Lawmen

IT'S THE HAT That Links New West Sheriffs to the Past

If there is a vestige of the frontier sheriff as he lived, worked, and was a century ago, it is his hat. The broad-brimmed Stetson hat. It is still a symbol, seldom worn except during rodeo week, election years, and at picnics.The horse, once a tool, is now a toy. The wanted poster, yesterday nailed to trees, barns, and saloon walls, is a relic, replaced by a computerized all-points bulletin and the FAX machine.

The Winchester lever-action carbine is in a museum, succeeded by an Uzi manufactured in Israel.

Posses no longer look for outlaws; in Jeeps and helicopters today, they search for lost hunters and downed aircraft.

Now the sheriff's main concern is budget, not bandit. But he still has his hat. In 1877, Yavapai County ran from the New Mexico line to a few miles east of the Colorado River and from about the present village of New River north to the Utah line. Over the years, more counties have been created and divided, resulting in more and smaller jurisdictions. The sheriff's staff, however, has increased a hundredfold, in spite of a much smallercounty to police and more sophisticated equipment to aid in doing it.

IT'S THE HAT

Much of the growth has occurred because of the constantly increasing clerical work. The sheriff's office, like others in the public and private sectors, has been inundated with forms to fill out, forward, or file.

Today's rapid transportation and communication have replaced yesterday's manhunt. There have been times in Arizona history when a sheriff stayed on the trail of an outlaw for months before capturing him. When the sheriff returned to town with his prisoner, justice and reelection were assured. That kind of law enforcement created legends and literature.

Sheriffs Commodore Perry Owens, John Slaughter, Buckey O'Neill, Ed Echols, John Munds, Carl Hayden, and many others literally brought criminals to justice by tracking them down.

Today when a crime is committed and the suspect flees, there is no need for the sheriff to saddle up. A warrant is issued, and the details of the crime and criminal are fed into the computers of the Arizona Crime Information Center and perhaps, depending on the type of offense, the National Crime Information Center. This system is not nearly as romantic as a manhunt, but it is more effective.

A century ago, Arizona's sheriffs, for the most part, came from ranches. They were working cowboys and rodeo contestants. Today, Arizona sheriffs have a background of professional police training; they must be skilled in investigation and administration. It isn't essential that they look at home on a horse, but they must be IBM compatible.

Lon Jordan, one of the more colorful latter-day sheriffs Maricopa County ever had, was a rodeo-ranch product. He began his peace-officer career as a deputy in Yavapai County and later moved to Maricopa County. He was first elected sheriff of Maricopa County in 1939 and continued in office until his death in 1944.

The ten months that remained of his term when he died were filled by his widow, Jewel, the only woman sheriff in the state's history. Her brief career as sheriff was followed by a successful public life in other offices.

Lon Jordan, whose usual attire included a white Stetson, light-blue gabardine shirt, and shiny brown boots, was amongthe first of the Arizona sheriffs to employ the airplane as a peace-keeping tool. He formed an air posse composed of volunteer private pilots. The group was used for search and rescue, convict hunts, and quick and efficient transportation for the sheriff and his deputies.

Lon Jordan's first mentor, Sheriff George Ruffner of Yavapai County, died six years before Jordan became sheriff of Maricopa County. There was a great difference in the ages of the two men and dramatic differences in their methods.

Cochise County

An intense and unusual five-week manhunt began when Fleming Parker escaped from the Yavapai County Jail on May 9, 1897, after fatally shooting the deputy district attorney. When Sheriff Ruffner was notified of the escape, he was mending political fences in the desert town of Congress, some 40 miles southwest of Prescott. He commandeered a railroad locomotive, and the engineer and fireman took him through the mountains to the Prescott depot in record time. Two other men, named Miller and Sarata, had escaped with Parker. Miller was captured by a posse in Chino Valley the following day. Sarata was never seen again. It was believed he fled to his native Mexico.

Parker, having taken the sheriff's best horse, Sure Shot, rode northwest toward Aztec Pass and the Baca Float, a country he knew well. Ruffner tried to pick up Parker's cold trail nine hours later when it was growing dark. For the next five weeks, this hare-and-tortoise chase took place in northern Arizona between the Atlantic and Pacific railroad tracks and south of the Grand Canyon.

