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In July, in the early 1980's Nancy, my wife, and I were sitting in the only restaurant in Lipscomb, Texas, aptly named "Cafe´." The town of Lipscomb, where I grew up, was "founded," in 1887, only eleven years after the Apaches, Kiowas, and Comanches were conquered and forced onto the reservations. Lipscomb was named the county seat for Lipscomb County, the top Northeast County, of the Texas Panhandle, bordered by Oklahoma on two sides, and encompassing 934 square miles. The county was composed largely ranch land. The census for 1880 shows the county having a total 69 people and 5,037 cattle. At its height Lipscomb had a population of 80. The depression, the Dust Bowl, and urban lures cut the population of the town of Lipscomb to 45 in the early 1990's. I estimate that the current population of Lipscomb is approximately 30, plus 56 wild turkeys, making it the second smallest county seat in Texas.
Back to the restaurant, we were having lunch with John Vance, an oil and gas driller. During lunch he introduced us to Mr. Scarf, President of another production and drilling company who told me that he had grown up in Lipscomb County in the 1930s and 1940s. When he was a boy, he and his brothers and neighborhood children played together. However, instead of playing cops and robbers, they played "Sheriff Tarbox and Pete Traxler." In 1936 Traxler had made it to the No. 1 most wanted list and was hiding somewhere in the Panhandle when dad was called to assist in the search and arrest. Since I was only two years old when the "great shoot out" took place, my recollections were minimal. However, dad had given me a Colt Six-shooter, with three cartridges, which he said he had used to shoot Pete Traxler in 1936. Years passed with me knowing little more than that my father was a regional "hero." When mother died in 1992, she left me a scrapbook, full of clippings about dad's career. With its help I have reconstructed the following scenario of dad's most dangerous case, referred to in my restaurant encounter. On Sunday morning, May 10, 1936, Pete Traxler, suspect in more than a dozen tourist hijackings, armed robberies, and several murders, as well as being an escaped prisoner from the Oklahoma state prison in McAlester, Oklahoma, was shot in the Texas Panhandle at the Canadian River Bridge, about 25 miles south of Lipscomb. The Amarillo paper reported at Over 100 law enforcement officers, including the FBI, and Oklahoma and Texas Departments of Public Safely, had launched a "massive rabbit drive," from Amarillo on the west to Oklahoma City on the east, with the object being to flush out Pete Traxler who at that time on No. 1 on the most wanted list in Texas and Oklahoma. Newspapers called him the modern Jesse James, and well as the "phantom fugitive," due to his ability to evade capture and break out of jails. Traxler, and his gang, engaged in a series of bold highway robberies in the spring of 1936, on Highway 66 near Amarillo, targeting out of state travelers. The February 1936 "Line up of True Detective Mysteries" had published Traxler's photograph, which led to his identification in the highway robberies, as well as giving the police officers an idea of where he was hiding. It was this picture that allowed officers to identify him as he drove across the Canadian River Bridge on May 10, 1936. Early on Sunday morning, May 10, Oklahoma officers started moving westward towards the Texas border, while the Texas officers started moving eastward, checking all hotels, motels, "flop houses," etc. Roadblocks were placed at the key bridges crossing the Canadian River in the northwestern Panhandle, the major entry into Oklahoma from Texas. Highway 60, while not as famous as Highway 66, was a major paved Highway. It went from Amarillo to northern Oklahoma, crossing the Canadian River Bridge was just north of town of Canadian. Approximately ten officers were manning the roadblock at the north end of the bridge. Traxler approached the roadblock about 11:00 a.m, in a stolen 1936 Tudor Ford V8. When he crossed the bridge he saw the road block. He hit the gas pedal and tried to go around the parked cars on the right. However, when he left the concrete pavement, he hit the soft sandy shoulder. The sand wrenched the steering wheel sharply, causing Traxler to loose control. The car became stuck in the sand. Dad, who was nearest to Traxler, saw a shotgun appear though the window as Traxler was opening the driver's door. Dad shot three times, while Traxler attempted