Arkansas Knights

By Bill Kinkade

Arkansas Knights is the story of some of the characters that influenced the state during the 1930's and 40's. These were the people who built the power groups and attitudes that gave us Governor Faubus, on the school house steps; Bill Clinton, Governor and President of The United States in later years. The book is fiction and any similarities between the characters and actual individuals is coincidental.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 15, 2011
• ISBN: 9781463429140

Bill Kinkade

Bill Kinkade is retired and lives with his wife, Sherri Adams, on Green Moutain, North of Vancouver, Washington. Raised on a cotton farm in the Bootheel of SE Missouri and attending The University of Missouri at Columbia, he spent his adult life involved in an unpredictable series of jobs and business ventures in Kansas City, Chicago, and Portland, Oregon. Along his journey, he was involved in a number of notable political campaigns for members of congress, two presidential campaigns, and a citizens political take over of a suburb of Chicago. Today he is retired from the real estate business. He and Sherri have five children, thirteen grand children, and eight great grandchildren. “It’s a good life—Just live it”!

Book preview

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Death in a Coal Mine Town

Chapter 2

A Search Begins

Chapter 3

Pushing on West

Chapter 4

New Territory

Chapter 5

Another Journey Begins!

Chapter 6

Discovery

Chapter 7

Opportunity

Chapter 8

A Piece of the Action

Chapter 9

Camp Chaffee

Chapter 10

Building the Business

Chapter 11

The Law and the Army

Chapter 12

Merry Christmas

Chapter 13

Riding the Rails—Cape Girardeau, Missouri

and Railroad Yards

Chapter 14

The End of the Free Rides

Chapter 15

Building

Chapter 16

New Beginnings

Chapter 17

The War in Europe

Chapter 18

Making Friends in Hot Springs

Chapter 19

The Beginnings of a Casino

Chapter 20

The Show Goes On

Chapter 21

A New Project

Chapter 22

Back to the Springs

Chapter 23

Closing the Sale

Chapter 24

Duty Calls

Chapter 25

New Alliances—Cotton, Chickens, Dirt and Politics

Chapter 26

Building Carsonville

Chapter 27

Delegating More Authority

Chapter 28

Slots—Cards and Clean Living

Chapter 29

Guidelines for the Ministry

Chapter 30

From the Foxholes to the Chicken Coops

Chapter 31

A White Knight for Arkansas

Chapter 32

Sexual Harassment?

Chapter 33

A Killing at the Saloon

Chapter 34

Alibis

Chapter 35

Sex and Power Politics

Chapter 36

Connections For Power

Chapter 37

New Alliances

Chapter 38

Go Where You are Commanded

Chapter 39

Mystery Death on the Farm

Chapter 40

A Death in Kansas City

Chapter 41

New activities in Arkansas

Chapter 42

New Name for Blake’s Place

Chapter 43

The Mystery Continues

Chapter 44

Good vs. Bad

Chapter 45

Getting Ready for Grand Opening Number Two

Chapter 46

Elections, Gambling, and Politics

Chapter 47

Carsonville, a Reality

Chapter 48

Ambition realized

Chapter 49

A Prayer for the Future

Chapter 50

The Unraveling Begins

Chapter 51

The Manhunt

Chapter 52

Alarm Bells Ring

Chapter 53

Politics—The Problem—The Solution

Chapter 54

The Dead Will Speak—The Living Will Confirm

Chapter 55

New Alliances for Justice

Chapter 56

Alliances for Justice

Chapter 57

State Inquiry Begins

Chapter 58

Interstate Law Enforcement

Chapter 59

Pressure Builds

Chapter 60

Savagery Revealed

Chapter 61

Judgment Day

Chapter 62

All That Was Gained—is Lost

Chapter 63

Another Chance to get it Right

Chapter 1

Death in a Coal Mine Town

Orville Carson took his father’s team, loaded the wagon with the few tools his father had left behind; a double-barreled shotgun, four pieces of furniture, and a small wooden box and headed west from the coal mine country of West Virginia. The very thought in his mind, that everything left over from two lives of over 45 years could fit in this old wagon, was a massive depressing weight pushing down on his shoulders; attempting to push him through the seat, the floor and through the wagon into the ground. This was the same hard, cold, unforgiving land, that now held both his mother and his father.

The sickness had first become obvious about six years ago. His mother began coughing often; hard enough that he and his father began to take notice. He was aware before his father because he was home with her all day while his father worked in the mine. Before daylight, his father would walk from the little three-room shack to the mine office, register under his check number so the clerk would be sure to credit him for all the cars he would fill before dark.

The cough worsened over a year and the various home remedies didn’t seem to help. Finally, she just couldn’t get out of bed and on that awful day he held her hand and cried when she finally stopped coughing. That day, the old man came home before dark and started building the box. The next day, four women from other clapboard houses nearby stood by with the obligatory tears and said goodbye as the old man buried the box.

