The rest of that night is too hard for me to describe. I can’t find words to express the horror of it, although it wasn’t much different from any other night after Buck was shot.
Clyde said we would start driving early the next morning. When he and W. D. woke up and got out of the car to roast some weenies left over from the night before, I lay down beside Buck with my head close to his heart and his arms holding me tight. I fell asleep for a few minutes. Then Buck moved to grab a pistol. He was talking about seeing soldiers all around us. He had the gun in his hand when I awoke. He also had W. D.’s billfold in his hand. He had taken it from W. D.’s hip pocket while he lying between the two seats.
“Baby,” he said, handing me the billfold. “See what I taken from one of the soldiers that was laying here? He’s drunk and I got his money!”
I looked around but could see no one but W. D. and Clyde. I knew then that Buck was feeling worse and that he didn’t know what he was saying.16 I felt his pulse. It was so weak I couldn’t find it. As I started to listen to Buck’s heart I heard Clyde suddenly say, “Look out!” Then he and W. D. rushed for the car, grabbed guns, and started shooting. A hail of lead hit the car.17 Glass broke. I rolled Buck over, onto the cushion between the seats, and threw my body over his to protect him from the glass and lead. I heard W. D. say, “Clyde! I’m shot! I can’t fight any longer!” I looked his way and saw blood streaming down his face. He was close, beside the car.18
“I’m shot too,” Clyde answered. “But we gotta keep fighting.”19
I heard Clyde curse one of the officers and say, “I’ll get you for that!”20 Then he and W. D. got in the car and tried to get away. Clyde said he couldn’t drive to the highway, in the direction we’d come from, so he started backing down a hill. He backed into a ditch and got the motor hung on a tree stump. He couldn’t pull out.
“Let’s run,” Bonnie said. Clyde told her she couldn’t run, but she said she could.
“Let’s go!” Clyde said.
I got Buck out of the car, but he wanted his shoes. So I put them on and tied them. I had already slipped my boots on. They were full of glass, but I didn’t take the time to pull them off and get it out.
“Come on!” Clyde shouted. They were about ten feet away from the car.
I got my arm around Buck’s waist and tried to follow, but when we were about twenty feet up the hill Buck fainted. I couldn’t hold him up alone. He was dead weight. We both fell to the ground. Clyde, W. D., and Bonnie were still running and shooting.21 They saw Buck faint and pull me down. I called to Clyde, but they didn’t stop. I worked with Buck, trying to bring him to. When he did come to, he spoke.
Part of the posse at the outlaws’ camp. Left to right: Al Gardner, who guided the group; John Drake, Sutherland city marshal; Colonel Fred Hird, U.S. marshal; and Polk County deputy sheriffs Jake Gesell, Carl Abolt, and Harold Gesell. “I heard Clyde curse one of the officers and say, ‘I’ll get you for that!’” (From the Blanche Caldwell Barrow scrapbooks, courtesy of Rhea Leen Linder)
“Baby,” he said. “Leave me. You can get away alone. I am too tired to go on.”
I got him to sit up so he could lean on me. I told him I wouldn’t leave him, ever. We would both die together if I couldn’t get him away. The only way I would ever leave him would be for the officers to take me away from him. And only for his sake would I give up alive.
“Baby,” he said. “Please go. I love you too much to let you get killed because of me. And don’t commit suicide.”
“Daddy,” I said. “I don’t think you have to worry about me doing that. They will do it for me, because I’m not leaving you.”
While I was letting him rest I emptied the glass out of my boots. My feet were already cut and bleeding. Then I helped Buck get up, putting both of his arms around my neck and my arm around his waist. I had to go slowly with him, almost dragging him. I had to hold onto trees to keep us both from falling down the hill, it was so steep.22 We could only go short distances, and then he would have to sit down. He didn’t seem conscious half the time.
Dexfield Park, Iowa, 1933; scale: 1 in = ¼ mi. Based on maps drawn by eyewitness Marvelle Feller.