to return fire. At least two of his bullets struck Traxler, shattering his left arm, breaking his left leg, and injuring his right forearm. I asked dad about the shooting and he told me that he was only seconds away from being killed by Traxler's shotgun. After disarming Traxler, who was bleeding heavily, dad carried him to a fellow officer's car and they took him to the Canadian hospital, where he was treated and placed under heavy guard. He yelled at my father, "You Son of Bitch; when I get out of here, I will be back to shot you." Dad replied, you know where to find me. It was reported that dad's clothes were blood, but it turned out to be Traxler's blood. Upon examining the car, the officers found several weapons, including a 30.06 Winchester rifle, the sawed off shotgun, a 38 caliber Colt Special, a 45 automatic pistol, two U.S. Cartridge bags and an abundant supply of ammunition, as well as two hacksaws, a pipe, an Arkansas auto license plate, and supply of narcotics, a hypodermic needle and stock of bandages. Also discovered were two home made bullet proof vests made of 1/8 inch thick galvanized iron, one for front and one for the back [I have a picture of them and of the car]. Traxler was wearing an overcoat taken from an Illinois tourist shortly before his capture. He also had a piece of sheet music, "Just a Small Cottage," by James Hanley, and a fancy quilt. After being given the scrapbook I became curious about the rest of the story about Traxler. Traxler had been on a crime spree rivaling Bonny and Clyde. Between October 20, 1935, when he escaped from the Oklahoma penitentiary and his capture on May 10, 1936, he and his gang had killed two police officers, wounded several others, had engaged in several running gunfights with law enforcement officials during which members of his gang were captured and/or killed, and had robbed at least one bank, the First National Bank of Henrietta, He was indicted in the summer of 1936 by the Lipscomb County Grand Jury for "armed robbery," His Lipscomb County indictment stemmed from the shooting of Ben Babitzke, a 17 year old son of Christian Babitzke, a rancher who lived two miles south of Lipscomb. On January 12, 1936, Traxler and his gang drove up to the ranch house in a stolen auto. They arrived just at dusk, about 6:30 p.m. on a Sunday evening. Young Ben was on the porch and went out toward the car to see who had arrived. The gang said nothing; Johnnie Hughes pulled a 38 caliber revolver and marched Ben back to the house. He pushed Ben onto the screened porch. The scenario becomes a bit confused at this point. In a scuffle, Hughes shot Ben; the bullet passed through his back shirt collar, entering the left side of his neck, passing between his jawbone and skull and emerging through his left eye. Blinded and bleeding, Ben was forced into the house and the family, his father, mother, two sisters and two other brothers were forced to line up against the wall. Traxler ordered Christian Babitzke to produce all his money. The gang searched the house after taking Christian's wallet. Not satisfied with the results of the search, they held guns to Christian's head and demanded to know where the money was hid, or they would shoot him, The mother screamed "give them the money so they will leave." Christian went to a clothes closet in the back bedroom and emerged with two cheese boxes [probably Velvetta]. The boxes contained at least $2,700.00 in cash. Christian was reluctant to confirm the exact amount. The reasons for the Babitzche robbery came out at the trial in Lipscomb. Traxler, and his gang of three other men, met with Nell Walton, a known bootlegger, who was describe as a "hellcat on caster wheels," in Ellis County, near Shattuck, just across the state line. Apparently she told them has Christian Babitzke had large sums of cash at his home. He was known for paying cash and did not trust banks [remember that this was 1936]. Earlier he had paid cash of 640 acres of land [one square mile] as well as purchasing 441 acres and 320 acres. Also at the trial Traxler's prior record of crime was admitted into evidence. Traxler's "life of crime" began early. At 16, he sent to the Oklahoma Granite Reformatory. By the time he was 26, he had served time in two federal prisons, as well as the Oklahoma State Penitentiary in McAlester. He had escaped from the Pauls Valley, Oklahoma jail twice in 1935, having been arrested on May 26, 1935, for having killed Special policeman George Roper, who attempted to stop them. His first escape was in September, 1935, He was recaptured after a gunbattle in Arkansas. His second escape was on October 20, 1935. He was not captured again until shot in May, 1936, in Canadian. The story does not end after the conviction at Lipscomb in September, 1936. Upon sentencing he was sent to the Texas penitentiary's Eastham State Farm. He and several Other prisoners escaped on July 8, 1937. He led officers on a twelve day chase across Texas, Oklahoma, and Arkansas. 