The Hanged Man Who Refused To Die

In 1890, after the Ku Klux Klan was somewhat disrupted and driven under ground, another organization called the Whitecaps was formed in Mississippi to "put down criminality and petty thievery among the blacks."  The members swore in blood never to reveal its secrets. Unlike the KKK, the Whitecaps rarely used violence, but the scare tactics they used were enough to keep the African-Americans terrorized.

In 1893, for some infraction that has been lost to history, the Whitecaps in Marion County took physical action against an African-American employed as a servant by a member of the group. The man was severely flogged while his employer, Will Buckley, was out of town and had no knowledge of the group's action. When Buckley returned and discovered his servant had been flogged, he became enraged at the uncalled for violence and the secrecy with which it was carried out. He decided to reveal the whole affair to the authorities and expose the secrets of the Whitecaps at the next meeting of a Grand Jury. Buckley's intentions became known to the leaders of the Whitecaps so when the jury met, the Whitecappers were there to watch the moves of everyone who might testify against the organization. As a result of Buckley's evidence and testimony, an indictment was brought against the 3 Whitecap men who had carried out the flogging.

On his way home from the courthouse, accompanied by his brother Jim and the flogged man, all on horseback, Buckley was traveling down a secluded forest road. With Will Buckley in the lead, they were crossing a small stream when a man jumped out from the underbrush and fired a pistol at them. With a moan, Will swayed in his saddle and then fell to the ground dead. The other 2 men spurred their horses and even though the assassin emptied his gun firing at them, managed to escape unhurt.

A short distance down the trail on which Will was killed was the Purvis home. Although only 19, Will Purvis was rumored to be a member of the Whitecaps. Two days after the slaying, bloodhounds were taken to the place of the murder and with some coaxing, picked up a cold scent which led the handlers into a field near the frame house the Purvis family called home. A neighbor who owned land on both sides of the Purvis holdings had for years tried to buy them out, but the elder Purvis refused to sell. This neighbor confirmed to authorities that young Will was a member of the Whitecaps and he was almost positive it had been him who had shot Buckley. Desperate to make an arrest and solve the crime, Will was arrested and charged with murder.

The arrest threw citizens of the county into two camps. Buckley had been well liked, being known to be fair in his dealings with others and for helping folks in need, but Will Purvis was also well liked, having grown up there and known to be kind and hard-working. Many said it couldn't have been Will who carried out such a terrible deed; he was too kind and just didn't have it in him.  

At the trial, Jim Buckley, the state's key witness, testified that he and the servant had witnessed the killing of his brother. When asked if he could name the man who did the killing, he pointed his finger at Will Purvis and said, "That's him. That's the man who killed my brother." Even though several men of good character substantiated Purvis' alibi of being several miles away with them planning a group picnic at the time of the killing, Jim's testimony along with Will Purvis admitting he had joined the Whitecaps 3 weeks before the murder was enough for the jury to find him guilty. 

At the reading of the verdict, Purvis once again declared his innocence. At the request of his attorney, each member of the jury was asked how he voted and Will looked on in dismay as each one replied, "Guilty." As the last juror answered the same as the rest, Will said, "I am innocent of this crime. I swear, I will outlive everyone on the jury who has wrongly found me guilty." 

Following the law, Will was sentenced to die by hanging. His attorney appealed, but 6 months later, the Mississippi Supreme Court upheld the sentence. Several days following the Supreme Court's decision, Will was escorted under heavy guard to the gallows in Columbia. Five thousand people came to Columbia on horseback, in wagons, carts and buggies. When the appointed hour came, many in the crowd were crying as Will was led up to the scaffold. After the minister finished praying for his soul, the sheriff asked Will if he had any last words. The crowd was silent, expecting a final confession, but Will stated, "You are taking the life of an innocent man, but there are people here who know who did commit this crime. If they will come forward and confess, I will go free and an innocent man will be spared." Nobody came forward as the rope was placed around the boy's neck. The minister loudly proclaimed, "God save this innocent boy!" just as the trapdoor was sprung beneath Will's feet. Purvis dropped and then with a sharp jerk, the hangman's knot slipped and Will fell to the ground with no more injury than a slight rope burn around his neck.

Horror gripped the crowd as Will, his hands and feet still bound, stood up and looked around. Incredibly, he hopped up onto the first step of the scaffold, turned to the sheriff and said, "Let's have it over with." Many women in the crowd began screaming and crying even louder as some of the men began shouting it was divine intervention that had saved the young man. The sheriff said, "This man was sentenced to hang and hang he will" as he ordered the officials to prepare to hang him again. The doctor on hand refused to have anything more to do with the procedure. He had been known for expressing his feelings against the Whitecaps, but all along he had not believed Purvis was guilty. As the doctor prepared to walk away he said, "I will not have any part of this damn thing. This boy's been hung once too many times already."

When the doctor made his statement, many of the crowd cried, "Don't let him hang!" Others in the crowd were just as loud though as they shouted, "Hang him!" Suddenly, the Reverend held up his hands and as the shouts faded, all eyes turned to him. He shouted, "All who want to see this boy hanged a second time, hold up your hands." There was complete silence and only a few hands were raised. The Reverend then said in a quiet voice, "All who are opposed to hanging Will Purvis a second time, hold up your hands." Almost every hand went up. The crowd who had come to see life taken from a man now were virtually united in calling for his release.

