thought to until I read Ms. Kelly's statement about Lucile's attachment to Dadeville. 

Outlaw Dick Adams

I'm currently working on my next book, which will likely be called Murder and Mayhem in Northeast Oklahoma, since it is scheduled to be part of the Murder and Mayhem series published by The History Press. One of the desperadoes I considered including in the book was Dick Adams, a notorious thief and whiskey peddler who operated mainly in the Spavinaw region during the 1890s; however, I've pretty much decided not to include him, since he really wasn't all that desperate or infamous. So, I'm going to write about him here.

Adams was first heard from on the criminal front in the spring of 1895 when several officers went out southeast of Vinita across the Grand River to try to capture him and other outlaws said to be terrorizing that neighborhood. The mission proved unsuccessful.

According to a later report, Adams had first come to Oklahoma (Indian Territory at the time) from Missouri several years prior to his run-in with the law. He was an upstanding farmer at first who was considered very industrious. It was said he would work from sunup to sundown.  

Not finding farming profitable enough, however, he turned to whiskey running. He would travel to Arkansas by day and return at night with a load of whiskey, which he reportedly sold mainly to the black population along the Grand River. When law officers got on to his scheme, he began to steal cattle.  

In February of 1896, Adams and some of his cohorts clashed with a posse led by US marshal Heck Bruner. The two sides exchanged gunfire, but no one on either side was seriously injured.

In November of the same year, lawmen made a raid on a band of cattle thieves on Mustang Creek about ten miles from Vinita. In the ensuing gunfight, Adams was wounded with a shotgun blast to the gut, and one of his sidekicks was killed. 

Then, about the first of December, four black men were arrested near Bolen's Ferry on Grand River for stealing a steer from a man living at the ferry and butchering it. Adams was also implicated in the crime, but he evaded arrest. 

About the first of September 1897, Adams was arrested at Sapulpa. At first there was some doubt as to his identity, but it was finally confirmed that he was indeed Adams and he admitted participating in the shootout on Mustang Creek. In late September, Adams passed through Vinita in the custody of lawmen who were taking him to jail at Muskogee. Quite a crowd turned out to watch the notorious outlaw pass through town.

Adams pled guilty to cattle theft and was sentenced to four years in prison. Some observers thought he got off with a very light sentence, considering that he was under indictment on three other charges at the time and those charges were dropped. Among the critics was a Vinita newspaperman, who said that Adams "never shot a man in his life and was a notorious coward, always running away when an attempt was made to capture him." 

Surgery

I said a couple of weeks ago, when my wife had a health crisis, that the concerns of everyday life sometimes supersede writing about history, and I guess today is going to be another example of that, because today I'm going to write about my own health issue. 

On Friday morning I had double hernia surgery. Not a life-threatening crisis the way my wife's pulmonary embolisms were, by any means, but it was the first time I'd ever had surgery of any kind. So, it was a little scary, but it seems to have gone pretty well and I'm not feeling too bad. The weekend brought some pain, but it's eased up today, and I think I'm on the road to recovery. 

Still, I don't really feel up to researching and writing about Ozarks history. I hope to be back close to normal by next week so that I can resume diving into regional history, whatever topic I might come up with.

Murder of Lieutenant Miller

After Confederate forces were driven from Missouri in early 1862, the Civil War in the state quickly devolved mainly into a vicious brand of guerrilla warfare marked by robbery, sabotage, and murder. Atrocities were committed by both sides, but bands of Confederate-allied guerrillas, in particular, roamed the countryside. The bands sometimes preyed on civilians, but they especially targeted Union soldiers who happened to be separated from their units or former Union soldiers who'd returned to their homes. 

One unfortunate Union lieutenant named Miller found this out the hard way when he took a Sunday leave on April 28, 1862, to court a young woman in Barry County. The officer was spotted by noted guerrilla Hugh McBride and a companion named Smith Crim. The two men watched as Miller hitched his horse outside the girl's home, and then they crept up to the dwelling, When the two burst inside, McBride covered the officer with a shotgun and took him prisoner.

The two guerrillas took Miller some distance into the woods before McBride decided that he had to die. McBride ordered Crim to shoot the lieutenant, but Crim refused. An angry McBride then unloaded one of the barrels of his gun into Miller.

Crim, though, not McBride, was the one who suffered the consequences. He was arrested not long afterwards by Union forces and tried by military commission at Springfield in late September 1862. Found guilty of murder and violating the laws of war, Crim was sentenced to die by firing squad. 

The sentence, however, was not carried out, at least not immediately. In early 1863, Crim was transported to St. Louis and lodged in the Gratiot Street Prison.

Sources: St. Louis Daily Missouri Republican; Matthew Stith, Extreme Civil War.

The Spook Light Again

Back in September, I attended the annual conference of the Missouri Writers' Guild in Columbia, where Sandy Selby, editor of Missouri Life Magazine, was one of the speakers. I talked briefly with her before her presentation, and I remarked that my very first article for Missouri Life was published many years ago, 1977 to be exact, and that it was about the Tri-State Spook Light. She said that maybe it was time for an update, but I haven't followed through on the suggestion, because I haven't decided how to approach such an article or whether I even want to try. 

My latest book, published in January of this year, was about the Spook Light, and I'm not sure I have much more to say about it at this time. I guess my main hesitation is just that, as I discuss in the book, the Spook Light is no longer the attraction it once was.  

Oh, there are still a steady trickle of curiosity seekers who make their way to the out-of-the-way spot about twelve miles southwest of Joplin where the Spook Light, if conditions are right, makes its nightly appearance. Maybe half a dozen cars, give or take, might find their way to Spook Light Road on any given night, but that is nowhere near the number that used to frequent the road back in the 1970s when I first got interested in the light or even in the 1980s and early 1990s. Sometimes there would be as many as a couple of hundred cars over the course of one night, especially on weekends. 

The light lost some of its allure when both Spook Light Road and State Line Road were paved. Without looking the information up, I'd say that happened in the early nineties. About the same time, law officers, in response to complaints of rowdiness from people living in the area, started patrolling the vicinity more often. Also, Spooky Middleton, who used to run the so-called Spook Light Museum, retired about 1982 and died shortly afterwards, and no one stepped up to take his place. Because of all these factors, a trip to the Spook Light just lost a little of its rustic, magical appeal. 

I think another reason the Spook Light is not the attraction it once was is simply the fact that it's harder to see nowadays than it used to be. At least, that has been my experience. As I mention in the book, I attribute this phenomenon mainly to the fact that the trees on either side of Spook Light Road have been rather drastically cut back, thereby reducing the tunnelling effect that the V those overhanging trees used to create. Looking to the west along Spook Light Road (as almost all viewers did) was almost like looking down the sights of a gun, but that is no longer the case. Everything is more wide-open, which, I think, makes it harder to see the light or distinguish it if and when you do see it.

At any rate, I'm balking on trying to write a new article about the Spook Light, but it's still something I'm mulling over.   

The Past Two Days

Part of last week's post pertained to Missouri and Ozarks history, but some of it did not. What I want to write about this week has nothing at all to do with Ozarks or Missouri history. Instead, I want to relate a personal experience and give some thoughts and reflections on it. Sometimes, everyday life takes precedence over writing about history.  

Friday night, my wife collapsed and fell on our bathroom floor, almost completely unconscious. Fortunately, she had grabbed a towel rack when she started feeling weak and unable to stand, so that she didn't go down really hard. Also, I was nearby and helped break her fall.

I had already called an ambulance as soon as she said she was feeling bad, because it was pretty clear that this was not your normal "feeling bad" because of a headache or something minor like that. However, I called a second time after she collapsed to make sure help was on the way. 

The ambulance got here pretty quickly, although it seemed like a long time to me when I was waiting. The EMTs gave her some sort of shot that brought her around a little bit, but she was still pretty much out of it. They loaded her into a stretcher to get her out of the bathroom and down the hall, put her on a gurney, and wheeled her out to the ambulance. 

