Sunday May 6, 1934, Bonnie and Clyde left Bienville Parish, Louisiana, for a quick trip home. They drove by the Barrow filling station in west Dallas and told the family to meet them out in the country, east of town. The Barrows and Bonnie’s mother spent about two hours with them that evening. At one point in the conversation, Bonnie told her mother, “When they kill us, don’t let them take me to an undertaking parlor, will you? Bring me home.” Even after all that had happened, Bonnie’s request still shocked Mrs. Parker. She said that Bonnie talked about it like “discussing going to the grocery store.” She thought Bonnie—all of twenty-three—seemed a million years old. Bonnie also made her mother promise that, when they were killed, she wouldn’t say anything “ugly” about Clyde. At the same time, Clyde was telling his family that he was working on a deal for a place in Louisiana where they could come and visit them.8
It was also at this meeting that Bonnie gave her mother a copy of her latest poem.9 It had been over a year since Bonnie had left her poem “Suicide Sal” in the apartment in Joplin, and a lot had happened since then. This new work was obviously written by someone resigned to her fate. Bonnie may have intended it as her parting statement, to be published after her death. Originally titled “The End of the Line,”10 it has become known as “The Story of Bonnie and Clyde.”
THE STORY OF BONNIE AND CLYDE
by Bonnie Parker
You’ve read the story of Jesse James—
Of how he lived and died;
If you’re still in need
Of something to read
Here’s the story of Bonnie and Clyde.
Now Bonnie and Clyde are the Barrow gang.
I’m sure you all have read
How they rob and steal
And those who squeal
Are usually found dying or dead.
There’s lots of untruths to these write-ups;
They’re not so ruthless as that;
Their nature is raw;
They hate the law—
The stool pigeons, spotters, and rats.
They call them cold-blooded killers;
They say they are heartless and mean;
But I say this with pride,
That I once knew Clyde
When he was honest and upright and clean.
But the laws fooled around,
Kept taking him down
And locking him up in a cell,
Till he said to me,
“I’ll never be free,
So I’ll meet a few of them in hell.”
The road was so dimly lighted;
There were no highway signs to guide;
But they made up their minds
If all roads were blind,
They wouldn’t give up till they died.
The road gets dimmer and dimmer;
Sometimes you can hardly see;
But it’s fight, man to man,
And do all you can,
For they know they can never be free.
From heart-break some people have suffered;
From weariness some people have died;
But take it all in all,
Our troubles are small
Till we get like Bonnie and Clyde.
If a policeman is killed in Dallas,
And they have no clue or guide;
If they can’t find a fiend,
They just wipe their slate clean
And hang it on Bonnie and Clyde.
There’s two crimes committed in America
Not accredited to the Barrow mob;
They had no hand
In the kidnap demand,
Nor the Kansas City Depot job.
A newsboy once said to his buddy:
“I wish old Clyde would get jumped;
In these awful hard times
We’d make a few dimes
If five or six cops would get bumped.”
The police haven’t got the report yet
But Clyde called me up today;
He said, “Don’t start any fights—
We aren’t working nights—
We’re joining the NRA.”
From Irving to West Dallas viaduct
Is known as the Great Divide,
Where the women are kin,
And the men are men,
And they won’t “stool” on Bonnie and Clyde.
If they try to act like citizens
And rent them a nice little flat,
About the third night
They’re invited to fight
By a sub-gun’s rat-tat-tat.
They don’t think they’re too smart or desperate,
They know that the law always wins;
They’ve been shot at before,
But they do not ignore
That death is the wages of sin.
Some day they’ll go down together;
They’ll bury them side by side;
To few it’ll be grief—
To the law a relief—
But it’s death for Bonnie and Clyde.11
After leaving the poem and a favorite photograph with Bonnie’s mother and promising to return in two weeks, Bonnie and Clyde drove back to Louisiana.12 Except for Clyde’s father, none of the family saw either of “the kids” alive again.
