My Life with Bonnie and Clyde (27 page)

Buck Barrow in a Perry, Iowa, hospital. “The night Buck died I awoke about two o’clock in the morning.” (From the Blanche Barrow scrapbooks, courtesy of Rhea Leen Linder)

The trip back to Missouri was one of the most miserable I had ever made. The next morning, July 26, I awoke in the Platte City jail. Everyone there was kind to me, although they wouldn’t give me any news about Buck.

The night Buck died I awoke about two o’clock in the morning.
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I thought I heard him calling me. It was a sign from Buck. I cried the rest of the night. I knew he must be dead. I tried to make myself believe it would be better for him if he did die now. He had nothing to live for anyway, only to face death all over again. I would have rather seen him dead than to have to spend the rest of his life in prison, or to get the death penalty, which I was sure he would get. Still, I was selfish enough to want him to live so I might have one more chance to see him.

The next morning, Sunday, I asked if he were dead, but no one would tell me. That afternoon, however, I was finally told he was dead and that his mother had been with him when he died.
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Had it not been for thoughts
of what might happen to my dear old father I am afraid I would have broken my promise to Buck and committed suicide. I wanted so much to die and be put out of my misery, but I knew that was the coward’s way out. I tried to get hold of myself and take my punishment like a man, with a smile and my chin up. So far I have managed to do that.

My father wanted to come to me but I knew he had no means to do so. Besides, I didn’t want him to see me in jail, and almost blind. So I wrote him and told him not to come, saying that I was all right. None of my so-called friends, or Buck’s people, offered to come to me or help me in anyway, even though they could have.

Several doctors examined my eye. None of them thought it could be saved, but the Platte City doctor did all he could for me. Nearly everyone tried to help me forget my grief and keep from crying. Sheriff Coffey and his wife were very kind to me. They acted like a father and mother to me. Under the circumstances, I couldn’t have asked for more kindness from my own people.

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Court

O
N THE MORNING OF
September 4, I appeared in court.
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I pled guilty to assault with the intent to kill Sheriff Holt Coffey during the gun battle of July 19th. I wasn’t guilty. I hadn’t fired a shot that night, but I pled guilty out of ignorance, and because I feared receiving more time if I went to trial. I had nothing with which to fight my case. I was among strangers and most of them were against me. I had no money and I didn’t want to testify against my dead husband. There was only my word that I was innocent,
which few jurymen would believe. So there wasn’t much left to do but plead guilty to a crime I didn’t commit.
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The women’s prison, Missouri State Penitentiary, Jefferson City. “I began serving my sentence on prison farm No. 1, for women.” (Photograph by Blanche Barrow, courtesy of Rhea Leen Linder)

I received a ten-year sentence in the Missouri penitentiary. I was told I would be eligible for a parole in two years. There was certainly no reason to believe I wouldn’t be paroled. I was sure I could keep my record as clean in prison as I had in the Platte City jail.
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Female defendants, the Barrow-Parker harboring trial, February 22, 1935. Blanche Barrow is third from the right. “I pled guilty simply because the charges were certainly true.” (Courtesy of the Texas/Dallas Archives Division, Dallas Public Library)

After receiving my sentence, I felt no different than before. Nothing seemed to matter anymore, except my desire to go free to my father; he had no one to support him. Other than that, I held no interest in life.

That night, at eleven o’clock, I was booked into the Missouri State Prison as convict number 43454. I began serving my sentence on prison farm No. 1, for women.

On September 9, Doctor S. P. Howard, the prison eye specialist, operated on my left eye, removing a large piece of glass from the pupil. I suffered with it until June 1934 when an exploratory operation revealed no more glass. X-rays confirmed this.
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Nevertheless, two-thirds of the time I have suffered with that eye. Of course, it’s not that I haven’t had medical care. I have had every care possible. Warden J. M. Sanders and the other prison officials have tried in every way to help me, especially in dealing with my past. All have been kind to me.
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Clyde and Bonnie were killed on May 23, 1934.
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I was glad they died together. That way neither one had to deal with the grief of losing the other—as I have. I think they should have been buried together. That was their last wish and the only one they asked be granted to them.
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I suppose that if Buck and I had died together, the story would have been the same. Our wish would not have been granted either.

On February 22, 1935, I stood trial with twenty-two [
sic
] other defendants on charges of harboring Clyde Barrow and Bonnie Parker.
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I pled guilty simply because the charges were certainly true—I had been with them, traveled with them, bought food and clothing for them. In the eyes of the law, I was guilty. I received a sentence of a year and a day, to be served along with my Missouri sentence. I am thankful for being allowed to serve my sentence that way. It was very fair.