I followed the ambulance to the hospital, but I had to wait before I was allowed in to see her. The wait only added to my anxiety. I was finally told after about 15 or 20 minutes that I could go in and see her. When I did, she was beet red but awake and more lucid than she'd been after she collapsed at home. Gradually her complexion started coming back. 

At first, my wife and I thought, and the medical personnel seemed to go along with the idea (maybe just to placate us) that she had had some sort of allergic reaction. After a series of tests, however, the diagnosis was that some blood clots in her legs had gone to her lungs, which I guess is called a pulmonary embolism. 

The docs put my wife on a blood thinner, and she soon started feeling better. The doctors and nurses told us that she would likely need to be admitted for observation, however. This, mind you, was Friday night, and a room did not actually become available until early Saturday afternoon. 

By yesterday (Saturday) evening, though, she was ready to go home with a prescription for Eloquis, a blood thinner that not only prevents blood clots but also breaks up already-existing ones. 

Although it's almost needless to say, I'll say it anyway. I was very relieved when my wife of almost 52 years started feeling better and it looked like she was going to survive this medical crisis with apparently a decent outlook for no further complications. Although I've always loved Gigi, sometimes I guess it takes a crisis like this to bring that love into sharp focus and make one realize how much another person means to them. 

My Trip to Ohio

My wife and I just returned from a trip to the Columbus, Ohio, region. Any time I take a road trip across the country or even just across the state of Missouri, I am always awed by how much open land there still is in the United States. 

Our nation's population has increased by about two and a half times since I was born and more than doubled since I was a little kid. Yet, it seems to me that the amount of open land has not decreased by all that much. Indeed, some of the rural areas have actually lost population, while almost all of the country's population growth has been in the metropolitan areas. 

We traveled to Ohio by way of St. Louis and Indianapolis and came back by way of Cincinnati, Louisville, and St. Louis. Just driving across Missouri on I-44 between Joplin and St. Louis, one sees a lot of open land, but I was even more struck by the amount of open space in Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, and Kentucky, because I've always thought of those states as at least somewhat more densely populated than Missouri. Except for when we were passing through the large cities (namely Indianapolis, Cincinnati, and Louisville) much of our trip was through farm country. There were numerous times when only about a half dozen homes were visible when I looked around in every direction, as far as the eye could see. 

We saw some interesting sights along the way. In St. Louis, we visited the Missouri Civil War Museum at Jefferson Barracks and the Missouri History Museum at Forest Park. The Garst Museum in Greenville, Ohio, was also an interesting stop. The Annie Oakley and Lowell Davis wings of that place were very interesting, especially the Annie Oakley section. The highlight of the whole trip, though, was visiting with friends. 

Ritter School Consolidation Controversy

The last couple of weeks I've written about school consolidations, and I've written about the same subject at least a time or two in the more distant past. So, while I'm far from an expert on the subject of school consolidation, I know from my limited experience and research that school consolidations were rarely accomplished without some degree of controversy or disagreement. Often, the extent of the controversy was simply that one school district, usually a smaller one being taken in by a larger one, did not favor the consolidation while the other one did. Occasionally, though, the controversy involved two larger school districts contending over which one would take in a smaller school. The consolidation of Ritter School with the Springfield (MO) School District is one example of this phenomenon.    

In the fall of 1949, a county-wide school reorganization plan under which the rural Ritter School, located between Springfield and Willard, would be taken into the Springfield district was rejected by Greene County voters. Then on October 18,1950, a group of Ritter patrons petitioned the Ritter School Board for annexation to Willard, and an election was set for November 6. On October 20, however, the county school board approved a new reorganization plan under which Ritter would be taken into Springfield. 

One of the main problems with the proposal for Ritter to consolidate with Willard was that the two districts did not join each other. But on November 2, patrons of Schuyler School District, which lay between Ritter and Willard, voted to join Willard, and Willard agreed the next day to accept Schuyler. 

On November 4, the Ritter patrons who'd gathered the first petition filed a new petition to join Willard, because the legality of the move had been questioned when the two districts did not abut each other. At the November 6 election, Ritter residents voted overwhelmingly to approve the first petition to join Willard.  

Then in January 1951, they also voted, by an even greater margin, to approve the second petition. One of the reasons Ritter residents cited for preferring to join Willard was that they did not believe in "progressive education," which they felt was taught in the Springfield schools and instead preferred the old-fashioned 3-Rs.

Later that month, patrons of Springfield and Ritter voted, by order of the county school board, on a proposal for Ritter to consolidate with Springfield. Ritter patrons voted solidly against the proposal, but, because Springfield voted in favor of it, it passed easily, since Springfield patrons greatly outnumbered Ritter patrons.

The Greene County attorney sought the opinion of the Missouri attorney general on the matter, and the state official said the Springfield annexation was legal and that Ritter belonged to Springfield. The Ritter School Board then turned its funds over to Springfield. 

Boiling mad, some Ritter patrons filed suit in circuit court to overturn the ruling. The judge's sympathies were clearly with the Ritter patrons. He said, "Here a rural school district having at most a population of only a little more than 200 qualified voters, after having twice declared its desire to be annexed to Willard, a neighboring consolidated district with adequate schools, is gobbled up by its city neighbor which has a hundred times as many voters--a rural farming community has been absorbed in a metropolitan school system where instead of managing its own school affairs, it will be hopelessly out-numbered and out-voted, where its school children may feel out of place among strangers."

However, the judge said he had to follow the law and that the annexation of Ritter into Springfield, according to the school reorganization law in Missouri, was legal and binding. 

Hickory Barren School's Consolidation with Fair Grove

Last week I wrote in general about the school consolidation movement in Missouri and more specifically about the consolidation of the Bois D'Arc and Ash Grove Schools in Greene County. Another Greene County school consolidation that I'm personally familiar with is the consolidation of the Hickory Barren School into the Fair Grove district, because I was attending Fair Grove Elementary at the time.

Greene County began a school consolidation movement at least as early as the 1940s, probably earlier, and Hickory Barren being taken in by Fair Grove was specifically discussed at least as early as 1950. At that time, the proposal was that Hickory Barren and Liberty in Greene County and New Garden, just across the line in Dallas County, would all be consolidated with Fair Grove. Taking in Hickory Barren, however, was rejected by Fair Grove patrons. (Not sure about Liberty and New Garden. They did consolidate with Fair Grove, but I'm not sure whether it was at this time.)

What to do with the Hickory Barren district was discussed for a couple of more years, before it was once again slated to be consolidated with Fair Grove if voters of both districts approved. The vote was held in the spring of 1954, and this time it passed. 

An election to select a new school board for the consolidated district was set for the summer of 1954, and a controversy arose when the names of seven women from the Hickory Barren district were placed on the ballot, apparently without their knowledge or consent. The women included Mrs. Sue Kesterson, Mrs. Mary Kesterson, Mrs. James Roberts, Mrs. Paul Stafford, Mrs. Vivian Weber, Mrs. Evelyn Israel, and Mrs. John R. Wood. Sue Kesterson told a Springfield newspaper at the time that she and the other women did not want to serve as board members and that she thought they had been nominated by "enemies of Hickory Barren" just to stir up trouble by making Fair Grove patrons think that the people of the old Hickory Barren district were trying to take over the Fair Grove School Board. She said this was most definitely not the case.

Fair Grove superintendent Wensey Marsh went to the county superintendent, Paul Alan Hale, to try to get the names of the women removed from the ballot, but Hale said he couldn't do it even if he wanted to because it was too late. 

The dispute resolved itself when the top six vote-getters in the election, held in early July, were all men. When the 1954-55 school year started a month or so later, the former Hickory Barren kids came to Fair Grove. I was in third grade at the time.

Consolidation of Ash Grove and Bois D'Arc

I've mentioned the school consolidation movement of the 20th century on this blog two or three times in the past. In Missouri at least, the movement started in the early part of the century, picked up steam during the middle part of the century, and then tailed off near the end of the century. In the 1800s and very early 1900s, public educators sought to provide a school within walking distance of every child in the rural sections of the state. However, as roads and methods of transportation improved, the emphasis changed from locating schools close to every child to finding the best way to provide a quality education to the most students in the most efficient and economic fashion possible. 