Three days later, Clyde made a trip back to Dallas alone. He stopped at the Star Service Station on Eagle Ford Road, hoping to find his mother, but only Henry Barrow was at home. “Your momma’s visiting up the road,” Henry said. Clyde then asked his father to meet him down by the railroad tracks at midnight. Later that night, when the meeting took place, Clyde opened a suitcase and took out two sheets of paper, saying that he was going to “sign them for you and Momma.” Henry couldn’t read or write, so he had no idea what the papers were for, but he had no trouble recognizing the large stack of cash in the same suitcase. Clyde, meanwhile, was having no luck getting his pen to write. After searching for another one, he finally gave up and said he would have to bring the papers back next time. Clyde told his father goodbye and drove away.13
There would be no next time. Clyde Barrow had two weeks to live.
Like many other places, Bonnie and Clyde had passed through northwest Louisiana several times, but after they broke Henry Methvin out of prison in January 1934, they had a personal connection in the area around Bienville Parish, southeast of Shreveport. Clyde and Henry Methvin had arrived at Eastham Prison Farm within a few months of each other in the fall of 1930. Henry was three years younger than Clyde—just barely eighteen—when he was convicted of assault with intent to murder and car theft, and sentenced to ten years, but he was larger and better built than the little Texan.1 In prison, Henry earned a reputation as a genuine tough guy. Henry Methvin, Joe Palmer, Ralph Fults, and Clyde Barrow endured what Clyde called the “burning hell” of Eastham together for many months. Henry was more than just another convict, so when he invited Bonnie and Clyde to hide out in the country near his family, they accepted.2 Once they made a couple of visits, they got to like the place.
They may have made a quick stop at Henry’s parents’ home in the few days immediately following the Eastham escape in January, but the first real visit was probably after the split with Raymond Hamilton in early March. Several more visits followed, and by now (early May), Bienville Parish and the surrounding area had almost become their base of operations. Their presence in the area, and their connection with the Methvin family, was becoming a very badly kept secret. The fact that the Methvins had for two months been dealing with the law to put Bonnie and Clyde “on the spot” was a much better kept one.
Henry had lots of family in Bienville and surrounding parishes, and they were the ones who protected the three outlaws when they were in the area. Before long, however, other people began to notice the young couple who frequently showed up, both with the Methvins and by themselves, at the country stores and sawmills in the area. They kept to themselves for the most part and seemed like polite, normal folks. Some people knew their identities
, and more suspected, but no one bothered them. The Methvin family, responsible for Bonnie and Clyde’s presence, were like many others in the area—large and poor. They were not highly thought of in some circles, either. Little has been written about them and, as a result, there is some confusion about the relationships involved.
Henry Methvin’s paternal grandparents were Hamilton Terrell Methvin and Mary Barron. They had five children, but only three lived to adulthood. They were Iverson T., born in 1876; Idonia, born in 1882; and Ivy T., born in 1885. Iverson, the first born, married Sarah Mildred Elizabeth Huggins on April 30, 1899, in Red River Parish. They had nine children. Iverson T. Methvin died in 1952 at the age of seventy-six, a respected resident of Red River Parish, Louisiana.
Iverson’s younger brother, Ivy T. Methvin, married Avie Stephens, and they had three children: Terrell, born in 1911; Henry, born April 4, 1912, and Cecil, born December 22, 1914. It was Ivy and Avie’s middle son Henry who was Clyde Barrow’s partner. Iverson Methvin was Henry’s uncle and by all accounts had nothing to do with Bonnie and Clyde or any of the things that happened to them. Most accounts over the years don’t seem to realize that there were two brothers— Iverson and Ivy. It was generally believed that Iverson was Henry’s father and that any references to an “Ivy” Methvin was simply Iverson using a nickname.3
As the second week in May began, Bonnie and Clyde were making themselves at home in Bienville Parish. They met with Henry Methvin’s brothers and other kinfolks at out-of-the-way places in the woods for picnics and frequented their houses for meals.4 As for their own accommodations, they were sick and tired of living in their car, so they looked for a real house. About ten miles south of Gibsland, near Henry’s parents, was a house back in the woods that belonged to a man named Otis Cole. It was locally known as the “John Cole place” for Otis’ father, who had built it. The house had been empty for several years but was still very livable. One evening, Ivy Methvin went to see Otis Cole at the small store he ran. They talked about the abandoned house, and then Methvin left.5 Some people say that Bonnie and Clyde actually made arrangements to buy the place, while others say that they just moved in.6 Whatever the truth, Bonnie and Clyde began to be seen fairly regularly around the area, Clyde posing with Henry’s father and brother Terrell as a logger. The truth, however, was becoming known to more and more people.
