How was Christmas celebrated in this region 100 years ago? To answer that question, I decided to check a few Missouri newspapers from late December 1921. In general, the answer is that the celebrations weren't all that much different from the way we celebrate Christmas today, except that the holiday was less commercialized then than it is today. Of course, people shopped for Christmas gifts just as they do today, but the shopping season was more concentrated, consisting mainly of just a few days before the holiday. Celebrations largely centered around the church, but there were also private parties and other events.
In Joplin, snow flurries on the afternoon and night of Christmas Eve "added the finishing touches" to preparations for Christmas Day 1921 in the city. Most of the Joplin churches held services on Christmas Eve, and afterwards, choirs from nearly all the churches serenaded the residential districts with carols until after midnight. Also, "eleventh-hour shoppers thronged the stores" in downtown Joplin on the night of the 24th until the businesses finally closed their doors at ten p.m.. Various clubs and welfare workers "carried the spirit of the Yuletide into more than 200 humble homes," bringing food for the families and toys for the kids. After the late closing on Christmas Eve, which was a Saturday, most of the businesses did not plan to re-open until Tuesday. Earlier in the week, a number of churches and social clubs had held parties, but Christmas Day, which was a Sunday, was devoted to religious services and family get-togethers.
The Christmas celebrations in Springfield in 1921 were similar to those in Joplin. This is to say that they generally centered around the churches. One thing that struck me as noteworthy about Christmas Day in Springfield 100 years ago is that the post office was still busy delivering mail. The postmaster estimated it would take four or five wagons working all day long on the 25th to get all the mail and packages delivered. Not only were postal workers busy on Christmas Day, but at least a few businesses stayed open on Christmas as well. For instance, the Colonial Hotel dining room advertised a Christmas dinner from six to eight p.m. for $1.50 per plate consisting of Ozark turkey, roast goose, suckling pig, plum pudding, and all the fixings.
In St. Louis, Christmas Day of 1921 was "more generally celebrated in a religious way than for several years." This, of course, had much to do with the fact that Christmas fell on a Sunday in 1921. Some of the Catholic churches, in particular, were planning midnight masses as well as daytime masses on the 25th.
In Chillicothe, "the Christmas spirit prevail(ed) in the churches." On Friday evening, several churches presented Christmas programs involving mainly the children, and the pastors were preparing "special sermons" for Sunday. On Saturday, the Shriners and other clubs of Chillicothe handed out Christmas baskets to needy families. Then on Sunday, services were held both morning and evening in most of the town's churches.
Friday, December 24, 2021
Saturday, December 18, 2021
A Heinous Crime
We hear a lot about the high rate of crime nowadays. If reports in my local newspaper are any indication, sex-related crimes seem especially prevalent. However, if one allows for the increase in population, I'm not sure the incidence of crime is all that much greater than it was 100 years ago or 150 years ago, and I think this observation applies even to sex-related crime. In making this argument in a post on this blog a few years ago, I cited several examples of rape and statutory rape in the Springfield (MO) area during the late 1800s, as reported in that city's newspapers. Also, I think it's probably true that part of the reason we seem to hear more about sex-related crimes nowadays than we used to is simply that the victims of such crimes are much more willing to come forward than they used to be.
One example I cited was the case of Springfield dance instructor C. W. James, who was charged in 1894 with raping his underage daughter. I said at the time that I didn't know the ultimate outcome of the case, but I've recently done a little more research and have learned more about the case. It's a fascinating story, if somewhat morbidly so.
On March 23, 1893, the Springfield Leader reported that Professor C. W. James and his "charming daughter Miss Brooxie (usually spelled Brooksie) have returned from Florida." The report might have served as an omen if readers had been discerning and cynical enough to suspect the worst, because Professor James soon started making a habit of taking along the 13-year-old girl, unaccompanied by his wife, to help with his instruction when he toured the country giving dance lessons.
However, it was not until the fall of the same year, 1893, during a trip to Arkansas that James first forced or coerced his daughter, who had turned 14 a couple of months earlier, into having sex with him. The "unnatural relationship" between James and his daughter continued on a fairly regular basis after that, but it was not until the following spring, 1894, that Brooksie finally broke down and told her mother, Jennie, about what had happened. She said she would have told sooner except that her father had threatened to shoot both her and her mother if she did. Jennie knew her husband was abusive, but she was skeptical at first that he was actually "capable of desecrating his own flesh and blood." So, she took no action except to keep a closer eye on her husband. She caught him in compromising positions with Brooksie a time or two but still did not report the incidents because she was afraid of her husband, who had often threatened and abused her, and because she hesitated to bring shame on the family. Finally, though, on Monday, May 28, Jennie had had enough.
One example I cited was the case of Springfield dance instructor C. W. James, who was charged in 1894 with raping his underage daughter. I said at the time that I didn't know the ultimate outcome of the case, but I've recently done a little more research and have learned more about the case. It's a fascinating story, if somewhat morbidly so.