School consolidation was more or less a two-pronged movement: 1) incorporating small, rural, elementary schools into nearby K-12 school districts and 2) combining two or more k-12 school districts into one. One instance of two K-12 districts going together to form a single school district that I remember was the Ash Grove-Bois D'Arc consolidation in Greene County during the late 1950s. I was not personally affected by it, but I remember when it happened because I went to Fair Grove Schools, and all three schools (Fair Grove, Ash Grove, and Bois D'Arc) were members of the Greene County League when it came to sports competition. I was in grade school at the time, but I recall that, during my early elementary years, we used to play Bois D'Arc in basketball and then, all of a sudden, we didn't, because there was no longer a Bois D'Arc High School.      

Consolidation of Bois D'Arc and Ash Grove was first proposed in the fall of 1956, but it was another year before the school boards from the two districts and the Greene County School Board all got together to seriously discuss such a consolidation. The county school board was pushing for the consolidation, because its members, including the county superintendent, thought combining the two school would provide for a better education for a larger number of students. An example cited was the fact that Ash Grove Schools, with an enrollment of 424, had a band and offered agriculture classes while Bois D'Arc, with only 225 students in grades 1-12, did not. Putting the two schools together would give kids from Bois D'Arc an opportunity to participate in those activities as well. 

In mid-December 1957, the school boards from Ash Grove and Bois D'Arc met in a joint session and agreed to move forward with consolidation. Plans called for an elementary school to be retained in Bois D'Arc while all high school students would go to Ash Grove. It was also mentioned that a few students from the two districts might end up going to either Willard or Republic because the school district boundaries would likely be redrawn to make them more uniform. If the consolidation plan was approved, election of a new, six-member school board for the consolidated district would be held immediately. The county superintendent announced that the consolidated district would probably not be called either Ash Grove or Bois D'Arc. 

That, however, turned out not to be the case. The proposal for consolidation was presented to voters in March of 1958, and it was overwhelmingly approved by patrons of both school districts, although the ratio of "yes" to "no" votes was understandably somewhat greater among Ash Grove voters than among Bois D'Arc voters, since Ash Grove patrons were not in line to lose their high school. Where school consolidations are concerned, however, this particular one came off with relatively little dissent or dispute, even after it was learned that the high school would still be called Ash Grove rather than being assigned a new name. 

An interesting footnote to this story is that, when school started in the fall of 1958, the Ash Grove High School basketball coach learned that he had eight players returning who had been varsity starters the previous year. Despite this fact, the coach said he anticipated only an average season.

Mysterious Disappearance of Sadie Nave

On May 3, 1893, twenty-year-old Sadie Nave arose early, "arrayed herself in her best clothes," and told the woman she was boarding with in Springfield (MO) that she was going out to "seek a situation." She left her trunk, wardrobe, and other belongings at the woman's house, but she never came back.

It was almost two weeks later before the Springfield Leader got wind of the girl's disappearance and reported on the story. It was feared Sadie had either been abducted or had committed suicide, said the Leader. "She was rendered desperate on account of the seductive wiles of a man who has promised to marry her and then refused to do so after he accomplished her ruin." It was the "old, old story of loving not wisely but too well," and, according to the newspaper, it had left her despondent and friendless. 

Sadie had left her home in Douglas County in late 1892 and went to Seymour, where she worked at the Castor Hotel for about five weeks before coming to Springfield in early 1893. She had stayed with and worked for a number of different families since her arrival in Springfield. 

The name of the young man who'd deserted Sadie was Will Hampton, and it turned out that he had been previously married and had never gotten a divorce. The husband of one of the women Sadie had stayed with consulted an attorney about suing Will Hampton for breach of promise, but the attorney advised the man that he should contact Sadie's father in Douglas County, because he was the proper person to bring such a suit. 

A Leader reporter called on one of the women with whom Sadie had stayed, and the woman told him that Sadie had often threatened suicide and had tried in vain to purchase morphine and laudanum. "She cried nearly all the time she was with me," the woman said, because Will Hampton had "gone back on her." At one point a month or so earlier, Hampton had promised to meet Sadie at the woman's house and "make it all right with the girl," but he never showed up. Sadie told the woman she'd rather die than face the shame of returning home to Douglas County. 

The newspaperman thought Sadie had most likely carried through with her repeated threats to kill herself, but whether that is the case, I have not been able to learn. The lack of any follow-up stories to that effect suggests that maybe she did not commit suicide. Or at least that no body was ever found. 

I mentioned several weeks ago that newspapers in the late 1800s and early 1900s often made headline stories out of incidents that nowadays would scarcely warrant a mention. The story of Sadie Nave seems to fall into that category. Nowadays, such a sad, personal story would probably be considered by most legitimate newspapers to be nobody else's business. Only in the gossip sheets would you likely find a story like this one.  

A Dead Man Turns Up Alive

On August 31, 1891, two masked men held up the American Bank of Corder in Lafayette County, Missouri, carrying away about $600. The men retreated through a rear door, mounted their horses, and started north. 

An alarm was given quickly, and a posse started in close pursuit of the bandits. One of the robbers' horses tired, and its rider dismounted and darted into the shelter of a cornfield but not before he was spotted by one of the posse members. The man was soon found inside the cornfield, captured, and brought back to Corder. The captive, who gave his name as Andrew Murrell, had about half of the stolen loot on his person. 

Two law officers were getting ready to take the robber to the county seat at Lexington when a mob formed, overpowered them, and took the prisoner away. He was strung up to a nearby thorn tree and, according to at least one report, his body was riddled with bullets. The body was left hanging until the next morning, when the county coroner arrived to cut it down. 

Although the man who was lynched had given his name as Andrew Murrell, circumstantial evidence suggested that he might really be Jesse Messer, who had disappeared from neighboring Pettis County a few days earlier. Relatives of Messer traveled to Lafayette County and identified some of the personal effects of the dead man as having belonged to Messer. The body was then dug up and the identity of the man confirmed as Jesse Messer. 

Everyone thought that was the end of the story, but it took a strange twist when Messer showed up at his home near Houstonia (Pettis County) in June of 1892, ten months after he had disappeared. He said he'd gone to Saline County when he left home and had been working there ever since. He had heard about his supposed lynching, had got a good laugh out of it, and, thinking it was an insignificant matter, had neglected to inform his family that he was not dead. He asked their forgiveness for not telling them. 

The question that now arose, as one newspaper asked, was, "Who was the man lynched?" It was suggested that perhaps the dead man's name was indeed Andrew Murrell, just as he had told officers, but, as far as I've been able to learn, the mystery was never solved with certainty. 

 

Fooling with the Wrong Daughter

On May 6,1896, Sealous Grugin, a farmer living near Atlanta in Macon County (MO), took a double-barreled shotgun and went to the neighboring farm of his son-in-law, Walter Jefferson Hadley, where he found Hadley and his wife (Grugin's daughter) working in the field. Only a few words were spoken (and what those words were was later a matter of disagreement) before Grugin raised the gun and shot his unarmed son-in-law. Hadley fell at first fire, and his wife, Luella, cried out, "Oh, Pa, why have you killed Jeff?"

But Grugin wasn't finished. He took a step or two closer to Hadley and shot him again while he was down. Hadley died almost instantly. Grugin promptly headed toward town to turn himself in to authorities. On the way, he told a person he met that Hadley had raped one of his daughters but that he would never rape another one. 

Grugin's trial on a first-degree murder charge was held in Macon County Circuit Court in the spring of 1897. Grugin freely admitted killing Hadley, but he felt he was justified in doing so because Hadley had allegedly raped Luella's sixteen-year-old sister, Alma, a few weeks before the murder while she was staying overnight with the Hadleys. Grugin had only learned of the assault on the day of the murder. Grugin took the stand in his own defense, and Alma testified that Hadley had indeed raped her. Luella, on the other hand, testified for the prosecution that the murder was a cold-blooded execution.

