What the Springfield Leader-Democrat called "a genuine wild west shooting affray" occurred at Nixa, Missouri, on the night of Saturday, December 26, 1896. Twenty-four-year-old Ben Slay, who, according to the Leader-Democrat, had "an inclination to bulldoze the town in desperado fashion when he (got) drunk," went into Peter Adams's drugstore in an intoxicated state and commenced to "bully the crowd" that had gathered there to smoke and tell stories, even though he had no particular grievance against any of the men.
Slay then stepped just outside the door and flourished his revolver, daring anyone inside the store to follow him out. Finally proprietor Peter Adams went to the door with his pistol and ordered Slay to leave. He was backed up by Charles, John, and Harvey McConnell, who went to the door also in case any trouble started. The next thing anyone knew shots rang out. Who commenced shooting first was supposedly unknown, but by the time the shooting ceased, twenty or more rounds had been fired. Slay suffered three gunshot wounds, through the right breast, the left groin, and the right leg; and he was given little chance of surviving. Meanwhile, Charles McConnell retreated into the store with a wound to one arm. The whole affray last only about a minute.
Slay's wounds were dressed, and he was carried to his home in Nixa.
In reporting the incident, the Springfield newspaper noted that the Nixa trouble marked the third shooting affair Slay had been involved in. A few years earlier, he'd been shot almost to death by a man named John McClain, and just a three months before the most recent episode he'd been badly wounded by William Fought in another scrape at Nixa. The newspaper failed to mention that back in 1894 Slay had been charged with arson for burning down a barn near Billings.
A day or so after its initial report, the Leader-Democrat issued an update saying that Slay was improving and was expected to live after all. The newspaper also revised its earlier report to say that two McConnell boys and Pete Edwards were the three men who'd followed Slay to the door of the drugstore, with only one or two of them having revolvers. During the initial barrage of gunfire, Slay dropped his revolver and ran, but one of his pursuers picked it up and shot Slay twice more with his own gun.
One of the McConnells was arrested, but he was released upon his preliminary examination, when it was determined that he was acting in self defense.
Slay, contrary to expectation, did not recover but instead died from his wounds on January 21, 1897, not quite a month after the Nixa shootout. He was eulogized at the time as "the hero of several shooting scrapes in Christian County."
Saturday, March 31, 2018
Sunday, March 25, 2018
I Hope I Burn Forever
The Cameron (MO) Daily Observer reported on December 17, 1907, that Mrs. Albert Filley, living five miles southeast of Cameron on the road that separated Clinton and Caldwell counties, had been kicked in the head by a horse and seriously injured on the 14th, but, as future events and testimony would reveal, that’s not what happened.
On December 21, exactly a week after Mrs. Filley had supposedly been kicked by a horse, the Filley neighborhood was horrorstricken when they awoke to learn that Albert Filley had killed his wife, his little girl, and his brother. He’d also tried to kill his sister-in-law, but she had escaped in her nightclothes and raced to the neighboring home of J. W. Chaffin to give an alarm.
A local constable was summoned, and he and a small posse arrested Albert Filley without incident as he emerged from his house. Inside the Filley home, the neighbors found Albert’s wife, Fannie, lying dead in her bed. Her skull was crushed from several blows to the head, and a bloody hammer was found nearby. Lying partly beneath the bed was the body of seven-year-old Dolly Filley, the couple’s daughter, and her head also showed evidence of having been struck with a blunt instrument.
Clay Filley, who’d been staying with his brother to help out with the chores ever since Fanny had been injured, was found dead on the floor near the doorway separating Albert and Fanny’s bedroom from the room where Clay and his family had been sleeping. He’d apparently died of a single gunshot wound, as no other marks of violence were found on his body. Clay’s wife, Elsie, had been knocked senseless, but she regained consciousness while Filley was outside at a well. Still bleeding from her head wound, she had escaped to the Chaffin residence, taking her infant child with her.
After his arrest, Filley was guarded at his home until the Caldwell County sheriff could arrive and take him to the county jail at Kingston, almost twenty miles away.
Recuperating at a neighbor’s home, Elsie Filley soon rallied enough to relate the crime in more detail. She said her husband, Clay, was sitting up with Fannie when his brother suddenly burst into the room without provocation about 4:00 a.m. and shot him with a revolver. The wounded Clay sprang up, and the two men wrestled over the pistol. Albert Finney finally broke loose and fled outdoors, while Clay went to the kitchen, where his wife and child were sleeping. He awakened Elsie and told her what had happened. She and Clay barricaded the house to keep Albert out, but he soon returned with a hammer and a stick of wood and smashed the glass in the kitchen door. Elsie and Clay fought with Albert at the door to keep him out, and he soon retreated to the well and started pumping water. By now, Clay Filley was so weak from his bullet wound that he sank to the floor dying. When Elsie heard her crazed brother-in-law returning to the house, she grabbed a bottle of carbolic acid and threw it on him, but it didn’t keep him from forcing his way into the house. Albert struck Elsie down with the stick of wood and stalked into his wife’s room. As Filley went to work smashing in the brains of his wife and daughter, Elsie revived, snatched her baby girl from bed, and dashed out of the house toward the Chaffin place.
A newspaperman called at the county jail in Kingston on December 22 to get Albert Filley’s side of the story. Albert said that he, Clay, and Elsie were all sitting up with Fannie on the night in question. Near morning, he went outside to check on his chickens. When he returned after about thirty minutes, he found his wife and child lying dead, and Elsie immediately attacked him with a wooden club. Clay, also armed with a club, promptly joined his wife in the assault. After fighting the pair a short while, Albert managed to get the revolver he’d taken with him to the chicken coop out of his pocket and shoot his brother. Despite being shot, Clay continued fighting, and he and Elsie knocked Albert down. Clay collapsed about the same time, and while Albert lay stunned on the floor, Elsie escaped.
