by John Gilmore
Sylvia believed Clyde wanted to be more than what he thought was reflected by his upbringing. “He was afraid he couldn’t change the way fate had put on him. He had talents and he was smart, but it seems he was caught in a trap and wanted to free himself, and this battle overrode any opportunities he might’ve faced to improve his life, along with improvin’ the way his folks had been livin’ most of their lives.” Remaining convinced that such a force was “like a fire inside of him that he couldn’t put out,” she says, “he needed to be someone other than what the powers that be had made him.
“He stole clothing from shops. He’d go into a shop, have a chat with a salesman, then steal a pair of fancy socks or a necktie or some expensive, fancy wallet or a belt, or even a hat—just puttin’ the hat on his head and walkin’ right out of the store as though he’d been wearin’ it walkin’ in. He’d put cufflinks in his cuffs, stealin’ them because he’d go in the store without the cufflinks, and later he’d brag, makin’ a joke of it, givin’ his brother Buck a laugh over all of it. Clyde would look so dapper and he’d parade down the road like a peacock struttin’ his feathers.”
Clyde and Sylvia once talked about getting married, but for Sylvia the uncomfortable situation persisted, convinced as she was that his stealing wasn’t a rash of boyish pranks but a serious fault that would land him in jail. “Then,” she says, “he’d never be able to escape the past, and he’d be swallowed as sure as that big fish gulpin’ down Jonah.”
In Clyde’s personal view, the “recklessness” and problems his woebegone girlfriend foresaw amounted to nothing more than a supplementing of his income, a gradual opening of chances that led him to the conclusion that it was far easier to steal money than the goods one used the money to buy. Cash could carry him farther than the length of a necktie, and any allegiance to “what was right,” as voiced by Sylvia, quickly soured the touch-and-go dating; and along with that, her rosy picture of marriage and “a little cottage in Dallas” with kids squabbling underfoot fell apart like a picture made of smoke.
Besides, Clyde had already become enamored with another girl. Eleanor Bee Williams, a high school student, was about the same height as Clyde—at least, according to Clyde, she wasn’t any taller than he was. He’d told his younger brother, L.C., “I don’t want any long, drawn-up girl lookin’ down at me.”
Eleanor found his mild, “whisperin’-like” voice and intense, dashing eyes irresistible, proving, as Clyde believed, the permanence of her attractiveness for him. He’d meet her after school, buy her a soda pop or dessert “like a hunk of huckleberry pie with a mess of chocolate syrup dribbled all over the top of it.” Or they’d sit in the park where she kept asking about his job.
“Still workin’ nights,” Clyde would tell her. “Still sluggin’ away. I don’t sleep anyway ’cause I’m too jumpy and got a lot to do—a lot of what one’s gotta do.” Then he’d stare off at the trees and wouldn’t say anything further.
But to show how much he cared about her, Clyde had Eleanor’s initials tattooed on his forearm. She was thrilled that he’d done that, then more pleased when he gave her several gifts, including a fancy boudoir mirror and a ring he’d stolen the same day from a jewelry store.
Eleanor said, “My desire is to get married someday.”
“Is that so?” Clyde said.
Nodding, she said, “Certainly. I want to have a family of my own.”
“Hungry mouths to feed,” Clyde said.
“That’s why I want a husband who can afford a family,” she said, raising her hand so the sun sparkled on the ring. “We could afford a family, couldn’t we, Clyde?”
Later, his sister Nell asked him, “Do you love this girl?”
“Oh, sure,” he said. “Why not?”
“I mean, do you want to marry her?” Nell asked.
“That’s what she’s thinkin’,” he said. “You got married and you’re livin’ alright, aren’t you? I haven’t made up my mind.”
He wanted to see more of Eleanor. He told her to quit school so they could spend more time together. He said, “I don’t think what you’re learnin’ is doin’ you any good.”
She said she’d like to spend more time with him, but the only way to consider such a situation was if she was getting married and ready to have a baby.
