At any rate, Jule Webb and Dennis McCollum were charged with the murder of Chad Hall. They were put in the Manchester jail, which was under control of the White-Howard faction and probably not too safe a haven for Webb and McCollum, who were pro-Baker. Sure enough, the next night, before their bail could be arranged, someone placed a ladder against the jail wall, climbed to the window of Jule’s cell, and, spotting him lying on his cot, shot him. The shooter’s aim was good; the bullet entered under Jule’s right ear and came out under the left. Miraculously, Jule was able two weeks later to appear in court. As historian J.W. Raine put it, “Either he had brains to spare or not enough to hit.” After that, however, he was hard of hearing in one ear.
At the next session of court, Webb and McCollum were transferred to London for trial in Laurel Circuit Court. They were acquitted and apparently left the county.
On March 8, 1901, with Judge J.H. Tinsley presiding over court, T.T. Garrard, with his son Edward and seventeen supporters, rode into Manchester and tied their horses in front of the courthouse. T.T. and two others went into the law offices of County Attorney Sam Kash and were conferring with Kash concerning bail for Webb and McCollum when a shot was fired from inside the courthouse, apparently at the Garrards sitting out front. The Garrards rushed from the courthouse and began firing from behind trees. At least a hundred shots were reported, but no one was killed. Ed Garrard was shot through the ear. Steve Spurlock was shot in the arm.
Judge Tinsley was furious. Storming into the office of Sheriff Beverly White, he demanded to know who had started the firing and why. White explained that someone had discharged a rifle into the ceiling accidentally, and that when the Garrards started shooting outside, the people inside returned the fire in self-defense. Tinsley refused to accept that. He ordered White to disarm everyone in the courthouse except himself. Then, with the help of D.L. Walker, a young attorney allied with neither side of the feud, Tinsley called a conference of the Whites and Garrards. Into his courtroom strode the aging T.T. Garrard and a dozen of his relatives, and Beverly White and the leading members of his family. The participants seemed to be less hostile than weary.
John G. White had come from Winchester to represent his family in drawing up the formal terms. C.B. Lyttle and Dr. J.R. Burchell represented the Garrards. (No one represented the Howards or Bakers. Apparently it was assumed that when the generals stopped, the war stopped.) With surprisingly little difficulty, and with few objections from those present, Judge Tinsley arranged a truce. Both sides promised to go about unarmed. The Garrards and Bakers could safely come and go from Manchester, and the Whites and Howards would be able to move safely around the county, especially the Crane Creek and Goose Creek areas.
Apparently the hostility had worn thin with everyone concerned. To the amazement of most people in Clay County, Bev White announced that he was tired of the job and resigned as sheriff. Maybe he was just tired of the danger. Maybe the last skirmish with the Garrards had been one too many. In any event, he quit. D.L. Walker took over as sheriff. And the Clay County War, as far as the Whites and Garrards were concerned, was over.
The fighting sputtered on, but without any real leadership on either side. After Bad Tom was killed, John Philpot was assumed to have taken over as leader of the Baker-Philpot clan, but the post didn’t seem to amount to much. If there was a recognized leader of the Howard-Griffin clan, no one seemed to know exactly who it was. Jim Howard was never mentioned in connection with violence, nor were Israel or Corbin. Though the Howards were feared by some for the next thirty years, there is no hard evidence that they were part of any of the subsequent killings.
Gradually the Griffins and Philpots settled their differences and came to an unspoken agreement to quit the shooting. But the emotions that had fueled the feuds—pride, hatred, revenge—had not disappeared. In 1904 someone, supposedly Jim Philpot, although some held Pete responsible, shot and killed Bud Griffin. (It was either Bud or Hugh Griffin who had had his stomach shot open in the Red Bird fight. Hugh was sometimes called Bud.) It happened at a party, and the mere fact that Philpots and Griffins were at a party together indicates that the old bitterness was subsiding, though the old fondness for liquor survived. Sometime during the evening, a group of men gathered in the kitchen of the home where the party was being held, and for some reason Pete Philpot hit Bud Griffin with a beer glass. A fistfight broke out, and in the melee someone pulled a pistol and shot Bud. Killed him. Then Sam Griffin shot and killed Jim Philpot. But the incident was attributed to high spirits, human and alcoholic, and did not incite a renewal of hostilities.