1n intermittent gun fights, one convict was killed and a prison guard wounded. Four other convicts were captured quickly. Traxler and one convict continued to evade capture. Nearly a 1000 officers searched throughout Oklahoma. It was one of the largest manhunts in the Southwest's history. After he was captured, he was tried in Durant, Oklahoma, in December, 1937, and sent to the Oklahoma State Penitentiary in McAlester [from which he had escaped in 1935, prior to the shootout in Canadian in May, 1936]. I do, not know exactly when or how he was released from the Oklahoma State Penitentiary. However, in 1950, he was captured after another blazing gun battle in which he and several others were wounded. He was convicted of auto theft and armed robbery and served in the Oklahoma State Penitentiary until 1955. Upon release in 1955 he moved to Denton, Texas, where he was employed as a plumber. Ironically I moved to Denton in 1960 to teach at North Texas State University. I guess that I was lucky that Traxler did not see my name and picture in the Denton paper or my tale might have a different ending. Let me describe my father. He was six feet one inch and weighted over, 200 pounds, and lived to be 91. As a young man he had boxed both amateur and professionally. He was an excellent shot, both with a pistol and with rifles or shotguns. In many ways he was larger than life. Dad thrived on excitement and danger, having as I now believe a long DNA. I think that dad would tell you that his happiest years were those when he served as Sheriff. However, I do not think that he was ever conscious of being the regional hero. He was having fun, doing something he liked to do. The Amarillo Daily News reported, upon his retirement as Sheriff, that while serving nearly 30 years in public office in a rather remote ranching area, he had more exciting experiences than many globetrotters. "Few cosmopolitans can lay claim to solving a murder, foiling a bank robber, shooting a public enemy No. I or helping resurrect a town struck by a tornado, which claimed 62 lives. But those are just the highlights of his colorful career. Dad entered public office as a Lipscomb County Deputy Sheriff in 1936. He was elected Sheriff in 1942, and resigned in 1944 to join the U.S. Navy. Although he had a permanent exemption from the draft, he volunteered for the Navy, and was sent to Camp Wallace, near Galveston, Texas. He had hoped to see the world, but never left Texas. Like our current President, he fought the Battle of Texas, repelling all invaders. After the war he returned to his position as Sheriff, serving until January, 1961. I grew up with law officers. Since Lipscomb was so small, we usually kept the guests in our home. I remember sleeping in the yard with Dudley White, a Texas Ranger, who was investigating cattle thefts. He slept with his guns under his head and said that he was not comfortable in a house. "Soft beds produce soft people." Carl Perriman, the regional FBI agent was a regular visitor, as well as a range of guests including undercover agents from the Alcoholic and Beverage Board. Homicides were particularly colorful in Lipscomb County. Shootings over property lines, fences, and water holes were common. However, regular murders also took place. As a teenager I attended the trial of Henry Louder, in 1951, who murdered his cleaning business partner, J. L. Hough, claiming self defense. However, I saw pictures of the body, with at least seven bullet wounds, most of which were inflicted in Hough's back as he sought to flee. After Louder was given a life sentence I accompanied my dad when we took him to Huntsville, to the Slate Penitentiary. Something that I never thought about until later is that dad never handcuffed his prisoners, even murders. Yet he never seemed to be worried. I came home from high school one afternoon to find mother upset. The neighboring sheriff in Canadian had called dad, asking him for assistance. A young man with serious mental problems had holed up in a ranch house and was shooting at persons approaching the house. Dad immediately left for the