Goat Castle
Page 1
GOAT CASTLE
GOAT CASTLE
A TRUE STORY OF MURDER, RACE, AND THE GOTHIC SOUTH
Karen L. Cox
THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA PRESS
CHAPEL HILL
© 2017 Karen L. Cox
All rights reserved
Designed by April Leidig
Set in Ehrhardt by Copperline Book Services, Inc.
Manufactured in the United States of America
The University of North Carolina Press has been a member of the Green Press Initiative since 2003.
Jacket illustrations: photos of Glenwood (“Goat Castle”) and Octavia Dockery and Dick Dana courtesy of the Earl Norman Photograph Collection, Historic Natchez Foundation, Natchez, Miss.; photo of Emily Burns courtesy of Birdia Green and Phyliss Morris, Natchez, Miss.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Cox, Karen L., 1962 – author.
Title: Goat Castle : a true story of murder, race, and the gothic South / Karen L. Cox.
Description: Chapel Hill : University of North Carolina Press, [2017] | Includes bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2017013168 | ISBN 9781469635033 (cloth : alk. paper) | ISBN 9781469635040 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Murder — Mississippi — Natchez — History — 20th century. | Judicial error — Mississippi — Natchez — History — 20th century. | African Americans — Segregation — Mississippi — Natchez — History — 20th century. | African Americans — Civil rights — Mississippi — Natchez — History — 20th century. | Merrill, Jennie, 1864 – 1932. | Dana, Dick, 1871 – 1948. |
Dockery, Octavia, 1865 – 1949.
Classification: LCC HV6534.N28 C69 2017 | DDC 364.152/30976226 — dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017013168
For Phoebe
CONTENTS
Prologue
ONE
Reclusive Aristocrats
TWO
The Residents of Glenwood
THREE
Pink and Sister
FOUR
Murder at Glenburnie
FIVE
The Investigation
SIX
Jim Crow’s Investigation
SEVEN
National Scandal
EIGHT
Sideshows
NINE
Cold Justice
TEN
Hollow Victory
ELEVEN
Longing for Home
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Notes
Bibliography
Index
FIGURES
Map of Natchez as tourist destination 2
Jennie Merrill in her youth 18
Ayres Merrill Jr. 19
Duncan Minor in his youth 26
Reverend Charles Backus Dana 36
Octavia Dockery as a young woman 44
Glenwood, or “Goat Castle” 49
Emily Burns with her family, ca. 1913 55
George Pearls, aka “Pink” 59
Glenburnie 64
Duncan Minor with Sheriff Clarence “Book” Roberts 74
Murder map 76
Chief Deputy Joseph Stone 79
Maurice O’Neill 83
Emily Burns with her mother, Nellie Smith 91
Octavia Dockery and Dick Dana in Adams County jail 110
Goat Castle library 121
Octavia Dockery’s bedroom 123
Dick Dana’s bedroom 123
Dick Dana alongside piano 126
Dick Dana and Octavia Dockery with goats 148
Goat Castle flyer 149
Octavia Dockery, 1933 152
Female prisoners in sewing room at Parchman 163
GOAT CASTLE
PROLOGUE
Like most late summer evenings in Natchez, it was hot and steamy that Thursday when sixty-eight-year-old Jane Surget Merrill settled in her home, Glenburnie, to wait for her cousin Duncan Minor to arrive. Known by locals as “Miss Jennie,” she had become increasingly reclusive, rarely leaving her estate except to run errands in town. One of the few guests she welcomed was Duncan, also sixty-eight, who would saddle his horse every night at his nearby estate, Oakland, and ride the short distance to see Jennie, returning home just before dawn broke. Their ritual was decades old, but on that night in August 1932, it would come to an abrupt end.
