The Last Marshal

Chapter 7: A Fiery Trial

Chapter 8: Jailed & Forgot

Chapter 9: The Pen-Gun Incident

Chapter 10: Chased By A Dog No, A Man!

Chapter 11: Need A New Door?

Chapter 12: The Man With Shaking Hands

Chapter 13: The Hungry Wrecker

Chapter 14: Never Ignore An Officer

Chapter 15: Quiet Down Brother

Chapter 16: Experience Pays Off

Chapter 17: Burglary In Progress

Chapter 18: A Lesson Learned

Chapter 19: A Halloween Swim

Chapter 20: Bees Are Buzzing?

Chapter 21: Hunter Down - Almost

Chapter 22: Railway Stowaways Removed

Chapter 23: Haven’t I Seen You Somewhere

Chapter 24: Interrogating A Prisoner

Chapter 25: The Weight Of A Badge

Chapter 26: Dancing & Fighting

Chapter 27: Double Agent

Chapter 28: Keep Your Doors Locked

Chapter 29: The Run For Sheriff

Chapter 30: The Unknowing Police Judge

Chapter 31: Impartial Enforcement

Chapter 32: The End

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my wife, Mary, who endured all the nights of seeing her husband and the father of her children strap on a gunbelt, and pinned the badge to his shirt, not knowing for sure if he would be coming home at the end of his shift of duty.

I knew she would like it much better if I kept to a tamer job but this was my choice. Some one had to protect the folks not able to defend themselves and someone had to see that civilized laws were enforced lest anarchy got the upper hand.

For the fine meals she prepared and saw grow cold on the table because her husband was busy resolving a problem or was on a stake-out somewhere that going home for lunch breaks was not an option.

For all the aborted nights out and school affairs of our children that she had to attend alone because duty called and her husband had to be at another place, dealing with other people; either as marshal or RR Agt.

For the late night/early morning phone calls that awoke her, along with me, when I was needed somewhere and sleep had to be deferred to another time. I could sometimes catch an hour or two in the day time but she had the children and our home to take care of and didn’t have that luxury.

For all the above and so much more I can simply say Thank you! although the words seem so shallow for all you have given in service and understanding to both me and our children.

Also to all the other wives of law men, who have gone before & after me, for whatever length of time served; may it be some consolation to you to know that someone understands a bit about what you’ve given.

For without the support of our wives the job would be almost beyond our ability. So- THANK YOU MARY and THANK YOU LADIES.

PROLOGUE

>from Chapter 3: Shots Fired<

The car turned north on Savannah Street and roared through the dark residential area at a high rate of speed, with us right behind him. He was a pretty good driver too because he rounded the corner onto A Street, by Doc Wallace’s house, without slowing down much, if any, and didn’t roll his car. However Dewey had had some chase experience and did the same; while I held on.

Then he took another high speed corner, at Sim’s, and went north on Nebraska Street. Dewey wasn’t slowing down either and we squalled around the corner close behind our suspect. Now our adrenaline was up and we wanted this guy!

When we got to Griffith Park we were on wet blacktop, from a recent shower, and the suspect didn’t have such good luck here. He tried to take a hard left but skidded at high speed on the wet blacktop; went off the road into Griffith Park, by the swings and teeter-totters, did another hard left and wheeled through the grass and back onto the road; but couldn’t hold it at that speed so he went across the street and partially off on the south side, high-centering his car on the edge of the road. Now we had him!

Dewey came to a screeching halt, glanced over at me and said, Get him Jim! (He had lost a leg in a motorcycle accident and couldn’t move as fast as I could.) So I threw my door open , jumped out and ran over to the driver’s side of the teetering car.

>continued in book<

THE LAST MARSHAL

By Jim Broker

CHAPTER 1

In The Beginning

Mound City, in the northwest corner of the great state of Missouri, now has a police department. However this area, noted in traveler’s brochures, as The Place Where The West Began used to be policed, just like other western towns, by a marshal and his deputy; a much cheaper option where just two men kept the peace & enforced the law.

