CA1463

"The 1896 Bank Robbery", McCaleb, D. C., 1909. Wichita Daily Times, Wichita Falls, Texas, March 21, 1920
(C. Avis Catalog entry #1463)

[The following introduction was published in the Wichita Daily Times, March 21, 1920 and on file in the Lester Jones Collection, Wichita County Archives]

    There has never been a legal execution in Wichita county. This fact was remarked last week when the death penalty was asked against two men on trial for murder. Many recollected, however that years ago, there was a double hanging in Wichita Falls, which while it may have not been legal, nevertheless met with general approval on the port side of the public at that time. The hanging was that of Kid Lewis and Foster Crawford, who were hanged by a mob after they robbed the City National Bank and shot and killed Cashier Dorsey. 
    A number of years ago D.C. McCaleb one of Texas most talented writers visited Wichita Falls and wrote the story of the bank robbery, the capture of the robbers, and the hanging. Mr. McCaleb put the typewritten story in his desk and forgot about it. Recently, he moved to Wichita Falls in connection with his duties as director of publicity for the Wichita Motors Co. In cleaning out an old desk he ran across the manuscript of the story he wrote years ago. The Times has obtained permission to write it. Many whose names are mentioned have passed away. The story as printed here is a good one to file away.

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The 1896 Bank Robbery 
Story by D.C. McCaleb, Fort Worth
Wichita Falls, June 1909

    Almost the last link that bound the hustling, wide awake, well sidewalked Wichita Falls of today with the free and easy, wild and wooly, and rambunctious Wichita Falls of yesteryear was removed this week. It was the telephone pole that stood on the corner of the City National Bank. It was this pole that Kid Lewis and Foster Crawford were hanged by an orderly mob on February 27, 1896. 
    For many years the telephone company occupied a portion of the 2nd floor of the bank building with a central exchange. The pole that did the service was a gib-bet which was the one which has all wires and cables fastened on leaving the central office. It was sound to the core, of considerable height and had about a pound or so of fine lead plugged in it near the top. Recently the business of the telephone company, like all other lines here, grew to such proportions that new and larger quarters had to be found. 
    With the moving of the exchange the necessity for the heavy pole was no longer obtained and as a result it was taken down last Tuesday. 
    Kid Lewis and Foster Crawford were two bold, badmen. Louis was as game an assassin as ever committed murder, but when the gaff struck home Crawford bellowed for calf rope -- didn't get it. He was a dunghill as compared with his partner in crime. 
    Lewis was a native of Missouri and he was christened Elmer when he was a chubby fisted youngster. He was 9 parts daredevil and one part cautious. After having gone to Montana where he managed to fracture all kinds of laws, Lewis finally came to Texas and before long found himself punching cattle on the Burk Burnett ranch near here. While working on the Burnett ranch, he met up with Foster Crawford, a McLennan County product, who became a cowpuncher though having indulged in a cutting scrape in his home county. Crawford was of a stab-in-the-back disposition and when full of liquor was terribly a terribly wordy man. 
    Riding the fence and occasionally assisting and getting away with a cow or a steer from Captain Burnett proved too slow for the men who wanted redder blood to work with, so the two planned to tap the City National Bank of this city, then as now one of the largest banks north of Fort Worth. It had become spread in some manner that this bank always had $200,000 to $500,000 in cash on hand, which was just about 4 times as much as it generally carried, and this was the rich prize that inspired the bandits. 
    The bank officials in some hazy sort of way got wind of the plan to rob the bank and secured a detachment of state rangers to guard the institution. A company, under the command of Captain Bill McDonald, the hero of the state revenue Department now, was stationed here for 10 full days. During this period everything was so quiet and bland that it was finally concluded that the would-be bank robbers had abandoned their plans and had called off their intentions. Whether that was so or not, it was known that after a stay of 10 days the ranger force pulled up stakes and started south. 
    Lewis and Crawford were argus-eyed. They were at the train station to shout adios to the departing rangers and the two felt slightly tickled to death when they saw the peace force leaving. 