When we got over the hill I had to let him rest because he was about to faint again. While we were stopped, I lit a cigarette for both of us. Buck joked about who could run fastest to the bottom of the hill. He bet me a quarter he could beat me. I suppose he was thinking of the many times we had foot races and would bet on who was the fastest. Sometimes I lost those races. He could run fast when he was feeling well.23 Now he was betting he could outrun me when he couldn’t even walk. He was so game about the danger we were in. I really don’t think he understood.
I could hear Clyde shouting and talking but I didn’t expect any help from him. I knew we were on our own.24 I thought maybe I could get Buck away, but I had to feel my way almost to the foot of the hill where a dry creek bed lay. I had to stop again and I couldn’t find anything to protect us. Buck kept begging me to leave him, but I kept on trying to get him a few steps farther.
After awhile we came to a clearing.25 It seemed like we had covered at least a mile, over hills and rocky cliffs, but I am sure it wasn’t that far, perhaps half-a-mile, if that. From the edge of the clearing, I wondered how I would ever get across such an open space and up the rise. I decided to try it.
Buck was about to pass out again. I saw a big log with a stump behind it. I thought I could sit down on the stump and let Buck lie down and rest a few minutes. We’d both be hidden behind the log. When we got to the log Buck fell, pulling me down with him. He was so weak he couldn’t go any farther. He still had the same gun he was holding earlier, when he woke me up talking about soldiers. I doubted if he could use it. I tried to get it away from him, but he held on to it. He hadn’t fired a shot since Platte City.
I sat down and put his head and shoulders in my lap. When Buck came to, he wanted water. I was very thirsty myself, and weak. I just had to force myself to go on. But I was afraid to leave him and try to get water from the river; afraid I couldn’t get back to him. He told me not to let anyone slip up on us, that he was going to sleep.
I don’t know how long we stayed there but Buck was cold and wet from the early morning dew, which was like a light rain. I was cold too. I only had on a thin silk knit blouse. We had used my skirt for bandages. Everything was covered in blood. I sat there until my feet and legs seemed paralyzed from the weight of Buck’s head and shoulders. Then I heard someone walking.26
“There they are!” someone shouted.
I somehow pushed Buck between myself and the log. I was still trying to protect him from more bullets. By then it looked as if nearly thirty men were shouting at the sight of us. Buck came to, rolled on his stomach, and tried to shoot. I can’t say if he fired any shots. But he was shot. I have no idea how he was shot without me being hit as well. But not one bullet touched me. At times, though, it seemed as if the log in front of us was being cut with a saw instead of bullets from machine guns, rifles, and shotguns.
When Buck was hit, he threw his body over mine and held me tight in his arms.
“Baby,” he said. “They got me this time.” Then his body relaxed. I thought he was dead. I just went mad, screaming and begging them to stop. I couldn’t stand having more bullets fired into his body. I thought, “If one would only hit me and kill me instantly.”
They told me to get up and have Buck get up too. But I shouted that he couldn’t get up, that they’d killed him. I put my hands up, above the log. The shooting stopped for a second. Buck moved. I was so happy to know he was still alive. I lowered my hands and grabbed him.
“Baby,” he said. “Don’t get up. They will kill you!”
The shooting started again as we lay there, holding each other tight, murmuring to each other, “I love you, no matter what happens. I will always love you.”
Suddenly, the thought that I should somehow get Buck to a hospital crossed my mind. At least that way he could die in
a nice clean bed. By then, I felt sure he would die. He couldn’t survive this last shock, being shot again. And I couldn’t stand to see more shots fired into his precious body. I couldn’t bear to see him torn to shreds before my very eyes when I might be able to save him yet. I didn’t think they would let me go with Buck to the hospital and stay with him until he died, that is, if I survived. He had nothing to live for. If Buck were captured, and lived, he would be sentenced to death anyway. That would be worse than being killed outright. He was so near death. I didn’t think about what might happen to me, nor did I care. Life without Buck would be worse than death to me.
“Daddy,” I said. “I am going to give us up so you can go to a hospital. I can’t bear to see them tear you to pieces with bullets. You can be in a clean bed.”
“Don’t get up, Baby,” Buck said. “They will kill you.”
“I don’t care, Daddy,” I said. “I want to go with you anyway.”