Henry Methvin’s two brothers, who lived in the area, became important contacts in addition to Henry’s parents. Both brothers had families of their own, and both provided support of one kind or another. Henry’s older brother Terrell and his wife Emma met with them regularly at the picnics in the woods and had Bonnie and Clyde in their home for dinner at least once. On this occasion, the outlaws admired a small bed. Terrell and Emma had two young daughters, and their grandfather had made the girls their own little bed out of native wood. Bonnie and Clyde lay down on the bed and told everybody that it was the first time they had slept in a bed in months.
Henry’s younger brother, Cecil, and his wife, Clemie, didn’t have any children yet, but Clemie was expecting a baby near the end of the year. Clemie didn’t go to the picnics. She had a history of miscarriages, so she stayed close to home, but she was also afraid of what might happen if the law showed up at one of the meetings. Because of this, Clemie begged her sister-in-law, Emma, not to take the little girls to the picnics, but Emma said her husband wouldn’t like it if she left them.
In spite of Clemie’s condition and her fear, she and Cecil also had Bonnie and Clyde over for dinner once, sometime during the third week of May. The famous outlaws, as it turned out, didn’t make a very impressive entrance. When they arrived, it was evident that Bonnie had been drinking. She already had a pronounced limp, due to the burns on her right leg from the Wellington, Texas, car wreck, but now she was so drunk she couldn’t walk at all. Clyde carried her into the house, but the closest he would come to an apology was to explain that he was going to “let her have all she wants” because he didn’t think they had much time left. Bonnie was sober enough to appreciate a good dinner of home-cured ham and cornbread, however. She liked the cornbread so much that she took some with her.7
There were several stories circulating about the new young couple in the old Cole house, but one of the most interesting to the ladies was the story that Bonnie was pregnant. By this time, it was said to be common knowledge among the Methvin women and neighbor ladies that Bonnie was “expecting.” Clemie Methvin was told by her sister-in-law, Emma, that she and Bonnie were due about the same time (Clemie’s son, James, was born in early January 1935). Some of the older women had even offered—given Bonnie’s situation as a hunted outlaw—to take the baby and raise it themselves.8 Whether the story is true or not no one knows, but it was in circulation several weeks before Bonnie’s death. Both the Barrow and Parker families say that Bonnie could not have children due to an injury and complications during the time she was with Roy Thornton. They also maintain that Clyde was sterile due to the effects of a childhood illness.9 None of the family believe Bonnie could have been pregnant.
Wanted poster, issued by the Division of Investigation two days before Bonnie and Clyde were killed.
—From the author’s collection
On May 21, 1934, Bonnie, Clyde, and Henry Methvin drove up to the Cole house. Bonnie and Clyde stayed at the house a few hours, and Henry went to see his parents, who lived nearby. When he got to Ivy and Avie’s house, they told him that everything was in place. The agreement from the state of Texas, signed by the governor, was in Sheriff Jordan’s possession, and the lawmen were ready. All they were waiting for was Henry’s part in the plan. The plan itself was not complicated. It required only secrecy and a little luck to work.
One of the basic requirements of running a military unit in the field, or an outlaw gang on the run, is a rendezvous point. There is always the chance of being surprised and separated by random events, so you didn’t want to be caught without one. It had happened to Clyde a year before in Ruston, Louisiana. He let W. D. Jones out to steal a car, the owner chased him, Clyde chased the owner, and W. D. ended up outrunning everybody. Clyde lost touch with him, and they had no backup plan. Jones had to ditch the car and make his own way back to Dallas, and Bonnie and Clyde didn’t see him for a month and a half. Clyde wasn’t going to let that happen again. He had an understanding with Henry that if they got separated, they would meet back at Henry’s parents’ house in a day or so. That made Henry’s part in the plan simple—get away from Bonnie and Clyde on some pretext, and let the rendevous plan kick in. Since there was really only one way to reach his parents’ house, the posse could stake out a likely spot on the road and let Clyde come to them.