    It was now for quick action. Hitching their two horses -- fabled to be the fleetest and possessed more staying powers and stamina than any two horses in the section--near the Saint James hotel, which was just behind the bank building, the two desperado started on their last lawbreaking mission. The day was February 25th in the year 1896 and the time was 2:30 o'clock in the afternoon. 
    Crawford entered the bank at the side entrance. He had liquor on his breath, a look of determination on his face, a big pistol in his right hand and murder in his heart. Lewis, similarly equipped, entered the building from the front door. Crawford made his way to the bookkeepers cage, where Lewis stepped up to the cashier's window, where cashier Frank Dorsey was talking to Dr. O. J. Kendall, who was a director of the bank. 
    The bookkeeper was P.P. Langford, now the cashier of the bank. He was adding up a column of figures at the time and was more or less intent on his work. Langford knew Crawford personally, but when Crawford spoke sharply to him to “Up, up!” Langford on looking up failed to recognize the man. As Langford made no move to throw his hands up , which he kindly explains he did not do because he did not understand he had been requested to do so by Crawford, the bandit took a hitch in the handle of his 6 shooter and whacked the bookkeeper, who today by the way has the most excellent set of dundreary whiskers, a perfectly resounding whack over the left eye with the gun. Langford dropped just like anyone else who receives the proper blow at the proper place would drop. In delivering the blow, however, Crawford either through nervousness or to inculcate the spirit of fear in the others in the bank, exploded his gun, the bullet entering the ceiling. 
    In the meantime Lewis had Dorsey and Dr. Kendall perfectly covered and he was suggesting in a preemptory manner that the cash should at once be shelled out. On hearing Crawford's gun go off however, it was quite evident that Lewis thought the time for gunplay had arrived. He promptly fired point blank at Frank Dorsey, who was a brother of Hugh B. Dorsey of Fort Worth, the bullet entering the right shoulder at the base of the neck, ranging downward and coming out at the left side, bringing a quick death. Crawford on seeing his partner open up with his gun, fired at Dr. Kendall. The bullet struck a hypodermic case which the doctor had in his pocket and glanced off without doing serious damage to anything except the case. Doctor Kendall realizing the game completely, keeled over when he was hit and remained almost breathless and entirely motionless for several minutes. It was this ‘possuming that saved his life. 
    In the meantime, Langford got his second wind. When Dorsey fell close to where Langford had fallen, Langford leaped forward, cleared the counter of the teller’s cage and bolted to the door. Some idea of a speed may be obtained when it is stated that Kid Lewis was a man powerfully quick with his shooting iron, yet Lewis was taking 3 shots at Langford while Langford was marathoning doorwayward, succeeding in landing only once when his final shot found it painful lodgment in the fleshy posterior of Mr. Langford’s anatomy just capping the hips. 
    Save for the silent Dr. Kendall and the assassinated cashier, the bank was now empty of all save the bandits. Crawford pulled a seamless sack from his bosom and swept some $460.10 into the sack. That was the exact amount of money on the teller’s counter. Crawford then tried to open the money drawer, but could only get “bells” and not having the time to jimmy it he abandoned the money till. He next made for the safe, but the burglar proof guarantee was working overtime and again the robber was foiled. All save $30 of the booty was recovered afterward. 
    But this time matters were becoming more or less tense and intense. The shooting attracted a fairly good sized crowd, many with guns, some with shotguns, all with all more or less correctly guessed knowledge of what was being done, but none had any burning desire to bell the buzzards. J.D. Avis tried to get a shooting iron but failed and he ran to the side door of the bank, where he met Lewis and Crawford coming out. Avis was full of all sorts of 18 karat spunk. Stepping right up to the bold, bad men in hopes of blocking their departure until someone could pluck them, he asked “What are you doing here, robbing the bank?” 