On March 23, 1893, the Springfield Leader reported that Professor C. W. James and his "charming daughter Miss Brooxie (usually spelled Brooksie) have returned from Florida." The report might have served as an omen if readers had been discerning and cynical enough to suspect the worst, because Professor James soon started making a habit of taking along the 13-year-old girl, unaccompanied by his wife, to help with his instruction when he toured the country giving dance lessons.
However, it was not until the fall of the same year, 1893, during a trip to Arkansas that James first forced or coerced his daughter, who had turned 14 a couple of months earlier, into having sex with him. The "unnatural relationship" between James and his daughter continued on a fairly regular basis after that, but it was not until the following spring, 1894, that Brooksie finally broke down and told her mother, Jennie, about what had happened. She said she would have told sooner except that her father had threatened to shoot both her and her mother if she did. Jennie knew her husband was abusive, but she was skeptical at first that he was actually "capable of desecrating his own flesh and blood." So, she took no action except to keep a closer eye on her husband. She caught him in compromising positions with Brooksie a time or two but still did not report the incidents because she was afraid of her husband, who had often threatened and abused her, and because she hesitated to bring shame on the family. Finally, though, on Monday, May 28, Jennie had had enough.
At the noon meal, her husband insisted on eating with Brooksie in a front room while Jennie and her two sons were at the kitchen table. The 44-year-old James "made approaches" toward Brooksie but backed off when they "were objected to." After lunch, however, James announced he was going to take Brooksie with him to a nearby park, and as they were leaving, the girl whispered in secret to her mother, pleading with Jennie to protect her.
After the father and daughter were gone, Jennie, who lived near the corner of Robberson and Commercial, hastened to Commercial Street and reported her husband's abuse of Brooksie to a couple of businessmen, who, in turn, reported James to authorities. When the professor returned home, Jennie was not there. He found her at the nearby house of another woman, but Jennie refused to see her husband, and the neighbor ordered James off the property. The police arrived shortly afterwards, arrested James, and took him to jail on the complaint of his wife.
Interviewed later that evening by the Springfield Leader, Jennie, 33, told the reporter she had married James 17 years earlier when she was just 16. She had endured "a long series of insults and injuries heaped upon (her) and the rest of the family" throughout her marriage. She had put up with the abuse partly because she had married James against her parents' wishes and did not want to divulge her humiliation and shame to them. James's "unspeakably outrageous behavior" toward their daughter, however, was the last straw. "There is a point where oppression must cease," she said. The Leader described Jennie as "intellectually bright and with an attractive figure," although the harsh treatment she'd been subjected to over the years had had an effect on her "both physically and mentally." The reporter described Jennie's daughter, Brooksie Dell, as "a pretty girl, a trim and graceful lass, not particularly developed for her age, but very attractive in every way and admired by all who knew her."
In an interview the next morning, the Leader also gave James a chance to tell his side of the story. He denied that he'd ever molested his daughter and said he was "as innocent as a babe unborn." He said he thought the charge against him had been trumped up by Jennie under the influence of "outside parties." He admitted that he and his family had occasionally had their "little troubles," but "nothing serious has ever been charged against me before." Professor James, the "dancing master," was a small man, not more than 120 pounds, with refined manners, who was generally well thought of by the public, but apparently, according to the Leader, he had "pursued a systematic policy of cruelty to his family for years."
James came before the criminal court on the afternoon of May 29, the day after his arrest and was committed to jail without bond to await an official hearing. The question of whether he was to be charged with rape or incest was left unsettled.
A day or two later, James wrote a letter from his jail cell to the Springfield Democrat, once again denying the charges against him and holding himself up as a model parent. A rumor had circulated since his arrest that he was a drunkard, and James also vehemently denied this charge as well.
In early June, James tried to kill himself by butting his brains out against his cell door until he lost consciousness. He also took to not eating and soon became even more emaciated than he already was. From his cell, he wrote to his wife almost every day, trying to gain an audience with her, but she steadfastly refused to see him. "He pretends to have great affection for his family," observed the Democrat, "but admits that he sometimes treated them brutally when at home."
James waived examination when the time for his hearing came up in late June, and unable to give the stipulated $3,000 bond, he was returned to jail to await the action of a grand jury. By this time, he was well on the road to recovery from his suicide attempt and was also starting to eat better. However, "He will never be a fat man," observed the Leader, "even should he eat pie."
The grand jury officially charged James with rape, but when his trial came up in late July (on Brooksie's 15th birthday), the prosecution agreed to lower the charge to incest if he would plead guilty. James readily agreed so that he would not have to suffer the shame and embarrassment of having his family testify against him, as they were prepared to do. Expressing his displeasure with the dismissal of the rape charge, the judge pronounced a sentence of 7 years in the state prison, the maximum allowed by law. Jennie and Brooksie were present at the trial and sentencing, and Jennie said afterward that she never wanted to see or speak to her husband again.
