The Savage Murder of Ruby Ann Payne

Babysitter Attacked by "Sex Fiend"

Written by Robert A. Waters

At fifteen-years of age, Ruby Ann Payne still had that welcome glow of innocence about her. When school reopened that fall, she would be a sophomore. Now, on the afternoon of August 8, 1952, in Yorba Linda, California, she was babysitting the three children of William Perry Dyer. A beekeeper and farmer, Dyer had hired the neighbor girl to babysit Kenny, 8, Johnny, 5, and Ruby, 2, while he and his wife went shopping.

A farming community 38 miles north of Los Angeles, many landowners hired braceros from Mexico to harvest their crops. Dyer had no braceros, so he employed a distant relative, eighteen-year-old Billy Rupp, as a helper. The kid was trouble and Dyer knew it, but thought he'd give the boy a chance.

A few moments after Dyer drove away, Rupp knocked on the back door of the farmhouse. As Ruby Ann sat on the sofa in the play room watching television, Kenny answered the door.

"Are your parents home?" Rupp asked.

"No. They've gone shopping."

Rupp left for a few minutes, then returned holding a .22-caliber rifle. He entered the home and asked the eight-year-old to fetch him a hammer. Kenny quickly returned with a claw-hammer and handed it to Rupp. The farmhand then sent the boy on another errand outside the home.

Rupp made straight for the play room. For a moment he watched the children playing on the floor while Ruby Ann's eyes were glued to the television set. Then he moved behind the babysitter and slugged her with the hammer. Blood spurted from the top of her head and she screamed before jumping off the couch and racing down the hall. Rupp fired, his first bullet hitting Ruby Ann squarely in the back. She kept running and the farmhand fired again. This time she went down.

Outside, Kenny heard the gunshots and ran back into the house. He stood shell-shocked, watching as Rupp attempted to remove Ruby Ann's jeans. The boy asked Rupp what had happened, but the farmhand remained silent. Then, as if realizing that the child had discovered his sinister plan, Rupp hurried outside, climbed into his car, and disappeared.

Kenny ran next door and alerted Mrs. Belba Quinn. She quickly called a doctor and implored him to hurry, then followed the boy back home. The neighbor attempted to aid Ruby Ann, but soon realized there was no hope for the girl.

That evening, the coroner performed an autopsy. It read: "One bullet entered [Ruby Ann's] back, passed through the lungs and emerged from the chest. A second bullet penetrated the right side of the face and lodged in the neck. In addition, a wound which could have been caused by a blow from a hammer was found on the top of the head. Death resulted from asphyxiation, caused by blood entering the trachea and bronchea (sic), combined with shock and loss of blood. An examination of the genital system revealed a bruise or abrasion on the hymen, resulting from the insertion of some object into the vagina. No traces of semen fluid were found about the body, although stains of that substance appeared upon Rupp's underclothing."

By now, Rupp was long gone.

Journalist Ruth Reynolds later wrote that "an all-points bulletin [for] the teenager flashed across the state--5 feet 10, 179 pounds, light brown hair cut short, brown eyes; probably wearing sun tans and an aluminum oilfield type helmet. His car was a black 1937 Ford coupe."

When Billy's father and step-mother heard the news, they collapsed. Reporters printed photos of the grieving couple sobbing in disbelief. The Dyers were also stunned. "I meant to fire Billy a week ago because he was lazy and shiftless," William Dyer said. "I knew he was dumb, but I never expected anything like this about him."

Laurence and Helen Payne, meanwhile, told reporters the family was holding up "fairly well." Their daughter, a religious girl, had voiced an interest in becoming a missionary in India. She loved her dog and her home, which was located on a hill above dozens of cypress groves. While Laurence said he wished for justice in the case, he held no animosity toward Rupp's parents.

In the meantime, Rupp drove into the mountains and slept in his car that night. For the next four days, the teenager kept to himself in a rugged canyon area near Newport. His only food was a half-bag of pretzels. Finally, on the verge of starving, the killer abandoned his car and walked to a restaurant in the small town of Brea. The cafeteria owner, who had been closely following the case, recognized the teenager and alerted police. Rupp had taken one bite of his hamburger before being overpowered and arrested.

Rupp made three confessions. He stated that he had seen Ruby Ann several times and was sexually attracted to her. That day, when the Dyers left, he decided to "force" himself on her.

This wasn't his first violent sex attempt. When he was 14, Rupp entered the bedroom of a Cypress, California housewife and attempted to rape her. The victim fought back, however, and he beat her unconscious with the butt of a rifle.

Rupp served no time. Instead, he was committed to Camarillo State Hospital for three months. A psychiatric evaluation found him to be a psychopath, with little if any empathy for others. Doctors recommended close monitoring of the offender. Then he was released to the custody of his father.

At trial, Rupp's attorney argued that he was brain-damaged. Public Defender N. D. Meyer said he'd been injured during birth when doctors pulled him from the birth canal with forceps. "The boy is not able to control his emotions as a normal individual does," Meyer said, "because of the brain damage reported by the psychiatrists. I'm not asking you to turn this boy loose. But I want you to remember this brain damage and do what you think is right."

The jury did just that. Using the "better safe than sorry" theory, they sentenced Rupp to death.

Six years later, after many appeals, Billy Rupp gasped his last breath in San Quentin's gas chamber. Women all over California breathed a sigh of relief. A budding serial killer had been removed from society for good.

Ruby Ann Payne, who had never even been on a date, was soon forgotten, except by family and friends. Nearly 70 years later, there is little mention of her on the internet.

“She Rose from the Dead”

Wrongful murder conviction

Written by Robert A. Waters

Mary Vickery (pictured above) disappeared from Coxton, Kentucky on August 17, 1925. The “plump” blonde-haired fourteen-year-old lived with her father Charles, and stepmother, Nellie. Coxton was a small town in the heart of coal country, four miles west of Bloody Harlan, so-called because decades of deadly battles between coal company owners and union organizers made national headlines. The relationship between Mary and her parents, particularly Nellie, was strained. At the time the girl vanished, no one, including Charles and Nellie, seemed much alarmed.