The prisoner denied having assaulted his wife in the barn a week earlier in an attempt to kill her, as nearly everyone now suspected.
Filley’s first-degree murder trial for the death of his wife got underway at Kingston on June 22, 1908. The state’s theory of the crime was that Filley had tried to kill his wife a week before the murders, clubbing her in the barn and falsely reporting that she’d been kicked by a horse. When he realized that she was likely going to recover from her injuries, he determined once again to kill her. The doctor who treated Fannie after the December 14 incident testified that her injuries were more consistent with having been struck repeatedly with a board than with having been kicked by a horse. Neighbor Chaffin said that Filley came to his house to tell him his wife had been kicked by a horse and that he (Chaffin) hurried to the scene but that Filley himself showed virtually no inclination to help his wife. Another neighbor testified he saw the couple having an altercation at the barn.
Filley’s lawyers pursued an insanity defense, but the jury came back on June 27 with a guilty verdict, fixing punishment at death. After an appeal to the Missouri governor, the execution was set for September 21. Three days before the fateful date, Filley refused an offer to see a spiritual advisor, explaining, “If I did what they say I did, I hope I’ll burn forever.”
Filley was hanged at Kingston on the 21st and afterwards buried in McDaniel Cemetery beside the wife and child he’d killed.
This post is condensed from a chapter in my book Yanked Into Eternity: Lynchings and Hangings in Missouri.
On December 21, exactly a week after Mrs. Filley had supposedly been kicked by a horse, the Filley neighborhood was horrorstricken when they awoke to learn that Albert Filley had killed his wife, his little girl, and his brother. He’d also tried to kill his sister-in-law, but she had escaped in her nightclothes and raced to the neighboring home of J. W. Chaffin to give an alarm.
A local constable was summoned, and he and a small posse arrested Albert Filley without incident as he emerged from his house. Inside the Filley home, the neighbors found Albert’s wife, Fannie, lying dead in her bed. Her skull was crushed from several blows to the head, and a bloody hammer was found nearby. Lying partly beneath the bed was the body of seven-year-old Dolly Filley, the couple’s daughter, and her head also showed evidence of having been struck with a blunt instrument.
Clay Filley, who’d been staying with his brother to help out with the chores ever since Fanny had been injured, was found dead on the floor near the doorway separating Albert and Fanny’s bedroom from the room where Clay and his family had been sleeping. He’d apparently died of a single gunshot wound, as no other marks of violence were found on his body. Clay’s wife, Elsie, had been knocked senseless, but she regained consciousness while Filley was outside at a well. Still bleeding from her head wound, she had escaped to the Chaffin residence, taking her infant child with her.
After his arrest, Filley was guarded at his home until the Caldwell County sheriff could arrive and take him to the county jail at Kingston, almost twenty miles away.
Recuperating at a neighbor’s home, Elsie Filley soon rallied enough to relate the crime in more detail. She said her husband, Clay, was sitting up with Fannie when his brother suddenly burst into the room without provocation about 4:00 a.m. and shot him with a revolver. The wounded Clay sprang up, and the two men wrestled over the pistol. Albert Finney finally broke loose and fled outdoors, while Clay went to the kitchen, where his wife and child were sleeping. He awakened Elsie and told her what had happened. She and Clay barricaded the house to keep Albert out, but he soon returned with a hammer and a stick of wood and smashed the glass in the kitchen door. Elsie and Clay fought with Albert at the door to keep him out, and he soon retreated to the well and started pumping water. By now, Clay Filley was so weak from his bullet wound that he sank to the floor dying. When Elsie heard her crazed brother-in-law returning to the house, she grabbed a bottle of carbolic acid and threw it on him, but it didn’t keep him from forcing his way into the house. Albert struck Elsie down with the stick of wood and stalked into his wife’s room. As Filley went to work smashing in the brains of his wife and daughter, Elsie revived, snatched her baby girl from bed, and dashed out of the house toward the Chaffin place.
A newspaperman called at the county jail in Kingston on December 22 to get Albert Filley’s side of the story. Albert said that he, Clay, and Elsie were all sitting up with Fannie on the night in question. Near morning, he went outside to check on his chickens. When he returned after about thirty minutes, he found his wife and child lying dead, and Elsie immediately attacked him with a wooden club. Clay, also armed with a club, promptly joined his wife in the assault. After fighting the pair a short while, Albert managed to get the revolver he’d taken with him to the chicken coop out of his pocket and shoot his brother. Despite being shot, Clay continued fighting, and he and Elsie knocked Albert down. Clay collapsed about the same time, and while Albert lay stunned on the floor, Elsie escaped.
The prisoner denied having assaulted his wife in the barn a week earlier in an attempt to kill her, as nearly everyone now suspected.
Filley’s first-degree murder trial for the death of his wife got underway at Kingston on June 22, 1908. The state’s theory of the crime was that Filley had tried to kill his wife a week before the murders, clubbing her in the barn and falsely reporting that she’d been kicked by a horse. When he realized that she was likely going to recover from her injuries, he determined once again to kill her. The doctor who treated Fannie after the December 14 incident testified that her injuries were more consistent with having been struck repeatedly with a board than with having been kicked by a horse. Neighbor Chaffin said that Filley came to his house to tell him his wife had been kicked by a horse and that he (Chaffin) hurried to the scene but that Filley himself showed virtually no inclination to help his wife. Another neighbor testified he saw the couple having an altercation at the barn.
Filley’s lawyers pursued an insanity defense, but the jury came back on June 27 with a guilty verdict, fixing punishment at death. After an appeal to the Missouri governor, the execution was set for September 21. Three days before the fateful date, Filley refused an offer to see a spiritual advisor, explaining, “If I did what they say I did, I hope I’ll burn forever.”
