My Life with Bonnie and Clyde (37 page)

Howard Hall, Killed, Perhaps by Clyde Barrow, October 11, 1932

Howard Hall was a fifty-seven year-old grocer living in Sherman, Texas. Born in 1875 in McKinney, Texas, he moved to Sherman at the age of twenty-nine. There among other things he owned his own grocery business. At some point Hall gave up his business, perhaps due to stress, and took a job as meat manager for S. R. Little Grocery.

On October 11, 1932, just before closing, a lone man walked into the store. He looked nervous. The man picked up a loaf of bread and walked to the register, asking for eggs and lunchmeat. The man then handed a dollar to grocer Homer Glaze. Glaze opened the register and when he looked up, he was staring at a blue steel (sometimes described as chrome) .45 automatic. At that point, Howard Hall stepped up and said to the bandit, “You can’t do that!” The gunman became infuriated. He started backing both men toward the side entrance of the store, all the time cursing, kicking, and beating Hall. Finally, Hall tried to grab the gunman’s arm and he was shot three times, the force of the blasts knocking him through the door to the sidewalk outside. The assailant stepped over Hall, shot him again, then aimed his gun at Glaze. He pulled the trigger but the gun misfired. With that, the gunman ran to a waiting car containing two other men and drove away. Hall remained conscious for a while after being taken to a nearby hospital but died shortly thereafter.

Upon hearing of the shooting, Dallas authorities sent mug shots of Clyde Barrow to Sherman, and eyewitnesses almost immediately identified him
as the gunman. There is no evidence that any pictures other than Barrow’s were shown to Glaze and the other eyewitness.

Eyewitness identification is not always accurate. Raymond Hamilton was convicted of the murder of John Bucher based on eyewitness identification, and he was not even in the state at the time. He was still convicted. A number of incorrect suspects would also be identified later in the Doyle Johnson case—all from eyewitness identification of mug shots, though Clyde Barrow and W. D. Jones were the true perpetrators.

Clyde Barrow always maintained he never staged a crime of any kind in Sherman. The statement carries some weight because Barrow almost always admitted to his family which crimes were his. Still, there are aspects of the robbery that sound distinctly like Barrow. He was known to rob grocery stores and he often used .45 automatics. Nevertheless, these traits are linked as well to dozens of other midwestern bandits. In addition, the nervousness of the suspect, cited in every report, would not have been characteristic of Clyde Barrow. Almost anyone who knew him, worked with him, or encountered him in any way remembered him as a very cool operator, even in the heat of a gun battle. Still, there are a lot of unanswered questions about the identity of the killer of Howard Hall, none of which diminish the tragedy of his death.

Doyle Johnson, Shot by Either Clyde Barrow or W. D. Jones on Christmas Day, 1932, Died the Following Day

Salesman Doyle Johnson was a twenty-six-year-old husband and father enjoying Christmas with his family when his wife noticed a man wearing a dark overcoat and a tan hat climb into the family car. Then she saw another man already behind the wheel. “Those men are taking the car,” she cried to her husband. Johnson bolted outside where two of his in-laws were already standing beside the car shouting at the thieves.

The thieves seemed to be having trouble starting the car on the cold day. The man in the overcoat had taken over for the other thief. Finally, the engine cranked and the man behind the wheel put it in gear. Johnson jumped on the running board just as the car pulled away, reached through the open window, and started choking the driver. “Get back, man, or I’ll kill you,” the driver said. Johnson tightened his grip. “Stop,” the man spurted, “or I’ll kill you!”

Witnesses heard the discharge of two different weapons. The second shot struck Johnson in the neck, severing his spine. He died the following day.
The assailants, by their own admission, were Clyde Barrow, in the dark overcoat, and W. D. Jones, the one who first tried to start the car and then relinquished the wheel to Barrow. However, before the truth was discovered, a number of suspects were incorrectly identified, including Les Stewart, Odell Chambless, and Frank Hardy. Hardy was actually put on trial for the murder. His first trial resulted in a hung jury. His second trial had been scheduled when Jones was arrested near Houston and admitted to the killing. Clyde Barrow drafted a letter exonerating Hardy from any involvement in the Barrow gang. After typing the note, Barrow then rubbed his hands in grease and applied his hand and fingerprints to the page. The letter was never mailed, however, presumably because of the Jones confession. It remained in the Barrow family collection until sold at auction a few years ago.