It had been revealed in the aftermath of the shooting that bad blood existed between Grugin and Hadley long before the killing. Grugin didn't like Hadley even before he married Luella, and he had strongly opposed the marriage. Many people thought Grugin had acted impulsively and that Hadley was not guilty of raping Alma. Some thought instead that her fiance had criminally assaulted her and that she had tried to shift the blame to Hadley. Alma insisted this was not the case and that she had told the truth. 

The trial ended in a hung jury, with eleven reportedly for acquittal and only one for conviction. At his second trial in December of 1897, though, Grugin was convicted of second-degree murder and sentenced to fifteen years in the penitentiary. He was released on bond pending the outcome of an appeal, and the Missouri Supreme Court overturned the conviction in late 1898 and remanded the case to Macon County for a new trial. The third trial was held in October of 1899, and the jury acquitted Grugin after a brief deliberation on the grounds of the "unwritten law" that a man had the right to defend the sanctity of his home and family. 

 

 

The Murder of Frank Wade

On Tuesday, July 28, 1897, the neighborhood between Relfe and Spring Creek in southwest Phelps County (MO) was thrown into excitement when the nude body of 11-year-old Frank Wade was found in a pond on the Hamilton Lawson property, his throat having been slashed. Hamilton Lawson's wife and at least one of their sons were suspected of the murder, a mob formed, and the only thing that prevented a lynching was the lack of "a hot-headed leader."

Frank and his 14-year-old brother, Millard, had gone over to the Lawson place on Sunday the 26th to play with Hamilton's 15-year-old son Johnny and his 11-year-old grandson, Rack. The four boys spent the morning playing together before Frank and Rack separated from the other two shortly before noon and went into a pasture. 

When the boys were called to dinner (i.e. lunch), all of them showed up except Frank. When questioned, Rack said that Frank had "gone up the ravine singing and laughing." 

Later in the day, Millard went home, thinking he'd find his younger brother there, but he wasn't there. Frank's parents became greatly worried and gave an alarm. Search parties failed to turn up any sign of the missing boy until his body was found two days later.

Based on the testimony of witness Martin Harris, Mrs. Lawson and two of her sons, 30-year-old Jake and Rack's father, Andy, were arrested on suspicion of murder. 

Andy's trial was held first, in March of 1897. Although the case against Lawson was largely circumstantial, it was considered a strong case for the prosecution. Among the evidence presented was the fact that the defendant had gone to his mother and father's house and secured a razor on the fateful day, supposedly to shave with, but he still had a full beard several days later. To the chagrin of many observers, however, Lawson's trial ended in a hung jury.

His mother was then tried in the summer of 1897 and found not guilty. Again, many observers thought she was guilty, but many also conceded that the state had not presented a strong case against her. 

Jake was tried and Andy was re-tried at the same time, in December of 1897, and they, too, were acquitted. Many people in the Phelps County area remained convinced, however, that they were guilty.

One possible motive for the crime that was put forward was the fact that William Wade, Frank's father, had shot and killed a brother of Jake and Andy several years earlier after the brother was arrested on a robbery charge and tried to escape while Wade, who had been deputized to guard him, was on duty. Some folks, on the other hand, conjectured that the boys had gotten into a fight, that one or both of the Lawson boys had killed the Wade boy, and that the Lawson adults tried to shield their kids. 

Jess Hall: An Old Offender

On the night of August 1, 1907, 19-year-old Jess Hall assaulted Springfield (MO) police officer J. M. Noe at the Green Light Saloon after Noe went there to investigate a report that Hall was causing a disturbance. Halll was alleged to have struck Noe with a "pair of knucks." A Springfield newspaper said at the time that Hall had been arrested a number of times previously. What the paper didn't know was that Hall was just getting started on his life of crime.

Hall was arrested a few nights after the Green Light incident and held for trial on an assault charge. When he went on trial in November of 1907, Noe was the principal witness against Hall, while the young man's former wife was the main defense witness. She had ben present at the time of the incident, but she had divorced him while he was in jail. Nevertheless, she cried and took on when Hall was convicted and sentenced to three years in the state prison. The Springfield Leader again observed that Hall was  an "old offender" who had been convicted seven times in local court on various charges ranging from petit larceny to disturbing the peace.

Hall was admitted to the penitentiary in Jeff City in late December 1907 and released in February 1910 on the 3/4 rule. Returning home to Springfield, he must have stayed relatively clean for a few months, but in late 1911 he was arrested for stealing chickens and charged with grand larceny. 

Again, he was convicted and sent up the river, and he again served 3/4ths of his time. Sentenced to four years, he was released in late December 1914. This time, it took him only until September 1915 to get into trouble again. He was arrested on robbery charge after holding up a Kansas City salesman near Maple Park Cemetery at the south end of South Street. 

He was convicted once again and this time was sentenced to approximately ten years in the penitentiary. He got out after only a little over a year on a commutation from the governor. Apparently old Jess went relatively straight after that. At least I didn't notice his name in the papers in the late 1910s.

A Murder in Oregon County

The charred body of Oscar Bushart, a 27-year-old real estate dealer, was found in the backseat of an automobile on Friday, July 13, 1934, in a lonely spot northeast of Thayer (MO), the apparent victim of a torch slaying. 

The coroner examined the body and concluded that Bushart had likely been beaten before he was burned. The car in which the man was found belonged to his father-in-law, 37-year-old R. E. Edwards, also a real estate dealer. Bushart had not been seen since Thursday night and had apparently been dead several hours before he was found early Friday afternoon.

Edwards told reporters he had "no idea" what the motive for the killing might be. Edwards said neither he nor his stepson, who worked in Edwards's agency, had any enemies that he knew about in their real estate dealings. Edwards said that if Bushart had received any threats, he didn't know about them, and he suggested robbery as a possible motive.

Edwards, who'd been married to Bushart's mother since Bushart was a youngster, said he'd practically raised him and that he'd never had any trouble with him. He didn't know why anybody would be after Bushart. 

Edwards talked a good game, but, come to find out, he himself was behind the murder. 

Joe Luck Braden, a 35-year-old Thayer man, was suspected of being involved in the murder from the beginning because he was known to have argued with Bushart shortly before the latter's death. Three months later, authorities linked Braden and Edwards together in the crime after it was learned they'd been prison mates together in Arkansas. 

Both Braden and Edwards were arrested on suspicion. Braden admitted the killing, and Edwards admitted paying him to do the dirty deed. Braden said he'd beaten Bushart to death and then poured gasoline over the body and burned it. He was promised $500 by Edwards but was paid only a small fraction of that amount. Edwards's motive was a $4,000 life insurance policy he had taken out on Bushart. 

A day or two later, Edwards also implicated a third man, saying that Ike Dawson had helped Braden do the actual killing. In addition, Edwards's wife gave police information about two other murders that her husband had previously committed. 

He was charged only for the Bushart murder, however, as were his two co-defendants. Dawson pleaded guilty in early April 1935 to first-degree murder and was sentenced to life imprisonment. In June 1935, Braden also pleaded guilty to first-degree murder, and Edwards was found guilty of the same charge by a jury, which recommended a life sentence. The judge sentenced both to life in prison. 

Edwards was paroled in 1957 after serving 22 years of his supposedly life sentence. No word on what happened to his two co-defendants after they went to prison.

Joplin Bawdy Houses

Two of the past three weeks I've written about bawdy houses and prostitution in Springfield, but Joplin puts Springfield to shame when it comes to a track record of prostitution. I suppose "put to shame" is a poor way to say that prostitution in Joplin has always been more prevalent than in Springfield because a lot of arbiters of morality, I'm sure, would say that Joplin, not Springfield, has the shameful record. Nonetheless, I thought I'd take a look at Joplin prostitution this week.

From the time Joplin was first founded in 1873 (very likely even before it was officially founded, when it was nothing but a mining camp) prostitution was prevalent in Joplin. Prostitution was not legal, but city officials tended to look the other way. For many years, the only real effort to control the vice was a fine system that served more or less as a de facto licensing system. Periodically, usually toward the end of each month, police would come around to the various houses of ill repute and collect fines from the madam and the working girls. 

