My history of West Terre Haute is now at the printer. It should go on sale to the public by September 20th. Paperback version will retail for $20.99.
However I will receive author’s copies about two weeks prior to the official publication date, I would like offer all you readers of the blog a special discount for pre-ordering the book:
To those who wish to pre-order I will offer you a discounted price of $17.00, plus $2.60 to cover postage. In addition, I will inscribe and personally sign each copy you order. So, if you wish to pre-order:
- Make checks made payable to :Tim Crumrin/Historiker Group for $19.60
- Mailing Address is 4603 Springfield Drive, Terre Haute, IN 47803
- Please include note telling me to whom or how you would like book to be inscribed.
I am currently in the final edit phase of the book. If all goes well the book, Til the Coal Train Hauled it Away: A Memoir of the Rise and Decline of a Small Town, will be published around the first of October. When I have a more definite publication date I will offer the blog readers a special pre-publication offer. Blog followers can receive a special discounted price for pre-orders if you order through me. I will personally inscribe and sign each books. I will send out a notice at that time.
April 21, 2017
Former West Terre Haute Resident Publishes New Book
To Be released May 10, 2017
Terre Haute, IN, April 21, 2017– Award-winning historian Tim Crumrin’s new book, A Sky Held Captive, will be published May 10, 2017. As the cover notes: “A Sky Held Captive is a collection of poetry and short fiction by an award-winning historian and author who has published over forty scholarly and general interest history works. He notes that “Sometimes stories lodge in the netherworld of the historian’s mind, waiting to emerge in a different form.” The stories included here range from an US soldier’s harrowing encounter with the Holocaust to the musings of a Death Row inmate, and a novella about a man whose life defines loneliness.”
Written under his pen name, Timothy Chrisman, three of the short stories feature characters from, or are set in, West Terre Haute
Mr. Crumrin was raised in West Terre Haute. He served 25 years as Historian and Director at Conner Prairie Museum, before retiring in 2014 to head the Historiker Consulting Group. He received the Lifetime Achievement Award for History from the Indiana Historical Society in 2014. Another of his books, a study of the rise and decline of West Terre Haute Til the Coal Train Hauled It Away, will be published in October 2017.
A Sky Held Captive will be available through Amazon, the publisher and other book outlets beginning May 25th. However, personally inscribed copies of the book may be obtained immediately by contacting the author at firstname.lastname@example.org. The cost of $15.00 includes tax and shipping.
# # #
Many have asked when my book on the history of West Terre Haute, Til the Coal Train Hauled It Away: The Rise and Demise of a Small Town, will be published. I am very happy to announce that if all goes according to plan the book will be published in October, 2017.
In the meantime I want to share news of another publication. A collection of my short fiction, A Sky Held Captive, will be published on May 10. Included in it are three stories either set in, or featuring characters from, West Terre Haute.
It will be available on Amazon and other book outlets after May 15, but if you wish to purchase an advanced personally inscribed, autographed copy, please contact me via the blog site or my email address (email@example.com) and I will tell you how to order a copy.
Thank you all for your continued interest.
No one knows exactly how Cozzie Jones managed his escape from the Indiana State Prison in 1960. A retired guard said according to prison lore an assistant warden, who became close to Jones, had aided his escape. It seemed odd that a man who had spent almost half his twenty years in solitary for various infractions was allowed to work on the prison honor farm. What is known that Jones managed to slip away and acquire clothes, cash and a car, and flee the state.
Jones headed west, stopping long enough to murder a hitchhiker in Missouri, settling in Arizona.
Settling isn’t really the correct word. He slid from place to place, the right move for an escapee. He was known to have lived in Casa Grande, Tucson, Florence and Phoenix. He adopted the name Steve Palmer for his new life. Jones was an accomplished pianist and lived the life of an itinerant musician, playing in bands and working as a solo act. The owner of the Quick Draw Club in Casa Grande acknowledged Jones’ skill but said he was a strange character. Along the way he picked up a woman he sometimes introduced as his wife.
One think did not leave behind was a most horrendous trait. Cozzie Merrill Jones was a pedophile.
He was a small man with “hard dark eyes and a smirk when he spoke,” but he could also be charming. He appears to have been adept at what is now called grooming his potential victims. Several women still recall with a shudder their encounters with him six decades ago.