Malcolm Davis, Killed by Clyde Barrow, January 6, 1933

Malcolm Davis was a resident of Grapevine, Texas. He was a veteran Tarrant County deputy sheriff, very tough, very experienced. On December 29, 1932, two men robbed the Home Bank of Grapevine. They took $2,850. A posse was quickly organized, and one of the men was soon captured. His name was Les Stewart, and he was a well-known West Dallas underworld figure. He had helped Raymond Hamilton rob a bank in Cedar Hill, Texas, on November 25, 1932. It did not take long for Deputy Davis and other Tarrant County officials to establish who the second man was, another West Dallas character named Odell Chambless. Informed that Chambless would rendezvous at a safe house in West Dallas on a certain date, Davis contacted the Dallas County sheriff’s department and a task force was assembled. The house soon became the focus of their search for Chambless.

On the afternoon of January 5, 1933, Dallas County Deputy Sheriff Ed Castor paid a visit to the suspected safe house at 507 County Avenue (North Winnetka today), in West Dallas. Two of Raymond Hamilton’s sisters, Maggie Fairris and Lillian McBride, lived there. Castor questioned McBride, then left. At 11
P.M.
that night, more visitors arrived. Tarrant County assistant district attorney W. T. Evans, along with Tarrant County deputies Malcolm Davis and Dusty Rhodes, met two Dallas County officials, including Deputy Sheriff Fred Bradberry, in front of the house. A sixth man, J. F. Van Noy also joined the group. Sometimes described as a special ranger, other times listed as a special investigator, Van Noy was evidently acting in some multijurisdictional capacity in an attempt to solve a number of Texas crimes, including the murders of Howard Hall and Doyle Johnson.

Evans and the officers did not find McBride. She was at work in downtown Dallas. However, Maggie Fairris was there with her two small children. The men commandeered the house. Van Noy, Rhodes, and the two Dallas officers stationed themselves inside. Evans and Davis covered the back porch. For several minutes Bradberry sat on a sofa next to a front window making small talk with Fairris, who seemed nervous. At one point she left the living room to tuck her children into bed. When she returned Bradberry, ordered her to turn out all the lights. She complied, except for a small red light she insisted be left on in her children’s bedroom window. Bradberry agreed.

At midnight, January 6, a Chevrolet coupe cruised slowly past the house. Seconds later it reappeared, slowing as if to stop, then picking up speed and rounding the corner. Bradberry grew suspicious of the red light and ordered it turned off. The car approached once more and stopped, engine idling, lights off. A small, lean man wearing a dark overcoat and a tan hat emerged from the driver’s side of the coupe. He walked very slowly toward the front porch, both hands in the pockets of his overcoat. Bradberry had no idea who the man might be. For all he knew, it was a neighbor checking on McBride and Fairris. He told Fairris to open the door. She jerked the door open and screamed, “Don’t shoot! Think of my babies!” The man on the lawn opened his coat, raised a sawed-off shotgun, and fired a blast of buckshot at the window where Bradberry was sitting. He and everyone else in the house dove to the floor, unhurt but thoroughly surprised. Chambless was not supposed to be a dangerous fugitive.

The shotgun blast brought Davis and Evans running around to the front of the house. The man with the shotgun was backing away from the house, gun raised, when Davis appeared. “Get back!” the gunman said. “Don’t come any closer.” Davis kept on approaching. “Don’t come any closer,” the gunman repeated. Davis was almost on top of the assailant when a single blast of buckshot knocked him backward onto the front porch, nine .00 buckshot pellets in his heart. Someone in the car started shooting at the house. Evans, running right behind Davis, wheeled around and dove over a neighboring fence just as a charge of buckshot narrowly missed him. The car then sped away. The gunman ran beside the house and disappeared down the alley.

Bradberry ran outside into the yard in time to see the Chevrolet coupe kicking gravel high into the air as it turned west on Eagle Ford Road. The Dallas deputy then lifted the mortally wounded Davis into his arms and carried him to his car. Bystanders had started to gather. Suddenly, Van Noy ran up and, thinking he had trapped the gunman, pulled his own weapon and fired two shots into Bradberry’s car. Miraculously no one was hit. Malcolm Davis
was rushed to Methodist Hospital, but the fifty-two-year-old lawman was already dead.