The officials were unsure what to do. It was their duty to carry out the punishment, but how could they go ahead against the will of five thousand people staring at them? Once again the sheriff ordered the officials to prepare to hang Will again. At this, the doctor called out to the sheriff, "I do not agree with you. If I were to call for the help of 300 men to prevent the hanging, what would you do?" As shouts of agreement with the doctor rose from the men in the crowd, the sheriff realized that in such an event he would be helpless. The doctor then took several steps up the gallows and quietly said to the sheriff, "And I am ready to it it now." At this, the sheriff ordered the hanging to be stopped and the prisoner to be escorted back to jail.

The question of whether or not Will Purvis could be hanged again was taken to the State Supreme Court. The court decided that just because the noose had slipped was no reason the law should not be followed to completion. The court stated that Purvis had been found guilty, there was a witness against him and to free him or commute his sentence to life in prison would establish a dangerous precedent. His date of execution was set for July 31, 1895.

Indignation over the ruling of the court ran high with most people now believing Will was indeed innocent. During the night of July 30, 1895, the night before Will was to be hung a second time, there was strangely only one deputy standing guard  when a group of unidentified men stormed the jail, overpowered and tied up the deputy without harming him and whisked Will Purvis away. Several other prisoners were left in their cells and the deputy swore he could not identify any of Will's rescuers. Nobody was ever brought to trial for the jailbreak.

Will disappeared and the official search for him never amounted to much, but the case remained in the public eye so much that it was an issue in the next gubernatorial election. The candidate in favor of modifying the sentence won the election. The day after he was sworn in, Purvis voluntarily surrendered himself and, true to his word, the new governor commuted the sentence to life imprisonment. On March 12, 1896, Will began his sentence of hard labor, breaking rocks and clearing fields by hand.

Two years later, the state's key witness, Jim Buckley, the brother who had identified Purvis as the murderer, recanted his testimony and said in his grief and desire for revenge, he had identified Will because everyone thought that's who did it. Since Jim was the main reason Will had been convicted, a new trial was ordered and without an eye witness, a new verdict of Not Guilty was rendered. Will was released from prison and on December 19, 1898, after thousands of letters came into the governor's office requesting a pardon for Will, the governor issued the requested full pardon. 

In time, Will married his childhood sweetheart and they had 7 children. He became a prosperous farmer and life with his family was good, but there was still a cloud over his happiness as he had never completely been vindicated of the murder of Will Buckley.

In 1917, Joe Beard, a long-time resident of the community attended a rousing revival meeting of the Holy Rollers. The charismatic preacher emphasized the importance of the public confession of sins. Joe came forward to join the church and declared he had long been suffering from the weight of a terrible sin. He would say no more at that time, but a few months later he became seriously ill. When the doctor told him he should prepare to meet his maker, Beard called his minister and several friends to his bedside to hear his confession. He stated that in 1893, he was one of 4 Whitecaps who met in secret to discuss Will Buckley's intention of revealing to the Grand Jury the secrets of the Whitecaps organization. Three of them decided that Buckley should be killed to protect the guilty members. The fourth person was a young man of only 19 years who had just recently joined the Whitecaps and he flatly refused to have anything to do with such a dastardly thing. He promptly renounced his membership, quitting the group and returning home. That man was Will Purvis.

The three remaining men drew lots to see who would carry out the murder. Joe and a man named Louis Thornhill drew the short straws. The two men built a brush blind on the side of the creek by the trail they knew Buckley would take coming home from town. They laid in wait until the three intended victims came into sight. Beard said Thornhill jumped out and fired the shot that killed Buckley, but Beard, who was also supposed to jump out and begin firing, had lost his nerve and never moved from his hiding place in the brush. This had allowed Jim Buckley and the servant to escape. The reverend got a pencil and paper and began writing down his story, but before he could finish it and get Beard to sign it, Beard took his last breath and died.

Beard's confession completely cleared Purvis of the murder. In an ironic twist of fate, Thornhill, who was advanced in age but still alive, could not be brought to trial as the deathbed confession could not be used in court since it was not signed. Thornhill, who had years before moved to an isolated cabin in the woods, remained in his cabin, but was never seen in town again. A year later, his body was discovered on the floor of his cabin by a hunter. No cause was given for his death.

In 1920, the state of Mississippi appropriated $5,000 to Purvis as compensation "for suffering endured and for services done and performed in the State penitentiary under the provision of an erroneous judgement. The state of Mississippi confesses to a great wrong done to Will Purvis and now removes all stain and dishonor from his name."

On October 13, 1938, twenty-one years after his exoneration, Will Purvis died of natural causes - 3 days after the death of the last juror who had found him guilty.

Mystery of Leather Man

Years ago, people were much more accepting of the odd ones among us, the mysterious ones, the different ones, the ones who we now say "aren't quiet right" and call upon the police to remove. In the early 1860's, just such a person made his first appearance in Connecticut and New York - the legendary Leather Man.

Historical picture of Leather Man

A wandering vagrant started making an appearance in certain towns and settlements  in 1862. He rarely spoke, never saying more than a couple of words at a time and even then it was mostly in French with an English word or two thrown in. He never told anyone his name and when someone asked about his background or what he was doing, he would mumble an unintelligible word or two and quickly move on. Just as peculiar was his clothing; dressed from head to toe in crude pieces of thick leather which had been hand-stitched together with leather thongs. It was a suit of clothes that weighed over 60 pounds, yet he wore it all year without fail, in summer heat and the bitter cold of winter. For lack of a better name, everyone began calling him "Leather Man."