Filley was hanged at Kingston on the 21st and afterwards buried in McDaniel Cemetery beside the wife and child he’d killed.
This post is condensed from a chapter in my book Yanked Into Eternity: Lynchings and Hangings in Missouri.
Sunday, March 18, 2018
Charivari Turns Deadly
On February 1, 1907, 24-year-old Robert Threet married 16-year-old Maud Merryfield in Benton County, Arkansas. When the newlyweds went home to spend their first night together, they were met by a rowdy charivari that Threet thought went a little too far. A couple of Threet's brothers participated in the revelry, but Threet was angry in particular at 23-year-old Eli Ecton, a former sweetheart of Maud's, who supposedly tried to "gain admittance to the bridal chamber." It was also said that Threet thought Ecton, who was engaged to another young woman and had apparently moved on from Maud, was nonetheless spreading rumors about the young bride.
The spat between the two young men came to a head a few weeks later, on February 20, 1907, when both of them attended a service at Tuck's Chapel, about five miles north of Rogers. Accounts differ as to exactly what happened. According to one story, at the close of the service Ecton exited the building first and Threet followed him out. Picking up a limb or similar instrument, Threet clubbed Ecton over the back of head without warning, knocking him down, and then pounced on him with a knife, stabbing him three times. Another version of the story says that Ecton accosted and threatened Threet first before the stabbing incident occurred. In either case, Threet fled the area immediately afterwards with no trace of where he'd gone. Meanwhile, Ecton lingered on his deathbed for about three weeks before finally dying about the middle of March.
No leads as to Threet's whereabouts were gained until over a year later, in the spring of 1908, when one of Threet's brothers borrowed an envelope from a local businessman and used it to send a letter to Threet, under the assumed name Arthur James, at Ritzville in the state of Washington. When Threet did not promptly pick up the letter at the Ritzville post office, it was returned to the businessman, whose name was in the return address. He opened the letter and, realizing the suspicious nature of its contents, turned it over to local authorities. Threet was soon arrested and brought back to Arkansas. His young wife, who'd joined him in Washington just a week or two before, was also brought back.
Threet was charged with murder, and the case came to trial in September 1908. I've been unable to readily determine the exact outcome of the trial, but apparently Threet was acquitted, because two years later, at the time of the 1900 census, he and Maud were living in Rogers with their one-year-old baby. If this is true, the jury must not have believed the version of the crime that said Ecton had been attacked without provocation.
The spat between the two young men came to a head a few weeks later, on February 20, 1907, when both of them attended a service at Tuck's Chapel, about five miles north of Rogers. Accounts differ as to exactly what happened. According to one story, at the close of the service Ecton exited the building first and Threet followed him out. Picking up a limb or similar instrument, Threet clubbed Ecton over the back of head without warning, knocking him down, and then pounced on him with a knife, stabbing him three times. Another version of the story says that Ecton accosted and threatened Threet first before the stabbing incident occurred. In either case, Threet fled the area immediately afterwards with no trace of where he'd gone. Meanwhile, Ecton lingered on his deathbed for about three weeks before finally dying about the middle of March.
No leads as to Threet's whereabouts were gained until over a year later, in the spring of 1908, when one of Threet's brothers borrowed an envelope from a local businessman and used it to send a letter to Threet, under the assumed name Arthur James, at Ritzville in the state of Washington. When Threet did not promptly pick up the letter at the Ritzville post office, it was returned to the businessman, whose name was in the return address. He opened the letter and, realizing the suspicious nature of its contents, turned it over to local authorities. Threet was soon arrested and brought back to Arkansas. His young wife, who'd joined him in Washington just a week or two before, was also brought back.
Threet was charged with murder, and the case came to trial in September 1908. I've been unable to readily determine the exact outcome of the trial, but apparently Threet was acquitted, because two years later, at the time of the 1900 census, he and Maud were living in Rogers with their one-year-old baby. If this is true, the jury must not have believed the version of the crime that said Ecton had been attacked without provocation.
Saturday, March 10, 2018
Greene County's "First" County Fair
A piece in a June 1911 issue of the Springfield Republican announced that a plan to revive the Greene County Fair, which was "once so popular" but had endured "a several years' period of somnolence," was being developed by a new fair organization. When the new group's first fair came off two years later, it was sometimes called the first Greene County Fair, but that was not entirely accurate. As the 1911 newspaper article rightly pointed out, it was actually just a revival of an older, similar event, not a brand new event.
Although I'm not sure exactly when the first Greene County Fair was held, I know that an annual fair was held in Springfield at the Hefferman and Reilly Zoological Gardens (often called simply the Zoo Gardens or Zoo Park) during the early 1890s. It was officially called the Greene County Breeders' Fair, but it was often referred to simply as the Greene County Fair. The zoo (and the fair) closed in 1894, and the grounds of the Zoological Gardens were purchased by Springfield businessman Jerome Dickerson. The property would not become a zoo again until the early 1920s when the City of Springfield purchased the land from Dickerson's estate and turned it into what is known today as Dickerson Park Zoo.
After the zoo park changed hands in 1894, there was apparently a gap of almost twenty years before Springfield hosted its next Greene County Fair. The fair organization that was formed in 1911 finally put on its first fair, called simply the Greene County Fair, in October of 1913. It was held on grounds just east of where a new Pythian home (now called the Pythian Castle) had just been constructed. This was in the general area of what today are the grounds of Evangel University.
