Time of the Rangers: Texas Rangers: From 1900 to the Present

Time of the Rangers: Texas Rangers: From 1900 to the Present

by Mike Cox

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Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781429941167
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Publication date: 08/18/2009
Sold by: Macmillan
Format: NOOK Book
Pages: 512
Sales rank: 365,924
File size: 2 MB

About the Author

MIKE COX, an elected member of the Texas Institute of Letters, began his writing career as a Texas newspaper reporter, then spent fifteen years as spokesman for the Texas Department of Public Safety, which includes the Texas Rangers and later was Communications Manager for the Texas Department of Transportation.


MIKE COX, an elected member of the Texas Institute of Letters, began his writing career as a Texas newspaper reporter, then spent fifteen years as spokesman for the Texas Department of Public Safety, which includes the Texas Rangers and later was Communications Manager for the Texas Department of Transportation. His books include The Texas Rangers and Time of the Texas Rangers.

Read an Excerpt

Time of the Rangers

Texas Rangers: From 1900 to the Present


By Mike Cox

Tom Doherty Associates

Copyright © 2009 Mike Cox
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4299-4116-7



CHAPTER 1

"Heroes of Old"

The Ranger Force, 1900–1910

Sitting in a smoky meeting room of the opulent Oriental Hotel, the former Texas Ranger listened as the mayor's representative welcomed him and his fellow "Heroes of Old" to the thriving city of Dallas.

Four decades earlier, then only twenty years old, British-born Joseph Greaves Booth had helped protect the state from hostile Indians. Now, in the fall of 1900, Booth served as president of the Texas Rangers Association. Standing to address a hundred other men who had ridden for the Lone Star, the successful traveling salesman from Austin — also a veteran of the Confederate Army's Eighth Texas Cavalry regiment — looked out at an assemblage of graybeards who had spent many a night on the ground with only a sweaty saddle for a pillow. Many of them stove up and hard of hearing, on this day the old Rangers crowded a six-story hotel touted as "the most elegant ... west of the Mississippi," a half-million-dollar redbrick building at Commerce and Akard streets finished with Italian marble and mahogany and capped with an arabesque dome. If they were of a mind to, men who had washed their dusty faces in creeks muddied by the hooves of thirsty horses could soak their aching bones in a Turkish bath, afterward enjoying a good cigar and a jigger or two of whiskey in one of the Oriental's several bars and dining rooms. But their greatest pleasure came in remembering their days as Rangers.

"Comrades, ladies and gentlemen," Booth began, looking toward the official greeter, "in behalf of the Texas Rangers, present and absent, living and dead, I desire to thank you for the welcome accorded us on this occasion. Of the old Texas Rangers but few are left. Time has done for them what the frontier savages failed to do through many years of bloody strife."

Seeing a young man from the Morning News scribbling away in the audience, Booth realized he spoke for posterity. He wanted a later generation to better understand the Rangers and what they did for Texas. His fellow old-timers already knew.

"The old Texas Rangers were not marauders or ruffians," he continued. "They were civilized, and in many cases highly educated, pioneers who were engaged in carving out the magnificent state of which we are all so proud, wresting her princely domain from bloodthirsty savages. Many of them were graduates of the best universities, and in intellect and integrity ... not inferior to the best men left in the states from whence they came."

The Rangers of Booth's youth may not have been ruffians, but their enemies had known them as tenacious fighters. "They were always ready at any hour," Booth went on, "day or night, when warned by a courier to mount and ride to the place of rendezvous, in rain or shine, in the face of the blue norther, or under a blazing sun, and their motto was, 'No sleep until we catch the rascally redskins.'"

When Rangers took up a trail, he said, they armed themselves with "the best weapons the times afforded." For sustenance, they carried a bag of parched meal mixed with brown sugar and spice, strips of jerked meat, and a bottle-gourd of water tied on the horn of their saddle. Once they caught up with Indians, "there was no fighting at long range. Hostilities began whenever the white of the enemy's eye could be seen, and much of it was hand to hand."

Booth listed "a few of the historic names of old Texas Rangers," starting with his old lieutenant Ed Burleson Jr. All these years later, Booth lamented, only a few survived.

Then he said something that must have stuck in the craw of many of the former Rangers, not to mention those still in service to the state: "The necessity that gave birth to these heroic bands has disappeared with the men who composed them. The Texas Rangers of today have different duties to perform, which we believe can be more acceptably performed by the peace officers elected by the people."

Booth did allow that "along the upper Rio Grande a special police force may be required to protect the frontier against Mexican outlaws, but not elsewhere in the state."