Rachel Carson had been a hard, tough woman of the frontier. She had never known any life that didn’t push back on her and try hard to drive her down, down, down. She had given birth to three children. The first two died shortly after birth and only the third, Orville, had survived and had now grown into early manhood.

Orville was 14; man enough for the coal mines, so far as the mining companies were concerned. As long as you were strong enough to fill the cars that went in to the mine shafts and come out alive every night, you were old enough.

Rachel’s life had been filled with struggle; she had to gather the food, fix the food, chop the wood, build the fire, and make and mend the homemade clothing. She was given to Ward Carson at the age of 14 to make room for the next brother or sister. Ward had a house and a job. He could take care of Rachel, and he was ready for a wife.

In all of her 31 years, Rachel Carson had learned enough to survive and birth a son. She had given Orville clothing, food, and taught him the skills she learned, but the one thing she had not given him, because it was never given to her,—love! She hadn’t received it therefore she couldn’t and did not give it.

The standard of living for Ward and Orville sort of went from bad to barely. Ward found refuge in moonshine whiskey and Orville found his in the mine. The work was hard but Orville attacked it with all his strength and energy. He became stronger through the work and soon he could do anything any man in the mine could do. It probably saved his life because soon the day came when Ward could not beat him anymore. Orville had become a man and Ward seemed to know, even when the drunken stupor clouded his judgment, that if he pushed the younger man too far he would kill him.

Neither could remember how or when it happened. One day they both seemed to just know—that a truce had been declared and if either one wanted to live, the truce would have to be observed.

The beatings that Orville had endured before the truce were seared into his thoughts. They were with him every day but he suffered them out of a resignation to the past being the past. The shack was a pitiful place to live, but it was a roof over his head and a fire in the stove and a bed at night.

The five years that had passed seem like an eternity but, finally, fate stepped in and freed him with the ugly, terrible event.

The day had an ominous feel to it although no one thought about it at the time. A bad, late winter, cold had finally worn Orville down and uncharacteristically he decided he just didn’t feel like going to the mine that day. Ward, on the other hand, felt as good as a hangover would let him feel, as he stumbled out of the shack and up the hill to the mine.

Ward was still rolled up in the musty blankets when he felt the tremor. It had been a long, cold, wet winter and there had been talk among the miners about the unstable ground they were digging into deeper and deeper. But, all the mining company cared about was if they showed up and how many carts of coal came out of the tunnels.

The miners were used to creaks and groans. After all—that’s what they were doing—weakening the mountains that they were digging into. So it became familiar to feel small tremors go through the ground you were standing on, or in this case sleeping on.

But this tremor was not small. It was as if the ground had violently moved. The shack creaked and popped as the joints were strained by the mighty force beneath the surface.

Dust spewed from between the cracks in the boards of the floor. It seemed the entire structure was caving into the earth and Orville would be buried, as surely as his mother. Orville leaped to his feet, pulled his pants on and ran outside just in time to see the puffs of black dusty air come out of the mine shaft entrance. People were running from all of the shacks toward the entrance: women and children and Orville. The deputy sheriff, who lived not far down the road, came speeding around the curve in the road. Mining company vehicles and more curiosity seekers came. The question on everybody’s lips was: how bad is it? Did anybody get out? Nobody knew how bad it was but everybody knew it wasn’t good.

It took a week to get all the answers together. There were two groups working in the mine when the quake occurred. One team had 20 men working in shaft #2, diligently loading the carts with coal. The second team had Ward and seven others who had gone into the new shaft to begin shoring it up and preparing it for the main workforce. It turned out shaft #2 was simply blocked off and required hours of frantic digging to get the trapped miners out. Shaft #3 was a total collapse.

It took two days to dig the 20 men out. They were all okay. They eventually found Ward and the other seven completely buried.

This time it was Orville’s turn to build the box and bury it in the ground. When it was finished, Orville made a decision: He was not going back in the mine.

He sat on the bench at the wooden table in the kitchen and thought long and hard about what had happened and what he wanted to happen. Then he remembered.

Chapter 2

A Search Begins

Orville went out back to the lean to and grabbed a hammer and a pry bar. Back inside, he went into Ward’s bedroom and located the floorboards that showed the dents made by the flat end of the bar. With very little effort, the boards came up and there—under the house, was a double barreled shotgun and a small wooden box.

Inside the box Orville found $120 worth of company script which could be used at the general store and a canvas bag with a slight bulge in it. Inside the bag was a wrinkled piece of yellow paper and in his crude handwriting Ward had written down the names of three known moonshiners in the area. Beside each name was a mark showing where to leave the orders and collect the money.

Orville had never suspected that Ward was running moonshine, but the canvas bag gave witness that he had been doing it for a while. There was over $1800 in crumpled bills of all denominations.