Prostitution continued almost unabated throughout the late 1800s and early 1900s, although there were occasional attempts, largely unsuccessful, to crack down on the bawdy houses. Prohibition put a damper on prostitution and other vices in Joplin just as it did almost everywhere else, but it didn't stop it altogether. 

For instance, I recently ran across a September 1928 story in the Joplin Globe about the city health commissioner's campaign to try to rid the city of prostitution. The commissioner especially didn't like the fact that bawdy houses were allowed to operate in Joplin under the guise of rooming houses. He thought the city ought to claim down on the licensing of the rooming houses, but members of the city council were cool to his proposition. They seemed to think there was little they could do legally to deny licenses under the current ordinances.

The commissioner responded that they ought to change the ordinances and that police ought to repeatedly raid every rooming house suspected of being a front for prostitution until the prostitutes were forced either to stop business or leave town. He even made a motion to that effect, but "the motion was apparently forgotten during the discussion that followed." 

More on 1940s Springfield Prostitution

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about bawdy houses in Springfield (MO) during the early 1940s and about the police chief's crackdown on them in 1944. Since then, I ran across an interesting article that sheds additional light on the extent of prostitution in the city in the early 1940s and how prostitutes operated.

In November 1941. a reporter for the Springfield Leader and Press named Tom Tyro decided to look into those very questions. His investigation revealed that Springfield boasted about 150 "regular prostitutes" who worked in 22 houses concentrated in the same small area in downtown Springfield (no doubt the area around College and Campbell streets that I mentioned two weeks ago), although a few worked out of houses scattered in other parts of the town. 

To get a better idea of the living conditions of the prostitutes and how their operation worked, the reporter called on a few of the girls. The first one he visited had her room at the top of a stairs in a boarding house. In the hallway outside the girl's room was a little bell on a table and a sign above the table that read "Ring for landlady." 

Tyro observed that the hallway was not very clean, but, after being let into the girl's room, he found it to be clean with shiny, polished floors and with the bed freshly painted and made up. The girl herself was "scrupulously clean." 

Tyro ended up talking to twenty different young prostitutes, and he learned that they made about $15 to $30 a week on average. "All of them were clean. None of them drank. Some smoked. All of them were well versed in the ways of their profession, all of them knew how to guard themselves and their clients, all of them made a practice of being examined by a physician at least once a month."

One of the landladies explained that the reason the girls didn't drink was that she didn't permit them to do so because they couldn't handle the men as well when they were "tight." Also, if she allowed drinking, the girls would start "hanging around taprooms," and she wouldn't have any girls left. 

Most of the time the girls and their landlords were able to handle their clients and keep rowdiness to a minimum, but occasionally police had to be called. The police did answer such calls, and that was the extent of "police protection" that the prostitutes and landladies received. The girls told Tyro that the police rarely bothered them because they knew the girls were clean and that they tried to hold down rowdiness. 

The doctor who examined and treated most of the girls was city health commissioner Dr. W. E. Handley. One of the girls mentioned him by name and said that he was doing "a wonderful job" keeping the regular prostitutes in Springfield clean. She complained, however, about the "taproom girls," who, she thought, "spread twice as much disease in a week as we do in a year." Why didn't Dr. Handley examine them, she wanted to know. 

Handley told the reporter that he'd like to do something about the "barflies" but that the law didn't give him any authority over them. Another doctor commended Dr. Handley for his work. Handley had "stuck his neck out in examining these girls." As a city official, he wasn't even supposed to know that the houses of prostitution existed. However, the unidentified doctor thought that most of the medical profession was behind Dr. Handley. "We all know that the taproom girls are far worse than the initiated prostitutes, but I don't think there is any way that the situation can be remedied under the present ordinances." 

Those ordinances, though, as we learned two weeks ago, were about to change. In 1944, the chief of police would claim down on prostitution in Springfield.

Called Her a Strumpet

Things used to make newspaper headlines that nowadays wouldn't even be considered newsworthy, or that would be considered nobody's business except the parties involved. Some of those items, though, were quite interesting. Take the July 27, 1897, story in the Springfield (MO) News-Democrat headlined "Called Her a Strumpet," for example.

It seems Mary Cable had filed for divorce from her husband, G. T. Cable, on the grounds that he "was possessed of an ungovernable temper" and that she had "endured its outbursts throughout their married life." Mary further asserted that her husband had called her all sorts of vile names and wrongfully accused her of infidelity. Allegedly, Cable had repeatedly waved his fist in front of Mary's face and called her a "good for nothing strumpet."

He also refused to let Mary use the money that she had made from selling chickens, eggs, and other produce that she had raised herself. In addition, any time Mary would visit friends or relatives, her husband would accuse her when she came home of having "associated with lewd and immoral men." 

One of Mary's specific complaints was that on July 17, just ten days before the article appeared in the paper, Cable had come out to where she was milking a cow, gotten angry for no reason, and abused and kicked her. 

Cable was reportedly a well-known citizen in the Springfield area, and the couple had been married for over twenty years and had seven children together. Mary asked for custody of the youngest one, who was three years old, and for an even split of the family's personal property, which was valued at $3,700. 

Springfield Bawdy Houses

In my book Wicked Springfield (MO), I discussed various vices in the city, including prostitution, but the book only covered up through the 1910s. It left off about the time Prohibition took effect, because the new law caused a noticeable drop off in vice in general, not just in alcohol-related offenses.

The lifting of Prohibition in the early 1930s, however, ushered in a new era, and vice, especially prostitution, once again flourished in Springfield. I probably shouldn't use the word "flourish," because Springfield has never been exactly a hotbed of crime, certainly not in the nineteenth century or first half of the twentieth century. But prostitution did revive somewhat in the post-Prohibition era. 

In January of 1942, for instance a husband wife were charged with keeping a bawdy house at the hotel they ran at 427 1/2 S. Campbell. Another couple was charged with a similar offense in conjunction with a hotel they ran at 406 1/2 W. Walnut. Yet another couple were charged with keeping a bawdy house at their hotel at 407 1/2 S. Campbell, and a fourth woman was charged with running a bawdy house out of her hotel at 404 1/2 W. Walnut. 

All of these hotels were in the same immediate vicinity (on or near Campbell Street from two or three blocks south of College to two or three blocks north of College). This was only a few blocks from the railroad depot on North Main, and most of the hotel customers probably were travelers arriving at the depot who wanted a place to stay (and be entertained at the same time). At least this was the case during the aughts and teens, decades I researched and wrote about in Wicked Springfield. 

In early February 1942, yet another couple were charged with running a bawdy house at their hotel at 423 1/2 S. Campbell. About the same time a man named Johnson was convicted of receiving part of the funds from two prostitutes who operated out of his rooming house at 214 1/2 S. Campbell. He was sentenced to ten years in prison, later reduced to five years.

The stiff sentence didn't put much of a damper on prostitution in Springfield, because it continued pretty much unabated over the next couple of years. Mrs. Johnson, for one, took up right where her husband had left off.

Finally, in mid-1944 Springfield police chief Warren Hayes decided to claim down on "the oldest profession." He proposed raising the maximum fine for violating certain ordinances, including keeping a bawdy house, to $500. The proposed law would levy a fine varying from $100 to $500 on anyone "keeping a bawdy house, displaying a sign of honest occupation as a screen for a bawdy house, renting a room to a man and woman knowing they are not man and wife, keeping or permitting a female under 18 to remain in an establishment which is used as a bawdy house."

The penalty for prostitutes loitering in a public place was to be raised to a minimum of $5 and a maximum of $300. Soliciting could cost them from $25 to $300. 

Apparently, the new laws and a determined effort by the police chief did have some effect in curbing prostitution in Springfield, if the number of times terms like "bawdy house" appeared in Springfield newspapers over the next few years is any indication. Or maybe it just went farther underground.

Christmas Revelry

Nowadays we usually think of New Year's Eve as the primary hell-raising holiday of the year. Some of the summer holidays, such as the 4th of July and Labor Day, are also occasions for drinking and carousing for some people. 

However, most people, or at least most people I know, do not think of Christmas as a special time for partying, except maybe the office parties that some businesses hold a few days before the holiday. December 25 itself tends to be more of a solemn occasion, at least for Christians. It is also a joyous occasion, especially for kids, but it's not what most of us think of as a raucous, hell-raising occasion.