No matter what seemed heresy to many, the members of the three-year-old association — an organization first envisioned by the late Ranger captain John Salmon "Rip" Ford — went on to reelect Booth as their leader, accept their historian's resignation, rename themselves the Texas Rangers' Battalion, and set Fort Worth as their next meeting place. Booth adjourned the proceedings and the old Rangers dispersed to mingle in the Oriental's lobbies for the rest of the morning, telling stories of "their adventure during their services on the border." That afternoon, they took the streetcars to the State Fair grounds, "saw the sights and attended the races."


"'Rangers' Have No Authority ..."

At the beginning of the twentieth century, many other Texans also questioned a continuing need for the Rangers. Even the force's legal standing had come under attack.

The Rangers' latest problem centered on one of their own — A. L. (Lou) Saxon, a private in Captain William J. McDonald's company. After arresting some fence cutters during a stockman-farmer feud in Hall County the year before, Saxon had been charged with false imprisonment. Further, local citizens petitioned Governor Joseph D. Sayers to withdraw the Rangers from their county, which he did.

Company B moved from the Panhandle to a trouble spot at Athens in East Texas and then on to Orange, a rough lumber town on the Sabine River in the southeast corner of the state. Local officials, unable to cope with a wave of violence fostered by an ugly combination of partisan politics, labor issues, and racism, had petitioned the state for Rangers. In September 1899, the company made twenty-one arrests in Orange and would have effected one more if an offender had not pulled a knife on Private T. L. Fuller. In self-defense the Ranger shot and killed Oscar Poole, son of the Orange County judge. Fuller faced no charge in connection with the clearly justified homicide, but a grand jury indicted him along with Ranger Saxon for false imprisonment. Saxon had been accused of using the barrel of his six-shooter on the heads of two drunks he took into custody. A local prosecutor based his case on his interpretation that the 1874 statute creating the Frontier Battalion, with which Fuller and Saxon served, only gave officers the power of arrest. Because Fuller and Saxon ranked as privates, the prosecutor contended that the arrests made by the Rangers had been illegal. McDonald and his Rangers moved on to their next assignment, the misdemeanor cases against two of his men languishing on the docket in Orange. But state officials found the argument that Ranger privates could not make lawful arrests troubling.

Responding to a request for a formal opinion on the matter, Attorney General Thomas S. Smith ruled on May 26, 1900, that only the battalion's commissioned officers had full police powers: "Non-commissioned officers and privates ... referred to as 'Rangers' have no authority ... to execute criminal process or make arrests." At the time, the battalion consisted of four companies. Suddenly, only four men — the company captains — had the power to make arrests or serve court papers.

Quickly reacting to the attorney general's letter-of-the-law-versus-spirit-of-the-law opinion, which in effect put the Rangers out of action, Adjutant General Thomas Scurry on June 1 reorganized the Rangers into six companies. Four companies would be made up of a captain, a first lieutenant, a second lieutenant, and three privates. The other two companies would consist of one first lieutenant, one second lieutenant, and two privates. Each company would have to honorably discharge one private. Arrests had to be made by a commissioned officer, but privates could assist.

In addition, Scurry issued honorable discharges to all special Rangers, ordering them to return their warrants of authority to his office. "The governor is much pleased with the efficient service heretofore rendered by the special rangers, and regrets the necessity of this order," he said. Within a month, Texas had a hundred fewer men it could call on for law enforcement assistance.

In an attempt to further improve the force's image, Scurry also stressed the importance of good conduct on the part of Rangers:

Company commanders will instruct their men to keep within the bounds of discretion and the law under all circumstances, and should there be any men now in the service who make unreasonable display of authority or use abusive language to or unnecessarily harsh treatment of those with whom they come in contact in the line of duty, or who are not courageous, discreet, honest or of temperate habits, they will be promptly discharged.


Next, with a stroke of Scurry's pen, six privates appeared on the muster rolls as first lieutenants, with five men upgraded to second lieutenants. The promotions came with one catch: The first lieutenants had to sign an agreement that they were willing to be paid the same as sergeants, $50 a month, and the second lieutenants had to settle for $30 a month, the pay they had drawn as privates. One of the men honored with a new title but no raise was Second Lieutenant (nee Private) Fuller.

Annoying as the Rangers found the circumstances behind the reorganization, the Adjutant General's Department and the rest of the state's government soon faced a much greater problem. On September 8, a powerful hurricane swept over Galveston, the state's largest city. The resulting tidal surge claimed as many as eight thousand lives, the worst natural disaster in the nation's history. Scurry sent most of the state's militia to the devastated island city, but with the Rangers so thinly stretched he assigned only two men to prevent looting.