Over time, people began noticing this strange man would return every 34 days. As a matter of fact, he would return to the same exact place within 10 minutes of the same time he had been there exactly 34 days earlier. No matter if storm, rain or snow, his appearances were on such a consistent schedule that you could almost set your watch by it. Eventually the more curious began following him and finally pieced together that Leather Man walked a circuit of 365 miles, always traveling clockwise. For his nightly shelter, he had a number of small caves which he had outfitted with a circle of rocks to enclose a fire and leaves and small twigs for a bed. Every morning before leaving, he would gather an armload of wood and leave it inside the cave where it would remain dry and ready for his next time there. 

Leather Man's route

As his appearances continued, many people took it upon themselves to feed and assist the harmless, always smiling odd man. With almost the exact time known when he would be in a particular spot, housewives would have a home-cooked meal prepared for him. Leather Man always accepted food and water with a smile, a small little bow of gratitude and grunt of thanks before hurrying on his way to keep to his schedule. Some of the men offered tobacco and matches which he also accepted in the same manner. Several school houses along his route would award their "Student of the Month" with the privilege of carrying a meal out to Leather Man as he passed by. It became a mark of pride among the students as to who would get to hand the meal to him every 34 days. However, he always refused money, alcohol or clothing and he never took up anyone on an offer of accommodation in their home for the night. 

In the winter of 1888, a severe blizzard struck Maine with day after day of below-zero weather and multiple feet of snow. Through it all, Leather Man continued walking his route, but for the first time in 26 years, he fell behind his schedule. With what was considered super-human will and endurance, he trudged through the howling, freezing winds and fought through the mounds of snow and arrived within a few hours of his usual time. People begged him to come in and take shelter at their fire, but he would just shake his head and kept plowing forward. After the storm had passed, he had completed his journey in 36 days rather than the usual 34 and people noticed he had a large black spot on his lip, a sure sign of frostbite. The Connecticut Humane Society heard about it and had him arrested and taken to a hospital for treatment. When his guard briefly turned his back and before a doctor could see him, Leather Man made his escape and resumed his walk through the woods. Other lawmen along his route refused to arrest him as he had never broken any laws and from then on he was left alone to continue his curious habit. 

One of Leather Man's caves

Leather Man maintained his punctual pacing and strange practices for 27 years. On March 24, 1889, he didn't make his expected appearance in Ossining, New York and people became worried. A search party found him dead in his cave where he had spent the night before. No foul play was evident and it was thought he had died of natural causes. The hardship and exposure he had suffered in the previous year's blizzard was thought to be a contributing factor in his death. He was buried in a shallow grave in a simple pine box just off Route 9 outside of Ossining. A collection was taken and a headstone was placed at his grave.

In 2011, Route 9 was scheduled to be widened so Leather Man was exhumed to be moved further away from the road and into a nearby cemetery. When his grave was dug up though, only a few coffin nails were found with no sign of his body. A new pine box was made and the nails along with some of the dirt from his first grave were placed in the new coffin which was buried in the cemetery. A new headstone was erected which simply says, "Leather Man."

Today there are legends about his true identity, but nobody has obtained any proof and he officially still remains unknown. There are stories about treasures supposedly buried in his caves, but the caves are well known and many people have dug in and around them with no treasure found. There have also been numerous reports over the years that his ghost continues walking along his trail, something he is damned to do for all eternity. Some have reported mysterious lights glowing in his caves at night, but actually, more than 150 years after his first appearance, only a huge mystery remains. Who was Leather Man? Where did he come from? Where was he and what did he do before his appearance in 1862? Why did he lead such a self-imposed solitary life? Why the particular route he traveled? Why the tight schedule? And why did he always wear only leather?

Old Rip, The Miracle Horned Toad

The Eastland Courthouse constructed in 1928

In the Eastland, Texas courthouse, protected by 2 thick layers of glass and a uniformed guard, a Texas legend lies in state. Resting on velvet and white satin, he was once famous around the country. Fans from near and far arrived daily to see him and even a U.S. president had a personal meeting with him. Today, it's usually just the rare curious visitor who stops by and every now and then, a tour bus of senior citizens will pull over for the occupants to make their way to the viewing area. Mostly, he lies forgotten and ignored. But there was a time...

In 1897, the cornerstone of Eastland County's new courthouse was scheduled to be dedicated. As the ceremony was underway, Justice of the Peace Earnest Wood, who was also a member of the band on hand that day, noticed his son was playing with a horned toad, a common and favorite creature in Texas at that time. Old Earnest decided it would be funny to place the toad in the cornerstone so that's exactly what he did just before it was sealed up tight. Several witnesses saw him do it and a good chuckle was had by all. For the next 31 years people would pass by the courthouse, point and say, "There's a horned toad snoozing in that building."

In 1928, the population of Eastland county had grown bigger and the courthouse had grown older. Money was raised and plans drawn up to replace it with a bigger, modern building. Stories were going around that horned toads could go into hibernation and live for years without food or water. Some even said they could stop breathing until conditions turned favorable. Arguments raged with others swearing talk of horned toads going into suspended animation was just old wives tales. 