Apparently, that has not always been the case in America. In doing historical research, I've run across numerous mentions of men celebrating Christmas by getting drunk and raising hell. 

For instance, in late December of 1901 the Springfield Leader-Democrat lamented the revelry that had taken place in the city on Christmas Day. "Some persons," said the newspaper, "always insist on making Christmas an occasion of riot and debauchery, and they frequently come out of their holiday excesses badly worsted. The city calaboose had its Christmas aftermath last night and this morning Judge Mason inspected a penitent crowd of prisoners who waited for the admonition of the law. There were red eyes, gashed cheeks, muddy hats, tousled locks of dirty hair and other signs of the gross revelry of yesterday." 

The reporter cited several cases in particular.

S. A. Rowden, a Civil War veteran who lived east of town, had come to Springfield in a buggy, bought a bottle of whiskey, and got drunk. He was headed toward his buggy to head back home when he was arrested and put in the pokey. He told the judge the next day that he'd paid two recent fines for drunkenness, not realizing the judge's policy of being lenient on that count toward veterans. So, he thought the judge should let him off without a fine and that one night in jail was sufficient punishment. The judge apparently agreed, remarking that he noticed that Rowden had kept his drunken sprees to only about one every six months. He admonished Rowden not to take more than one or two big sprees between then and the next Christmas and sent him on his way.

Meanwhile, Buck Blades, "a young man well known about Billings and Republic," slept off his jag in the calaboose and paid a fine of one dollar the next day.

Ross Hall and George Williams were arrested for a cutting affray on South Street on Christmas afternoon. "The two young men swung their knives recklessly, and two or three persons were slightly cut." Hall and Williams were scheduled for trial in police court on the afternoon of 26th or 27th (exact date not clear). 

 

An Affray at Potter's Saloon

In my book Wicked Springfield (MO), I briefly mentioned a shooting incident that occurred at William Potter's saloon, located just off the square on Boonville, on the evening of August 6, 1880, but today I thought I'd go into a little more detail about the episode.

The 41-year-old Potter had both his residence and his saloon at 221 Boonville. About 10:30 p.m. on Friday the 6th, eight black men came into the saloon and ordered beer. After they'd drunk the beer, they called for a free lunch, which Potter was accustomed to providing for his regular customers. 

Since these men were not regular customers (and probably also because they were black), Potter refused to provide the requested meal, and a fracas broke out. 

Who began the hostilities is not exactly clear, but Potter threw several beer glasses at his unwelcome guests during the melee, and the black men, in return, fired several shots, one of which struck Potter in the hip. The wound was considered serious but not dangerous to the point of being life threatening. 

Several people took part in the shooting, including one white man, it was reported, but the exact identities of the shooters remained unclear several days later. 

All of the black men who'd entered Potter's saloon together were arrested, although three were almost immediately released. The other five were soon released on bail as well and were scheduled for hearings on August 13. The names of those charged were Isaac Sims, Sam Vaughn, Henry Harrington, R. Johnson, and Albert Campbell. The outcome of their hearings is unknown, but apparently no serious charges were brought. 

Mayhem in Shannon County

On February 14, 1929, two lumbermen, H. L. Rendleman and Henry Jackson (name sometimes given as Johnson), got into a dispute at the Egyptian Tie and Lumber Company 17 miles east of Eminence near Owl's Bend, where they both worked. Jackson ended up hacking Rendleman with a timber axe, almost completely cutting off the victim's arm. Rendleman was taken to Christa Hogan Hospital in West Plains in a dangerous condition. The bone was completely severed, and the arm was barely still attached. It was thought the arm might have to be amputated.

Jackson was charged with mayhem and released on bond. 

Three weeks later, though, Rendleman was released from the hospital and on his way to recovery. Surgeons at the hospital had set the bone and reattached the severed parts of the arm, and it was "healing nicely." 

Jackson was scheduled for trial at the May 1930 term of Shannon County Circuit Court, but I can find no follow-up mention of this case. Apparently, the charge of mayhem must have been dropped or the charge got pleaded down to a misdemeanor after Rendleman recovered, because the legal definition of "mayhem" usually involves severing someone's limb or causing the person to lose complete use of the limb. That was no longer the case with Rendleman.

Me and Hot Temperatures

Those of you who follow this blog may have noticed that I haven't posted anything on here for several weeks, whereas I usually post around once a week. It's because I've been sick and in hospital for almost a week. Still recuperating, but I hope to get back to my once-a-week schedule before long. 

On a historical note, yesterday the temperature reached 102 here in Joplin, which, I believe, the TV weatherman said last night matched the highest ever recorded on the same date (June 29). That previous record was set in 1953, which, as I recall, had some very hot temperatures in late June. The month of July 1954, however, was the hottest ever in the Ozarks. I think an extended drought and period of above-average temps lasted from 1953 to 1956 or something like that. Of course, worldwide the hottest summers on record have almost all been just in the past 10-15 years. 

Noel Train Explosions

In the pre-dawn hours of Sunday morning, August 3, 1969, the town of Noel (MO) was jarred awake by an explosion aboard a Kansas City Southern freight train that had stopped in the small McDonald County town. But it was just a precursor to a bigger, more devastating explosion.

Awakened by the first blast, many local residents had started toward the scene to investigate the source of the explosion when a second, huge blast ripped through the town at about 4:03 a.m., killing one person, injuring about 40 others, and leaving almost the whole town in shambles. Mrs. Roxa Miller, who had gone into the street after the first blast and had started back up the steps into her home, was killed when she was hit by a piece of flying debris from the second explosion.

Initial reports placed the number of businesses destroyed or heavily damaged at 58. Thirty-one homes were ruined and another 58 heavily damaged. One church was demolished. Five railroad cars were destroyed. Nearby trees were snapped, and leaves were blown off trees throughout the town. One person who lived six miles away reported damaged to his home. The blasts triggered several nearby fires and blew a hole in the roadbed 12 to 15 feet deep and 30 to 40 feet in width. 

All 750 residents of Noel and a number of tourists were evacuated for fear of another explosion. A particular concern was that a propane storage tank near the site of the two explosions might also blow up.

The drama began about 3;45 a.m. when the crew of the 115-car KCS freight train noticed a fire aboard the train. They tried to cut out the burning car onto a siding, but the explosion came before they could get the car out of town. 

Noel was declared a disaster area a couple of days after the devastating blasts, making the town eligible for federal funds to help rebuild. 

Investigators were unsure at first what caused the explosions, and even after days of investigation, their conclusions were tentative. The best evidence suggested that a flat car carrying 26 canisters of ammonium perchlorate was on fire when the train rolled into town, and this set off a chain reaction starting with an explosion aboard the flat car and culminating in the explosion of a nearby box car filled with dehydrated alfalfa. 

Irondale Bank Robbery

On the morning of October 26, 1928, the Bank of Irondale (MO) was held up just as the cashier opened for business. Two unmasked young men entered the bank, closed and locked the front door, and drew revolvers. They ordered the cashier, who had just opened the vault and safe, to hand over all the currency, saying they didn't want the silver because it was "too heavy to carry." 

The two bandits fled with about $1,700 to a green vehicle (later identified as an Essex) that they'd parked across the street and took off out of town. The automobile was later found abandoned a couple of miles outside Irondale, and a change of clothes was found nearby. A path through some woods led to another road, where it was assumed the robbers got into a second vehicle to complete their escape. 

About a week later a "rustic-looking" youth who was loitering on a St. Louis Street late at night with some other young men was arrested on suspicion and taken to a police station for questioning. Identifying himself as 19-year-old Homer Babb of Esther, Missouri, the suspect admitted he'd been involved in the Irondale bank robbery. He said he had two partners, one who accompanied him inside the bank and another who waited in the getaway car. His take in the robbery was about $300, he said, but he had already spent all but eight dollars on "whiskey and women."

Babb was arrested and charged with first degree robbery. He was convicted in late November 1928 and sentenced to thirty years in prison. 