    The two thieves didn’t take a shot at Avis, but they snatched him aside and started at a track speed for their horses, which were hitched about thirty yards from the side door. The crowd in the meantime had become dense to the point of being almost suffocating, all observing the proper respect for an imaginary deadline, none of them crossing that imagined place. All sorts of weapons were on hand, but shooting room was at a premium. Being impossible to secure operating room for the handling of a shooting iron it was perfectly natural the robbers were not seriously molested as they mounted their animals. 
    No sooner, however, had the two men got in a stride the hurricane decks of their cayuses, when Will Hurst, managed to discount himself from the congested crowd. Hurst took good aim and banged away at the fleeing men. He didn't hit a robber, but he winged a horse, and this forced the 2 men to mount one animal and unquestionably was responsible for the tall pole removed last Tuesday having a real history. The two men on one horse made their way across the railroad track to the Holliday Creek bridge. 
    Now comes the hero upon the scene. Will Skeen, who was the editor of the Wichita Times, sitting at his desk chewing at the end of his lead pencil chasing the idea to encompass it into an editorial on the “Peaceful Wichita Valley”, when he heard the first shots fired. He had just written the headline for the editorial and was having a hard time composing thoughts to fit the idea. The ringing gunshots were like in the elixir to his fagged brain. All thoughts of “The Peaceful Wichita Valley” went glimmering, and kept going, in a fraction of a second. Skeen felt like he was in his own element and the war horse stride was the gait of his feet. 
    Skeen then hesitated for a second. All that he was certain of was that the enervating peace had been disturbed. Whether it had been disturbed by some friendly visitors being engaged in the harmless joust of shooting up the town, or whether there was a fire, which in itself was a matter of more or less passing importance, or whether two reputable citizens were settling an argument outside the pale of the law, Skeen didn’t know. All that he knew was that his nostrils whiffed some excitement, and it sent his blood tingling in unison to the excitement, when at whatever it happened to be. He finally concluded the shooting was caused by fire being in the city, and just to keep his seat on the bandwagon Skeen poked the nose of his ten pound six shooter out the window and turning loose six shots as he caused the heavens to reverberate with the ear splitting sound. 
    Just then Ed Cannon, who worked for the City National Bank, came running by. Cannon was breathless and well tired by the his very rapid getaway work. When Canon heard the report of Skeen’s pistol, strange thought took possession of his mind, and fatigue and tiredness vanished from his person. At the site of Skeen, however, was reassuring. 
    “Where is the fire?” Skeen asked him when he got Cannon’s attention. When Cannon got his breath, he painted the truth to the editor-hero. Skeen threw off 20 years from his shoulders and decided at once he wanted to get some of the excitement. Wise general, that he was, he first bolted into a gun store, which was between him and the place of the shooting and commandeered his pockets full of cartridges. Then Skeen started like wildfire for whence came the sounds of the scrape. 
    On his way to the place Skeen met “Mother” Young who told him that the robbers had started for Holliday Creek , Holliday Creek is now Lake Wichita, having been dammed from a creek to a real lake that the men were evidently anxious to make hay while the sun was in the heavens. About this time Sid Pitzer came riding by on his fleet steed, which was reputed to be the fastest animal in the whole section. 
    There were two opportunities met and neither had to knock at the door of the other. Skeen the editor hero was itching to follow the robbers. Pitzer had a horse that can follow them. Pitzer dismounts with alacrity and Skeen gets in the saddle with one jump. Now comes a second aid to our hero. T.B. Noble springs into sight bearing a heavy Winchester Express rifle, jam full of cartridges, warranted not to jam in fleeing the exploded shells, and also several rounds of extra ammunition. Skeen already had a fleet horse. His manhunting outfit would be complete with the heavy Winchester. He got it and thus the hero starts out after the two villains. Had it not been for Pitzer and Noble perhaps the able editor of the Wichita Times would never have had the halo of a hero about his head, and to these two gentlemen Skeen owes a great deal. 
    Skeen now dug his spurless heels into the sides of his thoroughbred, borrowed for the chase. He was going like the winds, when J.D. Davis, the city Marshall, mounted on a go-some horse himself, join the intrepid editorial writer and job press jiggerer. 