James was transported to Jeff City on August 6 or 7 and admitted to the state prison on the 7th. He was discharged on December 28, 1899, under the three-fourths law after serving about five and a half years of his seven-year term.
After the father and daughter were gone, Jennie, who lived near the corner of Robberson and Commercial, hastened to Commercial Street and reported her husband's abuse of Brooksie to a couple of businessmen, who, in turn, reported James to authorities. When the professor returned home, Jennie was not there. He found her at the nearby house of another woman, but Jennie refused to see her husband, and the neighbor ordered James off the property. The police arrived shortly afterwards, arrested James, and took him to jail on the complaint of his wife.
Interviewed later that evening by the Springfield Leader, Jennie, 33, told the reporter she had married James 17 years earlier when she was just 16. She had endured "a long series of insults and injuries heaped upon (her) and the rest of the family" throughout her marriage. She had put up with the abuse partly because she had married James against her parents' wishes and did not want to divulge her humiliation and shame to them. James's "unspeakably outrageous behavior" toward their daughter, however, was the last straw. "There is a point where oppression must cease," she said. The Leader described Jennie as "intellectually bright and with an attractive figure," although the harsh treatment she'd been subjected to over the years had had an effect on her "both physically and mentally." The reporter described Jennie's daughter, Brooksie Dell, as "a pretty girl, a trim and graceful lass, not particularly developed for her age, but very attractive in every way and admired by all who knew her."
In an interview the next morning, the Leader also gave James a chance to tell his side of the story. He denied that he'd ever molested his daughter and said he was "as innocent as a babe unborn." He said he thought the charge against him had been trumped up by Jennie under the influence of "outside parties." He admitted that he and his family had occasionally had their "little troubles," but "nothing serious has ever been charged against me before." Professor James, the "dancing master," was a small man, not more than 120 pounds, with refined manners, who was generally well thought of by the public, but apparently, according to the Leader, he had "pursued a systematic policy of cruelty to his family for years."
James came before the criminal court on the afternoon of May 29, the day after his arrest and was committed to jail without bond to await an official hearing. The question of whether he was to be charged with rape or incest was left unsettled.
A day or two later, James wrote a letter from his jail cell to the Springfield Democrat, once again denying the charges against him and holding himself up as a model parent. A rumor had circulated since his arrest that he was a drunkard, and James also vehemently denied this charge as well.
In early June, James tried to kill himself by butting his brains out against his cell door until he lost consciousness. He also took to not eating and soon became even more emaciated than he already was. From his cell, he wrote to his wife almost every day, trying to gain an audience with her, but she steadfastly refused to see him. "He pretends to have great affection for his family," observed the Democrat, "but admits that he sometimes treated them brutally when at home."
James waived examination when the time for his hearing came up in late June, and unable to give the stipulated $3,000 bond, he was returned to jail to await the action of a grand jury. By this time, he was well on the road to recovery from his suicide attempt and was also starting to eat better. However, "He will never be a fat man," observed the Leader, "even should he eat pie."
The grand jury officially charged James with rape, but when his trial came up in late July (on Brooksie's 15th birthday), the prosecution agreed to lower the charge to incest if he would plead guilty. James readily agreed so that he would not have to suffer the shame and embarrassment of having his family testify against him, as they were prepared to do. Expressing his displeasure with the dismissal of the rape charge, the judge pronounced a sentence of 7 years in the state prison, the maximum allowed by law. Jennie and Brooksie were present at the trial and sentencing, and Jennie said afterward that she never wanted to see or speak to her husband again.
James was transported to Jeff City on August 6 or 7 and admitted to the state prison on the 7th. He was discharged on December 28, 1899, under the three-fourths law after serving about five and a half years of his seven-year term.
Saturday, December 11, 2021
Murder of Nathan Stark and Hanging of Ira Sexton
On the evening of October 28, 1897, 28-year-old Nathan Stark was driving a wagonload of corn near his home in Mercer County, Missouri, when a neighbor, 23-year-old Ira Sexton, emerged from some bushes and called for him to halt. Sexton told Stark that his (Sexton's) brother-in-law, Buzz Melton; his sister-in-law, Luvilla Anderson; and another man were waiting at Stark's home to kill him and take his money, Sexton proposed to help Stark and wanted him to dismount the wagon, but Stark was immediately suspicious. When he refused to dismount, Sexton, whom one newspaper described as a notorious character with "a tough reputation," pulled out a revolver and ordered Stark to hand over his money, which amounted to about $60. Stark "showed fight" and grabbed hold of the gun. After a brief tussle over the weapon, Stark jumped or fell from the wagon, got up, and started running. Sexton, who'd regained control of the revolver, opened fire, striking Stark in the back, but Stark kept running. He saw Luvilla Anderson standing outside his house. She called to him but he was afraid to approach the house for fear that what Sexton had told him was true. Instead, he kept going until he reached the house of a neighbor, William Cravens, who took him in and tried to make him comfortable. Stark told Cravens that Ira Sexton had shot him.