Captain McDonald, Lieutenant Fuller, and Private Saxon returned to Orange on October 15 for Fuller's trial on the false imprisonment charge. McDonald had argued against going back to Orange, and his concern proved well founded. About 5:30 that afternoon, Saxon sat in a chair at Adams' Barbershop, getting a shave. Fuller stood in the center of the room, washing his face in a basin. As the barber glided his straight razor over Saxon's lathered face, someone appeared at the door of the shop, raised a Winchester rifle, and pulled the trigger. The bullet hit Fuller in the temple and he fell to the floor, his legs kicking involuntarily only a few seconds before he lay still in a spreading pool of blood. Still holding the rifle, the shooter ran to a butcher's shop next door. When local officers arrived a short time later, they arrested Tom Poole, the brother of the man Fuller had killed the year before.

Fuller, with prior experience as a deputy sheriff, had enlisted in the Rangers "with the hope of saving sufficient money to finish his education in the University of Texas, having at that time just completed his freshman year. He was a young man of temperate habits, quiet in his manner and a fearless ranger." Despite a number of witnesses, Poole avoided conviction in the slaying of the Ranger. As Albert Bigelow Paine later explained in his biography of McDonald, "The assassin was made chief deputy sheriff, as a reward, and in due time was himself killed by the city marshal, who, in turn, was killed by the dead man's family."

In the South Texas town of Cotulla on October 24, another of Scurry's new lieutenants, Company E's Will L. Wright, tried to arrest James R. Davenport — an outlaw who had spent five years in prison on a murder conviction — for being drunk and firing a pistol in town. Davenport had been arrested for the same thing several times previously, but this time he resisted, drawing his pistol and shooting at the mild-mannered, bespectacled Ranger. The slug passed harmlessly through Wright's coat. The drunk outlaw did not get a second shot, crumpling to the ground with a .45 round in his chest. A little fire burned on his vest, sparked by the muzzle blast of Wright's six-shooter. This was not the first time Davenport had been shot by a Ranger — he had been wounded when arrested for murder in the 1880s in the Big Bend — but it would be the last time.

Though Lieutenant Wright's attempted arrest of Davenport had been perfectly legal, the law creating the Frontier Battalion clearly needed fixing. At the conclusion of his 1899–1900 report, the adjutant general recommended that the next session of the legislature amend the existing statute so that all Rangers would have clear authority to make arrests. Given that "a number of criminal suits have been brought against privates in the ranger force for false imprisonment," he also requested that lawmakers legalize all arrests made prior to the date of Attorney General Smith's opinion.


"An Oil Geyser"

As Austin hotel, eatery, and saloon owners looked forward to the convening of the twenty-seventh legislature in January 1901, a new era began on a clear, cold morning fourteen miles south of Beaumont, a city of nine thousand near the Texas-Louisiana border. At 10:30 a.m. on the tenth day of the new year the earth shook as a stream of black oil shot into the sky from a drilling rig at a place called Spindletop. It took workers nine days to cap the spewing well, its flow estimated at one hundred thousand barrels a day. "An Oil Geyser" the Beaumont Enterprise proclaimed the next morning in large print for the times, adding: "Lubricating Fluid Spurts over 100 Feet into the Air." As with many epochal events, no one yet realized the full significance of what had happened. The "lubricating fluid" blowing out of the well would drive automobiles, airplanes, and a new economy. A second industrial revolution had begun with Texas as the fuel supplier.

As California had discovered during the 1849 gold rush, the prospect of quick riches draws people intent on cashing in, one way or another. Some pursue their fortunes honestly, while others prefer to make their money through illegal means. Texas suddenly had a new law enforcement problem along with a new industry. "In the twinkling of an eye," one observer later wrote, "Beaumont, the slow-moving, sawmill town ... was converted into a seething, fighting, shouting mob of 15,000 money-mad adventurers." The chief of police, his department overwhelmed, advised citizens to walk in the middle of the streets after dark and "tote your guns ... in your hands, so everybody can see you're loaded."

While the upper Texas coast boomed on a discovery presaging the state's future, one of the issues facing lawmakers at the beginning of a new legislative session in Austin had to do with an institution rooted in the past, the Rangers.

"This body of men cannot be too highly commended for the manner in which they have discharged the many dangerous and delicate issues incident to their employment," Governor Sayers wrote in his January 10 message to the legislature. "Their services ... have been invaluable, and may be regarded as an absolute necessity to the State." He urged members to invest rank-and-file Rangers "with such powers of arrest and detention as are conferred upon the officers [in the Frontier Battalion]." The governor warned that failure to "provide properly for the continuance of this force would involve the assumption of a responsibility which no one at all acquainted with prevailing conditions should care to assume."