The first day of the 1913 fair, Tuesday, October 7, brought threatening weather, which held down attendance at the event. The next day, though, brought clearer skies and three times as many attendees at the fair as during the previous day. Attendees on the first two days of the fair were mostly locals, and the City of Springfield ran special carriages taking people to the fair from the downtown area and back.
On Thursday, the third day of the fair, people flooded into Springfield from the surrounding countryside and communities to attend the fair. Called "Big Thursday," the day's attendance was even greater than it had been on the second day.
The climax, though, came on Saturday, the last day of the fair, when an estimated 10,000 people attended. About 8,000 of these were paying customers, while approximately 2,000 school children were given free admission. Among the events that ran throughout the fair were livestock showings, art exhibits, and baby contests, and most of the winners of these contests were announced on Saturday. One of the prize winning animals was a 1,000 pound Poland China hog from Highland Farms at Bolivar.
The biggest draw of the fair, though, was horse racing, which took place every afternoon on a track constructed for that purpose. Spectators were seated in a grandstand along one straightaway. A band entertained the spectators during intervals between races. In addition to the races themselves, there were also exhibitions of trick and fast riding.
Another attraction was the "pike" or what we would probably call the midway today. It featured games and amusements that were said, according to the Springfield Republican, to be "better than the Sedalia State Fair."
Perhaps the biggest attraction next to the horse racing was the "aeroplane." Pilot William Hetlich put on exhibitions flying his 70-horsepower Curtiss biplane, and daring and affluent individuals could go up in the plane with him for $50. The plane drew many "admirers and curious ones," said the Republican. "Men, women, and children alike swarmed about the queer-looking mechanical bird, wondering how it could ride in the sky." But apparently Hetlich didn't get many takers on the opportunity to actually fly in the machine, because "when the engine cranked and the propeller began its work, they drew back" as if afraid the machine might "seek its prey."
The fair came off with no serious accidents, injuries, or crimes. About the only thing to mar the occasion was the arrest of three men for running a "jingle board" on the pike. This was a device consisting of rings and a board with coins laid on it. The object was to toss a ring and encircle one of the coins. If you did so, you were given the amount of money represented by the coin. Apparently very few people were winning any money and some started complaining. So, the three men were arrested and charged with gambling.
Although I'm not sure exactly when the first Greene County Fair was held, I know that an annual fair was held in Springfield at the Hefferman and Reilly Zoological Gardens (often called simply the Zoo Gardens or Zoo Park) during the early 1890s. It was officially called the Greene County Breeders' Fair, but it was often referred to simply as the Greene County Fair. The zoo (and the fair) closed in 1894, and the grounds of the Zoological Gardens were purchased by Springfield businessman Jerome Dickerson. The property would not become a zoo again until the early 1920s when the City of Springfield purchased the land from Dickerson's estate and turned it into what is known today as Dickerson Park Zoo.
After the zoo park changed hands in 1894, there was apparently a gap of almost twenty years before Springfield hosted its next Greene County Fair. The fair organization that was formed in 1911 finally put on its first fair, called simply the Greene County Fair, in October of 1913. It was held on grounds just east of where a new Pythian home (now called the Pythian Castle) had just been constructed. This was in the general area of what today are the grounds of Evangel University.
The first day of the 1913 fair, Tuesday, October 7, brought threatening weather, which held down attendance at the event. The next day, though, brought clearer skies and three times as many attendees at the fair as during the previous day. Attendees on the first two days of the fair were mostly locals, and the City of Springfield ran special carriages taking people to the fair from the downtown area and back.
On Thursday, the third day of the fair, people flooded into Springfield from the surrounding countryside and communities to attend the fair. Called "Big Thursday," the day's attendance was even greater than it had been on the second day.
The climax, though, came on Saturday, the last day of the fair, when an estimated 10,000 people attended. About 8,000 of these were paying customers, while approximately 2,000 school children were given free admission. Among the events that ran throughout the fair were livestock showings, art exhibits, and baby contests, and most of the winners of these contests were announced on Saturday. One of the prize winning animals was a 1,000 pound Poland China hog from Highland Farms at Bolivar.
The biggest draw of the fair, though, was horse racing, which took place every afternoon on a track constructed for that purpose. Spectators were seated in a grandstand along one straightaway. A band entertained the spectators during intervals between races. In addition to the races themselves, there were also exhibitions of trick and fast riding.
Another attraction was the "pike" or what we would probably call the midway today. It featured games and amusements that were said, according to the Springfield Republican, to be "better than the Sedalia State Fair."
Perhaps the biggest attraction next to the horse racing was the "aeroplane." Pilot William Hetlich put on exhibitions flying his 70-horsepower Curtiss biplane, and daring and affluent individuals could go up in the plane with him for $50. The plane drew many "admirers and curious ones," said the Republican. "Men, women, and children alike swarmed about the queer-looking mechanical bird, wondering how it could ride in the sky." But apparently Hetlich didn't get many takers on the opportunity to actually fly in the machine, because "when the engine cranked and the propeller began its work, they drew back" as if afraid the machine might "seek its prey."
The fair came off with no serious accidents, injuries, or crimes. About the only thing to mar the occasion was the arrest of three men for running a "jingle board" on the pike. This was a device consisting of rings and a board with coins laid on it. The object was to toss a ring and encircle one of the coins. If you did so, you were given the amount of money represented by the coin. Apparently very few people were winning any money and some started complaining. So, the three men were arrested and charged with gambling.
Saturday, March 3, 2018
Kissin’ Cousin Turned Killin’ Cousin
At Ernest Clevenger’s murder trial in November of 1899 in Clay County, Missouri, defense lawyers argued that their client was insane. The events surrounding Clevenger’s crime lend a certain credence to the insanity plea, but it didn’t save their client from the gallows.