Stark's wound was considered fatal, because the bullet had torn through the intestines and abdominal cavity, but he lived a couple of days, long enough to give an official dying declaration naming Sexton as his assailant. Meanwhile, Sexton was arrested the day after the shooting at the home of Buff Melton, where he'd been staying since his recent marriage to Buff's sister, Hattie. Hattie and Luvilla Anderson, who was another sister to Buff, were arrested as conspirators, along with a man named Cooksey, who had just arrived at Melton's house the day of the shooting and was a stranger to most folks in the area. Luvilla, whose husband had recently died, was engaged to marry Stark, but the prosecution theory was that she only wanted his money and didn't really want to marry him. At least one report suggested that the mysterious Cooksey was Luvilla's lover. All four suspects were taken from nearby Mercer to the county jail at Princeton for safekeeping, because talk of lynching was prevalent around Mercer. Sexton's preliminary hearing a few days later even had to be postponed because it was considered too dangerous to bring Sexton back to Mercer.
Charges against Hattie Sexton and Cooksey were soon dropped, but Ira Sexton was officially charged with first-degree murder and held for trial at his preliminary hearing in early December. Luvilla was charged as an accessory, but charges against her were later dropped as well, for lack of evidence.
At first, Sexton had not even bothered to deny his crime. He admitted that he shot Stark but said he didn't intend to and had only done so because Stark "showed fight." At his trial in February 1898, however, he did deny the deed, and the defense even called witnesses to try to establish an alibi. The jury didn't buy it. Sexton was convicted of first-degree murder and sentenced to hang in April.
The execution was automatically stayed when the defense appealed to the Missouri Supreme Court, but the high court sustained the verdict in November and reset the hanging for December 28, 1898. On the fateful day, Sexton spoke at some length from the scaffold that was set up inside a stockade at Princeton, once again proclaiming his innocence. He even sang a couple of songs before being dropped through the trap to his death.
According to county histories, thirty or more murders had been committed in Mercer County prior to Stark's killing, but Sexton was the first person ever to be convicted of murder.
Sketches from the St. Louis Post-Dispatch.
Saturday, December 4, 2021
The Murder of Columbus Yandle
On the night of March 14, 1893, Columbus “Lum” Yandle (also spelled Yandell or Yandall) was killed when someone fired a shotgun at him through a window in his home north of Henderson in the southwest corner of Webster County, Missouri. A township constable, Yandle died almost instantly, and he was buried in Panther Valley Cemetery in his neighborhood.
The murder was a mystery at first, but barely more than a week later, Wesley Hargis; his uncle, John W. Hargis; and Yandle’s widow were arrested on suspicion. Wesley Hargis was only about eighteen years old, while his uncle was considerably older. Mrs. Hargis, who was Lum’s second wife, was about twenty-three, more than twenty years younger than her deceased husband.
The younger Hargis broke down almost immediately after his arrest and confessed the crime. He admitted shooting Yandle but said he’d only done so at the urging of his uncle and Mrs. Hargis, who had paid him to commit the murder. It was reported at the time that John Hargis, Yandle’s hired hand, and young Mrs. Yandle, “a handsome brunette,” had been “criminally intimate” for four years. Wesley Hargis said his uncle had promised him $200 and Mrs. Yandle had pledged $100 for him to commit the deed. He claimed the woman had told him she was tired of living with her husband and wanted to marry John. He further stated that his uncle had helped him load the shotgun with which he killed Yandle.
After Wesley’s confession, his uncle was interviewed. John said only that Wesley had told him that Mrs. Yandle wanted him to kill her husband, but he denied that he himself had anything to do with the crime.
Mrs. Yandle was then interrogated, and she, too, denied involvement in the murder. She claimed that she and her husband were best friends who lived happily together and that no intimacy had ever existed between her and John Hargis, as many people were claiming. “The Hargis boys are trying to lay the burden of the crime on me,” she concluded.
The three suspects were taken to Marshfield and lodged in the county jail. A grand jury promptly indicted all three of them for murder. Excitement in the Henderson vicinity was great, as all parties had been well thought of prior to the crime. There was some talk of taking the suspects out of the calaboose and dealing out summary justice.