Laura Dey’s father was a band leader who hired “Steve Palmer” through the musicians union. She remembered he played beautifully, but would sometimes disappear for days. Once he returned looking worse for wear and with his car re-painted. Even as a sever year-old she did not like him.
Marie Johns came very close to becoming a victim. Her family lived near Jones and his “wife,” who just disappeared one day never to be heard from again. Jones would take her places when she was six. He even stayed close to her after they moved away from the neighborhood. He would appear at their new house and ask to take young Marie with him. He followed her home from schools one day The last time she saw him was the day he knocked on the door and wanted to take her to visit Colossal Cave. Her father, leery of Jones, refused the invitation. Later that night they learned Jones had been arrested.
Jones was living in Tucson when he met Lucinda Hutcherson and her mother met Jones and his “wife” in a local drugstore. Jones later invited them to his home, where he seemed much more interested in 13 year-old Lucinda than her single mother. Jones was constantly asking Lucinda to come hear him play the piano. Her mother was wary of “Steve Palmer” and did not allow him alone with her daughter. He persisted by visiting their home. When he did Lucinda and her mother turned out the lights and pretended not to be at home. She remembers him peeking over a concrete wall when she was having a slumber party with her friends. She also saw him peeking through her bedroom window on several occasions.
Time finally ran out on the escapee in December 1962. Two men saw Cozzie trying to pull a young girl into his car near Florence, Arizona. They intervened and Jones sped away. In a chase that sometimes reached 90 MPH they cornered him at a dead end. He jumped out the car and fired shots from a pistol at them. A 62 year-old retired rancher Carl Quast happened to be cleaning his hunting rifle in his carport when Jones ran up and pointed a gun in his face. He forced Quast to be his getaway driver. After Quast drove him out of harm’s way, Cozzie murdered him, leaving his body in the desert.
The Pinal County, Arizona Sheriff’s Department tracked Cozzie down and arrested him for the Quast murder on December 8th. They learned that “Donald Steve Palmer” was wanted by the Tucson police for making “improper advances” toward an 11 year-old girl there. Armed with this information they interrogated Jones for hours.
Jones quickly confessed to Quast’s murder. The police were suspicious that he was also involved in the murder of an 8 year-old Tucson girl the year before. He was given a lie detector test that proved inconclusive. The technician giving the test told police that Cozzie was “a man who knows a great deal about lie detectors and human reactions produce certain reactions. Jones also continually moved his arm to throw off the machine. The detectives also suspected he was the killer of a young couple in the desert earlier in the year.
A few days later Jones finally admitted he killed young Marguerita Bejarano. He stated “woke up with an uncontrollable desire to see and talk to a young girl. He drove by the Tucson Sports Center and “saw a little girl walking by herself.” He pulled over and offered her a ride to school. Marguerita began to cry when she noticed they had driven past her school without dropping her off.. He drove several miles and then stopped to “comfort” her. He asked her if she would tell on him to anyone if he let her go. The terrified girl’s fate was sealed when she said she would tell “her mother, police and her teacher” on him.
When she told him she was thirsty he pulled over and let her out to drink from a brook. Instead Marguerita began to run away. Jones pulled out the pistol he always kept with him and shot her in the head. He pulled her body into the bushes under a bridge near a stream. The scene was eerily reminiscent of Jones leaving young Edith Barton’s body in Sugar Creek twenty-one years before. As he was leaving he heard Marguerita moan. He turned back and shot her again, to “put her out of her misery.”
In a ghastly postscript Jones told the police he had later attended the young girl’s funeral.
When asked why he did such things Cozzie seemed to paint himself as the victim of uncontrollable circumstances. After all he was a man who loved children:
“I had no intention of hurting her. I’ve taken kids on picnics, bought them ice cream and things like that. I just like kids, that’s all. Oh there isn’t anything I can say. I couldn’t help it. I would have these impulses come over me. I would be shaving and then would have to go out and find one.”
He estimated he had been with over 100 kids since coming to Arizona.
At his trial he said “I just want to die and get it over with,” implying they should just send him to the gas chamber.