scene. When he arrived the young man ran from the house to the barn, carrying a rifle. Dad approached the barn, unarmed, and talked him into surrendering and then took him to the hospital. When I saw the movie, Places of the Heart, I realized that I, too, could easily have been an orphan. While in college, I accompanied my dad to Lansing, Kansas, to pick up a prisoner who was being released from the Kansas State Prison. It was Easter Sunday, 1953, and dad arrested Bill Dendy as he walked out. We took him to Easter Sunday dinner. He had not seen grass, trees, or women in three years, having served 10 of his last 12 years in penitentiaries in several states. Upon returning home, dad asked me if I would mind dropping off Dendy in Pampa, Texas, for lodging until his trial. I took him, again without handcuffs, to the County Sheriff's Office in Gray County, in Pampa, and then went on to Lubbock. That night dad called me, laughing loudly. Shortly after I delivered the prisoner to Pampa, the Sheriff called dad and asked why he had entrusted the prisoner to his young son. The last time the officers had seen Dendy, he had escaped, stealing the police car and shooting at one of their officers as he kicked him out of the car.] In the summer of 1954, I attended the summer sessions at the University of Colorado. I lived in my college fraternity's house in Boulder. Mom sent me a clipping from the Amarillo paper describing a manhunt for an escaped forgerer in Beaver County, Oklahoma. Using airplanes and road blocks they located Gayle Legan. Dad and another sheriff hid in the bushes outside the house where Legan's bride was staying. Legan arrived about 9:30 p.m. and fled when ordered to halt. Dad emptied his revolver into the fleeing car, seeking not to hit the driver, since he did not feel forgery was a serious enough crime. When Legan was captured, the car had been hit twice on the right side and several times in the rear. Dad said that he sought to shot a circle in the door, but the car was moving too fast. Needless to say, my fraternity brothers from back east were convinced that I had come from the frontier. In 1957, one of the county banks, the Follett National Bank, was robbed. Dad led the investigation and the robber was captured two hours later, without resisting. However, the robber was clever, in that he changed clothing and stopped in the next town to mail the $20,000.00 stolen to himself. The money was recovered from the Post Office. I have been surprised by his exploits as I have chronicled his life. I hope you have enjoyed the Tales of a Texas Sheriff.
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When I was a small child in the 50s, my family visited the Tarboxes
at their ranch where we had weiner roasts, made icecream, picked
wild grapes and plums, fished, and rode their horses. (One was
named "Black Beauty" and for a while they had a pair named "Meshack" and "Abendigo").
Everett and Thelma were my Sunday school teachers for a period (during the early 60s) when I was probably 10 - 12 years old and would take turns taking 2 of us kids home with them every Sunday afternoon. Great fun and great food for an afternoon, returning in time for the evening church service. I'll bet you remember that Everett almost always carried balloons and penny Tootsie Rolls for distribution to the kids. I'll bet you remember the stuffed hoot owl too... Huh? One time a raccoon got into the chicken coup and killed several chickens and both of their ducks. One baby duck hatched after the coon was gone and the Tarboxes brought it to town and gave it to me. That duck became one of the most loyal pets I ever owned... We lived only one block off Main Street and I had my mother's permission to walk to town & buy a nickel coke once each day. The duck followed behind me like a puppy and would wait for me outside the drug store for our walk back home. (I ran into an old-timer about 15 years ago that still remembered that scene.) You will probably recall that Everett and Thelma lived on the upper floor of one of the businesses on Follett's Main Street for a time... We stayed the night with them there several times. My brother and I slept on the bed near a window that overlooked the drug store and theater area. I was pretty small and it was a lot of fun. (Follett's Main Street was a very busy place in those days.) Yep. They touched a lot of lives. I'm fortunate that one of the lives they touched is my own... "John Wayne and Aunt Bea" is very accurate, and your dad's advise to "act like Uncle Tarbox" is timeless. |