In the years following, Clay County was relatively quiet. The Ever-soles and McCollums were in conflict from time to time, but this only indirectly represented a continuation of the Baker-Howard trouble. The McCollums were usually allied with the Bakers, but the Eversoles were not directly tied to the Howards. Bud Eversole lived in Boston Gap; Joe McCollum lived two miles away. Bud Eversole got into an argument with Joe McCollum when one of McCollum’s mules got out of his pasture and into Eversole’s cornfield. Eversole chased it out, but in fleeing, the mule fell over a cliff and was killed. Joe McCollum accused Eversole of killing the mule and promised to get even.
Joe was a frequent source of trouble. He was married to Lily Hensley, to the anguish of her family. The Hensleys were good people, and Lily’s father, Bob, and her brother, Vernon, were often hard put to get Joe out of trouble. It is likely that Joe was a little unbalanced. When he was in his twenties, he would go down to the schoolhouse and play with the children, bullying them and sometimes starting fights when things did not suit him. One time he even cut a teen-age girl across her back. All this was very trying for Vernon, his brother-in-law, who was the teacher.
A week after the mule incident, Joe McCollum got Pleaz Walker, and the two of them hid on the bank of Elderlick. When Bud Eversole rode by they shot him in the chest. Bud managed to stay on his horse until it reached the home of Bobby Baker, where he staggered to the door and knocked. Mrs. Baker came to the door. “I hate to bother you,” Bud said, “but I’ve been shot,” and he fell into the doorway.
Mrs. Baker sent the children to get Gard and Thena Baker, who lived up the road. Gard and Thena took Bud home where, Thena said, “He suffered awful.” But he survived and two weeks later went out West to recuperate. Gard and Thena met John Eversole, Bud’s brother, on their way to church a few weeks later, and asked about Bud.
“He’s out in New Mexico,” said John, “trying to get well. But let me tell you this: The day he passes this life, Joe McCollum’s doom is sealed.”
Bud died soon afterward. And early on the morning of July 2, 1916, Joe McCollum came out of his house and went around to his corn crib. He had just opened the crib door when there were two shots, and Joe fell, shot in the back. He got to his feet and staggered down to the road, where he collapsed. His son, Dennis, who had followed him to the crib, ran to the house crying that daddy was hurt, and Lily, sick with tuberculosis, ran to the road, took Joe’s head in her lap, and stroked his face, weeping and telling him how she loved him.
Dennis ran and got Gard and Thena Baker, who seemed always to be on hand to help when trouble arose, and they came and carried Joe into the house. He was shot shortly after six o’clock and lived until ten, when he died, shrieking in agony, blood frothing from his mouth.
Bob Hensley, Joe’s father-in-law, got bloodhounds and tracked the Eversoles into the hills above Crane Creek, where they were arrested and taken to Manchester for trial. They were acquitted, however, the jury deciding that no one had seen them do it.
The Eversoles now swore they would kill Bob Hensley, who had outraged their dignity by running them down with dogs. Bob, as the saying went, “worked away from home,” that is, was a traveling salesman. Upon returning from a selling trip in the late summer of 1919, he and his wife went to see his brother Bill, who ran a store on Crane Creek. That evening the Hensleys were returning and fording the creek at the mouth of Elderlick when ther
e was a shot from the nearby woods, and Bob fell from his horse, shot in the side. He died while his wife held his head out of the water. She saw two men running away, and thought they were John Eversole and George Alex Bush, but she could not be certain, and they were never arrested. John Sester, a neighbor, came by, ran to Gard Baker’s (again) and shouted, “Somebody’s shot Bob Hensley!” Gard got a wagon and took Bob’s body home.