The cases of Wesley Hargis and Mrs. Yandle were heard in late November 1893 in Hickory County on changes of venue. In exchange for his testimony against the other two defendants, Wesley Hargis was allowed to plead guilty to second-degree murder, and he received a 99-year sentence in the state penitentiary. Mrs. Hargis was tried immediately after young Hargis’s plea deal, but, despite young Hargis’s testimony, she was acquitted. After a series of delays and changes of venue, John Hargis’s case was set to finally come up in Wright County in early September 1895, but it ended up being nol-prossed for lack of evidence. Whether Wesley Hargis served very much time in the state pen is also in doubt, as there seems to be conflicting evidence on the question.
The murder was a mystery at first, but barely more than a week later, Wesley Hargis; his uncle, John W. Hargis; and Yandle’s widow were arrested on suspicion. Wesley Hargis was only about eighteen years old, while his uncle was considerably older. Mrs. Hargis, who was Lum’s second wife, was about twenty-three, more than twenty years younger than her deceased husband.
The younger Hargis broke down almost immediately after his arrest and confessed the crime. He admitted shooting Yandle but said he’d only done so at the urging of his uncle and Mrs. Hargis, who had paid him to commit the murder. It was reported at the time that John Hargis, Yandle’s hired hand, and young Mrs. Yandle, “a handsome brunette,” had been “criminally intimate” for four years. Wesley Hargis said his uncle had promised him $200 and Mrs. Yandle had pledged $100 for him to commit the deed. He claimed the woman had told him she was tired of living with her husband and wanted to marry John. He further stated that his uncle had helped him load the shotgun with which he killed Yandle.
After Wesley’s confession, his uncle was interviewed. John said only that Wesley had told him that Mrs. Yandle wanted him to kill her husband, but he denied that he himself had anything to do with the crime.
Mrs. Yandle was then interrogated, and she, too, denied involvement in the murder. She claimed that she and her husband were best friends who lived happily together and that no intimacy had ever existed between her and John Hargis, as many people were claiming. “The Hargis boys are trying to lay the burden of the crime on me,” she concluded.
The three suspects were taken to Marshfield and lodged in the county jail. A grand jury promptly indicted all three of them for murder. Excitement in the Henderson vicinity was great, as all parties had been well thought of prior to the crime. There was some talk of taking the suspects out of the calaboose and dealing out summary justice.
The cases of Wesley Hargis and Mrs. Yandle were heard in late November 1893 in Hickory County on changes of venue. In exchange for his testimony against the other two defendants, Wesley Hargis was allowed to plead guilty to second-degree murder, and he received a 99-year sentence in the state penitentiary. Mrs. Hargis was tried immediately after young Hargis’s plea deal, but, despite young Hargis’s testimony, she was acquitted. After a series of delays and changes of venue, John Hargis’s case was set to finally come up in Wright County in early September 1895, but it ended up being nol-prossed for lack of evidence. Whether Wesley Hargis served very much time in the state pen is also in doubt, as there seems to be conflicting evidence on the question.
Sunday, November 28, 2021
Prohibition Begins in Missouri
In my book Wicked Joplin, I wrote about how the last day before Prohibition was celebrated in Joplin, and I got to wondering how other Missouri localities observed the day. Although the period we know today as Prohibition did not begin until January 1920, the temporary Wartime Prohibition Act banned the sale of beverages containing more than 2.75 percent alcohol as of July 1, 1919. So, for all practical purposes, June 30, 1919, marked the last day that people could legally purchase booze.
Known as a hell-raising town from its earliest days as a boisterous mining camp, "wet" Joplin was a frenzy of activity in the days leading up to the prohibition deadline. People from miles around who lived in “dry” territories trekked to Joplin to stock up on John Barleycorn, and record sales were reported. (The initial provisions of the prohibition act outlawed the sale but not the possession of alcoholic drinks.) On the eve of the law’s taking effect, Joplinites marked the occasion with wild revelry. All the saloons were jammed throughout the evening, as were all the cafes that served alcohol. “No New Year’s party in the history of Joplin...could be compared with it,” said the Joplin Globe the next day. “When midnight approached the merrymakers were well along toward that state where every one is a ‘jolly good fellow.’” When the fateful hour arrived, women jumped onto tables and starting singing “How Dry I Am” and similar ditties, while out in the streets “the revelry was nearly as bad. Men and boys paraded Main street shouting and yelling,” and both men and women in automobiles drove up and down the street screaming and shouting out the open windows. The Joplin police, reported the Globe on July 1, arrested seventy-eight people for drunkenness, even though they limited their arrests to those “who had become so intoxicated they will not realize until late today they were guests of the city....”
Other towns and cities throughout Missouri marked the occasion with revelry as well, although their celebrations were more subdued in most cases.
In Kansas City, "Last-chance parties abounded in hotels and cabarets," according to the July 1 Kansas City Times, "and the saloons did (a) heavy business." The celebration centered on Twelfth Street, where the merrymakers "made a noisy demonstration to the close." It was a "joyous and happy crowd," some woozy with liquor, but "not offensive." Some of the revelers were strangers to John Barleycorn but "made his acquaintance last night." One such newcomer to liquor was a woman who sat in an automobile outside the Hotel Muehlebach looking somewhat disheveled. "What do you think my Sunday school class would think of me now?" she asked as a reporter passed by.