Clevenger came from Tennessee to Missouri in the early 1890s to live with relatives in southeast Clay County. Sometime prior to the fall of 1898, he started working for Jerome Clevenger, his father’s first cousin. The twenty-three-year-old Ernest took a liking to Jerome’s seventeen-year-old daughter, Jennie, and started escorting her to social functions. He soon declared his love for her, but the girl didn’t quite share his passion.
Jennie’s father didn’t like the match either. Jerome Clevenger thought his young kinsman was too disreputable for his daughter, and when he learned that the relationship between Ernest and Jennie had turned serious, he kicked the young man off his farm and told him not to come back.
Young Clevenger, though, wasn’t easily deterred. Despite Jerome Clevenger’s ultimatum, Ernest kept coming around trying to see Jennie. When he learned that another young man, George Allen, had started courting her, he became crazed with jealousy and made threats.
On Thursday, December 8, 1898, Clevenger spent the day drinking with a buddy, Charles West. In the afternoon, they showed up under the influence at Miltondale, about a mile north of the Clevenger School House. Clevenger, who was said to have a good disposition except when he was drinking, declared that he was looking for George Allen, because he had a score to settle with him.
A few hours later, Clevenger, riding double behind West on the latter’s horse, met Allen and Jennie in a buggy as they approached the Clevenger School, where a revival meeting was in session. Clevenger tried to flag them down, but Allen whipped up the team and sped away, continuing on to the schoolhouse.
Allen and his girlfriend entered and sat near the middle of the large meeting room next to Jennie’s fifteen-year-old sister, Della. Clevenger followed and took a seat just behind the group after the divine service had already begun. At the end of the service, as the congregation rose for the benediction, Clevenger stalked toward Jennie and her group. He pulled out a revolver and shot Allen in the back of the head. Allen collapsed, and Jennie grabbed him, trying to support him, just as Clevenger turned to fire at her. The weight of Allen’s body pulled her down, and the shot missed, hitting Della instead.
When Clevenger fled, several men gave chase before returning to the schoolhouse to find George Allen dead and Della gravely wounded with a bullet to the head. Clevenger was located the next morning at his grandfather’s house less than a mile away and taken to the county jail at Liberty. Later on the 9th, a coroner’s jury charged him with murder in the first degree. On December 10, he pled not guilty before a justice of the peace and was remanded to jail without bond. A grand jury officially indicted him at the February 1899 term of the Clay County Circuit Court, but the case was continued.
On April 6, Clevenger and three other prisoners made their escape from the Clay County Jail. Clevenger was recaptured on April 17 in neighboring Ray County and brought back to Liberty. The next day, Della Clevenger died of the wound he’d inflicted on her four months earlier, and talk of lynching the prisoner flared up.
Clevenger’s trial finally got underway in early November, and the jury found the defendant guilty of first-degree murder on the 8th. Two weeks later, the judge pronounced a death sentence by hanging and set the execution for January 5, 1900. Clevenger’s lawyers appealed to the Missouri Supreme Court, and the hanging was postponed.
On May 8, 1900, the high court affirmed the lower court’s decision in the Clevenger case and reset the execution for June 15. Clevenger was led to the gallows at 5:00 a.m. that morning. Asked if he had any final words to say, he declared “I ain’t worthy of the death I am dying” before being dropped through the trap.
This entry is condensed from a chapter in my book Yanked Into Eternity: Lynchings and Hangings in Missouri.
Clevenger came from Tennessee to Missouri in the early 1890s to live with relatives in southeast Clay County. Sometime prior to the fall of 1898, he started working for Jerome Clevenger, his father’s first cousin. The twenty-three-year-old Ernest took a liking to Jerome’s seventeen-year-old daughter, Jennie, and started escorting her to social functions. He soon declared his love for her, but the girl didn’t quite share his passion.
Jennie’s father didn’t like the match either. Jerome Clevenger thought his young kinsman was too disreputable for his daughter, and when he learned that the relationship between Ernest and Jennie had turned serious, he kicked the young man off his farm and told him not to come back.
Young Clevenger, though, wasn’t easily deterred. Despite Jerome Clevenger’s ultimatum, Ernest kept coming around trying to see Jennie. When he learned that another young man, George Allen, had started courting her, he became crazed with jealousy and made threats.
On Thursday, December 8, 1898, Clevenger spent the day drinking with a buddy, Charles West. In the afternoon, they showed up under the influence at Miltondale, about a mile north of the Clevenger School House. Clevenger, who was said to have a good disposition except when he was drinking, declared that he was looking for George Allen, because he had a score to settle with him.
A few hours later, Clevenger, riding double behind West on the latter’s horse, met Allen and Jennie in a buggy as they approached the Clevenger School, where a revival meeting was in session. Clevenger tried to flag them down, but Allen whipped up the team and sped away, continuing on to the schoolhouse.
Allen and his girlfriend entered and sat near the middle of the large meeting room next to Jennie’s fifteen-year-old sister, Della. Clevenger followed and took a seat just behind the group after the divine service had already begun. At the end of the service, as the congregation rose for the benediction, Clevenger stalked toward Jennie and her group. He pulled out a revolver and shot Allen in the back of the head. Allen collapsed, and Jennie grabbed him, trying to support him, just as Clevenger turned to fire at her. The weight of Allen’s body pulled her down, and the shot missed, hitting Della instead.
When Clevenger fled, several men gave chase before returning to the schoolhouse to find George Allen dead and Della gravely wounded with a bullet to the head. Clevenger was located the next morning at his grandfather’s house less than a mile away and taken to the county jail at Liberty. Later on the 9th, a coroner’s jury charged him with murder in the first degree. On December 10, he pled not guilty before a justice of the peace and was remanded to jail without bond. A grand jury officially indicted him at the February 1899 term of the Clay County Circuit Court, but the case was continued.