Four days later, Representative Ferguson Kyle of Hays County filed House Bill 52: "An Act to provide for the organization of a 'ranger force'...." The same day, January 14, Senator William Ward Turney of El Paso introduced a companion bill in the upper chamber. After considerable wrangling over whether Rangers should be required to post $1,000 bonds as a condition of service, the House approved by voice vote a new Ranger law minus the bonding provision on March 27, 1901. The Senate quickly passed the measure 23–3 and the governor signed the bill on March 29.

The public and the press had long since stopped referring to the Frontier Battalion by its official name. Texans knew the organization as Rangers or often State Rangers. The new act took effect July 9, 1901, and the Frontier Battalion formally became the Ranger Force. The force's slightly amended responsibility now included "suppressing lawlessness and crime throughout the state" as well as its more traditional role of "protecting the frontier against marauding and thieving parties." The law still included the word frontier, but for the first time since the early 1870s, the enabling legislation designated the state lawmen as Rangers. However, the language in the "Oath of Service" a new officer had to take before receiving his commission had not changed. It required, among the more traditional items, that Rangers "solemnly swear" that they had "not fought a duel with deadly weapons, nor ... acted as second in carrying a challenge, or aided, advised, or assisted any person thus offending."


(Continues...)

Excerpted from Time of the Rangers by Mike Cox. Copyright © 2009 Mike Cox. Excerpted by permission of Tom Doherty Associates.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Table of Contents

Contents

Preface,
1. "Heroes of Old" The Ranger Force, 1900–1910,
2. Los Rinches Revolution in Mexico, 1910–1915,
3. Los Sediciosos Troubles on the Border, 1915–1919,
4. Jose Canales Takes On the Rangers Reorganizing the Rangers, 1919,
5. "An Asset to Any Law Abiding Community" The 1920s,
6. Crime Outrides the Rangers Last Years Under the Adjutant General, 1930–1934,
7. "A Great Unstrapping of Six-shooter Belts ..." The Department of Public Safety, 1985–1989,
8. "The Name of the Texas Rangers Has Been Carried to the Battlefields of the World" The 1940s,
9. Garrison's Rangers The 1950s,
10. Feet of Clay The 1960s,
11. "Do the Needful" The 1970s,
12. "Ranger Speed" The 1980s.,
13. "Last Bastion of the Good-Old-Boy System ..." The 1990s,
14. Entering the Twenty-first Century,
Epilogue: Burying the War Club,
Notes,
Bibliography,
Index,

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Time of the Rangers: From 1900 to the Present 5 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 4 reviews.
DickStanley More than 1 year ago
The amazing thing about the Texas Rangers is that, after a hundred and eighty plus years, they continue to thrive, despite the pressures of political correctness, the addition of a few women to their ranks and recurring political attempts to change them. Indeed, at 134 strong, there are more of them now than at any time in the past hundred years. Some no longer ride or even like horses, but all still dress Western, with boots and big hats. They are, apparently, more independent than ever and certainly better-trained. And they have kept their legendary reputation for toughness and ingenuity while adding a now-rarely-disputed one for integrity. Independent historian Mike Cox's valuable new contribution to Texas history shows the evolution of all that in an entertaining sequel to his popular "Wearing The Cinco Peso," about the Rangers' nineteenth century origins. Their new role is more complicated, in keeping with the times. Cox tells it in the same episodic way as the previous book and shows how they are woven through modern Texas history: policing the border during the Mexican revolution; enforcing Prohibition and gambling laws; taming overnight oil-boom towns; and catching bank robbers and kidnappers. But they wisely drew the line at one politician's insistence that they enforce laws against fornication. They've even survived their own romantic portrayals, from the first dime novel in 1910 to television's silly kick-boxing version. But some legends are factual. The apocryphal "One Riot, One Ranger" has proven true as often as not. "There's an unwritten code in the Rangers," longtime leader Homer Garrison said. "You don't back out of situations..." Yet Cox shows they have sometimes failed, sometimes spectacularly, as in a 1970s attempt to free hostages during a prison takeover that became a bloody fiasco, and the tragic end to the 1990s Branch Davidian standoff in Waco, though the FBI had more to do with that. Nowadays all Rangers have some college and work as detectives more often than enforcers. As always they are spread thin, each having responsibility for "two to three" of the state's 254 counties and "some as many as six." Nevertheless, they can mass anywhere on short notice for "situations" requiring their skills and political independence. As the book ends in 2009, one case they're investigating is the possibility that the 2008 burning of the 1856 governor's mansion in downtown Austin may have been retaliation--for the Ranger-led raid a few months earlier on the Yearning For Zion ranch where polygamy with girls as young as twelve was practiced. Driving by the grand old home's gutted shell, a Texan has confidence that if anyone can track down the pitiless arsonist(s), it will be the Texas Rangers.
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