On October 15, United States Marshal Adrian Metcalf was searching for a moonshine still in one of the hundreds of abandoned mine shafts in the mountains above Coxton. In Bugger Hollow mine, he literally stumbled on a cache of bones. County officials, called to the scene, discovered a complete human skeleton. The coroner estimated the age of the remains to be 12-14 years. Even though the victim was brunette, the coroner called Charles Vickery in to see if he could determine whether the remains were that of his daughter. Based only on a shirt and a ring found at the scene, Charles identified Mary. For someone who had learned his missing daughter had been discovered deceased, Charles’ behavior seemed odd—he didn’t even attend Mary’s funeral. The coroner could not determine how the girl had died.

A few months before Mary’s disappearance, Conley Dabney, 30, moved from Coal Creek, Tennessee to Coxton. Married, with two young children, Dabney was looking for work in the coal mines. He quickly found a job and established a reputation as a hard worker. He had no criminal record and few, if any vices. He had promised his wife he would remain faithful to her while he was away.

An enterprising young man, Dabney saved enough money to buy an old Ford sedan. Recognizing that most people in the area walked to where they needed to go, Dondy, as he was called, set up the car as a taxi. He soon had plenty of business. One of his frequent customers was an attractive single woman, twenty-seven-year-old Marie Jackson. Described in the newspapers as “having been with many men,” Marie quickly set her sights on Dabney. True to his word, he rejected her advances.

Dabney soon left the area and moved back to his hometown in Tennessee. He later testified in court that he left because his daughter had become ill and he wanted to find work closer to home.

For months, Marie Jackson brooded over Dabney’s rebuff. Finally, she decided to get revenge on the straight-arrow cabbie. At the sheriff’s office, she informed investigators that she had witnessed Dabney murder Mary Vickery.

An investigation began into Dondy Dabney (pictured above). There was no evidence against him except the accusations of Marie. After several false starts (grand juries twice refused to indict Dabney), the suspect was arrested and brought to trial.

Yale Law School Professor Edwin M. Borchard summarized Jackson’s testimony to the court: “About seven o’clock the morning Mary Vickery disappeared, [Jackson] and Mary stopped Dabney’s taxi as it came up to them on a road just outside of Coxton.” After taking the girls into town and buying them lunch, Marie claimed the three went to Ivy Hill, an isolated place in the mountains. Mary sat in the front seat with Dabney as he drove.

“At the hill,” Borchard wrote, “they got out of the car and sat down on a log in a clearing. After they had talked a little while, according to Marie, Dabney told her to go around behind the hill as he wanted to talk to Mary alone. She said she went away and sat down at a place from which Dabney and Mary were visible to her. She told the court that she saw Dabney hug the girl, who protested, and then strike her with a stick. Mary fell to the ground and the witness said she saw Dabney attack her. [Marie] then told how Dabney walked around the hill, came back, and finally found her. He told her, she said, that if she ever mentioned what had happened, he would burn her at the stake and that if he was prevented, he would have someone else do it. She said Dabney then took the body to the mine while she fled the scene.”

In addition to Marie’s testimony, a jailhouse informant told the court that, while awaiting trial, Dabney had confessed to killing Mary.

The defense called three witnesses who testified that they’d seen Dabney’s taxi in town at the time he was allegedly murdering Mary. Dabney testified that he did not remember taking Mary to the train station, but he had lots of clients and couldn’t remember them all. He vehemently denied that he’d murdered Mary.

Conley Dabney was convicted and sentenced to life in prison at hard labor. He served eleven months before learning that his “victim” had returned home.

When Mary appeared at her father’s doorway, he was shocked. He welcomed his daughter home and soon word spread around town. Mary told detectives that she ran away from home because of conflicts with her stepmother.

After being interviewed by detectives, Mary explained her absence to reporters. “Conley Dabney was driving a taxicab,” she said, “and I had him take me to the [train] station. He left me there and I went to Cincinnati where I got a job in a woolen mill. Several months ago, I heard that I was supposed to have been killed and that some man had been sent to prison for killing me. I dreaded to go back home, so I did not do anything about it for a while. Then someone I told about it said I ought to go back and get him out.”

Harlan County Sheriff George S. Ward hauled Marie Jackson into the station. His detectives created a lineup to determine whether Jackson knew Vickery, as she had claimed. The accuser could not pick Mary out of the six women she was shown. Ward immediately arrested Jackson.

Within 24 hours, she had confessed to making up the story. Kentucky Governor William J. Fields pardoned Dabney and demanded an investigation into the affair. Dondy was released from prison and the state debated whether to give him $5,000 for his wrongful conviction. 

The case caused much consternation among legal scholars and local officials. How could an innocent man be convicted on almost no evidence? How could a jilted wannabe lover be cold-hearted enough to send a man to prison just because he rejected her? Jailhouse informants in America have an atrocious record of lying to get their sentences reduced—how could the courts continue to use such liars in trials across the country? 

Mary Vickery married an old boyfriend shortly after returning to Coxton. Many people speculated the marriage was to get away from a desperate home situation.

Marie Jackson was tried and convicted of false testimony. She was sentenced to five years in prison, though the presiding judge told her he wished he give her more. 

The remains found in Bugger Hollow mine were never identified. 

 

Review of Charlie Robertson’s “Suspicious Ministry” CD Album

The Song

Written by Robert A. Waters

Music at its core is this: somebody writes a song. It can be for personal reasons, for regret or joy, love or hate. Or it can be solely for filthy lucre. Whatever the reason, music that touches a listener’s heart will last.

For instance, John Newton’s song, “Amazing Grace,” was written with almost debilitating shame for his past sins. For years, Newton had been captain of a slave ship. He bought and sold humans like they were loaves of bread. Then he converted to Christianity. Newton repented and was amazed that God could save a “wretch” like him. In only a few short verses, the former seller of souls revealed to millions of sinners that there’s hope of redemption.

Some songs sell millions. Others, regardless of merit, make little impact on the commercial market. That doesn’t make them any less compelling.