In the middle and late 1960’s I was the deputy marshal for Mound City, Missouri and this is my story of what law enforcement was like back in that era. If you like history and law enforcement I believe you will find it rather interesting.

Mound City wasn’t always the nice little Mayberry type town that many residents have come to know. In one of our old 1800’s historical records there is a story of two men, who hated each other, happening to arrive in Mound City about the same time; one at the south end of State (main) Street and the other at the north end.

As fate would have it they both happened to decide to head toward the center of town, on different sides of the street. Then suddenly they saw each other and both drew their weapons and a blazing, roaring gun battle erupted with lead flying back and forth across the street sending other folks on those sidewalks running for cover.

I wasn’t around yet to see that battle but I do remember one Sunday when I was a small boy and my step-dad took my mother and me for an afternoon ride.

As we rounded the corner of State (main) Street and 59 Highway I saw a crowd of people on the corner, by the grocery store, then suddenly the crowd parted and I saw what they were watching. Two men were having a knock down & drag out fist fight in front of the store.

Again, a few years later, in the middle 1900’s, when the rough and tough Ora Hogan was Marshal of Mound City he arrested a fellow for disorderly conduct and being drunk in public, or something similar, and I guess he had to rough him up a bit to get him into the jail.

A few days after the fellow got out of jail he came back into town with his brother and a plan to get even. They headed right for the tavern and did a little drinking; then the brother started a ruckus and the bartender called for the marshal; just what the brothers wanted him to do.

When Ora walked in he saw a man standing at the bar causing a disturbance so he walked over and arrested him. Suddenly the brother whom he had jailed earlier, that had been across the room hidden in the crowd, slipped up behind Marshal Hogan and threw his arms around him, in a bear hug pinning the marshal’s arms down.

Now the marshal was in no position to defend his self and the two brothers beat him savagely. When they thought he was unconscious they dropped him to the floor and headed for the front door to get out of town quickly.

But Ora, although bloody and beaten, was a little tougher than they realized and he regained consciousness as the last brother was stepping through the bar door. Ora made a quick draw, while still lying on the floor, and leveled his revolver at the fleeing felon with intentions of stopping him right there.

However spectators said the bartender suddenly jumped between the downed marshal and the fleeing man. Seems he didn’t want anyone killed in his establishment. A dangerous move but Ora was conscious enough that he didn’t pull the trigger and the men got away. Then the bartender called a doctor to come patch up the wounded marshal.

Ora had a pair of brass knucks that he liked to carry for such events as this and they drifted down to me, but I have lost them over the years or someone has relieved me of them. Wish I still had them for our little Mound City museum.

When I accepted the deputy job in 1964 the pay was $1.00 per hour for putting your life on the line to protect the law-abiding citizens from the criminal element, keep the peace and enforce our city ordinances.

But I soon received a raise up to $1.25 per hour which helped with the necessity to furnish my own gun, handcuffs, police car, CB radio, and gasoline most of the time. But then gasoline was only 25 cents per gallon so that wasn’t too bad.

The Chief Marshal was furnished a .38 special revolver, some ammo, a pair of handcuffs and a car by the city but the deputy had to provide his own. However that was okay with me because I knew my guns and wanted a good one I knew I could count on to hit the mark when the chips were down. I didn’t want someone else picking it out for me.

My choice was a double action Smith & Wesson .44 Special with stag grips, which were easier to hold onto with the rather stout recoil. I think they made rapid fire a bit easier too.

I bought the old .44 (which was patented Sept. 14, 1909) at Hatfield’s Hardware, in St. Joe, Missouri on April 13, 1966 for $45.00 and got them to throw in a nice holster & gun belt for an extra $5.00 The gun had a little age on it and a bit of holster wear but it was a good shooter with lots of stopping power; just right for law enforcement. If you have to put ‘em down you