Tragedy wasn’t through with the Hensleys. Vernon, a thoughtful, book-loving teacher, finally decided to leave Clay County and moved to Cincinnati. He might have lived happily there had not his daughter Ellen met “Little Steve” Bowling, who also had come up from Clay County. Vernon warned Ellen of Steve’s violent reputation and warned Bowling to stay away from his daughter. Bowling laughed at him. That night he waited around the corner until Ellen slipped out of the house and came to meet him. But Vernon had followed her. He confronted Bowling. Both drew their guns. Bowling was faster. Vernon was killed.
Nor was violence done with the McCollums. Jim Baker, Bad Tom’s son who had taken part in the Howard killings, had married Rose McCollum, and they lived near her father, Dick. Two years earlier Dick had been indicted but acquitted in the killing of John Hacker, who had allegedly come to the McCollum home drunk and looking for trouble. Hacker had begun singing, shooting under McCollum’s feet, and demanding that he dance. McCollum danced. Hacker ran out of bullets. McCollum went into the house, got his own gun, and came back and killed Hacker. The jury felt he had been justified.
Jim Baker had a young son, Oakley, who was fond of visiting his grandparents, Dick and Rose McCollum, who always petted and played with him. One day Jim sent Oakley up to his grandparents’ to borrow a meal sack, and when he was through with it he sent Oakley to return it. For some reason Dick McCollum, who seemed to adore his grandson, spoke harshly to the boy, saying that he should be ashamed to bring back a sack so filthy. Hurt and confused at being scolded by his beloved Papaw, Oakley went home crying and told his father what had happened. Jim washed the sack carefully, took it back to McCollum, and told him in no uncertain terms what he thought of someone who would hurt the little boy’s feelings. An argument ensued, and Jim shot and killed his father-in-law. Not long afterward, Jim was shot and killed in a gunfight at the schoolhouse.
One final act of violence remained to be played out. Bakers were once more involved. Some Bakers charged that Howards were, too, but there is no proof of it.
It started when John Baker got into money trouble and allegedly hired or persuaded Dewey Hensley, Little Tom Baker, and Frank McDaniel to burn his wholesale house so he could collect the insurance. (This is not the same John Baker who was shot with Frank Clark. There were several John Bakers.) McDaniel was another of the shadowy figures who often seemed to be around when trouble occurred. His seemingly peaceful occupation—selling Hoover vacuum cleaners—kept him safely on the move, but he had served time at least once in the state penitentiary for murder and was said to be on the run after escaping from prison at the time Baker wanted his warehouse torched. Doc Hornsby, a friend of the Bakers, was said to be involved in the matter but not in the arson.
According to Tom Walters, who was told the story by his father, Jan Walters, Police Judge Pitt Stivers caught John Baker and some other men gambling in Baker’s warehouse in 1926 and threatened to arrest them. Baker told Stivers that he would “regret this as long as you live.” One night sometime later, Walters said, Baker’s warehouse caught fire.
“My grandfather, Rev. F.R. Walters, who lived close by, became aware of the fire and hurried to see,” Walters recounted. “Just as he arrived a black man, Alfred Neal, also came up and apparently saw some suspicious activity from Baker and some of his friends that would lead to the suspicion that the fire had been purposely set. My grandfather returned home, but Alf Neal was shot and killed.” Apparently the arsonists had seen Neal and realized that he had seen them setting the fire. It was an unfortunate end for poor Neal, who seemed often to witness acts of violence. It had been Neal who saw John Baker and Frank Clark shooting up the countryside and reported it to the sheriff, leading to the shooting deaths of Baker and Clark.
“There was some fear for Grandpa’s life, since he had apparently seen the same thing as Neal,” said Tom Walters. “Dad said that John Baker liked Grandpa and that his being a minister gave him additional protection.”
But Pitman Stivers had seen the killing of Neal and testified to it when McDaniel, Dewey Baker, Hornsby, and Bobby Baker were arrested. The Reverend Walters, exercising more discretion, did not come forward to testify. A few days later, after McDaniel and the Bakers were indicted but before their trial, Pitt Stivers was killed.
