A Dead Man Turns Up Alive

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Fooling with the Wrong Daughter

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

The Murder of Frank Wade

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jess Hall: An Old Offender

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

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

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

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

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

A Murder in Oregon County

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joplin Bawdy Houses

Two of the past three weeks I've written about bawdy houses and prostitution in Springfield, but Joplin puts Springfield to shame when it comes to a track record of prostitution. I suppose "put to shame" is a poor way to say that prostitution in Joplin has always been more prevalent than in Springfield because a lot of arbiters of morality, I'm sure, would say that Joplin, not Springfield, has the shameful record. Nonetheless, I thought I'd take a look at Joplin prostitution this week. This is a topic that I first tackled in my Wicked Joplin book. https://amzn.to/3X0bd7E

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

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

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

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

More on 1940s Springfield Prostitution

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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