“I may as well get one or two of them before I die,” he said.27
“No, Daddy!” I said. “No! There may still be a chance and I love you so. Don’t do it for me! Don’t kill anyone else. They’ve got us anyway. Don’t, because they will finish you if you try to do that and I can’t stand to see them do that to you. We may have a chance to get out of it yet.”
Buck told me to get up and then he dropped his gun. Again we locked ourselves in each other’s arms. Then I spoke my last words to Buck.
Blanche Barrow at the time of her capture. “Then I was lifted by two men and taken away from Buck.” (From the Blanche Caldwell Barrow scrapbooks, courtesy of Rhea Leen Linder)
“Daddy, whatever they do to me, I will always love you.”
If the officers had put a bullet through my heart, it wouldn’t have hurt any more than leaving to give up. The law would have done us a favor if they had put bullets through both our hearts at the same time.
It would have saved a lot of pain and sorrow. But they didn’t. I kissed Buck goodbye.
The posse was still shooting at us. Then they stopped and I stood up with my hands raised, screaming and crying.28 I tried to keep between them and Buck but they made me step to one side. They grabbed me. I told them Buck was dying and asked them not shoot him anymore. They went to him. I tried to get back to him. I begged them to lift him carefully and not to hurt him anymore. They wouldn’t let me touch him or help with him. I was still screaming and fighting to get to him. When they got him to a car and let him down beside it, I pleaded, fought, and screamed to get to him. Two officers were holding me. Finally, one of them was kind enough to tell the other one to let me go to Buck. I went to him, knelt down beside him, and kissed him.29
“Daddy,” I said. “Did they hurt you any worse?”
Buck Barrow, on the ground at the feet of the man bending over. “Buck was asked who he was.” (From the Blanche Caldwell Barrow scrapbooks, courtesy of Rhea Leen Linder)
“No, Baby,” he said.
I touched his shoulder and he told me it hurt. (Later I learned Buck had been shot six times.)30 Then I was lifted by two men and taken away from Buck. I begged the men to let me ride in the same car with Buck, but they wouldn’t allow it. Buck was asked who he was. I was asked dozens of questions before we got to the car, but I refused to answer. However, Buck started answering, so I decided if he was going to talk then I may as well give them our identification card. I took it out of the billfold in my pocket and gave it to them. I did it mainly to make them stop bothering Buck. He was suffering so.
When we got to the doctor’s office in some small town nearby,31 I saw Buck lying on the floor. He was on a stretcher without a cushion under his head. An officer told me to lie down on a wicker divan in the doctor’s office. I wouldn’t think of lying on that divan when Buck was only a few feet away from me, the doctor dressing his wounds. I decided these people must think I have no feelings, telling me to lie down and rest when my husband was so close to death.
I asked if Buck had been given any water. They told me he had. Then the doctor brought me a glass of water. I drank it and wanted more. The doctor handed me another glass. I thought it was water, but when I took a sip, I found it was alcohol. I couldn’t drink it, not even a swallow. “Little girl,” said the doctor. “You should take that. You are going to need it!” I knew he was right. But I couldn’t drink the alcohol so he gave me something else, a capsule. He also gave one to Buck. The doctor was very kind to me.32
I wanted to go to Buck but I was told to sit down. I asked Buck if he wanted a cigarette. He said, yes, to light him one. I did and took it to him. I was still crying. I couldn’t stop. I sat down beside Buck. He asked me to turn him over so the wound in his shoulder wouldn’t hurt so much.33 I did that and placed a cushion under his head. He told me to go back and sit down on the divan and stop crying because it worried him. I tried to stop crying. I told him I wanted to stop but it hurt my feelings when he told me to get up. I wanted to stay beside him as long as I could, but I didn’t want to worry him or hurt him in any way. Those words were his last to me. I never heard his dear voice again. The doctor wanted to look at my eyes and took me to another room. I kissed Buck before I left.
I never knew if Buck was mad because I gave myself up. I only did it so he could die in a comfortable, clean bed and not be torn to shreds by more bullets. It wasn’t that I wanted to live, or because I was afraid to die, but for his sake. Still, I know he must have suffered. He was hardly conscious of what he said.