Henry told his parents that Clyde planned to go into Shreveport that evening and he would slip away if he could. After Henry left with Bonnie and Clyde a couple of hours later, the word was passed to John Joyner, who gave it to Sheriff Jordan, who called Sheriff Schmid in Dallas, who called the four officers in the special unit, who were already in a motel in Shreveport. They left immediately for Arcadia.10
In Arcadia, the county seat of Bienville Parish, the last two members were added to the posse. Frank Hamer and Manny Gault represented the Texas Prison System and the Texas State Police. Bob Alcorn and Ted Hinton represented the Dallas County Sheriff’s Department, and now Sheriff Henderson Jordan and his deputy, Prentis Oakley, represented Bienville Parish, Louisiana. Besides his local knowledge, Jordan’s authority and jurisdiction were needed to make the whole thing legal. Jordan was consulted about the route Clyde would have to travel, and an ambush site was selected. By 9:00 P.M., the posse was in place on top of a small embankment on the east side of Ringgold Road just south of Mount Lebanon. They had a good view back up to the north, the way Clyde would have to come, and good cover on their side of the road.11 There were still a lot of “ifs,” but the site was good and they were ready.
Aerial view of the ambush site. Bienville Parish, Louisiana. May 23, 1934.
—Co
urtesy the Texas Ranger Hall of Fame and Museum, Waco, Texas
That same Monday evening, Bonnie and Clyde and Henry Methvin drove to Shreveport, just as Henry had told his parents, and before long, Henry got the chance he was looking for. Clyde stopped in front of a place called the Majestic Cafe and sent Henry in for some sandwiches. While Henry waited at the counter, a police car came into view, cruising down the street. Rather than risk identification, Clyde and Bonnie drove out of sight. Moments later, Henry got up, left the sandwiches on the counter, and walked away.12 The plan was in motion. All Henry had to do was hide and wait.
When the sun came up on Tuesday morning, the posse was ready. They had endured the mosquitoes, ticks, and chiggers of the Louisiana countryside all night, but they were in position and anxious for it all to be over. All through the day Tuesday they waited, but nothing happened. There was a little traffic on the gravel road, but no gray Ford V-8.13 They prepared for a second night in the brush, but if something didn’t turn up pretty soon, it would mean that Clyde had gotten spooked or changed his plans. In that case, they’d be right back where they started.
Tuesday night passed with no combat, except with the swarms of insects that continued to make the men’s lives miserable. Sometime before Wednesday morning, Henry’s father, Ivy Methvin, arrived at the ambush site with the old log truck Clyde had bought for him, and it was set up in the southbound lane, but facing north, with the right front tire removed.14 The hope was that this would attract Clyde’s attention toward the truck and away from the posse, at the same time forcing him closer to their side of the road.15 Between 7:30 and 8:00 A.M., a school bus came by. The driver stopped and asked if he could help—maybe take in the tire or give Ivy a lift into town. No, Methvin said, “I’m just getting ready to put it back on.”16 By 9:10 A.M., everybody was ready to admit that they had missed their chance. Just then, they heard something that made all the discomfort of the last two days fall away. Nothing else sounds quite like a Ford V-8 running flat out on a country road.17
Unseen since they had driven away from the Majestic Cafe on Monday night, Bonnie and Clyde reappeared at 8:00 A.M. Wednesday morning in the small town of Gibsland, about ten miles north of the Methvin place. Some of the local folks had seen them in there before, and everybody could tell they were from out of town. Bonnie had on a rust-red-colored dress with matching shoes. A local lady thought she was very pretty but too pale to have been out in the sun very much.18 Clyde was dapper in his suit coat and blue western-style shirt. The couple stopped in front of Canfield’s Cafe and went in for breakfast. As they left, they ordered two sandwiches to go. Back in the car, Clyde arranged himself for driving, as he usually did— shoes off, a sixteen-gauge sawed-off shotgun between his left side and the driver’s door, and a twenty-gauge shotgun against his right leg. Bonnie took a nickel-plated .45 automatic, placed it on the seat, and covered it with a magazine, and Clyde drove out of town, on his way to find Henry Methvin.19
Bonnie and Clyde- A Twenty-First-Century Update Page 25