His wish was granted on January 22, 1963 when he was given the death sentence. He was sent to the Arizona State Prison‘s Death row in Florence to await his meeting with the gas chamber. There he joined 14 other killers awaiting their own fate.
Cozzie’s execution was set for April. They didn’t fool around with that sort of thing in the Arizona of the early ‘sixties. But just days before his execution date he was given the first of what would be several stays, so his lawyers could appeal the decision. After the appeal was denied a new date was set for January 1964.
All this came as a rising sentiment to abolish the death penalty came to his rescue. In December groups gathered outside the prison to protest again capital punishment. A local minister who was spearheading the movement said that Cozzie Jones was a “victim” of a human life taken “in the name of society.” The story shared the same page as the kidnapping of Frank Sinatra Jr.
Jones received another stay. This time until November 1964. This time it looked like he would take his seat in the gas chamber. Instead of a last meal he ordered a last feast to be served three days before the execution. He asked for barbecued spare ribs, fried chicken breasts, baked macaroni and cheese, French fries with catsup, cottage cheese, creamery butter and raisin toast, creamed slaw, sweet pickles and cherry pie a la mode.
This time sentence was stayed because of a new appeal saying Cozzie was not given a lawyer for over a week (This was two years before the Miranda Ruling) and was denied changing his initial plea to not guilty. The case dragged on for nearly a year before it was found he was denied due process.
In April 1966 Jones was removed from Death Row and sent back to Pinal County Jail. The court ruled he had indeed been denied due process because he was not allowed to change his plea. In essence, the ruling stated he had to either be set free or re-arraigned on the charges. All of a sudden there was a fear that Jones would soon be back on the streets menacing children, It was decided to retry him.
Interestingly, Jones was never charged with Marguerita Bejarano’s death, even though they had found her blood stains in his car and ballistic evidence tied his gun to the killing. But a potential case charging him with the girl’s death was weakened when it was discovered that the Tucson Police had lost the murder gun. They tried to substitute another gun in its place, but were caught in their scam.
So, in January 1967 a new member joined Cozzie’s defense team. Controversial lawyer William Morgan, known for getting men off Death Row because their rights had been violated, took over the case. The huskily built Morgan was a crusader for his clients. He hired a psychiatrist and private detective to aid in the case.
A few months earlier two court appointed psychiatrists had ruled that Jones was a “hopeless paranoiac.” Interestingly, one of them had ruled Cozzie was sane and fit to face trial after his arrest. The new shrink agreed that Jones was “hopelessly insane” and should be put in a mental hospital instead of a prison cell. There had always been a furious debate in Arizona newspapers about Cozzie, but this latest news led to angry letters to editors and editorials. Many took up pens filled with outrage over the “animalistic” Jones getting off easy.
It looked like the case might drag on for many more years. Finally, in 1967, Cozzie agreed to plead guilty to both murders in exchange for a life sentence in the prison hospital in Florence. He died in the Maricopa Hospital on August 17, 1973 when an aorta ruptured as he was undergoing surgery for prostate cancer.
His death did not come soon enough for an editor of The Tucson Daily News. The editor avowed that Cozzie Jones was “a good, strong case in support of capital punishment.” Jones should have died in the gas chamber ten years earlier, not in a hospital. The writer had visited Jones on Death Row in 1964. During the interview Jones talked casually about murdering the hitchhiker and Carl Quast. He even bragged about “killing an Indian” outside a Tucson bar, a crime for which he was not charged. As for Jones’ mental condition, that was a con. He played games with people, like poking pins in a voodoo doll that was supposed to represent the local sheriff.
Deputy Sheriff Charles Barber dealt with Cozzie Jones for over a year. He never forgot the killer’s hard, dark eyes and noted he was a “con man.”
Cozzie Merrill Jones did not receive any mail or visitors during his final years. He was always afraid to go into the prison yard because he knew what other prisoners thought of child molesters. All it would take was for a guard to look in the other direction and fellow inmates would take pleasure in killing him. Instead he died on an operating table.
No one came forward to claim his body.
Much too often, particularly in times of national unease or war, mere suspicion will trump common sense and fact. In such time freedom no longer rings, but xenophobia and jingoism will sound loudly throughout the land. To be “other” is sufficient to have many hands raised against you. This was amply illustrated in incidents that took place in West Terre Haute in 1918.
