Bonnie and Clyde- A Twenty-First-Century Update

by James R Knight

  Francis Augustus “Frank” Hamer was almost fifty years old when Lee Simmons met with him early in February 1934. Hamer was a former captain of the Texas Rangers, and had an unequaled reputation in the Southwest for professionalism and toughness. In fact, the Hamer name was something of a legend in the Rangers. In all, four Hamer brothers served with distinction. Besides Frank, there were Dennis Estill, Harrison Lester, and Flavious Letheridge Hamer. They were all known as tough lawmen and dead shots. The brothers said that Harrison was the best detective but when it came to getting their man, Frank had no peer.5

  As respected as he was among the Rangers, however, Frank Hamer was not without his detractors. He was once reprimanded by a judge for what he said was an unconstitutional search. The press later asked Hamer if the judge’s remarks would affect the way he did his job. “No,” he said. Hamer had a well-deserved reputation for doings things his own way—and for getting results, even if he did occasionally stretch the letter of the law.6 Also, as already mentioned, there was no love lost between Hamer and either former governor Jim Ferguson or his wife Miriam, the present governor. When Mrs. Ferguson was elected in 1932, Hamer left the Rangers rather than work under her.7 It was because of these hard feelings that Simmons felt that he needed the governor’s assurance before he offered Hamer the job.8

  Hamer brothers. This picture of a group of Texas Rangers, probably taken in the late 1920s, shows three of the four Hamer brothers who served as Rangers. First row, far right, is Francis Augustus “Frank” Hamer. Top row, far right, is Harrison Lester Hamer, and, next to him and just over Frank’s right shoulder is Flavious Letherage Hamer, the youngest of the four brothers. Not pictured is Dennis Estill Hamer.

  —Courtesy Harrison Hamer, grandson of Harrison Lester Hamer

  When Simmons met with Hamer, he told him that his assignment would be known only to himself and the governor. Simmons pulled no punches. There was a slight chance that Barrow might be captured if he could somehow be separated from his guns and his Ford V-8, but that was a long shot. Simmons had no real expectation of taking Barrow alive. He told Hamer to do what he thought best, but in Simmons’ view, he should “put them on the spot and shoot everyone in sight.”9 Simmons promised his full support, however long it took, and on that basis, Frank Hamer accepted the job.

  At the time, Hamer was making pretty good money working for an oil company in Houston, but he took a cut in pay for the chance to track Barrow. Part of it was the challenge, of course. He was later quoted as saying that not even John Dillinger could match Barrow for “cleverness, desperation, and reckless bravado,”10 but Hamer was not a glory seeker. He seldom spoke to the press and was happy to be left alone. He took the job because he truly believed that killers should be brought to justice— one way or another. Hamer had been a lawman for twenty-eight years, preferring to work alone or with one or two trusted men. He was said to have been in over fifty gunfights and survived enough bullet wounds to kill a squad of soldiers. A lawman like Frank Hamer was the worst nightmare of a wanted man like Barrow. And on February 10, 1934, Hamer began the hunt.11

  Hamer’s first move was to go to Dallas and check in with the law enforcement agency most experienced with Clyde Barrow, the Dallas County Sheriff’s Department. Sheriff Schmid introduced Hamer to Deputy Bob Alcorn, his Clyde Barrow “specialist,” and suggested that the two join forces. By early March, Hamer and Alcorn were in Bienville Parish, Louisiana, where the local sheriff was asked to make contact with members of Henry Methvin’s family.12 Before long, a meeting was set up.

  Present at the meeting that sealed the fate of Bonnie and Clyde were Frank Hamer and Bob Alcorn from Texas; Lester Kendale, a special agent of the Department of Justice; Henderson Jordan, sheriff of Bienville Parish; and John Joyner, a friend acting on behalf of Henry Methvin’s parents. The message, relayed by Joyner, was simple. Henry Methvin, the escaped convict who was at the moment traveling with Bonnie and Clyde, was willing to convince the couple to accompany him back to Louisiana, where he would set them up for the lawmen. In return, he was to be given a full pardon from the state of Texas. The whole deal was to be set down in writing and signed by the governor of Texas before the Methvins would move ahead with the plan. Hamer and the others agreed to the conditions, and each side began preparations.13

  After the fact, there were those who believed that Henry Methvin himself was not involved in the ambush plot, but that is probably just wishful thinking.14 Henry later testified, under oath, that he was involved, and, in any case, it’s almost impossible to see how anything could have been done without his active participation.15 At the time of the first meeting (early March), a pardon from Texas would have left Henry a free man. His earlier conviction and escape would have been erased. Before the ambush could be set up, however, the situation would change drastically, and Henry would have troubles that even a Texas pardon wouldn’t solve.