Orville and his mother had wondered where Ward went when he had disappeared with the team and wagon for two to three days at a time, but both of them knew better than to ask and stir Ward’s temper.

It took a few days to work it out, but eventually, four miners who were living in a tent nearby pooled their money, $150 each; bought the shack and the corral in back for $600. The next day Orville loaded all his worldly possessions, including the shotgun, and a nearly full box of shells he had found laying beside the money, into the back of the wagon. He hitched up the team, drove to the general store and spent the $120 in company script on supplies, stretched a piece of heavy canvas over the back, and headed southwest.

He had heard talk in the camp of the new mines that had been opened in Kentucky territory. A common practice for miners for easing the pain of where they were was to talk about the coal mines in Kentucky and how much better the companies there were to work for. Whether that would prove to be true or not, Orville had an irresistible urge to get away from what he had known and find something new.

He didn’t know for sure where Kentucky was, but it was as if he had a compass sitting on the buckboard beside him as he headed the team in a southwest direction. It was spring, 1935. The war to end all wars had been over for a few years. Now, the depression was taking its toll. The depression didn’t mean much to Orville. He had never known anything but being poor and hungry most of his life. Right now, he had beans and potatoes in the wagon that he could eat on until he got to Kentucky and about $2400 cash in his pocket. To hell with the depression, he was a rich man.

The roads were bad, mostly dirt, and the spring rains had turned them to mud, but the horses were strong and he made good time every day staying at it from daylight till dark.

It was late in the day when he drove into Sydney, Kentucky. It was a bare-bones town with a rail siding and enough stores to sell the miners whatever they could afford to buy of basic necessities. Three of those necessities: food, shelter, and beer—were in good supply at the "Shortstop Hotel, Bar, and Café. Across the street from the hotel was a livery stable where Orville left the team to be fed and watered.

The steak was tough but better than beans. The beer was good, and the surplus army cot from the war to end all wars was more comfortable than the ground or the bed of the wagon he had been sleeping on. After the steak and a couple of beers he simply went upstairs, lay down on the cot, and got his first good night’s sleep in a week.

The next morning he got directions to the mine which was about two miles from the hotel. He was about halfway there when he noticed two horses and three men about 100 yards off the road in a clump of trees. Two of the men were white and one was black.

The two white men were shouting insults in a loud and threatening manner. The black man was standing on a large rock with a rope—fastened into a crude noose—stretched taut around the black man’s neck at an angle, up and over a large limb, then tied around the trunk of a tree.

The three men were pretty engrossed in what they were doing and did not notice Orville as he approached. Orville noticed that each of the white guys had pistols in their belts. He was glad he had fetched the shotgun from the wagon, just in case.

You god-damn niggers will never learn to stay in your place, said the tall, reddish-haired one.

Yeah, you should’ve stayed on whatever cotton farm you came off of and leave digging in the coal to real men. the shorter, balding one chimed in.

Orville didn’t have any love for niggers, for that matter he couldn’t remember ever knowing one. Something, however, moved him to get in the middle of this situation.

What’s going on here boys?

The two men turned clumsily toward the voice.

None of your god damn business, boy. Get on out of here and mind your own business. We got important work going on here. said the tall one.

Drunken belly laughs came from both as they were breaking up from their own sense of humor.

What did this boy do?

If it’s any of your business, he went to the mine yesterday and tried to get a job. one of the men sneered. It’s hard enough for white men to get on there, we don’t need any damn niggers coming in and trying to take our jobs away from us.

Orville stepped to the left, where he had a clearer view of both men, I understand how you boys feel but don’t you think this is going a little too far? He looks like a good, strong nigger and it seems like a total waste of strong arms and back to just hang him. Why don’t you just let me take him away and you boys get along back to whatever it was, you were doing.

The tall ones right hand moved toward his gun, I don’t know you mister, but you can’t seem to quit sticking your nose into other people’s business. I think maybe we need to teach you a lesson along with the nigger.

The short bald one was trying to get his eyes focused on the new development and at the same time get his feet planted firmly under him and he began to reach for his gun.

Orville elevated the barrels of the shotgun from pointing at the ground and aimed it where it covered the two men.

There aint no cause for anybody to get hurt here, so you boys just keep your hands away from the guns and back away. I’m going to take that nigger down and you boys don’t have to worry about him bothering you anymore.

A sneer formed on the face of the tall one as his right-hand moved quickly to his belt and began to draw the pistol. Surprised by his move, Orville instinctively pulled down on the right-hand trigger and the gun exploded.

He had never seen a man shot before and it looked like a strong gust of wind caught the tall man’s body, partially lifted it and then slammed it to the ground.

The bald man’s look of bewilderment changed to pure fear but his hand was clawing for the gun. In an instant Orville regretted the first shot, but he knew this was a very bad situation and since he had started it, he needed to finish it. As the man fumbled with the pistol, Orville squeezed the other trigger.