On his ride to Glenburnie, two local black citizens, Willie Boyd and M. C. Hacher, waved Minor down. Boyd reported that while he was on his way to church, he heard what sounded like gunshots and screaming coming from Glenburnie. Alarmed, Duncan urged his horse to gallop the rest of the way, arriving at a house cloaked in darkness. He called out for Jennie, but no one replied. He fumbled for a lantern, only for the light to reveal that her home had been ransacked. Furniture lay askew. There was evidence of a struggle and the walls were smeared with blood, but there was no sign of his cousin. One of her hired hands rushed to a nearby store to phone the sheriff of Adams County, and in a matter of hours Duncan’s worst fears were confirmed: Jennie had been murdered. Within days, the crime would make headlines nationwide.
Natchez had once been a fine jewel in the crown of the region’s Cotton Kingdom, and the writers covering the story of Jennie Merrill’s murder couldn’t help but remark on her connection to the town’s planter aristocracy. They wrote about her life of privilege as a belle of the Old South, but also about her retreat into seclusion in recent years. Poignant as the story of a murdered scion of the southern aristocracy may have been, however, the media’s focus quickly shifted to her eccentric neighbors Richard “Dick” Dana and Octavia Dockery, who were arrested for her murder. They, too, were descendants of southern elites but lived in squalor at Glenwood, a two-story Greek Revival mansion that was falling down around them. The press called it “Goat Castle,” a reference to its once grand status as a southern mansion as well as to the four-legged residents who shared the home with the odd pair. Years later the crime became known as the “Goat Castle murder” with Merrill’s death an afterthought.
During the 1930s, tourists regarded Natchez as the epicenter of what had been the Old South. (“The Old South Still Lives,” Better Homes and Gardens, February 1938.)
The press’s obsession with the southern gothic spectacle of Glenwood and its residents and of the southern aristocracy in decline meant ignoring another side of the story. The only person to stand trial for Jennie Merrill’s murder was an African American domestic named Emily Burns. She was no guiltier of the crime than Dana or Dockery, but in the Jim Crow South, the arrest and conviction of a “Negro” was expected. Like so many other southern blacks who were caught in an unjust legal system, Emily Burns was virtually erased from community memory, becoming a footnote in a saga that had gripped the nation.
The murder of Jennie Merrill and the vivid spectacle of Goat Castle captured America’s attention throughout the fall of 1932. It made such an impression that newspapers and popular magazines made reference to it for several years after. And yet, the actual facts of the case have long given way to vague community memories, speculation about who killed Jennie Merrill, and even ghostly legend. In the Natchez City Cemetery, however, headstones serve as reminders of what was very real. Jane Surget Merrill is buried in the Merrill family plot. The long granite ledger marking her grave is etched with a large Celtic cross, her name, and the day of her death — August 4, 1932. Less than a hundred yards away, Dick Dana, born Richard Henry Clay Dana, is buried in the small gated plot of his family. A modest marker bears only his name and birth and death dates. Less than ten yards from his final resting place is a simple headstone that marks the grave of Octavia Dockery, who lived with Dick Dana and served as his guardian. A local group of citizens placed it there in
the months following her death. “Mistress of Goat Castle” is carved below her name. It was a title she both reviled and reveled in.
The grave of Emily Burns, tried and convicted as an accessory to first-degree murder in Merrill’s death, will not be found there. She is buried in an unmarked grave in Skinner’s Cemetery on a shady hillside off of Liberty Road, where the members of her church, Antioch Baptist, are laid to rest. And while stories about the Goat Castle murder have circulated for decades in Natchez, memories of Emily Burns are practically nonexistent. Sentenced to spend the rest of her life at the Mississippi State Penitentiary in late November 1932, she was swiftly forgotten, as were the facts that led to her conviction.
The course of this case may seem perfectly ordinary. In the Jim Crow South, justice for the murder of a white woman often meant the conviction of a black person. In Mississippi, blacks convicted of petty crimes could end up at Parchman, the state penitentiary. There, they labored in the cotton fields like their slave ancestors had before them, working under the supervision of a gun-toting white man on horseback. While a murder conviction often meant death by execution, Emily Burns instead received a life sentence because the jury could not agree on her punishment. And yet, almost eight years to the day when she arrived at the prison, Governor Paul B. Johnson suspended her sentence. She quietly returned to Natchez, where she lived until her death in September 1969.