On February 18th, the old structure had been demolished down to the cornerstone. On that day, over 3,000 people were on hand anxious to witness the opening. As they looked on in suspense, the block was cleared and the covering removed. Judge E. S. Pritchard removed some other items which had been sealed inside - a bible, several newspapers, a book. He then reached into the very bottom of the stone and pulled out something that looked like a dust covered piece of dark brown tree bark. It was the desiccated toad. The poor creature was handed to Eugene Day, a leading citizen of the town. He turned around and handed the stiff-as-a-board remains to Frank Singleton, the local Methodist pastor. After examining it, the preacher handed it back to Judge Pritchard who then held it up by the tail so everyone in the crowd could see.

A Texas Horned Toad

Some were disappointed, some smiled and said, "I told you so" and a few of the young children started to cry. But as everyone began to leave, people in the front gasped and someone shouted, "It twitched! That thing's alive!" As people turned to look, they were astounded to see the dried-up animal wake up from its 31-year nap and wriggle back to life!

The miracle horned toad became an instant sensation. He was dubbed Rip Van Winkle, which of course was quickly shortened to Old Rip, and travelers from miles away came in droves to see the animal that refused to die. The local veterinary made sure Old Rip was fed and watered and folks made sure he had a good home in the display window of a store on the town square. Eventually, the demand to see him was so great that he went on a tour of the United States - Dallas, St. Louis, New York City and Washington, D.C. When he arrived in the nation's capitol, President Calvin Coolidge requested he be brought to the White House where he could see the country's most famous animal in person.

Old Rip returned to Eastland after the tour but sadly, after 31 years encased in an airtight stone with no food or water, he was on borrowed time. On January 19, 1929, Old Rip passed away. An autopsy was performed and he was found to have contracted pneumonia and drowned due to water in his lungs. 

Old Rip lying in state in his custom-made casket

The people of Eastland were unwilling to let Old Rip go so they had him embalmed, placed in a small casket and put on display in a window of the new courthouse. For years, people continued to come to see the diminutive miracle animal. In 1962, Gubernatorial candidate John Connally stopped in Eastland on a campaign tour around the state. Like all politicians, he took every opportunity to have his name and picture in the public's face so he requested and was given permission to have his picture taken while holding Eastland's most famous resident. He was indelicately holding up Old Rip by a back leg when it broke off. The news reporters were amused, but the people of Eastland were not. Old Rip was placed back in his little casket and that was the last time anyone has been allowed to touch him.

Closeup of Old Rip

In 1955, the legend of Old Rip inspired cartoonist Chuck Jones and writer Michael Maltese to create the classic cartoon, One Froggy Evening. It tells the story of of a frog who is freed from a building's cornerstone and sings ragtime jazz when no one is watching. That cartoon became so popular it morphed into Michigan J. Frog, the official mascot of the Warner Brothers Television Network.

Michigan J. Frog

Death by Elephant in Texas

Entrance of Oakwood Cemetery

Oakwood Cemetery in Corsicana, Texas is a large, very old and quiet place. The grass is kept trimmed, any trash is quickly picked up and the flowing stream which runs through it is kept clear of brush and nature's debris. There are a number of notable folks resting in peace within the fenced grounds - government officials, pioneer settlers, Indian fighters and war veterans. Also interred here is the victim of what surely must rank as one of the most unusual causes of death.

On October 12, 1929, the Al G. Barnes Circus came to town. The citizens of Corsicana, the oil field workers and cotton farmers from near and far made their way in to see the show and the elephants. The circus paraded right through downtown where thousands of men, women and children lined the streets. The largest elephant, a 32-year-old Asian male named Black Diamond, was being led by H. D. "Curly" Pickett.

For seven years, Curly had been Black Diamond's trainer and caretaker, but he had recently left Black Diamond and the circus to work for Eva Speed Donohoo, a prominent landowner, businesswoman and former society editor for the Houston Post.  Eva had spoken with Curly while he was feeding Black Diamond and when he agreed to work for her, Curly and Eva had simply turned their backs and walked away from the creature. When Curly heard his previous employer would be in town, he got in touch with the circus owner and for old times sake, the owner agreed to let Curly lead the massive beast in the parade.

What the people didn't know however was that Black Diamond, who had been born and spent his first 17 years in the wild before being captured and sold, had killed 3 of his trainers in his first 8 years as a circus performer. After each of the first 2 killings, Black Diamond was sold to another circus until finally coming to the Al G. Barnes Circus. The 3rd trainer to die was the one before Curly. 

Curly had a good reputation for being gentle and taking good care of his charge, ensuring the animal had plenty of food, was exercised and washed regularly and removed from the dark, confining boxcar whenever an opportunity presented itself. By all accounts, Black Diamond seemed to have taken to Curly and there were no incidents during their 7 years together. The man who replaced Curly was told of the 3 previous deaths and to prevent another attack, he had sawed the elephant's tusks short and placed a heavy iron bar across them to restrict his trunk's movement. While being led in the parade, he was also chained between 2 other elephants.

 At one point during the parade, the procession just happened to come to a momentary halt stopping Black Diamond right where Eva was standing between 2 parked cars watching the parade. A moment later, Black Diamond picked up Curly and tossed him over the nearest car breaking his wrist. Pushing the parked cars aside and smashing them with his weight, he used the remainder of his sawed-off tusks to drag Eva back into the street where he began flailing her with his trunk before finally stepping on her. 

Screaming in shock and fright, women and children bystanders ran out of harm's way while some of the men tried to pull Eva away, but Black Diamond wouldn't let them get near and continued pummeling her until circus handlers managed to tighten the chains attaching him to the other elephants and used them to pull the enraged brute away. Eva was quickly transported to a local hospital, but there was nothing that could be done for her. She was pronounced dead on arrival.