Both men lived off the land and the kindness of strangers. Ruffner questioned everyone he came across. Some remembered seeing such a man as Parker, but no, not riding a white gelding. The man they shared their sheep camp with rode a sorrel, or was it a bay?

Finally, the trail led north toward the Utah border, and in early June the sheriff closed in. Disguised as a Navajo, Ruffner rode into Parker's camp and took him into custody.

The wanted poster Wells, Fargo & Co. distributed following Parker's escape contained a statement that would be consid ered clearly prejudicial today: "There is no doubt of his conviction if captured."

Ten years before, however, Sheriff John Slaughter of

IT'S THE HAT

Cochise County had posted warnings throughout his territory: "Rustler, get out or be killed." While this statement undoubtedly was sincere, it, too, would be considered inflammatory in today's society.

From the creation of the Territory of Arizona in 1863 to statehood 49 years later, the telegraph and railroad were the two most important additions to law enforcement. Both proved superior to mounted messengers and horse-drawn transportation. Many county judges and supervisors, however, regarded their use as an extravagant whim with no genuine value to the preservation of law and order.

When a felon was sentenced to prison, very few counties permitted the sheriff to take the prisoner to the territorial prison in the distant desert town of Yuma by train. This meant the sheriff or a deputy had to deliver their charge on horseback.

In 1895 there were only 12 counties in the Territory of Arizona. With the exception of Yuma, the ride from any county seat meant crossing miles of mountains and desert in the lonely company of a proven criminal. It was dangerous and difficult.

If, on the other hand, the prisoner had been sentenced by the court to be hanged, the sheriff or his deputy would have no need to leave town as this distasteful duty fell within their responsibility.

Outside the courthouse or just on the edge of town, the gallows was built, and the sheriff carried out the order of the court. The ease and convenience of the death penalty inclined the old-time sheriff to favor capital punishment.

The attitude of the contemporary Arizona sheriff toward capital punishment results from social, political, and philosophical concepts rather than the demands of travel.

Yesterday's sheriff put in long, wearisome hours primarily because of the size of the county and the primitive communication and transportation available to him. Today, the size of the sheriff's staff and the work load is due to population rather than the area he must police.

Let's assume a bank is robbed in Flagstaff, Coconino County, Arizona, the second largest county in the United States. If the suspects take the money and flee, it is doubtful there will be a chase. Radios, computers, and hidden-camera photography all come into play. Roadblocks and airport surveillance result, and the Arizona and national crime-information centers are notified.

Canyon Diablo, east of Flagstaff, was in Yavapai County, and Buckey O'Neill was sheriff when the Atlantic and Pacific train was robbed there on March 20, 1889. Sheriff O'Neill left his office in Prescott and was on the trail of the bandits.

Three days later, the Flagstaff Champion gave an account of the robbery. Ten days after the robbery, the Phoenix Daily Herald ran an item speculating on the whereabouts of the four men involved.

Then, on April 10, three weeks after the train robbery, Buckey O'Neill apprehended the culprits in Beaver, Utah, and returned them for trial. This farreaching pursuit was possible because in Territorial times, it was the custom for the United States marshal to deputize all Arizona sheriffs, giving them liberty to cross state, county, or territorial lines.

When the pall of Prohibition descended on the nation in 1919, most Arizona sheriffs regarded it as a national tragedy second only to World War I. A demijohn of liquor identified with the donor's name often mysteriously appeared in a min-ing camp on election day, a day the law required all watering holes closed. The miners regarded such a humanitarian gesture as solid evidence of leadership.

So, many candidates for sheriff who depended on mining-camp votes were dismayed by the loss of a critical political tool. Billboards, television, and newspaper ads today have replaced the demijohn in the promotion of a candidate. There are those who feel this is a genuine loss. The Wells, Fargo wanted poster that assured the reader, "There is no doubt of his conviction if captured," proved true for Fleming Parker, the murderer. He was sentenced to death by hanging. The date set was June 8, 1898; the site, the east side of the courthouse, Prescott, Arizona Territory.

Shortly after 10:00 A.M. that bright summer morning, Parker was asked if he had any last statement. His words were a classic understatement: "All this hullabaloo has sure been a lesson to me."