14
Mob
WHEN I CAME THROUGH the door, again handcuffs were snapped on my arms. They wouldn’t allow me to get near Buck, still lying as I had left him, there on the floor. I begged to go near him just once more but was dragged out by one officer. God only knows because I can’t explain the agony it caused me having to leave him. He did not answer when I called his name. I wondered if he had died while I was in the other room with that closed door between us. As they led me through the door I was crying and screaming, “Goodbye, Daddy. Goodbye.”1
The small town was swarming with people. It looked as if they were going to mob us. Women sneered and laughed at me and posed pointed, accusing fingers at me and came to the car asking silly questions, then laughing when I shrank away from them. The officer assigned to me, the one who drove the car that took me away from there, asked them to stop being so unkind. Of course, I didn’t expect anyone to be kind to me and I realized how most people felt, especially in small towns. The name “Barrow” struck fear in the minds of many because Clyde had little mercy for those who crossed him.2
The medicine the doctor had given me was beginning to take effect. One minute I would be screaming and crying, the next I just sat, staring ahead of me. My brain seemed blank. I could remember only one thing, that Buck had been taken away from me. One of the officers told me Buck wasn’t dead and that he would be taken to a hospital. He also said I may be able to see him there.
Blanche Barrow being transferred to the Polk County jail in Des Moines. “When I came through the door, again handcuffs were snapped on my arms.” (From the Blanche Caldwell Barrow scrapbooks, courtesy of Rhea Leen Linder)
I was taken to a small town3 and kept in the courthouse because they didn’t have a place in their jail for women. That afternoon I was taken to Des Moines, Iowa, and placed in jail. I didn’t care what they did to me. They got a doctor and he took most of the glass from my eyes.
The rest of that day and night, as well as the next day, is still a blank to me. I was almost insane with grief and begged everyone I saw to take me to Buck. I thought he may be calling for me. At night it seemed as though I could hear him calling.
Later, when I was left alone in a cell, I tried to wash the blood out of my trousers and hair. But my right arm and hand were both so sore I could hardly use them. I must have looked frightful. My hair was matted with blood and my face and eyes were swollen from glass and lead. I didn’t even have a comb. But I was thankful. After all, the only thing I really wanted was Buck. When I
went to bed, I soon cried myself to sleep.
Weapons recovered in Dexfield Park. “Clyde had little mercy for those who crossed him.” (From the Blanche Caldwell Barrow scrapbooks, courtesy of Rhea Leen Linder)
I was awakened by a matron. She told me to get up and get dressed, that I was to go to the office. I asked what time it was. She told me two o’clock. I couldn’t believe I had slept that long. When I was taken to an office downstairs, a bunch of officers were waiting for me there. I was told they were from Platte City, Missouri, and Kansas City and that they were going to take me back to Missouri. I didn’t want to go back to Missouri. I wanted to stay there, as close to Buck as I could.
Some of the officers were not at all kind to me. Some were very kind. But as I said before, the last thing I expected was kindness from anyone. I didn’t think anyone would understand my side of the story, even if they did believe it. No one would accept that I stayed with my husband simply because I loved him too much to allow him to go anyplace without me, even when it meant death or imprisonment for me.
Blanche Barrow after being fingerprinted at the Polk County jail, July 24, 1933. She weighed in at eighty-one pounds, down thirty-three and a half pounds in six months. “Later, when I was left alone in a cell, I tried to wash the blood out of my trousers and hair.” (From the Blanche Caldwell Barrow scrapbooks, courtesy of Rhea Leen Linder)
After the officers spoke with me they all left the room, except for one man. He hadn’t said much to me, but when he did speak he was kind, just like David R. Clevenger, the Platte County prosecuting attorney, and Constable Tom Hulett. Others had been cruel, although I didn’t blame them for the way they felt. The man introduced himself. His name was Holt Coffey. He was the Platte County sheriff. He and his son had both been wounded in the gun battle of July 19.4 I turned to face him.
My Life with Bonnie and Clyde Page 17