An angry mob of local citizens soon descended upon the circus grounds demanding the death of the guilty elephant. Black Diamond was confined to his boxcar and guarded by 2 burly roustabouts armed with clubs. One man proclaimed himself the executioner and armed with a .45 pistol, tried to get into the boxcar, but the roustabouts managed to stop him and convinced him to be on his way. When word leaked out about the previous 3 deaths, the pressure to put down the killer became even stronger. Late the next day, word came from the owner of the circus - Black Diamond must die, but he wanted it done in the most humane way possible.

The execution of Black Diamond
(photo courtesy of thecircusblog.com)

There was much discussion as to a humane way to kill such a huge animal. First, a large quantity of poison was put in his food, but other than an upset tummy, this didn't seem to bother him. It was finally decided that death by firing squad would be the quickest method. By this time, the circus, which had quickly left the angry mob in Corsicana, was in Kenedy, a small town outside of San Antonio. On October 16th, the elephant was led to an wooded pasture and securely chained to several trees. While hundreds of spectators watched and circus performers cried, 3 local men standing just a few feet away fired shot after shot into Black Diamond. Estimates vary, but it is agreed between 50 - 120 shots were required to end the elephant's life. 

A taxidermist removed Black Diamond's head and after preservation, transferred it to the Houston Museum of Natural History. An undertaker who was a member of the firing squad, received one of the huge feet and made it into a stool which is still displayed in the Karnes County Museum near Kenedy. The local butcher was given the hide which he sold for 10 cents a strip. The owner of the pasture received some of the bones. Spectators took the rest of the body as souvenirs. Soon, there was nothing left of Black Diamond except a large spot of blood-soaked ground. Even that was scooped up in jars and buckets and carted away by the last of the souvenir hunters.

Two weeks later, the stock market crashed. The Al G. Barnes Circus went bankrupt and disbanded.

Why did Black Diamond so deliberately kill Eva Donohoo and injure his one time trainer? Did he blame her for taking away the only trainer he had loved?  Did he hold Curly responsible for leaving him to the care of a man who cut off his tusks and saddled him with that heavy iron bar? Did he blame them both for simply turning their backs on him and walking away without even a goodbye? Did he think Curly had returned for him and seeing Eva, thought she was back to take Curly away again? Or did he simply miss his home in the wild and have an "I'm not taking this anymore" moment with Curly and Eva merely being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Nobody will ever know for sure.

In the Oakwood Cemetery in Corsicana, Texas lies Eva Speed Donohoo, the one and only person killed in an elephant stampede in Texas.

Route 66 - Atomic Highway and Elmer Long's Bottles

It only took a couple of minutes to put the dying town of Essex behind us, but unfortunately, it took a while to leave behind the anger at our run in with that unpleasant old codger. Fortunately, there's 141 miles between him and our next stop, Elmer Long's Bottle Tree Ranch in Oro Grande, so I had plenty of time to find my calm place and remember to enjoy the journey.

In between where we were to where we were going is the sparsely populated Mojave Desert and the Bristol Mountains. In the late 1950's, some government genius in Washington, D.C.  came up with a grand plan to use up old surplus atomic bombs to help build roads. The cold war was in full swing and America was building newer, improved, bigger atomic bombs. Nobody knew what to do with the old-style bombs or how to safely dispose of them until the government came up with several projects under the umbrella of a plan called "Operation Plowshare." One of these projects was a plan to widen the Panama Canal in one fell swoop with several bombs. Another project was planned to add another harbor in Alaska by setting off however many bombs it took to create one. Project Gnome was a project to create energy by bombing underground aquifers. Projects Rulison and Gasbuggy were planned as an attempt to free natural gas with nuclear explosions.

During this time, a new, easier alignment was in the planning stages for Route 66. In comes a government physicist and it was decided these atomic bombs would be a great way to blow up mountains to speed up road construction. It seems nobody thought about the old-style "dirty" bombs releasing so much radiation that any place where they were detonated would be uninhabitable for 50 years or more. It also appears that nobody thought about the people who lived in these parts.  Meetings were held, plans were made and finally, a proposal was submitted which called for 22 atomic bombs to be placed along a 2-mile stretch through the mountains. The dust cloud was expected to rise a minimum of 12,000 feet and have a diameter of 7 miles. It would shorten the intended route by 15 miles. Amazingly, the proposal went forward with the federal government and California Transportation giving approval. Almost at the last-minute, a number of the local citizens began protesting what was being called "The Atomic Highway." This slowed down the schedule until in 1963, Russia unexpectedly signed the Nuclear Test Ban Treaty and the project was cancelled.

Elmer Long's Bottle Tree Ranch

Several hours after leaving Essex, having safely negotiated the desert and mountains to arrive at 24266 National Trails Highway, we were not greeted by a big neon sign or any sort of roadside alert to let us know we had arrived at the Elmer Long's Bottle Tree Ranch. In fact, if we had not been ready and expecting it, we might have been looking on the wrong side of the road and totally missed it. However, when you do see it, you know immediately you have arrived at some place different, a special place built and assembled by some special person.

We pulled off the road to park on the narrow dirt strip in front of the "ranch." Bottles and, well, a lot of odd, old stuff is everywhere. But not like a normal junk yard, oh no, this is an interesting, weirdly artful junk yard - bottle trees everywhere you look; typewriters, cash registers, wrist watches, galvanized tubs all arranged with various colored bottles to form what I guess would be called modern art or perhaps interpretive art would be a better name for it. Not hundreds of bottles, thousands and thousands of bottles. It's weird and it's interesting and we had a great time just wondering around the place.

