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    The Man Who Tamed Lawrence
    The Man Who Tamed Lawrence
    The Man Who Tamed Lawrence
    Ebook64 pages54 minutes

    The Man Who Tamed Lawrence

    By Napoleon Crews

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    In 1890, up and coming, Lawrence, Kansas, Negroes suffered widespread discrimination and segregation. In spite of these challenges, The real Sam Jeans, a Negro, was recruited for the Lawrence Police Department, and later rose to the position of assistant chief of police. The only words written about Sam and his great accomplishments were that he was fearless in danger, showed good police judgment, and knew how to get along with the public. This tale portrays how it might have been for Sam as he overcame the great challenges on the path to success.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherNapoleon Crews
    Release dateFeb 28, 2015
    ISBN9781310641626
    The Man Who Tamed Lawrence
    Author

    Napoleon Crews

    Napoleon Crews began writing his first manuscript, for publication, in 1990. He was told often throughout his life, that he had a special way with words and empathy. The gift of writing culminated in Napoleon penning 9 completed manuscripts, some of which are short stories and others are longer novel-length works. In addition, he has written and produced 3 dramatic plays of an historical bent. Unable to find a national publisher for other of his works, Napoleon self-published and distributed them throughout the Midwest, where they have been popular. The driving force behind the first published manuscript, The Emancipation of Nate Bynum, was Napoleon’s desire to tell the unknown stories about the integral part that Blacks played in the American Civil War and the Wild West, and to right the wrongs of early historical writers who depicted Blacks, women, and other minorities as inept, weak-minded, and inferior to their white counterparts. Napoleon poured his experience as a cowboy, rodeo team roper, private investigator, martial artist, bodyguard, and trial lawyer into the building of his characters. He used family legends and oral and written history to form his plots. When he describes the way a horse moves, a steer bolts, or a punch is thrown, he’s rode the move, headed off the bolt, and threw the punch. His experience as a practicing trial lawyer is used to craft the many legal and ethical dilemmas in which his characters find themselves. Napoleon resides with his wife and family in Lawrence, Kansas, the seed-bed in which the buddings of the American Civil War were sewn. He still practices law 50 to 60 hours per week, and many of his nights are reserved for writing and polishing his manuscripts with a view for future publication.

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      Book preview

      The Man Who Tamed Lawrence - Napoleon Crews

      THE MAN WHO TAMED LAWRENCE

      By Napoleon Crews

      Smashwords Edition

      Copyright 2004 Napoleon Crews

      CHAPTER 1

      Lawrence, Kansas Police Chief Maurice Monroe’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he read Mayor Gould’s hastily written note to ‘Deliver Sam Jeans, Negro prisoner, immediately to the Mayor’s office.’

      Even in 1890 Kansas, the town mayor could still make a trouble-making black man disappear from the face of the earth with but a word. In earlier times, Monroe had willingly handled the details of such disappearances, but that chapter of his life had been buried in the back of his mind and he didn’t want the mayor resurrecting it.

      He pulled on the end of his mustache and sat back in the chair. Unless Monroe had been kept out-of-the-know, Sam Jeans had not raped a white woman or killed a respected member of the white community, which were the usual crimes prompting the mayor’s summary justice.

      For a moment, Monroe considered refusing to deliver Sam, and then shook his head at the thought. He knew the mayor too well. He’d be fired on the spot, and he couldn’t afford to lose the pay right now.

      Sam had been jailed for fighting, which was his regular pastime since he hit town, and he was scheduled to be released tomorrow morning. Monroe was tempted to turn him loose now, and then tell the mayor his request came too late. He also nixed that thought as a bad idea.

      Chief Monroe removed the cellblock keys and shackles from the bottom desk drawer and yelled for officers Covey, Fisher, and Morton. When they walked into his office, he detailed brief instructions, and then the four men headed down the hallway to the stairs and out of the building.

      Sam was temporarily housed at the Douglas County Jail, a limestone structure built on the south bank of the Kaw River at the north end of Massachusetts Street. He was held there because the city jail teemed with a week’s worth of gamblers, whores, and brawlers. The county jail was a two-story house with its back to the river, bars on the windows, and cellblocks extending out both sides of the main structure.

      When Monroe and his men arrived, they climbed the stairs to the office and found the deputy sound asleep. Monroe scribbled a note, slid it across the desk in front of the deputy’s lowered head, and then he and his men descended the stairs to the cellblock on the right side of the building.

      Monroe unlocked the door and Fisher and Morton slowly pulled it open. He walked through the doorway with his men following close behind. The dim, narrow chamber reeked of male-sweat; sour, strong, and simmered by the afternoon heat.

      Cheers and curses echoed through the cellblock, announcing that a ruckus had started and that they were probably too late to save some poor sucker from getting his teeth kicked out. They quickened their steps through the cramped section of smaller cells on the way back to the large, community cell in the rear, from which the din roared.

      When the officers reached the cell and approached the bars, three hooligans had Sam Jeans trapped in the corner. Ten fellow prisoners taunted the hooligans from the other side of the cell, hurling lighted matches and profanity in an attempt to incite the attack.

      A red-haired, raw-boned farm boy, with his guard up, bobbed and weaved on the other side of Sam’s fist. The Kickapoo, a stout Indian from the reservation near Horton, stood off a few feet and spat globs of saliva that stuck to Sam’s face and shirtfront. The third attacker looked like a bull standing on its hind legs. The three were jailed last night for fighting, drunkenness, and resisting arrest, and they were hauled into the jail at gunpoint by half a dozen police officers and sheriff’s deputies.

      Monroe’s attention drew back to the Negro and a shiver went through him. Only a few times in his career had he seen the kind of hatred that flowed from Sam’s eyes onto the three attackers, and each time that Monroe had encountered that level of hatred, he knew that he’d picked the wrong black man to mess with.

      Sam’s hands were relaxed at his sides. They were remarkable for their massive size and prominent, bony knuckles.

      Want us to go in and break that up? Covey, the rookie asked.

      Thrilled at the prospect of seeing whether there was an ounce of

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