In June of the following year, a second man, William Forbes, was arrested and identified as a suspect in the Irondale bank job, but I have found no record that he was convicted of the crime. I also have found no mention of a third suspect being arrested. 

Babb served about eleven years of his thirty-year term before being paroled by the Missouri governor. 

Girl Guerrillas

I mentioned in the preface or introduction of my 2016 book Bushwhacker Belles that the book's title was taken from a phrase in an 1891 newspaper article, Originally published on September 13, 1891, in the St. Louis Globe Democrat, the article was widely reprinted in cities across the country. 

Although the term "bushwhacker belles" has stuck as a sobriquet for the young women who aided guerrillas during the Civil War, the original newspaper article was, ironically enough, entitled "Girl Guerrillas." This week, I thought I might examine that newspaper article in more detail than I did when I cited it in my book.

The article was authored by a correspondent to the Globe-Democrat who called himself Burr Joyce. It's not clear whether that was his real name or a pseudonym, but he wrote fairly often for the Globe-Democrat during the late 1880s and early 1890s. The article's dateline was Chillicothe (MO), August 25 (1891). 

Joyce had something of a reputation for exaggeration, and the stories he told in "Girl Guerrillas" did nothing to counter that reputation.  He claimed, for instance, "There were twenty or more girls and women with Quantrill and Bill Anderson's slaughter of Gen. Blunt's escort...at Baxter Springs.... I have it from an ex-guerrilla who was present that half a dozen of these bushwhacker belles took part in the chase and massacre of Blunt's men--fired their pistols and as rapidly and deadly, rode as swiftly, and cheered as wildly as their masculine comrades." 

In truth, there is no evidence other than this hear-say testimony of one guerrilla who was supposedly present at Baxter Springs that even one woman accompanied Quantrill on his trip south to Texas in the fall of 1863. There were one or two women with Blunt, but none that I know of with Quantrill. 

One thing that I did discuss in Bushwhacker Belles was the exploits that Joyce's newspaper article credited to Sally Mayfield of Vernon County when Sally's sister Ella was, in fact, the one who performed these deeds of derring-do. One example was the feat that Sally, "a splendid horsewoman" supposedly undertook to save a man's life in Fort Scott, riding 120 miles back and forth between Fort Scott and her home near Montevallo "in twelve hours, across country, leaping ravines, scurrying through woodlands and half swimming creeks, without an hour's rest or a wink of sleep." 

According to the 1887 Vernon County History, it was Ella Mayfield who made the ride to Fort Scott to try to save the life of a southern-sympathizing doctor, although it took Ella 24 hours to cover 125 miles, twice as long as it supposedly took sister Sallie to cover 120. Both versions of the story are obvious exaggerations, but at least the county history identified the correct sister. 

There are other examples of exaggeration, if not outright fabrication, in the Joyce story, but these will suffice to show the type of yellow journalism that dominated the press in the late 1800s, especially if the topic was women involved in some sort of gender-defying role or activity.   

Frank James Trial for Bank Robbery Recalled

In 1882, a few months after Jesse James was killed in St. Joseph, his brother Frank went to Jefferson City and turned himself in to the Missouri governor. In August and September of the next year,1883, Frank went on trial at Gallatin, Missouri, seat of Daviess County, for his part in the 1881 train robbery and murder near Winston in the southwestern part of the county. It was one of the most sensational trials in Missouri history, with former gang member Dick Liddell testifying against Frank while Frank's friends, such as former Confederate general Jo Shelby, rallied around the accused.

There was an undercurrent of sympathy for the former outlaw from the outset of the trial. His younger brother had recently been killed, ignominiously assassinated by a member of his own gang, and Frank had gallantly turned himself in to the governor rather than having to be hunted down. So, the not guilty verdict was not entirely unexpected, but still, many observers at the time felt justice had not been done. Indeed, history still records that Frank James was one of the participants in the Winston train robbery.

Forty years after the Frank James trial, it was still a subject of much interest, and in 1923, several newspapers across the state of Missouri ran reminiscent accounts of the proceeding. A writer for the Kansas City Star, after examining old newspapers, noted that the sentiment in favor of James in 1883 even permeated the editorial coverage of the trial. Frank's wife, who sat beside her husband with their young son throughout the trial, was described as "a picture of melancholy" but with "a beauty begotten of real refinement." Frank himself was said to have "eyes of unusual intelligence." 

The trial was marked by splendid oratory on both sides, but in the end, the eloquence of the prosecution could not sway a jury which apparently had already made up its mind.

Murder of E. W. Nelson

On Saturday, February 10, 1900, about 5:30 in the afternoon, thirty-five-year-old E. W. Nelson, accompanied by his wife and two children, went out onto his property near Lenapah, Oklahoma, and started building a fence. Presently, his brother-in-law, Russ Henderson, accompanied by a couple of other men, came up carrying a shotgun. According to at least one initial report, Nelson's wife warned her husband to go to the house to avoid a confrontation, but Nelson assured her Henderson and the other men would not hurt him if he didn't show fight. So, although Nelson was armed, he placed his arms across his chest to show he did not intend to use his gun. Despite the show of non-resistance, Henderson raised his gun and shot Nelson from four feet away. The heavy charge of buckshot killed Nelson instantly, nearly tearing his head off. 

Later reports, as is often the case, added more details. It seems Nelson and Henderson had married sisters, and the father-in-law, Leonard Bowles, according to one source, had laid off a tract of land from his own land for each of the sons-in-law. However, a dispute arose between Nelson and Henderson as to where the line separating the two tracts was. 

Another report gave a more detailed and probably more accurate account of the circumstances leading up to the murder. Bowles had sold Nelson an 80-acre tract of land in the 1898, but when Nelson did not follow through on payments for the land, Bowles sold the 80-acre tract to a man named Polone. Polone and some hired men went to occupy the land and removed some of the fence Nelson had put up. Nelson responded by swearing out warrants against Bowles, Polone, and the hired helpers.

Nelson then went to work putting back the fence that had been torn down. Henderson and two other men, who were working for Bowles, went to the scene and confronted Nelson. Nelson and Henderson exchanged a few words before Henderson raised his shotgun and fired. Henderson claimed he acted in self-defense, but, the report noted, there was "nothing definite about the shooting." 

Henderson and his two companions were arrested on murder charges, while Bowles, Polone, and Polone's hired hands were arrested for removing the fence. All were taken to Claremore and later to Muskogee. The latter men bonded out, while the three charged with murder were held for trial. 

Charges against Henderson's companions were later dropped or reduced, because Henderson seems to be the only one who ultimately faced a murder charge. His trial, which took place in Muskogee in September of 1901, ended in a hung jury. Apparently he was never re-tried, as I can find no mention of a second trial.   

Branson in 1905

Today, we think of Branson (MO) as a vacation and entertainment spot for mid-America, a mecca of live country music, and the home of Silver Dollar City, but it had an inauspicious beginning that would not have led one to imagine what it has become today.

Branson came into existence in the early 1880s, when about all it amounted to was a post office, and the place was named after the first postmaster, R. S. Branson. The name was changed to Lucia in 1901 but was changed back to Branson in 1904 when a town site was laid out on the north and west banks of a bend in the White River in anticipation of the arrival of the Missouri Pacific and Iron Mountain Railroad.

In late March of 1905, ten months after the town of Branson came into existence, a big write-up promoting the place appeared in a Springfield newspaper. The town site had a thousand lots ranging from 25 feet frontage up to one-acre lots. They were already "many beautiful residences and substantial business houses." However, Branson was "greatly in need of a bank," and it also needed a mill, a canning factory and "in fact most lines of business that one can imagine" since the town was only 10 months old and still "in a formation state."  

Although the writer mainly touted Branson because of its mining, timber, agriculture (especially fruit growing), poultry/cattle raising, industrial, and commercial prospects, he did not entirely overlook the town's potential as a resort or vacation spot. Because of the pure waters of White River, he thought it required no prophet to forecast that Branson, with all its natural and acquired advantages, will, even next summer, become a resort, and thousands will go to see this new town."