Many in Sugar Creek took closely to heart a warning issued by President Woodrow Wilson three years earlier. “Hyphenated Americans,” he declared, were not real Americans. “They inject the poison of disloyalty into the very arteries of our national life.” Some in West Terre Haute thought that disease was spreading and the carrier was one Joseph Berger, an Austrian-American living in West Terre Haute.
In the early morning of July 11th two workmen at the Deep Vein coal mine north of town, M.C. Allen and Kenneth Marley, brought a struggling man pinned between them into the Terre Haute police station. They told the police they had found him hiding under a coal crib at the mine. Clutched in his hands were 8 sticks of dynamite. They figured the foreigner was about to sabotage the mine. It was enough dynamite to destroy the mine completely. His name was Joseph Berger.
The police department’s best detective, Frank Fedderson, was called in to interrogate the prisoner. As he sat down in Berger’s cell the “terrorist” told him a much different story. It was all a lie he said. He was being framed. Berger said he was walking down the street in West Terre Haute minding his own business when two men drove up, grabbed him and shoved him into their car. He did not know them. They drove aimlessly around the area for a while and then they took him to the mine. They shoved him to the ground and placed dynamite sticks around his body. Berger said he was terrified as he thought they intended to blow him up.
Then they pushed him back into the car and drove across the bridge to Terre Haute. And now he was sitting in jail for no reason. It was all because he was a foreigner he said. Berger told Fedderson he was Austrian-born and had emigrated to the United States in 1912. He was a peaceable man. He worked in various coal mines around Vigo County until a mine accident left him with injuries. No longer able to work in the mines he became a laborer in several brickyards.
During his subsequent investigation Fedderson discovered Berger had been involved in an earlier “plot” in March 1918. Then West Terre Haute Town Marshall C.W.Frost had arrested him for allegedly trying to sprinkle “poison” on the fruit and vegetable bins in several West Terre Haute groceries. The “poison” found on Berger was sent to Indianapolis for testing. It was determined that it was powdered magnesia, one of which uses was as a laxative. It would not have killed anyone, but would send those who consumed it running for their outhouses.
With the poisoning charge no longer an option, Berger was found guilty of petty theft and sentenced to 60 days at a state penal farm. He had only been free about 6 weeks when he was re-arrested. The Terre Haute police turned the Berger case over to the feds. Berger was taken to the Marion County Jail on July 15th. Under questioning by federal prosecutors, Berger changed his story, saying he had been sleeping under the corn crib when Allen and Marley found him. But he did not have dynamite and did not plan to destroy the mine.
In August Berger was found guilty and sentenced to an internment camp for enemy aliens.
The Berger case was the biggest example of the rampant xenophobia of the time, but not the only one in the area. Two days after the US entered WWl a Russian immigrant named William Polonius was falsely accused of demeaning the flag. His fellow miners at the Speedwell Mine refused to work with him and about to mob Polonius when cooler heads prevailed. The mine general manager had to intervene after Polonius told him that he had served three years in the Russian Army (Russia was on the Allied side) and loved America. Tempers did not completely cool down until the next day, after Polonius’ neighbor in West Terre Haute came to his defense and said the Russian had always displayed the American flag on his porch.
This was an era when anything “German” was suspect. Sauerkraut became “liberty cabbage” and East Germantown, Indiana sought to change its name to Pershing, after the American general. West Terre Haute High School (Valley) had earlier ordered perhaps its finest teacher, Miss Piepenbrink to stop conducting the German language class at the school. This was especially disappointing to my grandmother, who loved Miss Piepenbrink and her class. She still rued the cancellation decades later. Across the river one of the few PhDs at Indiana State Normal School, and one of its finest scholars was fired for untrue charges that he supported Germany. (The professor, John J. Schliecher, and his case became the subject of my first major scholarly article published in 1990).
