Twenty anxious defendants waited in a Dallas courtroom on Feb. 26, 1935 for a federal jury to come to a verdict in the “harboring” trial of Bonnie and Clyde’s closest kin and staunchest friends.
Following the fatal ambush of the most-wanted fugitives in May 1934, everyone struggled to get on with their lives. Their burden of grief was not lightened in the least by the inevitability of the couple’s violent end. Many other Dallasites who had never come into contact with the notorious outlaws or their home base in West Dallas were upset by the extreme methods used to end their crime spree and the premeditated murder of a woman.
Initially, Dallas County Sheriff Smoot Schmid brooded over missing out on the climax of the years-long chase and the benefits each member of the posse could expect. First and foremost, there was the reward that might run into the thousands. But after a number of businessmen and wealthy individuals reneged on their cash commitments, Schmid’s two deputies who took part in the bloody takedown pocketed paltry $200.23 checks.
Second, there was the public backlash. Strong feelings against Frank Hamer and his hit squad percolated up the social ladder from the West End to the affluent elite. A popular newspaper columnist reported hearing denunciations of the Bonnie and Clyde killings in an exclusive country club. The sheriff witnessed firsthand how Bob Alcorn and Ted Hinton were snubbed by erstwhile friends and criticized to their faces for taking part in the ambush. When it was all said and done, Smoot Schmid considered himself fortunate to have not been among the triggermen.
Although the final curtain had yet to be dropped on the subordinate dramas of Raymond Hamilton and other associates of the Barrow Gang, Dallas in general and the Barrows and Parkers in particular took comfort in the belief that the worst was behind them. But that was before the government decided to make an example of everybody who ever had anything to do with Bonnie and Clyde.
At a standing-room-only press conference in late 1934, U,S. Attorey Clyde Eastus unveiled his plan to pursue “aiding and abetting” prosecution under a new law that made it a crime punishable by up to two years imprisonment to “harbor” a federal fugitive. Formal charges were filed and nearly two dozen defendants were rounded up.
How the U.S. attorney went about picking and choosing who to try and who to pass over mystified all concerned. The mothers of Clyde, Bonnie and Raymond Hamilton were thrown into jail as were Clyde’s brother L.C., his teenage sister Marie and her husband as well as Bonnie’s sister Billie Jean. Family members avoiding prosecution included Clyde’s father Henry, his older brother Jack, sisters Artie and Nell and Buster Parker, Bonnie’s brother.
Among those defendants not related by blood were W.D. Jones, Hilton Bybee, Henry Methvin, Mary O’Dare, James Mullen and Blanche Barrow, widow of Clyde’s brother Buck. The feds went to the trouble and expense of bringing Blanche to Texas from her Missouri prison cell.
Separate trials for the sexes were scheduled for the last week of February 1935. The accused were taken to and from the federal courthouse by paddy wagon. The women could have been mistaken for red-eyed spectators but there was no question about the men, who came to court in leg irons and handcuffs with chains wrapped around their necks.
In his opening statement, Prosecutor Eastus declared that if George Washington had known that people such as those in the docket would wind up in the United States he would have thought twice about crossing the Delaware. It was that kind of theatrical trial.
Because of her weak condition, made all the worse by a month in jail, Cumie Barrow had to be carried into the courtroom. On the stand, she defiantly refused to apologize for seeing Clyde wherever and whenever she could and reaffirmed her unconditional love for her slain son.
Twenty defendant stood trial and twenty were found guilty by plea or jury verdict. Judge W.H. Atwell, himself a former U.S. attorney, exercised judicial discretion in assessing the penalties rather than imposing a one-size-fits-all punishment. Atwell also gave the proceedings a human touch with his often lengthy exchanges with the defendants.
In the case of Cumie Barrow, he asked the sixty-year-old mother, “What sentence do you think you should receive?”
“I think thirty more days would be right,” she answered.
“How about sixty days?” was the judge’s counter-offer.
“Well, it’s up to you, Judge,” Cumie sighed before adding, “My health’s rather bad.”
“All right. Thirty days then.”
Sentences ranged from an hour in police custody for Marie Barrow to the maximum two-years for W.D. Jones and Floyd Hamilton, brother of the better known Raymond.
And with that the book was finally closed on Bonnie and Clyde.
Read the whole story of Bonnie and Clyde in “Texas Depression Era Desperadoes.”
Order your copy today by mailing a check for $24.00 to Bartee Haile, P.O. Box 130011, Spring, TX 77393.