Wes Harryman and Harry McGinnis, Killed by Clyde Barrow, Buck Barrow, and W. D. Jones, April 13, 1933

Wes Harryman was the forty-one year-old constable of Newton County, Missouri. He was actually a farmer by trade, but farming paid next to nothing during the depression. To supplement his meager income he ran for and won the constable’s seat in his district. Part of his jurisdiction was a piece of the nearby city of Joplin. Joplin was a wild town in the 1930s.. It was a well-known hangout and hideout for members of the criminal underworld—partially because it straddled several jurisdictions and partially because for a price the local authorities provided an outlaw a modicum of peace and quiet. This is not to suggest that all law officers in the Joplin area were on the take, but some were—enough so that criminals knew it as a safe haven. Nevertheless, it was evidently only safe for those who followed the rules and one of those rules was to stay clean in the area, or at least be quiet about it.

In early April, it was becoming apparent that the occupants of a garage apartment on 34th Street, near the intersection of Oak Ridge, were rather openly robbing local businesses and stealing local cars. On April 13, 1933, Wes Harryman was at his farm in Newton County when Joplin City detective Tom DeGraff and Joplin motor detective Harry McGinnis arrived. They had obtained a search warrant for the garage apartment but needed someone from the local jurisdiction to actually serve the warrant. The intersection of 34th and Oak Ridge was in Newton County and Harryman was the only Newton County official available at the time. Harryman rode off in the officers’ car with Tom DeGraff at the wheel.

The three officers rendezvoused with Missouri state troopers G. B. Kahler and W. E. Grammar and proceeded to the garage apartment, the troopers following in their own car. As the apartment came into view, Harryman spotted someone at one of the two garage doors, hurrying to close it. DeGraff pulled diagonally into the short driveway to block both doors. He had not come to a complete stop before Harryman leaped from the car and rushed the door. A shotgun blast blew him to the ground. He fired one shot into the garage, then died, a massive wound in his shoulder and neck.

McGinnis leaped from the car and was actually able to jab his weapon through the opening in the garage door and squeeze off three shots before
another shotgun blast hurtled him to the driveway not far from Harryman, his arm nearly ripped off.

DeGraff dove from his car, fired several shots, and then ran to the main house a few yards away from the garage apartment. “For God’s sake, someone call the station,” he shouted. The state troopers had already parked on the street and run to the cover of the same house. Sporadic but intense gunfire ensued. In addition to the shotgun, an automatic weapon was also fired at the three remaining officers. At one point one of the gunmen was in the street, apparently as a result of having pushed DeGraff’s car out of the driveway, or perhaps he was merely looking for the other lawmen. A woman was with him. The officers fired at him. He was hit, but a button on his shirt deflected the bullet and the wound was not serious. Someone later stated that one of the officers saw a man and a woman firing intermittently from an upstairs window, but this was never mentioned at the coroner’s inquests. Two people stepped outside and moved one of the downed officers, probably Harryman, apparently because his body was blocking the garage door. The officers then spotted a woman calmly walking in front of the garage and strolling off down the street. They did not know who she was or where she came from. Then a car inside the garage appeared, roaring past the dead Harryman and dying McGinnis and sped away from the scene, stopping just long enough to pick up the woman who was still walking casually down the street about a block away from the apartment.

Harryman was dead at the scene, but McGinnis was still conscious. “Where’s Tom [DeGraff],” he asked. DeGraff answered. “Well, who was it that went down, the constable?” McGinnis asked. He was told it was Harryman. “Go see how he’s getting along,” McGinnis said. He then asked that he be taken to St. John’s Hospital and that someone call his eighty-one-year-old mother. McGinnis died six hours later in the hospital. He was a likable fellow, full of jokes and laughter. Most of his friends and colleagues simply called him “the Irishman.” He was a widower whose wife had been struck and killed by a car two years earlier. At fifty-three, he was engaged to be married on May 10. He was the first of two would-be grooms murdered by the Barrow gang.

Henry D. Humphrey, Shot by Buck Barrow on June 23, 1933, Died June 26, 1933

Henry D. Humphrey was city marshall of Alma, Arkansas. Like many officers discussed here, he was a farmer by trade. But in the words of Humphrey’s
son, Vernon, “You couldn’t live off it [farming] in those days.” Humphrey ran for the post of Alma City marshall and won. The regular income was a great help, but almost immediately, there was trouble. Thirty days into his term, he was abducted and beaten by bank robbers and his gun was stolen from him. The beating was bad enough but in those days lawmen paid for their own equipment. The price of a replacement gun was no small matter to a man trying to make ends meet during the Great Depression.