My friend Charlie Robertson is one of the finest song-writers in America. He’s well-known in his hometown of St. Augustine, Florida, and loved by music aficionados elsewhere, but unknown on the hit parade. You see, Charlie did it “his way.” He wrote the kind of music he wanted to write, not pop songs, not commercial songs. With a degree from the University of Florida in journalism, he worked most of his life in a factory making car parts for Nissan. He played various venues, such as bars or music festivals and recorded four CDs, each containing 12 original songs. He developed enough of a following that he has avid fans scattered across the country.

Charlie has opened shows and shared billings with Townes Van Zandt, Jimmy Buffett, Michael Smith, Steve Martin, Tom Paxton, Odetta, Taj Mahal, Steve Goodman, Guy Clark, Waylon Jennings, Doc and Merle Watson, The Newgrass Revival, and Roy Bookbinder. He was part of the Gamble Rogers Florida Folk Revue, which included Will McLean, Paul Champion, Jim Ballew, Teri DiSario, Elizabeth Corrigan and Bob Patterson.

Several songs on his most recent CD album, “Suspicious Ministry,” are autobiographical. In “Guard Duty 1969,” Charlie writes about his experiences in the army after being drafted. Most of his two years were spent as a clerk at Fort Riley, Kansas. Vietnam and Florida were far away from the Midwest icebox where he performed nightly guard duty. Like many veterans, he questions whether his service to his country really made a difference. In “White Nurse,” he writes about his childhood when his mother worked as head night nurse at Mary Lawson’s Hospital in Palatka, Florida. Most of the patients were black and looked on the kindly white nurse who ministered to them as an “angel.” The detailed descriptions of 1950s Florida struck true to a native like me.

The song I like best from Charlie’s new CD is called “That Old Fool.” Nashville is where country singers go to sink or swim. For everyone who finds a safe and prosperous harbor, there are thousands, perhaps millions, who capsize. The protagonist in this song plays at a dive bar for tips. He’s been in prison, his wife left him for a “greasy loan shark,” and he knows that the hearts of country music execs are “bar codes.”

If you long for something other than the putrid pop country or pop rock that’s fashionable today, check out Charlie Robertson.

That Old Fool

Written by Charlie Robertson

He was leaning up against a brick wall

Drinking beer straight from the keg.

He played an old Gibson J-50,

He had an orange prosthetic leg.

Two feet above his head

There was a “come to Jesus” scene,

It was the Raiders against the Chargers

On a 52-inch screen.

 

He played songs that he still remembers

For beer and tips, not Cadillacs,

Like “I Left My Baby Crying

In the Smoke Along the Tracks.”

“Silver Wings,” “Sing Me Back Home,”

“Ring of Fire,” “Faded Love.”

Oh, I know, ‘cause I was watching

From “The Window Up Above.”

All these young studs down on Broadway,

He could take them all to school,

But they’re too busy posing as outlaws,

They ain’t listenin’, listenin’ to that old fool.

 

 

Man, one of them teams scored a touchdown

And the whole place went insane.

He looked down and checked his tip jar,

Well, the total was about the same.

He did time in Moundsville Prison

In West Virginia, for running shine,

Kiting checks and forging passports

And other bold, creative crimes.

 

Lost his leg on an icy backroad,

Prayed for guidance from above.

Lost his woman to a greasy loan shark,

A dog-eared page in the book of love.

If they’d just shut up and listen

They’d find an undiscovered jewel.

But in this place where hearts have bar codes,

They ain’t listenin’, listenin’ to that old fool.

 

He was leaning up against a brick wall

Drinking beer straight from the keg.

He played an old Gibson J-50,

He had an orange prosthetic leg…

Charlie recently held a coronavirus concert. "That Old Fool" is the last song in the set.

You can order this CD from Charlie Robertson.

 

Prepare for the Worst, Hope for the Best

Violent Thugs Taken Down

“They weren’t there trick-or-treating.” Cleveland Councilman Mike Polensek.

Timothy Peak (pictured above) did Cleveland, Ohio residents a favor when he shot and killed Waymone Williams and, through his court testimony, sent Herman Jennings to prison for life.

Shortly after midnight on July 28, 2013, Peak, 26, pulled into the driveway of his home on East 128^th Street. A detective later wrote that “Peak stated he went to the BP Gas Station with his friend **Joanie Jameson, 21, to get some chips, then they returned to his home. Peak stated he and Jameson talked with Peak’s brother—Jeremy Peak—for a short time and then they began to leave. Peak stated that they both got into his car but before he could put the key in the ignition, he saw movement at the window.”

Suddenly, the front door of the 2008 Chevrolet Impala was jerked open. Before Peak could react, two men reached in and grabbed his legs. The unknown men wore black clothing, black masks, and transparent latex gloves. They began trying to pull Peak out of the car. Waymone Williams was armed with a Smith & Wesson six-shot .38-caliber revolver while Herman Jennings held a crowbar. As Peak resisted, Jennings slugged him with the bar, opening a large gash above his right eye. Blood streamed down Peak’s face, momentarily blinding him.

Jameson described what happened from her perspective. “I look to my left,” she said, “and see two men attacking Timothy…No one was on my side of Timothy’s vehicle. I say, ‘Oh, my God’ and I realize that we are getting robbed and I know this is a life or death moment. I proceed to run to the door of Timothy’s house and attempted to enter the pass code into the door lock at least two or three times unsuccessfully. While I am trying to enter back into Timothy’s house, I heard one or two gunshots go off. At this point, the other suspect came and grabbed me and threw me onto the ground. The suspect took my purse…”

Three months before, Peak had obtained his concealed carry permit. Now his training kicked in and he reached for his gun, a .45-caliber Springfield Armory XDM semi-automatic pistol, in the pocket of the driver’s side door. Because of the blow to his face, he was light-headed, but knew he had to act quickly to survive. In his interview with investigators, Peak stated that Williams “pointed” the gun at him. Still inside the car, Peak turned and snapped off a shot at his tormentor. Williams fell to the ground, on his back, with his pistol still in his hand. From that position, he fired at Peak, then attempted to sit up. (Williams’ bullet was later found lodged in the gutter at the front of the house.)