  Soon after Raymond Hamilton and Mary O’Dare left the gang in early March, Clyde, Bonnie and Henry Methvin swung down by Henry’s home in Louisiana. A few days later, they picked up Joe Palmer in southwest Missouri and returned to Texas. Their whereabouts for most of the rest of March are unknown except for a few meetings with their family. On March 10, they met near Lancaster, Texas—in a cemetery, which matched their somber mood. Clyde tried once again to convince Bonnie to surrender to police rather than face the end he knew was coming for him. He believed that if she would write a letter offering to give herself up, she could avoid the death penalty. Bonnie again refused.1

  Looking back on it, Clyde’s plan, melodramatic though it may sound, probably had a good chance of succeeding. Even though she had been traveling with Clyde for almost two years and had been with him in all but two of the murders for which he was wanted, Bonnie was not implicated as an active participant in any of them. The headlines usually read “Clyde Barrow” or “The Barrow Gang.” Bonnie was usually mentioned as “female companion” or something similar. By this time, Bonnie’s name was beginning to be used in news reports along with Clyde’s, but the permanent arrangement of the two names as “Bonnie and Clyde” occurred in the years after their death.2

  With a good lawyer, Bonnie might very well have pleaded guilty, thrown herself on the mercy of the court, and gotten a reasonable sentence. Blanche had gotten a maximum of ten years for being with them at Platte City and would serve only six. Even Raymond Hamilton, who was convicted of murder, had so far avoided the death penalty. In spite of all that had happened, in March 1934 there was still a good chance for Bonnie to salvage something of her life, if she would only take it. Everybody tried to convince her. All she had to do was walk away, but she had decided to die with Clyde.

  Within a few weeks, the situation would change, and Bonnie’s chance would be gone.

  Sometime in March 1934, there were two incidents that indicate that Clyde Barrow had finally crossed that line which his family feared. No one denied that Clyde would kill when he was cornered, but now, since the Sowers ambush, he seemed to be dealing in revenge as well.

  The first plot involved Clyde’s recently departed partner, Raymond Hamilton. After the breakup, Clyde, Bonnie, and Henry Methvin speculated among themselves about killing Mary O’Dare after Ray got caught—they were sure the police would get Ray soon.3 This seems to have been just idle talk, but soon after Joe Palmer rejoined the gang, Clyde began using him as a messenger, sending him out to try and set up a meeting with Raymond. The first two times, Joe thought he wanted Ray for a bank job, but the third time, Joe found out the truth. Clyde was no longer interested in what happened to Mary O’Dare. He wanted the meeting so he could kill Raymond Hamilton. Joe was never able to set up the meetings, so this plot didn’t succeed.4 The next one did. It was, in fact, the successful completion of the plan Joe Palmer began in Houston in late January.

  Wade Hampton McNabb had been convicted of robbery with firearms and sent to Eastham in August 1932, six months after Clyde Barrow was released. On February 24, 1934, McNabb was granted a s
ixty-day furlough by Governor Ferguson to visit his sick father at Greenville, Texas. By the end of March, he had finished about half of the time. On Thursday, March 29, McNabb was riding with his sister, Cleo Kirkland, and brother-in-law in Gladewater, Texas. “He must have seen somebody he knew, or somebody called him,” Mrs. Kirkland said, “for he jumped out and rushed into a domino parlor. Then he ran out and went into another. That’s the last we saw of him.”5 A few days later, the Houston Press, home of famous reporter and prison-reform crusader Harry McCormick, received a note in the mail, detailing the abuse of prisoners at Eastham Farm. It was written on white wrapping paper and included a detailed map that the caption said would lead to “the carcass of one of the prison system’s chief rats.”6

  Bonnie Parker and Henry Methvin. February or March 1934.