That shut him up. She wasn’t sure how it happened—the falling apart of their relationship. “A lot of little things,” she said later, “like wakin’ up one morning to find you’re in a different room.” She believed some other part of Clyde was incongruous with his charm, as though he pretended the well-meaning intentions, but didn’t really believe in them. She felt pressured by his insisting on things with an almost “fierce kind of independence” she said she couldn’t understand. He didn’t seem to appreciate “the notion of settlin’ down.” Talk of getting married proved a hodgepodge of “contrary notions” and intentional slights that spurred disagreements.
Artie Barrow, Clyde’s other sister, was told by Eleanor that it was impossible to get Clyde to see another’s point of view. According to Artie, Eleanor said, “He doesn’t listen no matter what you say—half the time it’s the same as talkin’ to a deaf man.” She cared about him, yes, but he was proving too difficult to understand. “My mother told me when Clyde and I first dated that he was a dreamer who lived by rules he’d make up as he went along. She thought he was the kind of fella that didn’t pay attention to the rules everyone else lived by.” Needing time to think, Eleanor told Clyde she’d be visiting her aunt in Broaddus, a distance from Dallas, and they’d talk about things when she returned.
Clyde didn’t want her to go. He said whatever her aunt’d think about him while he wasn’t there to defend himself could never be in his best interest. She closed the discussion by saying, “It’s not your best interest I’ll be particularly thinkin’ about.”
What he wanted to know, he said, was if she knew some other guy in Broaddus? An angry Eleanor asked him to leave.
Clyde’s mother cooked him a bowl of oatmeal while he scribbled a note to Eleanor, a soft-pedaled apology for upsetting her. He stressed that since he still considered them to be engaged, they should “go away for a time,” get away from everyone else. Then things would be alright, he said.
He decided not to mail the note to her. He reasoned that the smartest thing would be for him to hand-deliver the note, visit her aunt’s in Broaddus where a demonstration of his feelings would convince Eleanor to take a trip with him. He’d tell her, “Let’s get on the road,” just the two of them, as though striking out on a brand new trail of life. He realized his plan could be foolproof. He’d rent a car and go in style. To bolster his presentation, he’d invite Eleanor’s mother to accompany him as far as Broaddus. He’d tell her mother, “You’ll be able to see your sister and all enjoy yourselves.”
His expressed devotion to his own family impressed Eleanor’s mother. She believed the sincerity of his “inspired” plan to visit Broaddus, while to Clyde taking Eleanor’s mother seemed the reasonable thing to fortify his position with Eleanor. He believed she’d be equally impressed with the importance he placed on his own family closeness, and upon that understanding she’d be convinced of his devotion to her. He’d take her walking in the country, hold her in his arms and show her how much he desired her. He even pictured taking Eleanor to Oklahoma City—or St. Louis, Missouri.
Though the one-day contract on the car Clyde rented from a Dallas auto dealer restricted the vehicle to the local area, he neglected to say he’d be driving out of town and possibly for longer than a day.
Eleanor’s mother would later say that while driving to Broaddus, Clyde not only drove too fast, but did all the talking. “Important notions about himself,” she said, “that were very uncomfortable to behold.… There was also a sticker on the car that said it was from an automobile rental agency, though Clyde said he’d borrowed the car from a friend. I said he certainly had generous friends, and when I asked how soon he had to return the car to h
is friend, he waved his hand a little and said oh, he didn’t know—the friend was in California and was gonna write him—maybe weeks, he said.…”
While Eleanor was alarmed at Clyde’s arrival in Broaddus, her aunt was pleased with her own sister’s visit. Away from her mother and aunt, Eleanor read the letter Clyde presented to her, then handed it back to him. She’d needed time to “sort out feelin’s,” she said, and his showing up unexpectedly—with her mother—not only confused but made her angry.
Clyde repeated almost everything she’d just read in his letter, adding that he wanted to marry Eleanor in St. Louis, “or maybe Oklahoma City,” he said, if she didn’t want to go to St. Louis. He said, “We’ll take your mother back to Dallas, then we can head north and get married.”