    The robbers first held up Will Neal, a vegetable peddler, and took his horse from him. And at the same time taking ten years growth from Neal, which was a perfectly natural. On went the robbers. Coming fast were the men after them. But 300 yards separated the pursued from the pursuers and the robbers crossed the bridge over Holliday Creek. The bandits turned their course down a lane across what was called Onion Flats. One of them bolted from his horse to let down a gap, then bang! Skeen fires the first shot at the man. That man was Kid Lewis, who merely waved his hat at the editor hero, as he mounted his horse started like the wind to make his getaway. 
    The steeds were apparently evenly matched, for the robbers could not leave the two men after them and the horses of the posse of two could not get closer than 250 yards of the bandits. In this alignment the chase continued for about 5 miles south by east, the robbers trying to make for the wild and wooly Indian Territory section across the river by a “throw off” route. Suddenly the robbers cut from the lane and made for a crossing on the river at the Knott farm. In the meantime, the horses of our editor Skeen and his co- hero Davis were pretty well spent. They were good horses for track work of perhaps a mile. But a five mile race was too much for an oat training. So the two posse men meeting a German farmer negotiated a swap of horses without telling the reason why or volunteering anything assuring, and again took up the chase. The German farmer spoke strongly in a strange tongue at the two posse men. When the robbers saw that they were about to be foiled they turned the noses of their horses towards river and forced the animals to jump about a 15 foot embankment. As the men near the other side, Skeen and his co-hero reached this steep embankment. 
    “Take that you villains!” hissed Skeen as he sent a leaden message from his borrowed Winchester singing after the bandits. The two robbers hurled back curses at the men they could not throw off of their trail. Try as they could the editor-hero Skeen his co-hero Davis could not make the heavyset horses they had gotten from the German farmer take the embankment, so they had to hunt for a ford. In the meantime, the animals written by Lewis and Crawford were blowing hard and were lagging in the limbs. The thieves seeing a Bohemian farmer, who scarcely spoke English, working a team of nice horses in a field to a plow, they engineered a swap with more force and quicker effect than with that politeness and the subtle nicety usually incidental to horse trades. 
    It was this swap that finally assisted in making the telephone pole removed Tuesday a pole with a history. The two horses had been plowing all day and were well tired and as a result got quickly winded when made to breakneck speed it across a freshly plowed field. When the thieves reached the Charlie Road, on Hammers place, the plow ponies were fit for panting and we're doing that bully fine, but as race horses they were arrant failures. And they had been entered into a Race for Life too! 
    Then Skeen, our editor-hero, threw his eyes on the robbers again, for he and Davis had gotten across the river and were once again on the trail of the assassins by this time. Again did Skeen try his aim at the bandits, but his aim was not as good as his intentions were sincere, so the third try failed to win the game. 
    Pretty soon Skeen, our editor-hero, and Davis were joined by George See, prescription clerk at S.D. Lynch’s drug store. The trio followed the two robbers down the road for about 3 miles, always permitting the intervening space to be of a significant distance not but not test the bad shooting qualities of the Winchester, or the good shooting qualities of the pistols belonging to the robbers, when the bandits turned into what is now the Thornberry pasture. Here the robbers made for a thicket, about a mile distant, when they dismounted taking their bridles, six shooters and money, they started into a not exactly leisurely gait, down a creek. About this time people were coming from everywhere, and our editor-hero, his co-hero the city Marshall and the pill and prescription clerk of the Lynch drug store, merged their honors and glory with that of the great crowd. The thicket was surrounded, and a guard was established. Still no one apparently cared to bell the buzzards. 
    In the meantime, Captain Bill McDonald, then the terrorless captain of a ranger band, had been reached by telegraph at Bellevue and he caught the next northbound train, which was starting right away for Wichita Falls. Had Captain McDonald not gotten this telegraph he never would have had that thrilling chapter of the way he captured the two bank robbers in his autobiography written by hired writer. Captain McDonald reached the scene after the bandits had been thicketed. 