In St. Joseph, "The celebrators, or mourners, as the city's News-Press called them the next morning, "did everything they could to get rid of the liquor last night." Since the new law would still allow for light or "kickless" beer and wine, it was mostly "whiskey straight" that the St. Joseph partiers imbibed.
For the most part, St. Louis, according to the July 1 Post-Dispatch, "permitted liquor to pass out last night with indifference. The expectation that the 'last night' would have aspects of drunkenness and revelry not uncommon to New Year's Eve was not realized." A fairly large number of people did take to the streets in the early evening, but when the crowds "realized that nothing to stir their risibility was going to happen, they dispersed to their homes." The St. Louis Star & Times largely agreed, noting that there were some large crowds throughout the city but that the celebration was "by no means of the New Year variety." Most of the celebrating occurred at "family parties, and revelry was the exception."
In Springfield, "The ringing of church bells and the celebration at downtown cafes marked the passing of John Barleycorn and his stepbrothers," according to the Springfield Missouri Republican. Although some of the downtown cafes and saloons had more business than usual, there were no real parties like those normally held on New Year's Eve. When the clocks reached midnight, some of the churches in town, happy to see the death of John Barleycorn, rang their bells in dirge-like peals usually reserved for funerals.
Many of the "thirst-parlors" in Joplin and elsewhere throughout the state closed after Wartime Prohibition took effect, even though the law initially allowed the sale of drinks with a small amount of alcohol. The saloonkeepers said that, with whiskey barred, they could not make enough money to pay expenses.
Known as a hell-raising town from its earliest days as a boisterous mining camp, "wet" Joplin was a frenzy of activity in the days leading up to the prohibition deadline. People from miles around who lived in “dry” territories trekked to Joplin to stock up on John Barleycorn, and record sales were reported. (The initial provisions of the prohibition act outlawed the sale but not the possession of alcoholic drinks.) On the eve of the law’s taking effect, Joplinites marked the occasion with wild revelry. All the saloons were jammed throughout the evening, as were all the cafes that served alcohol. “No New Year’s party in the history of Joplin...could be compared with it,” said the Joplin Globe the next day. “When midnight approached the merrymakers were well along toward that state where every one is a ‘jolly good fellow.’” When the fateful hour arrived, women jumped onto tables and starting singing “How Dry I Am” and similar ditties, while out in the streets “the revelry was nearly as bad. Men and boys paraded Main street shouting and yelling,” and both men and women in automobiles drove up and down the street screaming and shouting out the open windows. The Joplin police, reported the Globe on July 1, arrested seventy-eight people for drunkenness, even though they limited their arrests to those “who had become so intoxicated they will not realize until late today they were guests of the city....”
Other towns and cities throughout Missouri marked the occasion with revelry as well, although their celebrations were more subdued in most cases.
In Kansas City, "Last-chance parties abounded in hotels and cabarets," according to the July 1 Kansas City Times, "and the saloons did (a) heavy business." The celebration centered on Twelfth Street, where the merrymakers "made a noisy demonstration to the close." It was a "joyous and happy crowd," some woozy with liquor, but "not offensive." Some of the revelers were strangers to John Barleycorn but "made his acquaintance last night." One such newcomer to liquor was a woman who sat in an automobile outside the Hotel Muehlebach looking somewhat disheveled. "What do you think my Sunday school class would think of me now?" she asked as a reporter passed by.
In St. Joseph, "The celebrators, or mourners, as the city's News-Press called them the next morning, "did everything they could to get rid of the liquor last night." Since the new law would still allow for light or "kickless" beer and wine, it was mostly "whiskey straight" that the St. Joseph partiers imbibed.
For the most part, St. Louis, according to the July 1 Post-Dispatch, "permitted liquor to pass out last night with indifference. The expectation that the 'last night' would have aspects of drunkenness and revelry not uncommon to New Year's Eve was not realized." A fairly large number of people did take to the streets in the early evening, but when the crowds "realized that nothing to stir their risibility was going to happen, they dispersed to their homes." The St. Louis Star & Times largely agreed, noting that there were some large crowds throughout the city but that the celebration was "by no means of the New Year variety." Most of the celebrating occurred at "family parties, and revelry was the exception."
In Springfield, "The ringing of church bells and the celebration at downtown cafes marked the passing of John Barleycorn and his stepbrothers," according to the Springfield Missouri Republican. Although some of the downtown cafes and saloons had more business than usual, there were no real parties like those normally held on New Year's Eve. When the clocks reached midnight, some of the churches in town, happy to see the death of John Barleycorn, rang their bells in dirge-like peals usually reserved for funerals.