Elmer Long is the artist behind the Bottle Ranch. He used to go with his dad out into the desert and collect the objects they found, including many, many bottles. After his father passed away, Elmer was left with all of these bottles and other objects with no idea what to do with them. He finally decided to craft a bottle tree and in the year 2000 when he was finished, he liked the way the light shown through the bottles and the melody the wind created as it flowed over them so much that he decided to make another one. He hasn't stopped yet and now there are more than 200 "trees."

Unfortunately, when we were there, Mr. Long was not, but the gate leading into the property was open with a "welcome" sign just inside. We thoroughly enjoyed walking around looking at the colors created by the setting sun and the bottles and spent a long time looking at, thinking about, and to be honest, trying to figure out what, if anything, the artist was saying with some of his creations. I'm thinking some of them were assembled just because he had a pile of crap he wanted to use and it actually has no meaning at all. I could be wrong, of course. I wish he had been there so I could have asked him. But whatever, Mr. Long. Just please don't stop creating your art. It's a joy to many and any Route 66 traveler who doesn't make it a point to stop is missing a treasure.

Cash register art?

Bottles and "art stuff" as far as you can see.

Go to the first Route 66 entry here.

Or go to the first entry of each state:

Illinois   Missouri   Kansas   Oklahoma   Texas   New Mexico   Arizona   California 

Route 66 - Kingman, Andy Devine & Other Neat Stuff

Promo pic of Andy Devine - I believe this was from
a Twilight Zone episode.

Coming into Kingman, Route 66 becomes Andy Devine Ave. If you are old enough, you may remember raspy-voiced Andy as Roy Roger's sidekick "Cookie Bullfincher" or as "Jingles P. Jones, " in the TV show, The Adventures of Wild Bill Hickok or in some of the more than 400 movies he had parts in or numerous radio show skits such as Jack Benny's Buck Benny Rides Again.  Andy was actually born in Flagstaff, but grew up in Kingman after he moved there with his parents when he was just 1. After he passed away due to leukemia in 1977, the city named Route 66 through town in his honor.

We stopped a few blocks into town at a gas station that had gas a couple of cents cheaper than several we had just passed. It had a large open-sided shelter with a lot of hay bales  behind the store. A nice older gentleman wearing overalls and a cowboy hat that had seen better days many days ago pulled in next to me in his beat up old pickup with all the windows rolled down and while getting gas himself, started a conversation about my new pickup. He walked over, gently ran his hand along the fender and softly said, "I sure wish I could afford one of these." It was easy to see he had lived a hard life and things probably were not going to get any better. If I had Bill Gates or Warren Buffett money, I would have said, "Here you go, old-timer. Take the keys and enjoy her." Unfortunately, I'm not rich and he's probably still driving that old pickup with the broken air conditioner.

I went inside the store and asked about a restroom. The girl behind the counter told me the bathroom was broke. I made a joking comment about the whole room being broke and without cracking a smile she said, "Not the room, just the toilet. It sprung a leak or something so the water is turned off."  There was a young guy behind the counter with her, standing there watching, waiting for another customer to come in and he looked at me and nodded his head to indicate she was telling the truth. I said I bet they would be glad to get that fixed, but they both chuckled and she replied, "I've worked here for 2 years and it was broke when I started." I asked, "So where do you guys go when you need to?" With no smile at all to show whether she was joking or not, she pointed outside to the hay shelter and said, "Over there behind some of those bales. You can go there too if you want." I waited for one of them to laugh or at least smile, but neither did. Well, OK then. Thanks, but I believe I'll just cruise on down the road a ways.

Sure enough, just a couple of blocks later, still on Andy Devine/Route 66, we came to a Jack-In-The-Box fast food place. The food was decent for fast food and the restroom worked and was fairly clean. Then one of those truly serendipitous, "what are the odds" road things happened. A little over 35 years earlier, I finished my hitch in the Navy and was discharged in San Diego, California. I had spent the last 3 years serving in the photo lab on the aircraft carrier U.S.S. Kitty Hawk. I'm sitting there in a generic Jack-In-The-Box in Kingman, Arizona and in walks a gentleman wearing a U.S.S. Kitty Hawk cap. After he ordered his food and I had finished the last of my fries, I walked over to him, introduced myself and told him I had served on "the Kitty." For those who may not have had a military experience, especially a Navy ship duty, even though there may have been thousands of men (and a handful of women in the last few years) who served on "your" ship, as soon as you meet one, there is a connection, a blue-water sailor shared experience and easy conversation follows. During our talk, it turned out this guy had started his service on the Kitty Hawk shortly after I left. And out of hundreds of jobs and dozens of departments on-board our ship, what was his duty and where did he work? In the photo lab. Here it was 35 years later, out of thousands of sailors who served on my ship, both of us on vacation hundreds of miles from our respective homes, we both decided to grab a burger on the way through town and just happened to choose the same place at basically the same time in the afternoon several hours after the normal lunch rush and I chance to meet the guy who probably replaced me when I finished my enlistment and was discharged! The odds of that must be about a billion to 1, but it happened. Just one of the surprises of the road.