    The robbers in some manner eluded the human trocha and they were making their way to some horses peacefully browsing some distance from the creek and the thicket. They were discovered by Henry McCauley, who promptly gave the alarm. The posse surrounded them, at a safe distance, and herded them into the thicket. After a parley the two men agreed to surrender to Captain McDonald, who at that time was eating a supper, consisting in part of fried chicken, at the home of a Mr. Barger, which was just a mile away from where the robbers were, if Captain McDonald would guarantee them safe delivery to the Wichita Falls jail. 
    McDonald was sent for and he agreed to do this. He arrived and commanded the robbers to “hold up your hands and hold him damn high!” In accordance with the agreement that they had made with the posse, they obeyed Captain McDonald, whom after handcuffing them loaded them into a wagon and drove at a rushed jolting speed to town. On the way to town it was reported that the two robbers swore in a manner that would have done justice to the mate of a Mississippi River Steamboat or a government contractor working with negroes in Arkansas. 
    Captain McDonald who sort of suspected there would be a need for a kind of pole if the citizens had their free hand, kept his squad at the jail for a day and a night. And on February 27th he boarded a train and then law of the early days in the section asserted its originality and recognition. 
    Hardly had Captain Bill and his brave band left Wichita Falls when little knots of men merged together here, there and at this place and that, the crowd soon numbered a goodly number, but as yet leaderless. A leader is always on hand when a leader is required. At this particular day he appeared and rose smiling to his job at the psychological moment. By this time the shades of evening were being drawn in all the earth around Wichita Falls was soon draped in the ebony mantle of night. It was in the air that there would be something out of the ordinary doing before long and it was generally accepted that it might be well done. Some thoughtful person knowing full well that perhaps many of the present would never again get the view such a sight, started a bonfire near the building of the City National Bank. 
    After the bonfire got to blazing brightly, shedding its light for blocks and more, the crowd concluded it was time to be up and doing the business at hand. It went in a quiet light, orderly manner to the jail and there politely requested Frank Hardesty, a deputy Sheriff, to present the removal of the two bandits from the jail so they could be hanged in a decent sort of way. Hardesty came near biting the dust first when the bandits made their getaway after killing Dorsey. He was then in the first crowd after the two men, and he was had been fired upon by Louis. The bullet struck, Louis' bullets generally landed well, a watch in the pocket of Hardesty, putting the watch out of business, but not permanently injuring the deputy Sheriff. 
    Mr. Hardesty was just as polite as the genteel mob leaders. He admonished them to consider what they had contemplated seriously, and he urged them to disband and return to their homes, assuring them that the outraged law should be permitted to take its certain course. 
    While this polite society parley was being engaged in front of the jail a more forceful method of securing the two murderers was being practiced at the end of the jail, a rather frail structure by then when tackled by energetic people. With a telephone pole as a battering ram the rear door of the jail was quickly jarred into a wide aperture. The jailer was found and upon proper credentials being presented by the leaders he turned over the cell keys to the avengers of Dorsey’s death. The two men wanted were quickly secured, were almost as quickly bound so they couldn't do any material harm; ropes were fastened around their necks and a procession was started. It was the first time that circus methods were ever employed in conducting an orderly lynching. It was explained that the procession was given to permit people to see the two right men who had done wrong and would end up right, were had. With the two assassins in the center, they procession preceded from the jail down Six Street to Indiana Avenue, thence to the corner of 7th and Ohio, where was and is still located the City National Bank and where on last Tuesday was removed that tall telephone pole, on which that eventful night served successfully as a gibbet. 
    Here the two men were mounted on boxes, so all could get a good view. Ropes were placed around their necks - their hands were already tied behind their backs - and then and they were made the target for more or less pointed remarks from members of the orderly crowd bent on speeding justice. 