By now, Peak had crawled out of the car and stood up. He attempted to shoot Williams again, but realized his gun had jammed. He cleared it, then fired twice more at his assailant who was sitting on the ground holding his revolver. Finally, Williams slumped over and lay motionless.

By this time, Peak’s brother, Jeremy, a Marine home on leave, had heard the commotion and opened the door for Jameson. Peak, in shock, walked around his car in a circle, still holding his handgun. Jeremy and Jameson yelled for him to come inside.

As Timothy entered, Jeremy took the gun and placed it on the kitchen table. Jameson then pressed a towel against Timothy’s wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

Within minutes, police arrived. An officer wrote that “Williams, dressed as a ninja and wearing latex gloves, lies on the driveway, left side of the vehicle…Near the garage door is a tire tool; on the ground near the driver’s door [are] 2 fired casings and a ring with keys. On the driver’s door frame is a wallet. On the roof of this auto above the right doors…is another fired casing.”

A black “doo-rag” and a pair of latex gloves lay on the ground near Williams. Detectives found his gun underneath his right leg. Jameson’s purse and many of its contents lay scattered across Peak’s yard near 128^th Street. It seemed likely that the second attacker had fled in that direction.

Cops quickly sealed off the crime scene. Checking Waymone Williams, they found him deceased.  A post-mortem examination showed that he’d been hit by each of the three rounds Peak had fired.  The report revealed the robber had a “gunshot wound to the left anterior chest that traveled through the heart.” In addition, a second round had hit Williams in the right side, while the third shot went all the way through the right side of his chest.

Peak was transported to St. Vincent Charity Hospital where he received stitches for his head wound. He later returned home shaken and bruised, but lucky to be alive.

After identifying Williams through fingerprints, detectives visited his home. There they obtained his cell phone from relatives. Reading the text messages, cops found that he’d recently contacted Herman Jennings. Well-known to CPD officers as a violent career offender, Jennings had recently been released from prison after serving five years of an eight year sentence for a brutal assault. In that case, his victim “sustained a broken metacarpal, an orbital fracture, a detached retina, along with multiple head and eye lacerations.” In yet another assault, Jennings sucker-punched a passer-by and knocked out several teeth. The victim was hospitalized for a concussion.

It didn’t take investigators long to track Jennings down. He was arrested and charged with aggravated murder. (In Ohio, as well as many other states, an accomplice can be charged with murder if a death occurs because of a felony he or she commits.)

A court document explained the reason Timothy Peak was chosen as a robbery victim: “Jennings’ brother Terrell was a former co-worker of Timothy Peak, who knew that Peak had just inherited a substantial amount of money after the death of his father.” Terrell likely told Herman about Peak’s windfall.

On reviewing evidence at the scene, as well as DNA and gunshot residue, CPD officials determined that Peak had killed Williams in self-defense and would not be charged.

The story was slow to catch the attention of local media. But Cleveland Councilman Mike Polensek, outraged at the violence in his city, wouldn’t let it lie. He contacted reporters, stating “as far as I’m concerned, [the criminal] got exactly what he deserved—lead poisoning. If [Peak] hadn’t had that gun, we’d be reading about him in a two-paragraph story in the paper as another innocent victim of violent criminals looking to prey on him like jackals. [But the criminals] picked the wrong man this time.”

As happens so many times in these cases, citizens in Peak’s community rose up in outrage after learning that Herman Jennings had recently been released early from prison for another violent assault. They demanded changes in sentencing laws, sentiments which were roundly ignored by the professional politicians in Cleveland.

Assistant Prosecuting Attorney Blaise Thomas told reporters that “Herman Jennings displayed a level of violence that belies an utter disregard for human life. He belongs in prison for the rest of his life.”

On October 28, 2015, Jennings was convicted of one count of murder, two counts of aggravated robbery, and found to be a repeat violent offender. The ex-con was sentenced to life in prison with the possibility of parole after 35 years.

**Not her real name

Thanks to the Cleveland Police Department for their detailed report on this case. While researching this incident, I found several newspaper articles about it, but not as many as you would think.

Robert A. Waters is the author of Guns and Self-Defense with co-author Sim Waters. For 25 years, Waters has researched defensive shootings and written about hundreds of such cases. He has penned four books describing in detail many legitimate self-defense exploits. In addition, he has chronicled hundreds of such cases on his blog, Kidnapping, Murder and Mayhem.

Cuba in Revolution: Escape From a Lost Paradise

Book review written by Robert A. Waters

My son served in the U. S. Coast Guard. On patrol one day in the Florida straits, his ship came across a sad testament to humanity’s longing for freedom. Bobbing along in the waves, a wooden raft floated silently, its crew forever missing. The raft had been reinforced underneath with chunks of styrofoam and had been powered by a miniscule 1950s boat motor. Much of the styrofoam had broken free, perhaps by a storm or high waves and the vessel tilted half in the water and half out. The crew of the Coast Guard vessel stared in silence, knowing that the Cubans who had attempted to flee the oppression of communism were likely dead.

Cuba in Revolution has lots of intrigue going for it: an escape from communist Cuba that reads like a thriller; a history of Fidel Castro’s rise to power and dictatorial rule; a narrative of the way many in the American media covered up the fact that Castro was a communist; how the Soviet Union gained traction in Cuba; how the Kennedy administration betrayed the Cuban (and American) freedom fighters at the Bay of Pigs; and much, much more.

For many Cubans, Florida shines like a beacon in a dark night.

The Faria family had supported the overthrow of corrupt President Fulgencio Batista, but distrusted the communist schemes of Fidel Castro. That made them targets. Like the Roman emperors of old, the new ruler murdered anyone who could conceivably be considered a threat to his power. That included Batista backers and even his own supporters. Had they not escaped, it was only a matter of time before the Faria family would be imprisoned or worse, executed.