The Kingman Powerhouse Visitor Center

After saying goodbye to my new-found friend, we decided to take a little side trip before leaving Kingman - the Powerhouse Visitor Center. The Powerhouse was placed in business in 1907 to generate electricity for the city. It served in that capacity until 1938 when the Hoover Dam was completed and started providing all the electricity the city needed. The building sat unused for a few years until a group of citizens rescued it and turned it into a Visitor Center. It also houses several other organizations, including "The Historic Route 66 Museum." The Route 66 museum was interesting and worth a visit, but the real reason we stopped was because of a marker located about 12 feet up on the wall just to the right of the entrance door. That marker is exactly 3,333.33 feet above sea level.  No, as far as I know there is nothing magical or mystical about being 3,333.33 feet above sea level. It's just something different, another roadside oddity. Youngest-daughter couldn't figure out why we had to stop and get a picture of it. "You ask why, daughter of mine? Well, my dear, in the words of George Mallory, 'Because it's there."

Exactly 3,333.33 feet above sea level!

Go to the first Route 66 entry here.

Or go to the first entry of each state:

Illinois   Missouri   Kansas   Oklahoma   Texas   New Mexico   Arizona   California 

Route 66 – Giganticus Headicus

Route 66 through Aubrey Valley leading away
from Seligman, AZ.

Enjoyable as it was, we put Seligman behind us and kept heading west, always west. From Seligman to the next good-sized town, Kingman, is about 80 miles and gas stations are few along the way and expensive so if needed, you should fill up before driving this stretch.

After passing under the I-40 overpass, Route 66 crosses through Aubrey Valley and a few small communities and ghost towns while crossing the Hualapai Indian Reservation. Don’t be in a hurry; it’s a nice drive. The buttes and mesas landscape will remind you of almost every western movie Hollywood ever made. We passed through Peach Springs, the center of the reservation and on to the mostly deserted town of Valentine.

Route-66 through the southern part of the
Hualapai Reservation

In Valentine, there stands a large, 2-story red brick school-house that was built in 1901. It was the school for the local Indian children and served as a boarding school for Apache,  Hopi, Navajo, Papago, Havasupai, and Mohave children who were often forcibly taken from their parents and homes and taught to be white. A different day school building was built for the local white children.  The Indian school closed in 1937 for a short time, but was re-opened and served until finally being closed in 1969. It wasn’t one of America’s finer moments.

Until 1990, Valentine had a small contract post office which would receive thousands of Valentine cards each year from people who wanted their cards re-mailed with the heart-shaped postmark used by Jacqueline Grigg, the lady who ran the post office. That stopped on August 15, 1990 when a man robbed the post office and shot Jacqueline. He removed the tags from the motorcycle he had been riding, hid it behind the building and stole Mrs. Grigg’s yellow 1979 Ford station wagon. He drove off with a little cash and a few blank money orders, leaving Jacqueline to die. Two days later, the 19-year-old man from Tennessee drove the yellow Ford into the parking lot of a Laguna Beach, California police station and  confessed the murder to a city employee. A policeman who happened to be walking by heard the conversation and took the murderer into custody. The following week, Jacqueline’s grief-stricken husband bulldozed the blood-stained Valentine post office and left town never to be heard from again.

Giganticus Headicus on Route 66

About 66 miles from Seligman, at the corner where Antares Road  meets Route 66 (N 35° 25.137 W 113° 48.481) is Giganticus Headicus, a 14-foot tall wood and stucco Polynesian Tiki head thing. It sits next to a convenience store at the Kozy Corner Trailer Court. It is one of those off-beat things you sometimes run across during a road trip; so off-beat that it has almost become legendary. It was built in 2004 by Gregg Arnold so it is not a nostalgia remnant of the Mother Road, but in less than 10 years, it has become firmly associated with taking a Route 66 road trip. People from all over the world stop here to get their picture taken in front of Giganticus Headicus. It’s just kinda cool.

The author, like many other people, just had to get his picture
taken with Giganticus Headicus!

Shortly after leaving Giganticus Headicus is the town of Valle Vista. No reason to stop here, at least not for this road trip’s purposes, as this is a town built around a golf course in 1972 as I-40 was being built. The only reason for note is because it is the newest community on Route 66.

After a nice drive of 80 miles west out of Seligman is the good-sized town of Kingman, birthplace of Andy Devine. With about 28,000 residents itself and another 38,000 or so living in the close by Butler and Golden Valley communities, there are a number of motels, eating places and service stations to choose from. If nothing else, you should top off your gas tank here as this is the last place to get “cheaper” gas; at least cheaper than California. From here, we’ll be heading over some rather remote sections to Oatman and the California state line.

Go to the first Route 66 entry here.

Or go to the first entry of each state:

Illinois   Missouri   Kansas   Oklahoma   Texas   New Mexico   Arizona   California 

Goat Man of White Rock Lake

In northeast Dallas, Texas is the beautiful, suburban White Rock Lake. The north part of the lake is a state park and in the southern part are expansive waterfront estates. Surrounded by a 9 mile jogging trail and bike path, the park is an idyllic urban oasis visited by thousands of people every day. Fishing, jogging, biking, families having picnics, sailors piloting their sailboats, lovers stealing kisses under a shady oak tree, boys and young men playing football and small children feeding the ducks present a picturesque, idyllic, Norman Rockwell slice of Americana.



Creepy, haunted Cox Cemetery by
White Rock Lake.