    With all this, a lot of mercies was shown on the two murderers. They were supplied with an abundance of whiskey. Lewis drank sparingly. He was never talkative. Crawford finally became loquacious and alternately showed bravado and cowardness. Captain Burk Burnett, now of Fort Worth, who then owned a big ranch near here and then had several 100,000 acres of Comanche Kiowa land, just back across the Red River, was in town that night and as he was losing a large number of cattle at frequent intervals. He asked permission to speak with the two men before they were swung up. They had both worked on his ranch and he wanted to secure information that would enable him to break up the cow stealing habits, where his cattle had been involved if possible. He first went to Louis, who very politely almost eloquently, told him to go to a hotter place than Texas in reply to the question from Captain Burk. Then Captain Burnett approached Crawford who by this time was almost mellow and was rapidly nearing the drunk and disorderly stage, to drop into the vernacular of a city police court, with good liquor. Crawford, instead of replying to Captain Burnett's question, drew back his foot to kick the cattlemen. Captain Burnett started to kill the man, then and there, but was dissuaded by a gentleman who is now a prominent railroad official in Fort Worth. 
    After keeping the two men on exhibition for about 10 or 15 minutes Lewis the “Kid”, was game to the core and never flinched, haven't shown the slightest whiteness nor asked for any favor or mercy, was drawn quietly up. He died without a flicker. His body hung like so much lead until life was extinct. The only movement was a swirling one. No one to this day, knows when life left his frame. 
    Crawford, who was almost hilarious and whose condition makes it impossible to know whether or not it was the man or the liquor he had absorbed that was acting, was pulled skyward. He went up on the end of the rope with a curse and a prayer on his lips. He died hard -- awfully hard. He tried frantically to fight against the inevitable and his death writhings caused the mob to melt away like snow before a tropical sun. He was fully 10 minutes in quieting down and looked at one time like he would never give up the ghost. His passing was at the end of the chapter. 
    After the men had passed in their chips and a fearful warning had been posted that the desperate treatment would be accorded to dastardly men who attempted to use Wichita Falls is stamping ground, some of the crowd shot at the top part of the pole, just above the hanging, swinging corpses, and it was the bullets from these final gunshots -- those parting sounds -- that imbedded into the old pole. Neither of the bank bandits were shot neither before nor after the hanging. 
    But that was all long ago and is far away. Wichita Falls today bears the slightest resemblance to the Wichita Falls of 1896. While it is true that peace cannot be said to prevail here, the disturbances here today are the noises of commerce. During the present calendar year over 750 feet of business brick buildings have been started or completed. During the last year over 40 miles of concrete sidewalks have been laid here. Last year 242 residences were erected here, in addition to 33 business houses. The citizens also built a $40,000 Opera House and it is a little gym. A new City Hall, costing $20,000 in which, wonder of wonders is it an architectural beauty, has been just completed. A new five story and basement hotel is nearing completion. Bonds have been voted to pave all the city streets all the business streets in the city. Bonds have been voted for $60,000 new high school here. Natural gas is sold here for 9 and a half cents per 1000 feet for factories and 30 cents per 1000 feet for domestic purposes. The Kemp - Kell syndicate is now building a magnificent pagoda at Lake Wichita and an electric car line covering the entire city and running through the Lake will be in operation by July 15th. The steel has nearly all been laid. Wichita Falls has 7 railroads. It was the greenest crops have any section in the state. It has irrigation for thousands and 10s of thousands of acres. And it will soon have a new line to Mangum OK, which will open a vast tour territory to the trade of this city and it has hustle, push and more vim galore. It has subscribed more money to the commercial club than any other town in the world, population considered and is headed at a rapid gait to a glorious destiny of a big -- a great big city. What changes the years will bring? The old telephone pole was the last link between the old and the new. It is gone - gone forever, just like the old wild and wooly days have gone and gone forever. The man with a hoe has taken possession of the surrounding country. The man was civic pride and with energy and hustle and do something, is at the helm the city proper. Peace reigns and prosperity is perpetual, for the farmers around here are not dependent upon the rains but a upon the irrigation for their crops.

D.C.M