In 1966, thirteen-year-old Miguel and his father, a physician, made a desperate and harrowing escape from Cuba. Twenty-eight souls boarded a small, dilapidated wooden fishing boat called Venezuela Libre. After two long days and nights at sea, starving, sick, and battered by hurricane-like storms at times, or burning in the sun at other times, the little ship finally reached the Cayman Islands—and freedom. Eventually, the Faria family settled in Miami, then moved to South Carolina.

The escape was important to Miguel because, had he not fled the country, he would likely have been conscripted into the Cuban military and indoctrinated in the “virtuousness” of communism. That did not happen because Miguel’s father understood the evils of totalitarian governments.

Miguel attained the dream. He became a naturalized American citizen, graduated from medical school and became a world-renowned neurosurgeon. Today, he is an anti-communist, pro-freedom crusader.

Cuba in Revolution tells a compelling tale of how totalitarian rule can turn a prosperous, thriving nation into a backward hellhole. No wonder so many of its citizens wish to flee to the beacon up north.

This book should be required reading in our schools and colleges.

Cuba in Revolution: Escape From a Lost Paradise

By Miguel A. Faria, Jr., M.D.

Hacienda Publishing, 2002

Johnny Horton 'Son' Busted

Don't Mess With Billie Jean

Written by Robert A. Waters

On that night in 1981, The Old Hangin’ Tree Tavern was packed like never before. Virginia Iler, owner of the joint, had placed ads on KZUN, the local country music station in Spokane, Washington, promoting the appearance of country-western singer Johnny Horton’s son. While the wavy-haired stranger sang with the stage band, Mrs. Johnny Horton sat in the back of the smoky bar. The singer, sometimes off-key, wailed out the “The Battle of New Orleans,” “Springtime in Alaska,” and an original song about his memories of the country music icon who’d died in a car crash twenty years earlier.

At 48, Billie Jean Horton was not there to revel in her son’s success. She had flown up from Louisiana to confront the imposter.

Still as beautiful as she was when she met her first husband, Hank Williams, she sobbed silently as the impersonator sang. Her bodyguard, Jim Howard, later told reporters that “you can imagine how Mrs. Horton felt. It’s like resurrecting the dead to sit there and have to listen to this composition he gave from the stage of his life as he remembered it with the late, great Johnny Horton.”  Particularly so since none of it was true.

To make the surreal episode even more unreal, the imposter stopped his songfest long enough to get married. He’d met a 29-year-old woman from Coer d’Alene, Idaho, and brought in a cake and a preacher to tie the knot. To the cheers of the crowd, he solemnly kissed his bride. After the ceremony was over, the groom continued his concert while the bride sat beaming.

It had all started two weeks earlier when a stranger called Iler and said his tour bus had broken down in Spokane and he wanted to arrange a booking at her tavern. Iler invited the man, who called himself Johnny Horton, Jr., to meet with her. He quickly convinced her of his identity and she hired him. But Iler and members of the band soon became suspicious.

When Billie Jean got a phone call from Mrs. Iler, the bar-owner explained the situation and asked if Johnny Horton, Jr. was her son. Billie Jean heatedly let Iler know she’d had no male offspring with the dead singer. Having successfully sued record companies for years to receive royalties from the estates of Hank Williams and Johnny Horton, Billie Jean was in no mood to let an interloper make money off her husband’s name. While she was younger, she’d known hard times, but now she was wealthy, and she decided to fly to Spokane to confront the fraudster.

As the final song mercifully faded into the suffocating smoke-filled darkness, a group of official-looking men, including the bodyguard and two Spokane County deputies, asked Horton to accompany them to a nearby office. Inside were icy-faced Billie Jean and Mrs. Iler.

Horton quickly confessed that he wasn’t Billie Jean’s son.

He had no identification, except a union card for a man with a different name. He had no tour bus, no home except for a one-night room at a cheap hotel. In fact, he was a drifter and grifter from Texas. He claimed his name was David Jonathan Horton, Jr., but even that was questionable. “I’ve been singing professionally for about nine years,” he said. “When times got bad, I drove heavy equipment.” At that, Billie Jean lit into the fraudulent wannabe singer with a volley of foul language, advising him that he may have a civil suit coming his way.

After the confrontation, investigators advised Billie Jean that no crime had been committed and the drifter was free to go.

On learning that the man she’d married was not the son of the famous singer, Horton’s bride stormed out of the tavern and disappeared, never to be seen again. The rueful groom, out of a gig and a night of wedding bliss, said, “I think she married me for the name rather than for myself.”

Billie Jean flew back to Shreveport, satisfied the imposter had been exposed. Mrs. Iler told patrons she’d learned a lesson about not taking people at face value. And Horton (or whoever he was) continued his misdeeds. “It turned out he had a prison record, and was on parole at the time,” Billie Jean told a reporter. The fraudulent singer later ended up serving time in a California prison for committing real crimes.

Click here for more about Johnny Horton.

"This Gun Talks!"

Bizarre Case of the “Grandma Bandit”

Written by Robert A. Waters

The Wiltshire Boulevard branch of the California Bank in Los Angeles was crowded on that Friday morning in 1952. Behind the counter, Marguerite Evert politely greeted each customer. Next in line was a “little old lady” who wore a black jacket and green scarf. The woman quietly pulled a wrinkled-up brown paper sack from a shabby leather purse. Shoving it toward Evert, she said, “Be quiet and give me the money in the cash drawer.”

Evert was astounded. She hesitated, and the robber poked the barrel of a pistol through the bottom of the bag. “This gun talks,” she said, “and I know how to use it.” With that, she pushed a red envelope toward Evert. The teller took $1200 out of her drawer and handed it to the woman. Placing it in her envelope and putting the brown bag back in her purse, the robber casually walked away. No one noticed as she ambled to the door, strolled down the street and flagged down a cab.

Evert was so flustered it took her more than a minute to ring for the bank manager. Soon the place was swarming with cops, but they had missed their prey. The old woman was nowhere to be seen.

In the next few weeks, as she robbed bank after bank, California news hounds gave her an appropriate nickname: “The Grandma Bandit.”  Both local police and FBI agents joined the hunt, but it was a local bank manager who finally caught her.

