A Cold Winter Trip

I was in Amarillo, having been sent to interview some deserters from the Army during the Korean conflict. It was wintertime and bitterly cold. I received permission to return home. I made it as far as Big Spring and settled into a motel for the night. I had just relaxed when the telephone rang. It was Percy Foreman. He was going to release the man who allegedly shot and killed the government agent nearly two years before as he crossed the bridge. This was the agent whom Jimmy Rowe had insisted on an autopsy which led to a murder trial. The man who was being represented by Foreman had been hiding in Mexico. Who had hired Foreman was not known but I had my suspicions. "You need to be in Corpus Christi at 8 o'clock in the morning," Foreman told me. I protested that it was nearly midnight and I was exhausted. "If you want this story, be there," Foreman told me and hung up. And so I got up and drove to Corpus, arriving about six the next morning. Foreman and his client arrived in court at 8 AM. Percy pleaded not guilty and posted bond. It was all over in a few minutes. Percy refused my plea for an interview and took his client and left. It was a front page story but not really exciting. Later on, Percy won his case and the man was freed.

Back to South Texas

There was a reporter for the Corpus Christi newspaper named Jimmy Rowe. He was in conflict with George Parr for years. One time the government sent an agent to Duval County. This man claimed to be a postal inspector but actually he was spying on various matters, such as gambling and prostitution. For weeks this agent was in Duval County all the time, visiting various activities and going back to Corpus at night. The Parr machine decided to get rid of him. One night as this agent crossed the bridge between Duval and Jim Wells Counties he apparently had a blowout and crashed into the railing, killing him. Jimmy Rowe did not believe this was an accident and he called for an autopsy. The body was carried to a Corpus funeral home and was being prepared for burial. Rowe screamed loud that there should be an autopsy and at the last minute his request was granted and an autopsy was performed. This revealed that the agent had been shot in the head. It was murder. The man who pulled the trigger immediately left town and went to Monterrey, Mexico. In my next blog I will tell you the outcome.

Sidewalk Cowboys

At Madisonville, in East Texas, they had the Sidewalk Cowboys group during which they threw bogus cowboys in the horse trough. I went up there riding a mule and wearing English boots. Sure enough they threw me in the horse trough. After that I ate some barbecue and drank a beer. One of the local cowboys told me, "You got off easy. I wanted to throw you and the mule into the Trinity River."

Shaking Hands with George Parr

The phone rang in my hotel room in Alice. It was the county judge of Duval County, Dan Tobin, wanting me to come to his office and meet with George Parr. With some trepredation I agreed. When I got there George Parr was there, surrounded by county officials. He was polite but also cool. He did not like newspapermen. I expressed regret about the courthouse incident and he said he was not mad a me. It seems he was angry at the Corpus Christi paper instead of my publication, The Houston Post. Well, we shook hands and I breathed a little relief. You do not want George Parr to be your enemy when you are in his county.

More Texas Rangers

I was in Duval County where the District Judge was trying a fraud case. George Parr, the boss of Duval County, was serving as sheriff. Two Texas Rangers were there to preserve order. The Houston Post sent Keith Hawkins to be my photographer. Hawkins was eager to make a rep. When the judge called for a recess Hawkins stepped out in front and took a picture of Sheriff George Parr. This infuriated Parr and he grabbed Hawkins and tried to take his camera away. I had not choice but to intervene and so there we were three grown men holding on to each other and spinning around. To my relief, Texas Ranger Joe Bridges intervened. He took Parr by the arm and led him outside the courtroom. Then he came back and told me: "I ain't here to babysit you newspaper reporters. Why don't you leave." I grabbed Hawkins and took him outside and told him to go back to Houston. But Hawkins was not through yet. He went back and told the Post editors that George Parr had attacked him. The Post ran a front page story with Hawkins, sporting a black eye, featured as the victim. Meanwhile the judge had dismissed the original case. I was in nearby Alice, Texas, wondering what to do next. In my next blog I will tell you what happened.

The Texas Ranger's Daughter

One of my early girlfriends, during my youth, was the daughter of a Texas Ranger. I was fond of this girl, who was bold and outgoing, but I also feared her father, who was a strict law enforcement officer. She and I used to steal peaches from the nearby orchards and things like that. One time I took her to a nightclub on the Ballinger Highway known as the Bloody Bucket. It was known for violence. We were in this club, drinking beer and dancing, when she jumped up and said: "That was daddy's voice." Sure enough her father was in charge of a raid on this night club. She jumped up and ran to the Little Girl's Room and I was right behind her. Fortunately there were not any other people in this room. I jumped up on the comode and opened a window and straddled the sill and reached down and pulled her up and dropped her on the ground outside. Then I dropped down. We held hands and ran for blocks and blocks until we were a long way distant from the club. Then we walked until we found a pay phone booth. I called a cab and took her home, leaving my car on the parking lot of the club until the next day.

Down on the Rio Grande

This was a wonderful wilderness place. J.E. and I would go down to the river early in the morning and see the wildlife come down to the river to get their morning drink. It was interesting because the predators, such as cougars, would come down at a specific spot and the victims, such as deer, would come down at a different place. Late in the day the Mexican hustlers would come across by floating a wagon pulled by a team of horses. They brought an alcoholic drink known as Tecate. This was the first run on a beverage which later became Tequila. It was raw and burned all the way down. But it was cheap. Then the vendors would break out guitars and serenade us. They sang songs such as Mexicali Rose. Mr. Carroll improved with the spa treatment and we went home. Later on this beautiful spot was purchased by H.L. Hunt of Dallas, the rich man who had more money than taste. He fenced it off and it was no longer available for visitors.