Afterword

I
HOPE BY NOW
the reader understands how easily even the most innocent of persons can sometimes become trapped in a net of crime. I also hope young women and girls alike will learn from my story and avoid the pitfalls that can lead to a life of crime. It’s a game you can’t win. I am still in prison, forgotten by most all of my would-be friends, and Buck’s people too.
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My father is all I have to look forward to when my time here has ended. I mean to go to him and try to make up to him for the suffering I have caused him. He is without a home and needs me. After I went to prison, I could no longer pay his expenses. His people could no longer keep him either, mainly because his daughter was in prison and a disgrace to the family name. My one hope is that my freedom doesn’t come too late for me to be with him, to make his last days on Earth happy and free from worry about me. He has been faithful to me in every way he could.

Even though I failed once to turn someone away from the wrong road, I still believe an ex-convict can stay out of trouble and live an honest life, but only if they aren’t afraid of work, which I am not! And even though I am blind in one eye and may be handicapped if I can’t save it, I believe I can still live and work without having to turn to crime for money. In many cases, ex-convicts do return to crime, but I still think there are some who can, and will, walk the straight and narrow. I know it can be done and I want to prove it myself someday, if ever given the chance.
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The End. Fin.

Editor’s Conclusion

B
LANCHE
B
ARROW WAS HELD
in the Platte County jail in Platte City, Missouri, to await a preliminary hearing scheduled for August 5, on a charge of assault with intent to kill Sheriff Holt Coffey. Apparently at some point during her time in Platte City, Blanche’s first husband, John Callaway, wrote a letter to Sheriff Coffey. The content of the letter is not entirely known but Blanche was incensed by it, writing to her mother that she wanted him to stay out of her life.
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Earlier, Blanche Barrow was visited by someone she had never known but grew to instantly despise, J. Edgar Hoover. The director of the U. S. Department of Justice Bureau of Criminal Investigation, later renamed the Federal Bureau of Investigation, made a special trip west to personally interrogate the wife of Buck Barrow. She had already developed a reputation for vacillating between docile uncommunicativeness and serious rants, none of which helped authorities determine the whereabouts of Bonnie and Clyde or the identity of the third man in the gang. Hoover quickly grew irritated with his bandaged, stubborn subject, threatening to gouge out her uninjured eye if she did not cooperate. She said nothing and the director left without making good his threat.
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To other officials, however, Blanche Barrow occasionally blurted out misleading information, including at least one bogus name for the fabled third man. The result was the arrest a few days later of Hubert Bleigh in Oklahoma. It is not known whether Blanche Barrow actually named Bleigh,
who also used the alias Herbert Blythe and had a criminal record, or whether investigators merely jumped to some conclusion regarding her statement. Some have suggested Blanche Barrow mentioned a name that sounded like “Blythe.” Others think, perhaps correctly, that Bleigh or Blythe was someone Blanche may have heard about or even met briefly while she was on the run with Bonnie and Clyde. She may have simply blurted out his name to win a few moments’ peace during her interrogation. Unfortunately, Blanche does not mention the incident in her memoir and the subject never came up during any of her conversations with the editor.
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Regardless, Bleigh was able to convince the authorities that he was not part of the Barrow gang. However, he could not convince them of his innocence regarding a burglary in Oklahoma.

Appearing in court for her hearing, Blanche Barrow was described as “refined of speech and manner.” She waived her right to both a lawyer and a hearing. Bail was set at $15,000.
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In addition to the Platte County charges, she was also being considered for charges in Joplin stemming from the murders of Wes Harryman and Harry McGinnis. Platte County prosecuting attorney David R. Clevenger had to decide which jurisdiction had the best case. Clevenger decided on his own, Platte County, because so many witnesses could readily identify Blanche Barrow and still others were ready to testify that all members of the Barrow gang, including Blanche, were shooting on the night of July 19, 1933. Clevenger also wanted to hold Blanche until it could be determined whether or not Clarence Coffey, the sheriff’s son, would recover from his wounds. Reportedly struck at least twice during the gunfight, young Coffey suffered one wound that was for a time considered life-threatening. When Coffey began to improve, a trial date was set for the initial charge.
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On September 4, Blanche Barrow appeared before Judge R. B. Bridgeman without a lawyer and entered a plea of guilty. She was asked if she wanted legal representation. “No,” she answered. She was then asked if there was any reason why sentence should not be passed. “No,” she answered.
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Blanche Barrow was then assessed a ten-year sentence in the Missouri State Penitentiary. It was suggested, perhaps correctly, that the fact she had waived the cost of extradition proceedings from Iowa, as well as the cost of both a preliminary hearing and a trial, weighed in her favor. She would be eligible for parole in 1935. If parole was denied, she would still serve only five years and ten months with good behavior. And there was nothing in Blanche Barrow’s manner that suggested she would be anything other than a quiet
prisoner. On the very day of her sentencing, Blanche Barrow was transported to the Missouri State Penitentiary in Jefferson City by Sheriff Coffey. There she was received as prisoner #43454.
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