Many of the "thirst-parlors" in Joplin and elsewhere throughout the state closed after Wartime Prohibition took effect, even though the law initially allowed the sale of drinks with a small amount of alcohol. The saloonkeepers said that, with whiskey barred, they could not make enough money to pay expenses.
Saturday, November 20, 2021
The Murder of Violet Brewer
About seven a.m. on the morning of August 27, 1970, fifty-year-old Violet Brewer, clerk at a Quick Shop at 3328 N. Glenstone in Springfield, was shot to death during a holdup as she was opening the store for business. Twenty-two-year old Donald Joe Hall was arrested as a suspect in the case in mid-September on a tip from Warren Martin, who told police that Hall had given him a .32 caliber pistol to dispose of shortly after the Brewer murder. Martin, who was under arrest on suspicion of armed robbery, said he’d thrown the weapon into Lake Springfield, and it was recovered a few days after Martin’s confession. Hall had a criminal record dating back to 1965 when he was a seventeen-year-old kid, and, at the time of his arrest as a suspect in the Brewer case, he'd been out on probation for the past ten months after pleading guilty to a charge of displaying a dangerous weapon because he'd pointed a gun at a policeman who was trying to question him for careless driving.
Hall’s probation was now revoked, and he was charged with first-degree murder. At Hall's trial, Martin, a former cellmate of Hall’s at the state prison, testified that Hall told him, after he gave him the pistol to dispose of, that he’d “had to shoot a gal” with it during a holdup when the woman reached for a phone to call police and that Hall admitted it was the murder and holdup that had been in the news so much lately. Forensic experts linked the weapon taken from Lake Springfield to the bullet removed from Mrs. Brewer’s head. However, Hall took the stand in his own defense to deny killing Brewer. He admitted giving the pistol to Martin but said he’d done so before the murder. Although one is left to wonder why Martin would point police toward a murder weapon if he’d committed the murder himself, Hall planted enough doubt in the minds of jurors to win an acquittal.
Hall still faced five years in the penitentiary, though, on the charge of displaying a deadly weapon, and when he got out of prison in 1973 after serving only about half of the sentence, he promptly resumed his criminal career, culminating in the murder of Springfield jeweler William Roscoe White in December 1992, a crime for which Hall was convicted and sentenced to death (later changed to life imprisonment).
This story is condensed from my book Lynchings, Murders, and Other Nefarious Deeds: A Criminal History of Greene County, Mo. https://amzn.to/3Mi39sE
Saturday, November 13, 2021
The Last Lynching in Missouri: The Murder of Cleo Wright
In the wee hours of Sunday morning, January 25, 1942, 29-year-old Grace Sturgeon and her sister-in-law, LaVerne Sturgeon, were awakened from their sleep when they heard someone crawling through a window in the house where they were staying in Sikeston, Missouri, while their husbands were away in military service. Grace's 8-year-old son was asleep in another room. The intruder, a black man, confronted the women, lunging at them with a knife. LaVerne made her escape and ran from the house screaming for help, but the man grabbed Grace and cut her across the abdomen. He also slashed her hand when she tried to grab the knife. About this time, Grace's son was aroused from his sleep by the commotion, and the intruder took off. When LaVerne returned with help, Grace was lying in the floor with severe wounds.
Law officers immediately went looking for the assailant. About a half mile from the Sturgeon home, Sikeston policeman Hess Perrigan and a citizen who was driving Perrigan's vehicle spotted a black man walking along the street with blood on his clothes. Perrigan arrested the man, took a knife away from him, and got into the back seat with his captive.
Although Perrigan had his revolver trained on the prisoner, the man, later identified as 26-year-old Cleo Wright, whipped out another knife that he had hidden on his person and attacked Perrigan with it, severing an artery. Despite the severe wound, the officer managed to get off four shots, all of them striking Wright.
Mrs. Sturgeon and Officer Perrigan were both taken to the Sikeston hospital with serious wounds, while the gravely wounded Wright was taken at first to the city hall, where the city jail was located. Walking under his own power, the prisoner, however, collapsed as he was led into the building. He, too, was then taken to the hospital and placed in the emergency room in the basement. Sometime after 5 a.m., however, he was moved back to the city hall and placed in a temporary detention room rather than the steel-barred jail in the basement. Here he reportedly admitted that he had attacked Grace Sturgeon.
By about ten o'clock Sunday morning, a crowd had gathered at the city hall and were attempting the break down the ordinary wooden door of the detention room. A highway patrolman succeeded in temporarily dispersing the small group. The patrolman called for backup, and two other highway patrolmen and the city police chief arrived to help guard the prisoner.