For moments she stared at him in disbelief. “I don’t have any urge to run away somewhere and leave my mother,” she said, “any more than you wanna be away from your folks.” Then she said she wasn’t even sure if she wanted to get married after all, and if she did it certainly wouldn’t be to Clyde.
“Well, then,” Clyde said, “we don’t have to get married, but we can drive to St. Louis.” Eleanor said she didn’t want to hear any more “crazy talk.” He stopped insisting, smiled, and said he wanted to make love to her. She said no. He said yes.
Back at her aunt’s house, Eleanor told her mother what Clyde had proposed, and the woman said, “You are not goin’ anywhere with him. He has no rights tryin’ to talk you into such a scheme!”
The following day when the auto failed to be returned to the Dallas company, the dealer contacted Clyde’s mother. Without knowing the restrictions on Clyde’s rental agreement, Cumie said her son had gone to Broaddus to visit a relative of his girlfriend. Suspecting unlawful intentions, the dealer notified the sheriff in Broaddus to check on the girlfriend’s relative and to locate the car.
Late that same afternoon, the Broaddus sheriff and a deputy paid a visit to Eleanor’s aunt. “We’re lookin’ for Clyde Barrow,” the sheriff said, and explained the circumstances.
When Eleanor told the lawman that Clyde had gone off on business, her mother cut in. “He is not on any business! He was here a while ago.” She advised the sheriff she had traveled to Broaddus in the car the law was looking for, and Barrow told her he’d borrowed it from a friend.
Meanwhile, the deputy located the car, got it started and drove off for the sheriff’s garage. The Dallas rental company would arrange to have the car returned.
As soon as he’d spotted the sheriff, Clyde disappeared, only to surface again when the law had departed. Eleanor’s mother, angry that he had made her “an accomplice,” accused him of being a liar and causing the law to “barge” into her sister’s home. She said she didn’t want Clyde to bother Eleanor further and insisted he leave—immediately. Eleanor’s aunt said everyone should calm down, and that the Christian thing to do was send Clyde packing the next morning, avoiding the roads in the dark.
That night, Clyde sat in a shed behind the house, bothered that Eleanor had blabbed to her mother about his plans. When the woman and her sister were asleep, Clyde made his way back into the house to tell Eleanor how much he cared for her and that he didn’t think he could live without her.
She told him to get out of the room—she’d call her mother! But he looked so sad, so “crumpled down,” she told him he could stay with her for a while. He remained in her room the rest of the night. Early the next morning while he was asleep in Eleanor’s bed, the sheriff was again at the front door. He was there to arrest Clyde.
“You’ll have to hide,” Eleanor told him. Before climbing through a crawl space leading into the attic, Clyde told her to tell the sheriff that he’d taken off during the night.
The sheriff said he still had to search the house, but failing to find Clyde, he left, saying the law would no doubt grab Barrow back in Dallas. As soon as the sheriff left, Clyde snuck out the back door.
It took him a day and half to reach West Dallas. He explained to Cumie the rental misunderstanding, that he thought he’d have to pay for extra time when he returned the car. His mother said she understood. She heated bean soup for him, and buttered a slice of cornbread. He was sick to his stomach, he said, and hadn’t slept in three days. Cumie told him to lay on the couch, take a nap. She placed a damp wash cloth on his forehead and within minutes he was asleep, a smile on his face.
He was still dreaming when two Dallas policemen showed up to arrest him. They dragged him outside, stood him against the wall, frisked him, then placed him in handcuffs. “What are you doin’ with him?” Cumie cried.
Clyde was hauled to jail, fingerprinted, photographed, and charged with auto theft.
“They’re nuts,” he said. “I never stole that car. I rented it plain and legal and I thought I was gonna be charged extra for getting back late.”
Believing Clyde had intended “no criminal action—just foolishness and irresponsibility,” the agency declined to press charges. The dealer said, “It will cost us a hundred times more than the water to hose off the vehicle.”
“You’re makin’ a mistake,” the police warned, reluctantly releasing their prisoner.
Back on Eagle Ford, Clyde changed his clothes, donned a tie and vest, looped a silver watch chain without a watch, brushed his shoes and teeth and headed for downtown Dallas to steal a watch.