All, however, may not be as it seems, for White Rock Lake has its dark stories. There is the creepy cemetery dating from the mid-1800's which is rumored to be haunted. There are the deaths by drowning in the lake with some of the bodies having never been found. At least one person has committed suicide at the lake by hanging himself from a limb of a large tree by the water's edge. The drowning in a boating accident in 1927 of beautiful 19-year-old Hallie Gaston led to the story of the Lady of the Lake. In 1934, a small plane crashed into the lake, killing every passenger. In 1941, 27-year-old John Howard, a world record holder for underwater swimming inexplicably drowned in the lake. Is it any wonder there have been numerous reportings of strange goings on in the area?

Runners talk of strange "cold spots" frequently encountered near the area where J.C. Hacker drowned in 1938. He was one of the victims whose body has never been recovered. Even in the hot Dallas summer months, there is one particular spot that always feels coolish. Perhaps though, the strangest story of them all is of the Goat Man of White Rock Lake.

In the 1960's, I was busy growing up in Garland, a town "just down the road a piece" from the lake. I went to a church located 2 miles from the lake. I heard all of the ghost stories and I heard about the Goat Man. My teenage friends and I spent many Friday and Saturday nights slowly cruising around the lake. A couple of times I somehow even convinced a girl to spend some time with me parked in a dark corner of the park steaming up the car windows. I never saw the Lady of the Lake and I never saw the Goat Man, but a couple of times I did see and have a nice conversation with Officer Daley of the Dallas Police Department. He told me to button up my shirt, get my butt out of the park and take the girl home. My side of the conversation consisted of, "Yes sir." I may never have had an encounter of the supernatural kind at White Rock, but to this day, the stories persist with a few more people over the years giving eye-witness accounts of encounters with the Goat Man.

The last reported sighting of Goat Man
was on this spooky road.

According to these accounts, the poor creature is half-man, half-goat. He is about 7 feet tall when standing and is covered from head to hoof in coarse, brown hair. He has 2 horn-like protrusions coming out of his head, his feet are hoofs like a goat and he has the body and face of a man. It's skin has a jaundiced appearance and he has long, gnarled fingers with grotesque fingernails.

Most often he is seen early in the morning when he comes running out of the woods toward an individual jogger or biker. He sometimes throws trash or even muddy tires at the person. With a fierce look on his face (some have reported his eyes to be red), he turns and seems to vanish into thin air. He doesn't seem to have ever physically hurt anyone, but the fright he gives has made more than one person swear off White Rock Lake forever.

Strange Case of the Traveling American Mummy

In 1913, a down-on-his-luck one-legged hobo named Anderson McCrew was riding a freight train through Marlin, Texas. Nobody knows for sure exactly what happened; maybe he was hopping off the train to stay a while in Marlin and slipped jumping down or maybe he was leaning out of the empty railroad car feeling the wind in his face and lost his grip, but whatever happened, he was found dead the next day on the tracks with his other leg severed by the train.

His body was taken to a funeral home in Marlin to be preserved until a relative could be found to claim it. Not knowing how long that would take, the undertaker did his job so well that "Andrew" McCrew's body was mummified. It was placed in the window of a local store on the main street through town in the hopes that someone passing through would recognize him. Sadly, nobody ever did.

A year later, a carnival passed through town and since nobody had claimed Andrew's body and nobody had stepped forward to donate the funds for a burial, the carnival owner was allowed to purchase Andrew for the amount owed to the undertaker. For the next 40 years, Andrew, dressed in a moth-eaten tuxedo and sitting in a folding chair, toured all over America. Billed as "The Petrified Man" and the "Eighth Wonder of the World," thousands of people saw him, pointed at him, took pictures of him and talked about him, but nobody laid claim to him.

Eventually the carnival began losing money and had to sell some of its possessions. Andrew and his chair were sold to an individual who kept him in a shed in their back yard. He would be brought into the house occasionally for parties, but he spent most of his time for the next 15 years quietly sitting through the seasons in the shed.

Anderson McCrew's grave

Elgie Pace, a nurse who lived in Dallas, took possession of Andrew when her relative passed away. Thinking the mummy, who she called "Sam," deserved a proper burial, she cleaned away the dust, cobwebs, and bird droppings and stored him in her basement until she could save enough money for the internment. From all accounts, Andrew did just as well in the dark, damp basement as he had everywhere else.

Four years later, Elgie just happened to be passing through Marlin and heard about Andrew. Upon further investigation, it was determined that she, in fact, was indeed in possession of the one-legged, then no-legged hobo Anderson McCrew. The amazing story was printed in a Dallas paper and Frank Lott, a mortuary owner, donated his services so Andrew could finally be buried in 1973, 60 years after his death.

Andrew McCrew's grave marker.

Even then, the strange case of Andrew McCrew didn't end. Don Mclean, the composer and singer who gained fame with his iconic song, American Pie, heard the story and found out that Andrew had finally been buried, but with only a small temporary funeral home plaque to mark his grave. Don wrote a song, "The Legend of Andrew McCrew" Hear the song and donated all of his earnings from it to purchase a proper headstone. Eventually, two stones were purchased, engraved, and placed on Andrew's grave. Even his main headstone is different from the norm as it is inscribed with his year of birth (1867), year of death (1913), and year of burial (1973).

Elgie Pace wrote the words. Don McLean
paid for the stone.

Anderson McCrew, his travels and wait now over, rests peacefully in Dallas' Lincoln Memorial Cemetery. There are no flowers on his grave and he rarely gets visitors. After the life he had after his death, I think he's perfectly fine with that.