So why did the national media pick up this story and follow it daily until the trial ended? Why did newspapers and magazines continue to publish articles about the crime for decades? Why was the case a cause célèbre? Part of the answer lay in the popularity of true crime stories in the 1930s. During the Depression, true crime sold newspapers and magazines and served as a cheap form of entertainment for Americans during desperate economic times. Such stories frequently involved the demise of prominent individuals and were fixated on the salacious details of family dysfunction. The murder of Jennie Merrill in Natchez, Mississippi, had all of this and then some.
Generally, such stories were only of local interest. But Jennie Merrill’s murder made national news. One New York Times headline about the case hints at why it attracted such attention:
Neighbor Pair Held in Natchez Murder, R. H. Dana and His Housekeeper Charged with Slaying Miss Merrill over Goats.
Three Members of Aristocratic Families, All 60 or More, Lived Lives as Recluses.1
Murder, aristocracy, recluses, and goats — these were subjects more likely to be found in a southern gothic novel, and in fact journalists immediately drew parallels to the fiction of Edgar Allan Poe, and later, William Faulkner’s novels about the social decay of old southern families. But this was no fictional tale. The eccentric personalities and the economic, and even mental, decline among these descendants of once respected families was all true, and it drew reporters and voyeuristic tourists alike to Natchez that fall and for years to come.
The basic facts of the crime are straightforward. Near dusk on the evening of August 4, 1932, someone shot and killed Jennie Merrill — by all accounts a very petite woman — during an attempted robbery in her home, Glenburnie. The perpetrators then carried her body about one hundred yards from the house, where they dumped it in a thicket. Merrill’s neighbors Dick Dana, sixty-one, and Octavia Dockery, sixty-seven, were among the first to be taken in for questioning and, within a few days, charged with murder. Their constant feuding with Merrill made them likely suspects. Yet despite the fact that their fingerprints were retrieved from inside of Merrill’s home, a judge released them on their own recognizance to return to Glenwood after a ten-day stint in the Adams County jail.
Meanwhile, two African Americans were targeted as murder suspects. One was fifty-seven-year-old Lawrence Williams, an Adams County native who had migrated to Chicago years before. He had come to Natchez in July in hopes of finding work, which was difficult to come by during the Depression, especially for a black man. While there, he met Emily Burns, a widowed thirty-seven-year-old domestic who, along with her mother, took in boarders to supplement her income. Williams, known in Chicago as George Pearls, appears to have struck up a romance with Burns, and after knowing her for less than a week, he moved to the home she shared with her mother on St. Catherine Street.2
Within hours of Jennie Merrill’s murder, he vacated town so swiftly that he left behind his trunk of personal belongings. While making his way home to Chicago, a police deputy in Pine Bluff, Arkansas, stopped Williams for reasons unrelated to the crime in Natchez. The deputy shot and killed him, he said, for resisting arrest and allegedly refusing to answer questions. The gun found among Williams’s possessions, it turned out, used bullets that were subsequently matched with the type recovered from the crime scene in Natchez. A few days later, the Adams County sheriff, tipped off by a local who had met Williams, recovered Williams’s trunk and arrested Emily Burns and her mother, Nellie Black. Burns later gave a coerced confession after a week of intense questioning. Several weeks later, on the Friday after Thanksgiving, a jury of twelve white men from Adams County convicted George Pearls, alias Lawrence Williams, posthumously, after which Emily Burns stood trial as his accomplice. Her conviction was swift. At most, she was at the scene of the crime, but she did not kill Jennie Merrill.
These were the facts, yet almost from the outset, journalists were obsessed with Dick Dana and Octavia Dockery and their home, Glenwood. The dilapidated mansion had been Dana’s childhood home and was his inheritance. For years he had boarded in different homes throughout Natchez, but around 1916 Dick and Octavia moved into Glenwood, where they lived out the rest of their lives. Technically, because of his inability to pay property taxes, Dick Dana no longer owned the property. But neither of them had anyplace else to go. And so, he and Octavia lived there for more than three decades without ever paying taxes or rent while repeated attempts to evict them failed. The two were, for all intents and purposes, squatters among the ruins of what had once been a respectable abode. The contrasts between what had been and what was now was not lost on reporters.