It was nearing Christmas in the United States National Bank in Arcadia, fifteen miles east of Los Angeles, when a woman walked up to teller Lorene McGehee. “Give me all your money,” Grandma said. “I’m desperate.” McGehee, incredulous, turned to William H. Lloyd, her manager, and said, “This woman wants to rob me.”

Grandma didn’t hesitate. She turned and sprinted to the door. But Lloyd was quicker. He grabbed her and jerked the paper bag from her hands. A toy pistol fell to the floor. As Grandma begged Lloyd to let her go, bank employees triggered an alarm and soon the robber was in handcuffs. Checking her purse, cops found sixty-three cents.

Fifty-three-year-old Ethel Arata was no normal bank robber. She had once been an heiress, the daughter of Robert Catts, who lost 20 million dollars in the stock market crash of 1929. A syndicated news article written by Sam Cohen and Ruth Reynolds stated that “she once studied voice abroad and sang with the Duncan Sisters in their ‘Topsy and Eva’ company.”

Arata informed detectives that she was a Robin Hood robber, stealing from banks to give to the poor. She claimed to have given some of her proceeds from the robberies to a destitute couple who wanted to return home to Minnesota for Christmas.

Cops learned that Arata had been born to privilege in Philadelphia in 1900 and spent her childhood in private grooming schools. In 1903, Robert Catts divorced his wife and married an actress, Dorothy Tennant. In 1913, Oja McWhorter Catts, Ethel’s mother, overdosed on prescription drugs and died. In 1929, the stock market crash bankrupted her father. He died in 1942, leaving Ethel nothing.

Ethel had married four times. She’d had one child, a boy who died as an infant. In 1948, Ethel was committed to a mental institution for alcoholism. According to Cohen and Reynolds, after leaving the institution “she resumed her drinking, became hysterical and tried to kill herself by jumping from a fourth-story hotel window. Two weeks after this suicide attempt, she was found sprawled in a stupor amid a litter of wine bottles in a Hollywood rooming house. She spent five days in jail for disorderly conduct.”

When arrested for the bank robberies, Ethel was living in a dive hotel in Monrovia, California. Detectives learned that she had gambled her money away and not given it to poor people as she claimed.

A federal grand jury found her guilty of bank robbery and she was sentenced to ten years in Federal prison. Ethel Arata was paroled in 1957, two years after her conviction, and disappeared into the mists of history.

NOTE: Much of the information for this story was obtained from a news article written by Sam Cohen and Ruth Reynolds and published in several newspapers on April 10, 1955. The article was entitled: ‘Grandma’ Sentenced as Bank Robber.

Defending the Homeland

Storms of Battle

Written by Robert A. Waters

My great-great-grandfather fought as a soldier for two different countries. (Near the turn of the century, when he died, that was not unusual for old men in the South.) Here is his story.

Peter Boyer Perry was of French descent, but the family moved to England around 1066. In the early 1600s, Peter's ancestors settled in Virginia, later moving to South Carolina. At least two of his great-uncles fought with Frances Marion, the "Swamp Fox," during the Revolutionary War.

Peter was born in Lancaster County, South Carolina on April 11, 1823. In 1846, he enlisted in the U. S. Army and was sent to fight in the Mexican-American War. The injuries he received during this conflict would afflict him for the rest of his life.

Perry was assigned to Company I, Palmetto Regiment of South Carolina Volunteers Infantry. He initially served under the command of Colonel P. M. Butler, then later under General Winfield Scott. According to Perry's military records, during the Siege of Veracruz, he contracted chronic dysentery due to a bout with yellow fever.

After fighting in several battles, Perry fell grievously wounded at the storming of Chapultepec, a closely guarded city that sat on a 200-foot-high hill. General Scott had ordered his men to take this strong-post as a gateway to Mexico City, two miles away. In the book, A Pioneer and a Patriot, the author, D. Hackett, writes that Perry "was wounded by a spent grapeshot cannon shell. He was injured on his right side with five broken ribs, and a piece of steel was embedded in his right eye. Though he was left for dead, Peter survived. He was able to rejoin his unit that night and continued to fight as the Army made their (sic) way to Mexico City." (He refused to go to a field hospital because he'd observed that only one out of five injured soldiers came out alive.)

Early on the morning of September 14, 1847, American forces raised the U. S. flag over the Grand Plaza in Mexico City. According to family legend, Perry was the soldier who raised that flag.

Perry suffered from his war injuries for the rest of his life. "The injury to his right side," Hackett writes, "left him with painful pleural adhesion, and later, his right eye had to be removed."

He was honorably discharged in Mobile, Alabama, on June 25, 1848.

Peter and his new wife, Elizabeth Duke Perry, moved to Alachua County, Florida in 1853. The couple later moved again, this time to Marion County where he would reside the rest of his life. Peter farmed a 20-acre spread without ever owning a slave.

In a 1985 article in the Orlando Sentinel, the author wrote that "as peaceful as this small Marion County community is today, it's hard to imagine the original settlers barricading themselves into the schoolhouse to fend off attacks from Seminole Indians. But that's what they did and it is for one of those early defenders, Peter Boyer Perry, that the town is named. Perry, a South Carolina native who had served with the U. S. army in the Mexican War, picked up the name Pedro (Spanish for Peter) during his days fighting south of the border. Perry's role in helping settle and defend the community led to the town naming itself after him." 

On July 21, 1861, the long-simmering conflict now known as the Civil War broke out when the United States of America invaded the newly-formed Confederate States of America. The Union Navy quickly blockaded ports around Florida in an attempt to keep supplies from entering the state. For the next four years, the Federals tried to gain control of the interior of Florida, but had little success as most Floridians supported the Confederate cause. (At the end of the war, Tallahassee was the only Confederate state capitol not occupied by the Union army.) 

In July of 1863, at forty years of age, Perry walked 100 miles to enlist in the Confederate army. At Lake City, he joined the 9th Florida Infantry Division, Company F. 