The black man’s eyes were wide and appeared to be trying to come out of the sockets. A large, growing, dark stain at his crotch indicated that he had pissed his pants.

Orville untied the black man’s bound hands and took the rope from around his neck. His body shook uncontrollably for a few seconds then he said, Damn mister, I sure do thank you for what you just did, but I hope you know that if anybody comes along and finds this mess were both going to be back on that rope.

Do you know who these guys were? asked Orville

No sir but from their talk, I guess they make it their business to keep the miners in line and protect them from men like me. They talked like the mining company gave them their orders.

For the first time, Orville looked the man over carefully and asked, What’s your name boy and what in the hell are you doing in a mining town?

My name’s Samuel, but everybody just calls me Sam and I’ve been working on a big farm way east of here. We got all the trees down and the stumps pulled and they didn’t need me anymore so I just started moving west. I got no money and I was hungry, so I went to the mine this morning to see if I could get any work. Those two grabbed me and brought me out here to hang me and if you hadn’t come along, they sho would have.

Orville was quiet, his mind trying to comprehend what he had done, and what he needed to do next.

Well Sam, we can’t leave these guys laying out here in plain sight and since I shot them to save your sorry ass, I think you need to get a shovel out of that wagon and start digging a place to put them.

Sam managed a brief smile and said, Yes sir, I’ll do that right now, and I want you to know I sure do appreciate what you did.

Orville’s mind was replaying the events that had just occurred. He must not get caught. That was the most important thing and he knew he must erase all signs of what had happened—and that he had even been there.

He looked all around, and saw that the two men’s and horses had not run off and in fact had moved very little. He caught up with them and led them to his wagon. Each horse had a pretty decent saddle, which Orville now removed and put in the wagon under the canvas. He took the hanging rope, cut it into two lengths, and fashioned it into two halters and then tied the two horses to the wagon, one on each corner.

Chapter 3

Pushing on West

It was well past noon. The two goons from the mine were now buried deep enough to evade any scavengers. Orville and Sam used loose limbs to brush away any sign of their activity and scattered assorted rocks over the fresh turned ground. Sam used another limb to brush away any trace of their footprints back to the wagon.

Orville did not trust the black man to go off by himself and probably get caught so he made the decision that he would forget about work at the mine and just keep pushing across Kentucky to the Mississippi River. A man in the hotel café the night before had told him there was really rich farmland pretty much open for the taking, across the river in Arkansas. So in light of the events of the past three or four hours, Orville decided that being an Arkansas farmer sounded good. He also thought about the big, strong black man sitting next to him and how he would make a damn fine helper in getting the farm started.

He turned the team around and headed back to the state road that would take him West to the Mississippi River. As they rode along on the dirt road, Orville thought about what had happened and pondered on how easiy he had adjusted to the killing of the two men. He had never killed anyone before, or even seen a man killed before. Yet he had fallen to the tasks of burying the men and covering his tracks like it came natural to him. The idea settled in his mind that if something like that needed to be done, he was just the man who could do it and he wasn’t going to worry about it ever again. He didn’t, and instead began to think about how Sam was going to be very useful when they got to Arkansas.

As they drove down the road, he quizzed Sam about where he had been and what he had been doing. Sam had been working for a large farm that had tried to grow cotton but had gradually gone more and more to tobacco. The farm was doing pretty good; had grown to the point where they needed to clear the trees and plant more acres. When they finished the clearing, they cut Sam loose and that was what brought him to the coal mine.

It occurred to Orville how interesting and strange it was; the events that had brought he and Sam together. But, he wasn’t inclined to think about things of that nature, so he just slapped the lines on the rumps of the horses encouraging them to move on to wherever their destination was.

It was near sundown when they came to Crowley’s Crossing right at the edge of the Mississippi River. It wasn’t much of a place—two or three ramshackle buildings including an old barn and a couple of tents. The ferry boat was tied up for the night but would be ready at early daylight to cross the river tomorrow. The grass in the open field was lush from the spring rains and they staked the horses out there to graze.

Chapter 4

New Territory

The next morning they hitched up the team and drove the wagon onto the flatbed of the ferry boat-25 cents for each man and 50 cents for the team and wagon—and they were on their way across the Mississippi to Arkansas.

Crowley’s Crossing had been named for an earlier settler 100 years ago. That earlier settler had to go north to Cape Girardeau to get across the Mississippi and then worked his way back south into Arkansas. The boat, (a flat decked stern wheeler) and a dollar bill would have them in Arkansas in less than an hour.

Orville was glad to be out of the state of Kentucky. The day before, they had gone through the town of Covington. They received a lot of unwelcomed attention aimed at a white man traveling with a black man in the same wagon. He worried about whether