Was Berger a terrorist in the modern sense. Quite likely not. Did he really intend to destroy the mine, or was he a victim of over-eager patriot?. There are no definitive abswers to that question. What happened to Joseph Berger after the war is uncertain. It seems likely he was deported during the first major example of communist witch hunts begun by Attorney General Mitchell Palmer in 1919. (The movie No God. No Master starring David Strathairn is an excellent depiction of the Palmer era.}
The people of West Terre Haute could almost taste and smell the coming spring during late March 1913. There had been warmer days. 60 degrees on Thursday. It would not be long now.
Looking out the back window of her house on National Avenue, Lulu Hants was heartened by the thought that the pear trees would be budding out before she knew it. Eleven year-old Hildy, always her little helper, peeled potatoes, while the other girls scurried around the house. Easter was just two days away and she had been getting the girls Sunday dresses ready. She looked forward to the short walk to the Congregational Church for the Easter Service, hoping for nice weather.
It was raining when she rose at 5:00 on March 23rd, Easter Sunday morning. It had rained throughout Rev. Rogers’ service. Outside activities were cancelled. She, husband Will and their five girls walked home through the steady rainfall. In early afternoon the rain finally stopped. Temperatures rose all afternoon and by evening it was over 70 degrees. The heavy air seemed shroud the house. Will sat reading the Sunday paper. Many of Terre Haute’s clothing stores were toting their spring sales. Burlesque houses were offering fare like the Millard Brothers Burlesque of Bicycle Phiends in a Cyclone of Funny Stunts and Rosers Aerial Dogs. The American Theater was showing a three-reeler called Fools of Society.
Will folded the paper and peered through the windows. He told Lulu to tuck the girls in tight. Weather like this always brought on terrible storms.
By 9:00 the whole family was sleeping fitfully as thundered road above them and lightning etched sharp shadows across the rooms. As they tried to rest they were unaware that a horrible force of nature was birthing along the Wabash south of town. Rain was falling at a rate of an inch an hour. Around 9:45 a funnel cloud crossed from the west bank of the Wabash to the east, heading for the southern part of Terre Haute.
The tornado rampaged for two and a half minutes. Its swathe of destruction ranged from 200 to 500 yards wide. Later, when all the counting had been done, 300 homes were obliterated or damaged. 250 people were injured, another 21 would be buried.
Next morning the news of the catastrophe spread through West Terre Haute. Will Hants ventured along National Avenue to the Rogerson Funeral Parlor where he sometimes worked. Men gathered there and shared stories and rumor. One Terre Haute woman reported that the storm had de-feathered her chickens. Another told how her bed clothes had been sucked up her chimney and out into the storm. Toothpicks had been driven into a hardwood buffet as if they were hammer and nail.
“That could have been us” were the words on many lips all through West Terre Haute. Thank god we were spared. But their trials would soon be upon them.
It continued to rain throughout Monday. On Easter morning the Wabash water level stood at seven feet, about normal for that time of year. The rains just would not stop. By Monday evening it was at 19 feet, 3 feet above flood stage. Heavy rains upriver had swollen the Wabash at Terre Haute.
By Tuesday evening Taylorville across the river was under water. More than 300 people there slogged across the bridge to seek shelter in Terre Haute. The waters rolled west along the grade to West Terre Haute. A sister tide had inundated southern Sugar Creek Township. Toad Hop, only a mile west of the town, was soon underwater. Half of the fifty families there moved in with neighbors who lived on slightly higher ground
The waters rolled inexorably into West Terre Haute overnight and the next morning. It was clear that this was no ordinary flood. Will Hants
Tuesday afternoon saw a reverse flood of people to Terre Haute. More than a thousand people from Toad Hop and West Terre Haute crossed the flooded grade to seek shelter with relatives or friends. A call went out from West Terre Haute for anyone with a boat to come to the rescue. Taylorville had all but disappeared under a wet, murky brown blanket of water.
Will Hants had begun moving some furniture and belongings to the second floor of the house. The whole family pitched in and Lulu and Hildy tried to keep the younger girls calm. At first the rising water had seemed a bit of an adventure to the little ones, Mable, Jeanette and the twins Eva and Iva. But soon they sensed the rising fear of their parents.
Daybreak on Wednesday saw the entire town covered in water. Even Paris Avenue, which had seldom been touched by flooding, was under six inches or more of water. The two-storey Ruddell Furniture store opened its doors and allowed refugees a place to stay on the second floor.