On April 6, Clevenger and three other prisoners made their escape from the Clay County Jail. Clevenger was recaptured on April 17 in neighboring Ray County and brought back to Liberty. The next day, Della Clevenger died of the wound he’d inflicted on her four months earlier, and talk of lynching the prisoner flared up.
Clevenger’s trial finally got underway in early November, and the jury found the defendant guilty of first-degree murder on the 8th. Two weeks later, the judge pronounced a death sentence by hanging and set the execution for January 5, 1900. Clevenger’s lawyers appealed to the Missouri Supreme Court, and the hanging was postponed.
On May 8, 1900, the high court affirmed the lower court’s decision in the Clevenger case and reset the execution for June 15. Clevenger was led to the gallows at 5:00 a.m. that morning. Asked if he had any final words to say, he declared “I ain’t worthy of the death I am dying” before being dropped through the trap.
This entry is condensed from a chapter in my book Yanked Into Eternity: Lynchings and Hangings in Missouri.
Saturday, February 24, 2018
A Staffleback Footnote
I've written before about the notorious Staffleback (aka Staffelbach) family of Galena, Kansas, both on this blog and in my Ozark Gunfights and Other Notorious Incidents book. I mentioned in the book that the Stafflebacks already had an unsavory reputation before they ever got involved in the murder of Frank Galbraith in Galena in the summer of 1897, the incident that made them notorious throughout the country. For instance, Johnny, oldest son of Michel and Nancy Staffleback, got into trouble for breaking some furniture and general going "on the warpath" in Joplin in July of 1878, and at the time Johnny, who was considered insane, already had a reputation for causing disturbances. I also mentioned in the book that Nancy "Old Lady" Staffleback and/or her boys were suspected of murdering an old man in Joplin around Christmas of 1895, about a year before the family moved to Galena.
But the Stafflebacks had several other run-ins with the law, both before and after the notorious Galbraith case, that I did not mention in the book.
Sometime after 1880, the Stafflebacks left Joplin and moved to Lawrence County, Missouri. In February of 1887, Nancy Staffleback was among a group of people who got baptized in Mt. Vernon, but judging from future events, the religion apparently didn't take very well. Just a few months later, Nancy sued her aged husband for divorce in Lawrence County Court, and a divorce decree was granted.
In early December of 1889, Nancy and her son, Michael, were arrested in Lawrence County for stealing clothes off of clothes lines in Mt. Vernon. Both Nancy and her son pleaded guilty. Nancy paid a ten-dollar fine, while Michael was sentenced to eight days in jail.
Then in the summer of 1894, Michael got arrested for burglary and larceny and tossed in the clink to await trial. He pled guilty to the larceny charge and was sentenced to two years in the state pen, while the burglary charge was dropped. He was escorted to Jeff City in early September 1894. He was released in early February 1896, after serving three-fourths of his term, and he immediately joined the rest of the Staffleback family, who'd gone back to Joplin and then moved across the state line to Galena during his incarceration.
According to the later testimony of Cora Staffleback, wife of another Staffleback brother (George), Mike Staffleback got involved in another crime very soon after his arrival in Galena, this one more heinous than the petty crime he'd been convicted of in Lawrence County. Cora said that Mike and Ed Staffleback (yet another brother) invited two prostitutes to stay at the Staffleback place in early 1896. Apparently the brothers considered the girls their own private whores, because they got jealous of the attention the girls were paying to some other men and ended up killing the girls and dropping their bodies in a deserted mine shaft.
The bodies of the girls were never discovered; so Mike Staffleback never paid for this crime, if indeed he committed it, but a year or so after this purported incident he was again arrested on a charge of larceny, this time in Cherokee County, Kansas. He was in jail at Columbus awaiting trial when Galbraith was killed. So, Mike avoided getting drawn into that case as well. He was sentenced to seven years in the Kansas State Pen on the larceny charge, however, at the same time his mother and brothers were convicted and sent up for murdering Galbraith.
Mike was released from the Lansing prison shortly after the turn of the 20th century, and he went back to Jasper County, Missouri, where he soon returned to a life of crime. In May 1908, he was again convicted of larceny and sentenced to two years in the state prison.
Released in November 1909 (about the same time his mother died in the Kansas Penitentiary), he once again returned to Jasper County and once again resumed his old ways. In early 1914, he served a brief sentence in the county jail on a charge of petty theft. He had just been released when he got arrested again in May of the same year on a charge of stealing chickens. He was considered an habitual offender and stealing chickens was his "long suit," according to a Webb City newspaper. I have yet to ascertain what the outcome of this case was, but suffice it to say, that Mike Staffleback left a long criminal trail throughout southwest Missouri and southeast Kansas in the late 1800s and early 1900s.
But the Stafflebacks had several other run-ins with the law, both before and after the notorious Galbraith case, that I did not mention in the book.
Sometime after 1880, the Stafflebacks left Joplin and moved to Lawrence County, Missouri. In February of 1887, Nancy Staffleback was among a group of people who got baptized in Mt. Vernon, but judging from future events, the religion apparently didn't take very well. Just a few months later, Nancy sued her aged husband for divorce in Lawrence County Court, and a divorce decree was granted.
In early December of 1889, Nancy and her son, Michael, were arrested in Lawrence County for stealing clothes off of clothes lines in Mt. Vernon. Both Nancy and her son pleaded guilty. Nancy paid a ten-dollar fine, while Michael was sentenced to eight days in jail.
Then in the summer of 1894, Michael got arrested for burglary and larceny and tossed in the clink to await trial. He pled guilty to the larceny charge and was sentenced to two years in the state pen, while the burglary charge was dropped. He was escorted to Jeff City in early September 1894. He was released in early February 1896, after serving three-fourths of his term, and he immediately joined the rest of the Staffleback family, who'd gone back to Joplin and then moved across the state line to Galena during his incarceration.