While the first headlines focused on Jennie Merrill’s death —“Rich Woman Recluse Slain In Mississippi” and “Elderly Recluse Slain in South”— they soon gave way to “Weird Mississippi Murder Traced to Row over Goats” and “Southern Goat Castle Scene of a Tragedy” and others like it.3 A jailhouse photo of Dick and Octavia accompanied the articles. Stern and unsmiling, she looked like a weathered farm wife. She wore a straw hat, and a smock covered her morning dress. Dick’s hair looked unkempt. He had not shaved for several days, and he wore filthy coveralls. He sat to her left with his hands in his lap and had a wild-eyed expression that suggested he might be mentally off-kilter, which indeed he was. His interviews with the press could be rambling and nonsensical. Octavia seemed to enjoy the attention and actually welcomed interviews with reporters as a ploy to shape a narrative of her life as a one-time southern belle who had fallen on hard times.
And then there were the goats. They not only roamed the grounds of Glenwood but also feasted on the wallpaper and books inside its walls. The home had long ago descended into shocking condition. It was ankle-deep in filth and overrun with animals — ducks, geese, chickens, cats, dogs, and especially goats. By the time of the murder, Glenwood had literally become “Goat Castle.” Indeed, the goats lived better than the humans with whom they shared the house. In the days following their arrest, photographs and descriptions of the home’s condition also circulated, along with references to Dana as a “Wild Man” and Dockery as the “Goat Woman.” This intrigued the public and sold newspapers, which is why generations later, locals still refer to it as the “Goat Castle murder.” In many ways, the lives of Jennie Merrill, Duncan Minor, Lawrence Williams/George Pearls, and Emily Burns — all central figures in this crime — have been overshadowed.
America’s fascination with stories about the Old South helped drive the reports coming out of Natchez, especially because of Merrill’s connection to great planter wealth. Goat Castle aside, the town wa
s home to numerous antebellum mansions, the kind that Hollywood tried to recreate in movies of the era, so many of which were set in the pre–Civil War South. They were also homes that attracted visitors even before there was a definable tourism industry for the South’s plantation heritage.
Since the dawn of automobile tourism, and particularly after Henry Ford began producing the affordable Model T, tourists from the Northeast and Midwest traveled to Natchez to see its architectural treasures. They trespassed on the grounds of the grand estates just to catch a glimpse of the magnificent homes with stately names like Melrose, Dunleith, and Stanton Hall. During the spring of 1932, only a few months before the Merrill murder, several of the homes were opened to the public for the very first time in their history. Many of the direct descendants of the families who built the houses still lived in them, and some greeted their guests dressed in their ancestors’ clothing. Their efforts proved wildly successful, and magazine writers lauded pilgrimage festivities as an authentic representation of life in the antebellum South. Throughout the 1930s, popular magazines, as well as national and regional newspapers, encouraged their readers to travel to Natchez. The garden club promoted the opportunity to experience what life was like before the Civil War, made possible not only by the homeowners but also by local blacks in the role of house slaves and carriage drivers.4
Jennie Merrill’s murder and the notoriety of Goat Castle, however, stood in stark contrast to the pilgrimage motto “Come to Natchez, Where the Old South Still Lives.”
It was no small feat to reach Natchez in the early 1930s. There were no airports, and what counted as a highway was not much more than a dirt road. For travelers from a western state like Texas, the Mississippi River presented an additional challenge once they arrived in the town of Vidalia, Louisiana, directly across the river from Natchez. Ferries provided the only way across until a bridge was built in 1940. And yet, during the depths of the Great Depression, thousands of American tourists sought out Natchez. They boarded ferries and crossed the Mississippi River, drove their cars over treacherous terrain, and traveled by trains from the Northeast and the Midwest to venture to this remote location to experience what impressed them as a living, breathing, and genuine example of the Old South.