Water soon drowned the clay plant and mine shafts, forcing closures. Over 2,500 men were without work. But that was secondary to the men who were now more concerned about protecting their families. The phone service finally succumbed to the flooding by Wednesday morning. The poles carrying its wire had actually been planted below the grade and the floodtide toppled the poles or broke the lines.
People who did not flee town found shelter wherever they felt safer. Some went to the Methodit Church, while many more flocked the larger and taller Congregational Church. As many as one hundred people or more sought their refuge where three days before the Hants family and others had celebrated Easter. Another thirty were housed at St. Leonard’s Catholic Church.
By Wednesday evening West Terre Haute was virtually an island cut off from the rest of its world. Boats were the only way in or out. All over town houses were pushed off their foundations by the tide and became unwieldy ships careening about in rough seas. Many watched in awe as the firehouse on Paris Avenue was lifted from its mooring and pushed three blocks south to National Avenue. Its new location could be seen from the Hants’ house.
Fears about immediate safety were replaced by concerns of food shortages and disease. Deadly outbreaks of Typhus in particular often followed the receding flood waters. Food could only be brought in by boat. A Terre Haute bakery had sent a wagonload of bread Tuesday but that was not enough. Among the areas most affected by the food shortage were north of town. Whitcomb Heights and Ferguson Hill were essentially cut off. Word went out that there was likely only enough food left there to last until Friday, and that was with everyone rationing and sharing what they had left in their pantries. The McIlroy family opened the doors to their grocery store to all, giving away what little was left on the shelves.
Further tragedy struck in Whitcomb Heights. The home of 17 year-old John Schwam was completely surrounded by floodwaters. He died of measles during the flood. The word was that the undertakers would not be able to reach there for days. They family was told to temporarily bury him on high ground as soon as possible. The undertakers wagon would come for him as soon as possible later.The opposite event occurred at the Congregational Church where the baby of Mr. and Mrs. William Kennedy was born during the flood.
There was not an inch of dry land in West Terre Haute by Thursday, but that afternoon the flood had crested and waters were beginning to slowly recede. There were some efforts to alleviate the flood. Some enterprising fellows, with the help of miners familiar with dynamiting attempted to create a large crater south of town on Cherry Grove road (in the area of the current Wabashniki Wetlands) to siphon off some of the floodwaters. It was akin to digging a mine shaft with a thimble, not much use, but it can still be seen as a pond on the site.
The worst was over by Friday. People began returning to their homes, or what was left of their homes, by Saturday. The Terre Haute Police department offered its patrol wagons, which had earlier carried refugees to Terre Haute, to carry people back across the bridge. People pitched in to help. A farmer named Winter Rogers slogged the five sodden miles from west of town to bring 25 bushels of turnips to the people of West Terre Haute. Other help was on its way. The Sugar Creek Trustee began raising relief funds. Thousands of Terre Hauteans responded, setting up a fund for those in Taylorville and West Terre Haute.
On Saturday morning a boat named the Eclipse, captained by an intrepid man named Joe Jeffers, finally made it to Ferguson Hill. He carried food, medicine and hope to the sodden, bedraggled folks living there.
The Sunday after Easter saw many trying to reclaim as much as their lives and homes from the flood as possible. Will Hants, like his neighbors the Scotts, Hankins and Brother south on Riggy Avenue, began shoveling the mud from his home. Lulu, Hildy and the little ones began cleaning and hanging clothes and linens to dry on the backyard clothesline.
In the aftermath of the flood some looting had been discovered. There are those always willing to take advantage of a situation for their own good. Some of them walked the streets of West Terre Haute with the neighbors who had been their victims.
The flooding left behind huge piles of debris of furniture, clothing and household goods. People went from pile to pile trying to salvage any of their belongings it could. What was left was “finders-keepers” to be claimed by the rivermen and others.
On Sunday the Hants returned to the Congregational Church (in which a family of six refugees would remain for another week or so) as they had gathered the Sunday before.
The Great Flood of 1913 was indeed a Hundred Year Flood in the Midwest and East. Over 650 people died in the flood.. It is estimated that over 300 million dollars in damage was left behind its torrents.
Photos below courtesy of the Vigo County Historical Society