Days later his folks convinced him to return to his job at United Glass, which proved a “nightmare,” he told his sister. He wrenched through the days, frequently pulled away from work by lawmen showing up to question him about various car thefts or driving him to the police station, badgering him to confess to thefts. He was beaten several times—the cops claiming he’d fought with them during an interrogation, even that he’d attempted to flee through an open window.
Clyde told his sister, “They don’t even have a window in that room, they drag me in and lock the door.” He tried to see Eleanor but was turned away. Bruised and limping after another interview with the cops, Clyde hobbled back to work to find he was being replaced. “We can’t have police harassin’ employees,” he was told, and “where there’s smoke there’s bound to be fire.”
Not long after joining the unemployed, Clyde was arrested again and questioned about a Dallas burglary.
Nell said later, “He was hurt and injured from being pushed around, and didn’t go to Mom’s. He stayed in our house and kept peekin’ out windows, scared the police were comin’ to beat him up him again. They’d knocked his teeth loose, cracked a rib, and cops weighin’ twice his size punchin’ him black and blue. It’s not any wonder he’d sit there sayin’ he wanted to kill the cops that kept knockin’ him to hell and back.”
Sidney Moore, a pal of Buck’s, told Clyde, “You’re not alone with those sentiments, brother, but they got a fancy chair at ‘the walls’ all hooked up with a high-voltage wire that’ll fry you straight outta this world, ’course that’s after they’ve busted your bones.”
Clyde said, “Maybe it’s a better place you get fried to visitin’ that hot seat.”
“Not a whole lot’s gonna argue with you that.”
Clyde left his sister’s, but didn’t go back to his folks. He moved in with Sid, also a pal of another young man Clyde knew, named Ray Hamilton.
Billy Simms lived near Eagle Ford, “Right in the Devil’s back porch,” he says. “I knew Ray Hamilton and his brother, and they were pretty bad eggs. Ray was considered a tough character and they had some wild ways that were headed to gettin’ wilder. Girls and a lot of boozin’ in Dallas. Even though Clyde had been hooked up in bustin’ into some places and maybe a little small-time hijackin’, this was the time things were changin’ for him—in my opinion, y’understand. He was smarter than the Hamilton boys and the others hangin’ around. A few of them went to Mexico, havin’ big times there drinkin’, though Clyde wasn’t any real boozer, wasn’t that taken to alcohol, but he was carryin’ a gun, had an automatic pistol tucked down back of his belt, and Hamilton wa
s totin’ one as well, a revolver he’d show you, but I never saw Clyde do that, showin’ off like Ray did.
“They busted into a service garage and stole a bunch of tires and other auto parts, both of them armed when they did it, and I thought, ‘What’re they doin’ with the guns? Gonna shoot someone who might’ve caught them swipin’ tires?’
“Clyde said they sold tires and stuff in Mexico, and said they had a mess of girls down there. He was sendin’ postcards back to his folks and sisters, showin’ him in a sombrero, alongside a half-assed horse, with a Mexican gal on each arm. You could see the butt of that gun showin’ above his belt, and he’d signed the postcards ‘Kisses from your Poncho Barrow.’
“I figured somehow in some way that was a turnin’ point and nothin’ for Clyde was ever goin’ to be the same again.”
Four
Back from San Antonio in early ’29, Buck began dating a West Dallas girl but broke it off when he met Blanche Caldwell, a cute eighteen-year-old. At the same time, Buck was “boostin’ walls,” as he put it. “You boost the wall,” he’d say, “by goin’ under it.” He’d laugh like he had you thinking he was some kind of gopher, but what he meant was burglary—but not only burglary.
Clyde said his brother had a sense of humor “fit for a pig’s appreciation.” He said Buck ought to keep his mouth shut about walls and “boostin’” before somebody a lot smarter started adding two and two with the law. Clyde’s secret concern was that if under a lot of pressure, Buck would spill the beans about what they’d been doing—“boostin’ walls”—for more than three years, Clyde going side by side with Buck.