Perry fought courageously during the Battle of Olustee (near Lake City). On February 20, 1864, the Union army, under the command of Brigadier General Truman Seymore, was once again attempting to gain control of inland Florida, particularly Tallahassee. The Confederates were commanded by Irish-born Brigadier General Joseph Finegan. The Rebels had located a narrow stretch of dry ground to defend. Behind them, impenetrable swamps and bays surrounded a lake called Ocean Pond, and on each side was a pine barren that offered little cover for the advancing attackers.

As the battle began, Finnegan lured the Union troops into that indefensible position. After several hours of bloody fighting, Seymore's army fled back to Jacksonville, their major stronghold in Florida. Out of slightly more than 5,000 men, the Union army suffered 1,861 casualties to Confederate losses of 946 men.

After the Battle of Olustee, Peter Boyer Perry was promoted to 1st Sergeant and, with General Finegan's Florida regiments, ordered north to join General Robert E. Lee's Army of Northern Virginia. Finegan's troops landed in a hornet's nest, fighting almost continuously for the next year. Perry fought in the following battles: the Battle at Cold Harbor; the Battle of Jerusalem Plank Road; the Battle of Ream's Railroad Station; the Battle of Globe Tavern; the Second Battle of Ream's Railroad Station; and the Battle of Hatcher's Run. (Many of the smaller battles were part of the fighting that took place during the Union's victorious siege of Petersburg.)

Finally, on April 9, 1865, Lee met with Union General Ulysses S. Grant at Appomattox Courthouse to surrender. Peter Boyer Perry signed the surrender documents and oath of allegiance to the United States of America. Confederate Major General William Mahone spoke of the Florida brigade: "A mere handful remains of the little band, they have been wasted by the storms of battle and by disease..."

Perry was given a written parole document. He walked 700 miles from Virginia back to his Florida home. In Marion County pioneer documents, he is listed as a farmer, minister of the gospel, school teacher and postmaster of the town of Pedro. He and Elizabeth had 13 children.

That a man could withstand years of war and severe injuries, including blindness in one eye, as well as chronic dysentery and pleurisy, and still prosper in life showed the mark of high character. All of his children and grandchildren led successful lives, including my grandmother, Henrietta Fidelia Perry Crumpton. She took in strays and always had food for the "hoboes" who wandered by her farmhouse. She was sympathetic to the down-and-out and took care of my grandfather (who was also blind in one eye from a World War I injury) and many elderly relatives. She and my grandfather, as well as my parents, taught me that God and family are the most important things in life.  

In 1875, "Peter applied for 'A Declaration of Pension for an Invalid' for his military service in the Mexican-American War. It took seven years and a Special Act of the 47th Congress for Peter to be approved..." His pension of $4.00 was later increased to $8.00. In 1895, his pension was raised to $12.00. By this time he'd had to sell his 20 acres of land when, due to old age and his lingering injuries, he became unable to work.

Peter Boyer Perry died on January 7, 1899, aged 75. He is buried at the Pine Level Cemetery in Sumter County.

Sources:

A Pioneer and A Patriot by D. Hackett. Many military documents concerning Peter Boyer Perry are photocopied and published in this book. 

A Small but Spartan Band by Zack C. Waters. This award-winning book details the history of the Florida Brigade in Lee's Army of Northern Virginia.

A Wilderness of Destruction by Zack C. Waters. Unpublished book.

Looters routed in the "City of Brotherly Love"

Tables turned by shop owner
Written by Robert A. Waters

After George Floyd's death on May 29, 2020, street hustlers, gang members, and mobs across the country began the inevitable plundering and looting.  Thousands of businesses were destroyed and many police agencies, outnumbered and restricted in how they could respond, turned cities over to vandals and killers.  In the first 10 days, at least 23 people died in riot-related violence and 500 cops were injured.

Many of us watched from our homes, appalled at the carnage and the sight of politicians literally bowing to anarchists.  While our once-great country burned, modern-day Neros fiddled in their bunkers.  Minneapolis, Atlanta, New York City, Los Angeles, and dozens more cities were ransacked.

In Philadelphia, things were no different.

Philly.com reported that the city "descended into anything but peacefulness.  Buildings and police cars were set ablaze, stores looted, bottles thrown.  Tear gas.  Rubber bullets.  Riot shields.  You get the picture."  Yes, we got the picture.  On our screens, we viewed hundreds of vicious beatings as mobs attacked innocent people without provocation.

NBCPhiladelphia.com reported that "by Sunday morning, more than 207 people had been arrested and more than a dozen officers injured, one of whom was still hospitalized after being run over by a car."

Firing Line, Inc., a gun store, sits on Front Street in South Philly.  Shop owner Greg Isabella serves law enforcement officers as well as everyday citizens.

Isabella sensed what was coming.  The night before, an attempted break-in of his store had occurred.  According to GlobeIntel.com, "On the previous night, looters attempted to break in through a back door of the shop, ramming and beating at a steel door that showed signs of battering, and even marks that a crowbar was used to pry it open--to no avail."  Isabella decided to sleep in his shop that night, armed with a Bushmaster M-4 rifle.

Even though a city-wide curfew was in effect, it made no difference to the roaming mobs, thieves, robbers, and killers.

At about 4:00 a.m., while viewing an outside surveillance monitor, the store owner saw two cars drive up to his store.  Four figures got out and cut a lock to open the gate.  Detectives later found the discarded bolt cutters and lock nearby.

The men broke the glass entrance door and came inside.

Inspector Scott Small stated that Isabella "heard them walking up the steps, and one of the individuals who broke into the property pointed a handgun at him.  And that's when the store owner fired his own weapon, striking the one perpetrator at least one time in the head."  The name of that individual has not been released by police.  He was pronounced dead at the scene.

The deceased robber's gun was found next to his body.

The other three ran.

A short time later, seventeen-year-old Khaleef Brown appeared at Jefferson University Hospital with a bullet wound to his shoulder.  After treatment, he was arrested and charged with robbery, burglary, and falsifying information.  Cops said they had overwhelming evidence that he was one of the four who had attempted to loot the gun store.

The other accomplices have not been identified.