  —Courtesy Sandy Jones—The John Dillinger Historical Society

  The Press sent one of its reporters, Dick Vaughn, to check out the claim. Thinking the map showed a place in Louisiana, Vaughn went to Shreveport and checked in with the sheriff. Vaughn and a Louisiana deputy then followed the map to a spot that turned out to be just on the Texas side of the state line, about ten miles north of Waskom. There they found the body of Wade McNabb. He was face down, with his head in his hat. He had been hit with a blunt instrument and shot several times in the head. McNabb had been dead four or five days.7 The police were never able to prove, to their satisfaction, who had killed Wade McNabb, and we only have the word of Ralph Fults that any of the Barrow gang was involved, but Fults has proven very reliable in everything else he told biographer John Neal Phillips, and his version of events makes good sense.

  Clyde Barrow and Joe Palmer—March or April 1934.

  —Courtesy Sandy Jones—The John Dillinger Historical Society

  As mentioned earlier, Joe Palmer was not much of a talker, but he never forgot a friend or forgave an enemy. At Eastham, Joe was said to have been the victim of several severe beatings at the hands of McNabb.8 As related earlier, Fults said that Palmer persuaded Clyde to take him to Houston, where Joe paid a lawyer to arrange a furlough for McNabb.9 On March 29, so Fults’ story continues, it was Clyde Barrow, Joe Palmer, and Henry Methvin (presumably with Bonnie along as well) who kidnapped McNabb off the street in Gladewater and took him into the woods north of Waskom. There he was beaten, and then Joe Palmer killed him and afterward mailed the note to the Houston newspaper.10 Nothing we know about the movements and whereabouts of the people involved would challenge Fults’ versions of events. Even though he didn’t know McNabb, it seems as though Clyde Barrow was now involved in a cold-blooded murder.

  When Clyde Barrow and Raymond Hamilton split up, on less than friendly terms, neither stayed away from Texas for long. While Clyde was swinging through Louisiana and Missouri and returning Joe Palmer to his gang, Ray and Mary were relaxing in Beaumont, Texas. As soon as they arrived, Ray sent Mary to Dallas to contact his brother. In response to Ray’s request, Floyd Hamilton and a friend named “Baldy” Whatley drove to Beaumont with some of the guns from the Ranger armory. With Mary along, Ray ran through his money pretty quickly, so he was anxious to resume the bank-robbing business as soon as possible.11

  By the middle of March, Ray was back in Dallas and was ready to compete with Clyde for newspaper headlines. On March 19, Raymond, along with his brother Floyd and a friend of Floyd’s named John Basden, robbed the Grand Prairie State Bank of $1,543.74.12 Twelve days later, Raymond alone, with Mary waiting in the car, robbed the State National Bank at West, Texas, of $1,867.74.13 The robbery went smoothly, but the getaway did not.

  Mary was behind the wheel when they left town, so that Ray could watch for pursuit. A few miles away, near the town of Leroy, they got stuck on the muddy road and had to be pulled out by a team of mules. A few miles farther east, Mary lost control and they ran into an embankment. Ray hit the windshield, which cut his face and broke his nose, and Mary was knocked unconscious. Just as Mary was coming around, Mrs. Cam Gunter happened by and stopped to help. Mary and Raymond commandeered her car and forced her along as a hostage. A few hours later, they were in a rented room in Houston.

  The next morning—April 1, Easter Sunday— Ray stole a new Ford sedan, and Mrs. Gunter was released with her car and some money for her trouble. Mary liked the new Ford because it had yellow wheels.14 Ray and Mary drove north toward Dallas, not knowing they were headed into a hornet’s nest. That same Easter Sunday morning, about five miles north of Grapevine, Texas, Clyde Barrow, Bonnie Parker, Henry Methvin, and Joe Palmer parked on a dirt road just off Texas State Highway 114. As luck would have it, their car was a virtual twin of the one Ray Hamilton had just stolen in Houston—right down to the yellow wheels.

  There was actually a fifth passenger in the Barrow car that morning. His name was “Sonny Boy,” and he was a white rabbit. Bonnie had picked him up somewhere along the way and now wanted to give the “Easter bunny” to her mother. That was fine with Clyde, who was not fond of the rabbit as a traveling companion.15 They had arrived about 10:30 that morning, and Clyde sent Joe Palmer hitchhiking into Dallas to tell the family where to meet them. Palmer found nobody at home at the Parker house, and only Clyde’s father Henry minding the Star Service Station. He delivered the message and then decided to wait there a while.16 Back at the car, the other three were enjoying a quiet Sunday afternoon.