According to the later testimony of Cora Staffleback, wife of another Staffleback brother (George), Mike Staffleback got involved in another crime very soon after his arrival in Galena, this one more heinous than the petty crime he'd been convicted of in Lawrence County. Cora said that Mike and Ed Staffleback (yet another brother) invited two prostitutes to stay at the Staffleback place in early 1896. Apparently the brothers considered the girls their own private whores, because they got jealous of the attention the girls were paying to some other men and ended up killing the girls and dropping their bodies in a deserted mine shaft.
The bodies of the girls were never discovered; so Mike Staffleback never paid for this crime, if indeed he committed it, but a year or so after this purported incident he was again arrested on a charge of larceny, this time in Cherokee County, Kansas. He was in jail at Columbus awaiting trial when Galbraith was killed. So, Mike avoided getting drawn into that case as well. He was sentenced to seven years in the Kansas State Pen on the larceny charge, however, at the same time his mother and brothers were convicted and sent up for murdering Galbraith.
Mike was released from the Lansing prison shortly after the turn of the 20th century, and he went back to Jasper County, Missouri, where he soon returned to a life of crime. In May 1908, he was again convicted of larceny and sentenced to two years in the state prison.
Released in November 1909 (about the same time his mother died in the Kansas Penitentiary), he once again returned to Jasper County and once again resumed his old ways. In early 1914, he served a brief sentence in the county jail on a charge of petty theft. He had just been released when he got arrested again in May of the same year on a charge of stealing chickens. He was considered an habitual offender and stealing chickens was his "long suit," according to a Webb City newspaper. I have yet to ascertain what the outcome of this case was, but suffice it to say, that Mike Staffleback left a long criminal trail throughout southwest Missouri and southeast Kansas in the late 1800s and early 1900s.
Saturday, February 17, 2018
The Lynchings of Jeff Kessler and James Milligan
Samuel Timmons was a constable charged with enforcing the law in the north-central part of Gentry County, Missouri, when he got into a minor scrape with the law himself in early June of 1858. A township justice swore out a warrant for Timmons’s arrest and placed it in the hands of constable pro tem Jeff Kessler.
Near the middle of June, Kessler, taking nineteen-year-old James Milligan along with him as a deputy, went to Timmons’s farm near the Worth County border to serve the warrant. Timmons, who’d learned of his imminent arrest, was hiding out when Kessler arrived. Leaving Milligan at the house, Kessler went looking for Timmons and located him elsewhere on the property.
In the confrontation that followed, according to the 1882 History of Gentry and Worth Counties, Kessler shot Timmons in the back with a shotgun and left the body lying in the field. Returning to the house to pick up his deputy, Kessler rode away without even informing the dead man’s wife of the shooting.
The county history added that Timmons was considered a good citizen, while Kessler was known as “a man of bad character” who had committed other desperate deeds. Contemporaneous newspaper accounts confirm that the circumstances of the killing “made the act in the estimation of the people a cruel injustice.”
Several murders and other crimes had occurred in the Gentry-Worth border area, and the perpetrators had gone unpunished. In response, a group of men had recently met at nearby Oxford and resolved that there should be no delays in meting out justice to lawbreakers and that, if the courts failed to vigorously prosecute the criminals, the citizens would take the law into their own hands.
Jeff Kessler was about to be their first example.
When he and Milligan were arrested and brought before a justice of the peace on June 18, a mob gathered with the idea of lynching them immediately. The vigilantes were deterred only by a promise that the law would speedily deal with the prisoners.
Kessler and Milligan waived examination before the justice and were taken to the Gentry County seat at Albany to await trial. At a special session of the circuit court on June 24, a grand jury charged the two men with murder in the first degree.
The trial began the next day, June 25, before a large crowd. Kessler’s and Milligan’s cases were severed, and both pleaded not guilty. Their attorney told the judge the main two defense witnesses had been driven off and could not be located. He asked that Kessler’s trial be continued, and the judge granted the delay. He then granted a continuance in Milligan’s case as well and adjourned the court.
The judge and the attorneys slipped out through a window as the crowd of six or seven hundred spectators filed out of the courtroom. About twenty or thirty men lagged behind, though, and as soon as the room was nearly clear, they rushed the prisoners. Most of the deputies guarding the prisoners deserted the sheriff at the first sign of trouble, but the sheriff and his few remaining deputies had almost succeeded in securing the prisoners when a reinforcing mob of men burst into the courtroom from outside to augment their fellow vigilantes.
The mob, now numbering from 50 to 100, quickly wrested Kessler from the lawmen, while Milligan was spirited away to an upstairs room and not pursued. The vigilantes dragged Kessler from the courthouse amid the screams of his wife and three children.
The prisoner was taken to the edge of a woods about 150 yards from the courthouse, where a rope was placed around his neck and a preacher was exhorted to offer a final prayer for the condemned man. The other end of the rope was thrown over a limb of an elm tree, and the vigilantes pulled Kessler up about three feet before the rope broke and he fell to the ground. He was lifted back up, the rope was speedily retied, and, in the words of the St. Joseph Journal, “the unfortunate man was launched into eternity.”
In the wake of the lynching, one observer called the mob action a “terrible murder.” Kessler had declared until the very end that he was not guilty. He said he’d only gone to Timmons’s place because he’d been ordered to make an arrest and that he’d fired in self-defense when Timmons drew a gun on him.
After Kessler was hanged, Milligan was carefully guarded at the jail-less courthouse by volunteer citizens. Some of them tired of the job and abandoned their posts. On Monday, July 5, some citizens petitioned the county court to fund the expense of a guard, but the county judges declined, deciding instead to move the prisoner to a jail in a neighboring county.