To have forecast what Branson has become today, however, would indeed have taken a prophet.

Fight Between New Town and Old Town

Residents of Springfield (MO) and North Springfield voted in the spring of 1887 to consolidate the two towns into one town under the name Springfield, but the vote was not without controversy, even after the proposal passed.

A rivalry had existed between the two towns every since North Springfield (called New Town) came into existence when the railroad came to the area in 1870 and was located a mile or so north of the public square. North Springfield grew up around the depot, and although it never rivaled Springfield (Old Town) in population or influence, it did become its own separate town with its own business district and so forth. 

In order to get New Town to agree to the consolidation, residents of Old Town accepted certain concessions, such as locating the new courthouse, the jail, and the post office near Center Street (now Central Street) fairly equidistant between the two towns, instead of on the square, where the old courthouse was. However, there was apparently still some question after the vote to consolidate as to whether the town fathers would carry through and locate the government buildings at the agreed-upon place.

In July of 1887, the Springfield Leader published a series of letters to the editor from those on either side of the issue, airing their grievances. The immediate question at the time was the location of the new jail. A writer calling himself "Center Street" made the case for locating it and the other public buildings near the intersection of Center Street and Boonville Street, as agreed on. He was answered by "Old Mossback," who argued for Old Town, where he felt real estate was more valuable and that the town was more likely to build up around the square. He thought the public square people had already made concessions in allowing the railroad to be located so far from the public square in the first place. Next came "Commercial Street" reiterating North Springfield's case, and he was followed by "Rough and Ready" who rose to the defense of Old Town. Then "Fair Play" took his turn. Despite the suggestion of objectivity in his name, he seemed to side with the public square as well.

As most people familiar with Springfield know, the jail was ultimately built near Central and Boonville, as was the new courthouse and the post office, although the old post office building is no longer a post office and a new jail has also replaced the one built on Boonville.  

Double Tragedy: Attempted Murder and Suicide

 On Wednesday evening, October 2, 1901, in southeast Saline County (MO), William Thomas shot his sweetheart, Minnie Mayse, gravely wounding her, and then stuck the gun in his mouth and killed himself. 

The incident occurred at the home of Charles Aldridge, about a half-mile north of Antioch Church. Arthur Cox, a young man who was working for Aldridge at the time, provided reporters with an account of the affair.

He said Minnie had been visiting her sister, Mrs. Aldridge, for about three weeks and that he (Cox) took Minnie to a singing at the church on the fateful evening. Thomas entered the church a short time after Cox and Minnie did, and after the singing was over, he approached the pair and asked to speak to Minnie alone. 

Cox agreed, but Minnie refused to go with Thomas. So, Cox took the young woman back to the Aldridge residence. However, Thomas followed in his own buggy and after Cox stopped his buggy in the Aldridge yard and helped Minnie out, Thomas jumped out of his rig and yelled for Minnie to come over to him, threatening to kill her and Cox both if she didn't.

Cox told Minnie to go ahead and go with him, and she started with Thomas toward the Aldridge house. The two were reportedly laughing and talking, giving no signs of further argument. However, Cox started away in his buggy and had gone but a short distance when he heard three gun shots. He hurried back to the house and saw Minnie lying on the ground near the front entrance, and Thomas was running toward the road. When he got to the road, another shot rang out. 

Cox helped Mr. and Mrs. Aldridge carry Minnie into the house and then hurried back out to the road. Thomas lay in road with blood pouring from his mouth and was beyond help. He died about two hours later.

Medical help was summoned, and it was found that Minnie had been shot three times, once in the left wrist, once on the side of her neck, and a third time in the back. The third slug lodged to the left of the spine between the 6th and 7th dorsal vertebrae. The doctors probed for the bullet but were unable to locate it.

Mrs. Aldridge said her sister had been engaged to Thomas for about a year. Two letters were found in Thomas's trunk at his home, one addressed to his mother and one addressed to Minnie's mother in which he threatened to kill the young woman and himself. They were dated July 1901, two months before the fatal shooting. 

A coroner's jury met the next day and found that Thomas had come to his death by voluntarily shooting himself in the mouth with a .38 caliber revolver.

At first Minnie was not expected to live, but she did, although she was paralyzed in her lower limbs and was not expected ever to be able to walk again. 

Robbery of the People's Bank of Springfield

When two  men robbed the People's Bank on Commercial Street on the  morning of December 27, 1927, it was the first bank robbery in Springfield history. The two men left their car parked in a nearby alley, went into the store, and flourished pistols. 

They ordered several customers and employees to lie on the floor and told another employee to open the safe. The employee told them the safe was on time lock, but they knew it was a bluff and forced him at gunpoint to open the safe. One of the bandits scooped all the currency he could find from the safe, and the two robbers then ordered everybody into the vault. The bank employee who opened the safe begged them not to lock them in, saying how hot it would be with that many people locked in close quarters, and they agreed not to lock the vault but warned them to stay in it for several minutes before emerging. They agreed, and the bandits took off, jumping in their vehicle, which they had left running, and taking off about ten minutes after they parked it in the alley. 

Two young men, Jack Long and Joseph Fowler, were identified as suspects in the holdup, and two men, thought to be the fugitives, were arrested on the morning of the 29th near Galena, Missouri. They were brought to Springfield later that same day, but they proved not to be Long and Fowler and were released.

The real Jack Long made his way to Texas, where he was arrested in the spring of 1928 for a bank robbery committed after he arrived in the Lone Star State. He was convicted in 1930 and served five years on the charge. When he was released in 1935, he was brought back to Missouri to face charges in the 7-year-old People's Bank job.

He was also convicted of that robbery and sentenced to 10 years in the Missouri State Penitentiary.

Gainesville Bank Robbery

On Tuesday afternoon, August 25, 1931, three men held up the Bank of Gainesville (MO). One man stayed outside in the getaway car while two others entered the bank. Neither was masked, but one wore dark glasses while the other had on a fake mustache. One of the bandits held the cashier and two other people at gunpoint while the second man rifled the tills and the vault for all the loot he could find, which amounted to about $4,000 in cash and over $20,000 in non-negotiable securities. Before making their getaway, the robbers, even though they knew the vault could be unlocked from the inside, forced the cashier and the two bystanders into the vault and told them to stay there for a few minutes. 

The getaway car, a new brown Ford coupe, roared west out of town toward Theodosia. A hastily formed posse gave chase in several different vehicles, but the bandits kept throwing out roofing nails causing the pursuers to puncture their tires. The final pursuit car was forced to call off the chase late in the afternoon near Forsyth after it, too, suffered punctured tires. It was learned at Forsyth (or that vicinity) that another car, containing two women, had met up with the getaway car and aided in the escape.

Around September 1, Charles Quick, a former resident of Protem, was arrested in Seminole, Oklahoma, as a suspect in the Gainesville heist. He was extradited to Missouri.

On the evening of September 2, Oliver Hart of near Protem, his wife, Burr Davidson of Kissee Mills, and his wife were also arrested in connection with the Gainesville bank robbery. Charges against the two women were later dismissed, and the case against Charles Quick was also not pursued, apparently because he'd been mistakenly identified as a participant in the crime when, in fact, it was one or two of his brothers who were allegedly involved. 

Hart and Davidson's joint trial at Gainesville in May 1932 on charges of bank robbery ended in a hung jury, and they were released pending another trial.

In June of 1932, just a month or so after his trial had ended, Hart was shot and killed on the streets of Protem by Edgar Blankenship, a former deputy sheriff of Taney County and a former friend of Hart. The two men had recently had a falling out, though, and Blankenship came to Protem with a rifle about noon on the fateful day and started firing as soon as he saw Hart. Blankenship, as a Taney County deputy, had aided in Hart's arrest, and this was apparently at least partly the source of the dispute between the two men. Hart had reportedly threatened Blankenship, telling him he was a dead man. At any rate, the ex-deputy was acquitted of murder in the Hart killing.

Meanwhile, two Quick brothers, Joe and George, were arrested in Joplin in May of 1933 on charges of robbing the Gainesville bank. They were brought back to Ozark County, but I have not traced what happened to them after that.