  Meanwhile, near Grapevine, three Texas Highway motorcycle patrolmen, Polk Ivy, H. D. Murphy, and E. B. Wheeler, were on their way north on Highway 114 and decided to stop for a little target practice. About 3:30 P.M., they started out again. Officer Ivy, with a pair of highway test scales in his sidecar, was in the lead, with Officers Murphy and Wheeler following. Ivy went by the side road without seeing anything, but Officer Wheeler noticed the black sedan parked there and motioned to Murphy, who was riding beside him, to follow him as he turned to investigate. Wheeler, twenty-six, was a four-year veteran, and Murphy, twenty-four, was on his first day of motorcycle duty.17

  Clyde was asleep in the back seat. Bonnie had been playing with the rabbit and had just gotten back in the front seat. Henry Methvin paced back and forth beside the car. As the motorcycles turned into the lane, Henry moved back to the car and picked up a BAR while Bonnie shook Clyde and said, “It’s the law.” Clyde was instantly awake and laid his hand on his shotgun. The officers drove up calmly, and Clyde could see that they didn’t suspect anything. On at least five other occasions, Clyde had been confronted by an unsuspecting police officer or civilian. In every case, he had captured them, taken them for a long ride, and released them unharmed. This seemed like a perfect setup to take a couple more hostages. “Let’s take them,” Clyde whispered to Methvin, knowing they had the drop on both officers. Unfortunately for Clyde, and tragically for the two policemen, Henry had never been in this situation before. It didn’t help matters that Henry was generally known to be a little unstable and trigger-happy under the best conditions, or that Henry and Bonnie had been nipping at a bottle of bootleg whiskey. Clyde watched helplessly as he saw Henry nod and then swing the barrel of the BAR up and fire.18

  Henry Methvin’s first volley from the BAR caught E. B. Wheeler completely by surprise, and he fell dead, with his cycle falling on top of him. Murphy carried a sawed-off shotgun on his cycle but kept it unloaded for fear of an accidental discharge. As he fumbled in his pocket for shells, he too was shot, either by Methvin or by Clyde. Both men then ran to the officers, and Methvin rolled Murphy over and shot him several more times as he lay in the road. The men then ran back to the car and drove away. Not far from the scene, Bonnie and Clyde met a car driven by Clyde’s brother L. C. with his sister Marie also along. They had finally gotten the word from Joe Palmer and were headed to the meeting place. “Get out of here!” Clyde yelled. “Henry just killed two cops.”19

  Patrolman Ivy couldn’t hear the gunshots over the noise of his motorcycle, but he noticed that the other two patrolmen weren’t behind him anymore and turned around to investigate. Pointed to the sce
ne by witnesses, he found Wheeler dead and Murphy mortally wounded.20

  Clyde Barrow, left, and Henry Methvin. Taken in February 1934, probably just before or after the Lancaster, Texas, bank job.

  —Courtesy Marie Barrow Scoma and author Phillip W. Steele

  This shooting was witnessed by two groups. First was a husband and wife out for a Sunday drive. Mr. and Mrs. Fred Giggal had been following the three motorcycles on Highway 114 when they saw two of them turn up a side road and head toward a black sedan parked there. Moments later, they heard a flurry of shots and circled back to see what had happened. They arrived back at the entrance to the lane just in time to see “the taller of the two men” fire several shots into a body on the ground.21 (Henry Methvin was at least a head taller than Clyde Barrow.) This is essentially the story Clyde later told to his family. Not long after the shooting, Henry Methvin told Emma Park that he killed both policemen at Grapevine.22 As bad as this real story would have been, the story that got all the play in the newspapers was worse, especially for Bonnie.

  Unfortunately, it wasn’t the Giggals’ story that caught on with the public and, more importantly, with law enforcement. There was another witness, and his version made for much better headlines. William Schieffer lived several hundred yards away but within sight of the shooting site. In his account, he said that a man and a woman did the shooting and that it was the woman who shot Officer Murphy again while he was on the ground. Unlike other times when the police declined to speculate on who the killers might be, this time, Clyde Barrow was immediately listed as the most likely suspect. That meant that the woman had to be Bonnie Parker. In addition, the police reported finding a cigar with the imprint of “small teeth” at the scene. By now, of course, everybody believed that was Bonnie’s trademark, so the case—at least in the newspapers—seemed to be open-and-shut. For the first time, Bonnie was seen as a killer, actually pulling the trigger—just like Clyde.23 Whatever chance she had for clemency had just been drastically reduced, but as the fugitives drove out of the state, the ones left behind had their problems as well.