Isabella was not charged with any crime.  District Attorney Larry Krasner informed the media that "the facts as we know and the law are clear that the business owner's use of force while inside his own property against a burglar, accompanied by others, who was entering with a gun in his hand were justified.  It is fortunate that this large cache of guns and ammunition were not taken and sold on the street."

While Philadelphia mayor Jim Kenney said he supports the rights of citizens to protect their lives and property, he warned against vigilantism, stating that he was "deeply troubled at the ease with which another life has been taken amidst this chaos."

Meanwhile, life and death in Ben Franklin's city goes on.

 

Buddy Holly's Pistol

Written by Robert A. Waters

Shortly after midnight, on February 3, 1959, a small plane crashed into a frozen Iowa field, killing Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, and J. P. “The Big Bopper” Richardson.  Roger Peterson, the young pilot, also died.

For nearly two weeks, the popular rock and roll musicians had endured sub-freezing temperatures while on a tour called the Winter Dance Party.  They rode from town to town in rickety buses that kept breaking down because the heaters froze up.  Holly’s drummer, Carl Brunch, got frostbite and had to be hospitalized.  Because of the miserable traveling conditions, Holly decided to rent a plane to take him and his band from Mason City, Iowa to their next stop, Moorhead, Minnesota.  He figured they could rest up for a few hours in a warm hotel and do their laundry.  Valens and Richardson, both battling flu-like symptoms, finagled seats from Holly’s band members.

The airplane, a Beechcraft Bonanza, barely had enough space for the three passengers and the pilot.  When it struck the ground at 170 miles per hour, Holly, Valens, and Richardson were thrown out.  Their bodies were frozen solid when found the next day.  Peterson still sat inside the mangled cockpit, dead.

A report by the Civil Aeronautics Board reported that “the probable cause of this accident was the pilot’s unwise decision to embark on a flight which would necessitate flying solely on instruments when he was not properly certificated or qualified to do s0.”

The cause of the crash seemed straightforward, but it wasn’t long until whispered allegations began to question the findings.  It didn’t help that the press initially got many of the facts wrong—for instance, newspapers reported “that the plane had been consumed by fire and all four bodies badly burned.”  In fact, there was no fire.

Even though this group of rock and rollers was likely the tamest of all rockers in the history of rock, claims to the contrary soon circulated.  Peterson’s friends asserted that heavy drinking and drugging by the musicians may have caused the crash.  This rumor gained a life of its own, and still circulates today.  No evidence exists that there was any drug use, and drinking was minimal.  Bob Hale, emcee of the Winter Dance Party, asserted that “there wasn’t an inkling of booze or drugs…I was with them from the moment they got off the bus to the moment they got in the car [to go to the airport].  There was no booze or alcohol, nothing like that.”

Another theory asserts that a fight between the musicians distracted Peterson, causing him to lose control of the plane.  But people who spent time with the group dismissed that conjecture.  Hale stated that “these were good friends.  These guys were back-slapping buddies.  There wasn’t a bit of tension, jealousy, or bitchiness about any of these guys.”

Then, two months later, a farmer found Buddy Holly’s gun near the wreck site and the rumor-mill exploded in earnest.

The pistol, “a small six-shot German-made revolver,” had four unfired rounds in the cylinder.  According to researcher and author Larry Lehmer, the other two cylinders were empty.  Many local residents immediately jumped to the conclusion that Holly had shot the pilot, thereby causing the crash.  Or maybe he shot the Bopper, causing Peterson to take his eye off the control panel and wreck the plane.  Or maybe someone else got the gun and fired a shot.  It went on and on.

Even though the Mason City Globe-Gazette reported that “a check of the coroner’s official reports Friday showed that the pilot and passengers died from wounds received in the plane wreck,” the allegation had been planted.  The pathologist who did the autopsy repeatedly stated that there were no bullet wounds to any of the passengers or pilot.

Jerry Allison, one of the original Crickets, stated that he’d given the gun to Holly in 1958.  “It was a little old .22-like target pistol,” Allison said.  He stated that Holly had once used it to defend himself and his band.  A group of “hoodlums” had blocked the driveway of the venue where the band was playing and wouldn’t move.  Feeling threatened, Holly pulled the pistol and aimed it at one of their tormentors.  The thugs quickly left.

Holly, who sometimes collected the money from gigs, carried the gun for protection.  (Being from Texas, he had hunted when he was younger, and was familiar with guns.)  While on the Winter Dance Party tour, he kept the gun in a false bottom of his shaving kit.  At the crash site, investigators found the case near Holly, its false bottom torn out.

Through the years, the stars of the three singers rose.  Many bands, including the Beatles, the Stones, and others were heavily influenced by Buddy Holly.  The records of Ritchie Havens and the Big Bopper continued to get airplay on oldies stations and influenced younger audiences.  Then Don McClean’s song, “American Pie,” immortalized the three.

In 2007, Jay Richardson, the Big Bopper’s son, decided to exhume his father’s body.  Bill Bass, founder of the Body Farm in Tennessee, performed the second autopsy.

Journalist Ron Franscell wrote that “there was no bullet, the X-rays showed, but few had expected this would turn into a crime-scene investigation anyway.  And the Bopper didn’t survive the impact even for a moment, Bass determined.  He suffered at least three death-dealing injuries that would have killed him before he took another breath: A crushed skull, a broken neck and a grotesquely mashed rib cage. His other injuries were equally grievous, including a crumbled pelvis, a broken spine, a broken foot and ankle, and two compound fractures in each leg.”

Even the most volatile conspiracist was forced to admit that Buddy Holly’s gun played no role in the plane crash.

Or were they?

I highly recommend the following book to anyone interested in the last days of the “Father, Son and Holy Ghost” of rock and roll: THE DAY THE MUSIC DIED: The Last Tour of Buddy Holly, the “Big Bopper,” and Ritchie Valens by Larry Lehmer.

The following newspaper article was also helpful: “A pop star exhumed 50 years after tragic death” by Ron Franscell.  Published in The Beaumont Enterprise, March 11, 2007.