“Pitt lived across the road from Grandpa, and they would walk to town together each weekday as Grandpa would go for his mail,” Walters recounted. “On the morning Stivers was killed, he stopped for Grandpa, but Grandpa said he was not feeling well and would come on shortly. Stivers walked up the hill and turned down toward town and was between the old First National Bank and Dr. Anderson’s house when a car with darkened windows pulled up and blasted Pitt with shotguns. Dad said he heard the rapid reports of the guns. Floyd Hatton, later Dad’s brother-in-law, was at the foot of the courthouse hill in town and also heard the shots. He looked up the hill, saw the body on the sidewalk, and thought it was possibly a dog gone mad that someone was shooting. When he arrived on the scene he said that Stivers’ shoe soles were literally shot off his feet. The car sped away, and it was later found that the telephone lines into Manchester had been cut to aid in the escape.”
This incident led to one of the strangest chapters in the Baker saga. McDaniels, Dewey Baker, and Bobby Baker were indicted for the killing of Alf Neal, but when the indictments were handed down, Frank Baker, commonwealth’s attorney and son of Gard and Thena Baker, simply stuck them in a drawer of his desk and refused to process them. It was the second occasion on which Frank, a man with an otherwise spotless reputation, failed to perform his duties properly, apparently because of family connections.
The first case concerned his cousin, George Barrett. Even considering family ties, Frank’s loyalty to George was puzzling, for George, once called by the FBI’s J. Edgar Hoover “the meanest man I ever knew,” was not just a killer. He was a crook, a thief, and a swindler. As a boy he got into a fight with a cousin who shot out his left eye, and afterward he wore glasses with one dark lens. A notorious philanderer, he deserted his first wife and married a high school sweetheart, but this time she deserted him, leaving him with an infant son.
George made his living selling stolen watches and diamonds, working most of the time north of the Ohio River or west of the Mississippi. He would buy a diamond ring from a jewelry store, substitute a fake for the real gem, return the ring to the store, get his money back, and sell the real diamond. He also sold stolen guns and cars and at one time boasted of importing stolen diamonds from Mexico. George also bootlegged whiskey when business was slow and boasted that no revenue agent would ever take him. That proved wrong. In 1929 one did. George was wounded, taken to Louisville, fined a hundred dollars, and sent to prison for a year, the usual sentence for a first-time bootlegger.
When away from home on business, George left his small son with his mother, who lived with her daughter between Manchester and McKee. Returning from a trip to Ohio in 1931, he went by to see the boy. While he was there his mother reprimanded the boy, who was showing off for his daddy, and slapped him across his bottom. This infuriated George, who shouted that no one on earth should touch his son.
“You ain’t doin’ right by him,” he screamed. “You’re supposed to be taking care of him. Well, dammit, do it!”
“I been treating him like I would any grandbaby,” said his mother. “I don’t know how to do any better.”
“Ma’s been good to the boy, George,” said his sister Rachel. “You oughtn’t pick on your own mama.”
This criticism was more than George’s tender ego could bear. Pulling his pistol
, he shot his mother dead. Rachel rushed to help her mother and George hit her across the head with the gun, laying her scalp open. Blood streaming down her face, Rachel ran for the door, but George shot her before she could make it. But she got to her feet and staggered across the porch and down to the road, where she flagged down a passing rural mail carrier. He took her to a doctor in town.
George rushed into town, reported the incident to Frank, his cousin and commonwealth’s attorney, claiming that he had killed his mother and sister in self-defense. Eventually George was arrested and tried. In fact, he was tried twice and twice got a hung jury, partly because Rachel had died in the meantime and could not testify against him, partly because Frank failed to prosecute him energetically. Indeed, the judge, commenting on the case, denounced the manner in which Frank had conducted the case for the prosecution, declaring that the commonwealth’s attorney had “sounded as though he was defending the accused.”
Only family loyalty can explain Frank’s conduct. Or perhaps it was just that George Barrett poisoned everything he touched. He surely seemed to lead a charmed life. He not only escaped punishment for the murder of his mother and sister, but five months later escaped a hail of bullets from the courthouse at Manchester. Five years later, however, he killed a federal agent and was wounded in both legs during the gunfight. Sentenced to hang, he wept that prison authorities couldn’t hang a man who couldn’t walk to the gallows. They could. They carried him.
Days of Darkness Page 26