Over the next couple of hours, however, both the size and the determination of the crowd grew. About noon, prosecuting attorney David Blanton arrived and tried to reason with the growing mob, but his remarks only "seemed to inflame the crowd," according to the local newspaper, the Sikeston Herald. With shouts of "What are we waiting for?" the crowd surged into the city hall, shoved past the officers, and easily broke down the door to the detention room. Wright, already unconscious from his wounds, was dragged from the building. One report said he was immediately tied by his feet to the bumper of a car and dragged through the street toward the black section of town, while a conflicting report said he was crammed into the trunk of the car, taken to the edge of the black section, and then tied to the bumper. In either case, he was dragged back and forth through Sikeston's black neighborhood on the west side of town. After a few minutes, Wright's lifeless and nearly naked body was cut loose, gasoline was poured on it, and it was set ablaze "in front of the Negro school." The mob then gradually dispersed.
The charred body lay unclaimed for several hours, before it was finally taken late that afternoon to a local cemetery and buried in the "Potter's Field." Grace Sturgeon and Hess Perrigan, on the other hand, gradually recovered from their wounds.
As was generally true in cases of lynching, law enforcement made at least a superficial effort to identify and prosecute the ringleaders of the mob that dragged Wright from the city hall but to little avail. A grand jury early the next year failed to return a true bill against any of the perpetrators. Citing a lack of cooperation from potential witnesses, the jury said none of the guilty parties could be positively identified.
The murder of Cleo Wright is generally considered the last lynching in Missouri, although the shooting death of town bully Ken McElroy in Skidmore in 1981 by an unidentified member of a crowd of townspeople who were confronting the hated McElroy has occasionally been characterized as a lynching as well. For a thorough account of the Wright lynching, I recommend The Lynching of Cleo Wright https://amzn.to/3YWPkXV by Dominic J. Capeci, Jr.
Law officers immediately went looking for the assailant. About a half mile from the Sturgeon home, Sikeston policeman Hess Perrigan and a citizen who was driving Perrigan's vehicle spotted a black man walking along the street with blood on his clothes. Perrigan arrested the man, took a knife away from him, and got into the back seat with his captive.
Although Perrigan had his revolver trained on the prisoner, the man, later identified as 26-year-old Cleo Wright, whipped out another knife that he had hidden on his person and attacked Perrigan with it, severing an artery. Despite the severe wound, the officer managed to get off four shots, all of them striking Wright.
Mrs. Sturgeon and Officer Perrigan were both taken to the Sikeston hospital with serious wounds, while the gravely wounded Wright was taken at first to the city hall, where the city jail was located. Walking under his own power, the prisoner, however, collapsed as he was led into the building. He, too, was then taken to the hospital and placed in the emergency room in the basement. Sometime after 5 a.m., however, he was moved back to the city hall and placed in a temporary detention room rather than the steel-barred jail in the basement. Here he reportedly admitted that he had attacked Grace Sturgeon.
By about ten o'clock Sunday morning, a crowd had gathered at the city hall and were attempting the break down the ordinary wooden door of the detention room. A highway patrolman succeeded in temporarily dispersing the small group. The patrolman called for backup, and two other highway patrolmen and the city police chief arrived to help guard the prisoner.
Over the next couple of hours, however, both the size and the determination of the crowd grew. About noon, prosecuting attorney David Blanton arrived and tried to reason with the growing mob, but his remarks only "seemed to inflame the crowd," according to the local newspaper, the Sikeston Herald. With shouts of "What are we waiting for?" the crowd surged into the city hall, shoved past the officers, and easily broke down the door to the detention room. Wright, already unconscious from his wounds, was dragged from the building. One report said he was immediately tied by his feet to the bumper of a car and dragged through the street toward the black section of town, while a conflicting report said he was crammed into the trunk of the car, taken to the edge of the black section, and then tied to the bumper. In either case, he was dragged back and forth through Sikeston's black neighborhood on the west side of town. After a few minutes, Wright's lifeless and nearly naked body was cut loose, gasoline was poured on it, and it was set ablaze "in front of the Negro school." The mob then gradually dispersed.
The charred body lay unclaimed for several hours, before it was finally taken late that afternoon to a local cemetery and buried in the "Potter's Field." Grace Sturgeon and Hess Perrigan, on the other hand, gradually recovered from their wounds.
As was generally true in cases of lynching, law enforcement made at least a superficial effort to identify and prosecute the ringleaders of the mob that dragged Wright from the city hall but to little avail. A grand jury early the next year failed to return a true bill against any of the perpetrators. Citing a lack of cooperation from potential witnesses, the jury said none of the guilty parties could be positively identified.
The murder of Cleo Wright is generally considered the last lynching in Missouri, although the shooting death of town bully Ken McElroy in Skidmore in 1981 by an unidentified member of a crowd of townspeople who were confronting the hated McElroy has occasionally been characterized as a lynching as well. For a thorough account of the Wright lynching, I recommend The Lynching of Cleo Wright https://amzn.to/3YWPkXV by Dominic J. Capeci, Jr.
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