Upon learning of the court’s decision, a mob formed and took Milligan from the small posse of guards who remained. The prisoner was granted his request to be baptized before he was hanged, and he was met at the baptismal stream by his father, William Milligan. The exchange of sad farewells between father and son was “deeply affecting.”
But apparently not deeply affecting enough to sway the vengeful mob.
The vigilantes started with the prisoner toward the elm tree where Kessler had been strung up. Provided with a dry suit of clothes to replace his wet garments, the “prisoner dressed to meet his doom.” He was then drawn up on the same limb that had served as Kessler’s makeshift gallows ten days earlier.
According to the 1882 county history, the mob that lynched Kessler and the one that lynched Milligan were composed largely of the same men. Nearly all of them came from northern Gentry and southern Worth counties, and some were prominent citizens.
So, it’s not surprising that, even though both lynchings were done in public view, little was ever done to make the vigilantes answer for their extralegal deeds.
This entry is condensed from a chapter in my book Yanked Into Eternity: Lynchings and Hangings in Missouri.
Near the middle of June, Kessler, taking nineteen-year-old James Milligan along with him as a deputy, went to Timmons’s farm near the Worth County border to serve the warrant. Timmons, who’d learned of his imminent arrest, was hiding out when Kessler arrived. Leaving Milligan at the house, Kessler went looking for Timmons and located him elsewhere on the property.
In the confrontation that followed, according to the 1882 History of Gentry and Worth Counties, Kessler shot Timmons in the back with a shotgun and left the body lying in the field. Returning to the house to pick up his deputy, Kessler rode away without even informing the dead man’s wife of the shooting.
The county history added that Timmons was considered a good citizen, while Kessler was known as “a man of bad character” who had committed other desperate deeds. Contemporaneous newspaper accounts confirm that the circumstances of the killing “made the act in the estimation of the people a cruel injustice.”
Several murders and other crimes had occurred in the Gentry-Worth border area, and the perpetrators had gone unpunished. In response, a group of men had recently met at nearby Oxford and resolved that there should be no delays in meting out justice to lawbreakers and that, if the courts failed to vigorously prosecute the criminals, the citizens would take the law into their own hands.
Jeff Kessler was about to be their first example.
When he and Milligan were arrested and brought before a justice of the peace on June 18, a mob gathered with the idea of lynching them immediately. The vigilantes were deterred only by a promise that the law would speedily deal with the prisoners.
Kessler and Milligan waived examination before the justice and were taken to the Gentry County seat at Albany to await trial. At a special session of the circuit court on June 24, a grand jury charged the two men with murder in the first degree.
The trial began the next day, June 25, before a large crowd. Kessler’s and Milligan’s cases were severed, and both pleaded not guilty. Their attorney told the judge the main two defense witnesses had been driven off and could not be located. He asked that Kessler’s trial be continued, and the judge granted the delay. He then granted a continuance in Milligan’s case as well and adjourned the court.
The judge and the attorneys slipped out through a window as the crowd of six or seven hundred spectators filed out of the courtroom. About twenty or thirty men lagged behind, though, and as soon as the room was nearly clear, they rushed the prisoners. Most of the deputies guarding the prisoners deserted the sheriff at the first sign of trouble, but the sheriff and his few remaining deputies had almost succeeded in securing the prisoners when a reinforcing mob of men burst into the courtroom from outside to augment their fellow vigilantes.
The mob, now numbering from 50 to 100, quickly wrested Kessler from the lawmen, while Milligan was spirited away to an upstairs room and not pursued. The vigilantes dragged Kessler from the courthouse amid the screams of his wife and three children.
The prisoner was taken to the edge of a woods about 150 yards from the courthouse, where a rope was placed around his neck and a preacher was exhorted to offer a final prayer for the condemned man. The other end of the rope was thrown over a limb of an elm tree, and the vigilantes pulled Kessler up about three feet before the rope broke and he fell to the ground. He was lifted back up, the rope was speedily retied, and, in the words of the St. Joseph Journal, “the unfortunate man was launched into eternity.”
In the wake of the lynching, one observer called the mob action a “terrible murder.” Kessler had declared until the very end that he was not guilty. He said he’d only gone to Timmons’s place because he’d been ordered to make an arrest and that he’d fired in self-defense when Timmons drew a gun on him.
After Kessler was hanged, Milligan was carefully guarded at the jail-less courthouse by volunteer citizens. Some of them tired of the job and abandoned their posts. On Monday, July 5, some citizens petitioned the county court to fund the expense of a guard, but the county judges declined, deciding instead to move the prisoner to a jail in a neighboring county.
Upon learning of the court’s decision, a mob formed and took Milligan from the small posse of guards who remained. The prisoner was granted his request to be baptized before he was hanged, and he was met at the baptismal stream by his father, William Milligan. The exchange of sad farewells between father and son was “deeply affecting.”
But apparently not deeply affecting enough to sway the vengeful mob.
The vigilantes started with the prisoner toward the elm tree where Kessler had been strung up. Provided with a dry suit of clothes to replace his wet garments, the “prisoner dressed to meet his doom.” He was then drawn up on the same limb that had served as Kessler’s makeshift gallows ten days earlier.
According to the 1882 county history, the mob that lynched Kessler and the one that lynched Milligan were composed largely of the same men. Nearly all of them came from northern Gentry and southern Worth counties, and some were prominent citizens.
So, it’s not surprising that, even though both lynchings were done in public view, little was ever done to make the vigilantes answer for their extralegal deeds.
This entry is condensed from a chapter in my book Yanked Into Eternity: Lynchings and Hangings in Missouri.
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