[Reader Advisory: The oral history featured in this post includes discussion of a murder which occurred in the early 20th century. While the description is not considered graphic, the crime does include decapitation and thus the recording and transcript may not be appropriate for younger readers.]
One early January morning, motivated by the eerie quiet of a gray winter sky in DC, I pulled up an advanced search on the Library’s catalog and ran a search for “murder” in the American Folklife Center’s collections. You know, as one does. I was, in all honesty, looking for examples of a type of song known as “murder ballads.” A collection titled Congressman Brooks Hays Collection, 1954-1957 (AFC 1957/011) popped up in the search results. Intrigued, I clicked on the catalog record and read the description:
“Sound recordings of ‘Judge’ Adelbert Steele Hays, telling of the murder trial of Freeman Crowels in Oklahoma. The story was recorded by Representative Brooks Hays of Arkansas, circa 1956. The collection also includes photostat copies of 3 drawings by Brooks Hays and correspondence between Brooks Hays and Duncan Emrich of the Library of Congress regarding Brooks Hays’ drawings and proposed recording project in Arkansas. Collection includes a newspaper clipping about ‘Judge’ Adelbert Steele Hays and the story of his legal defense of Freeman Crowels (variously spelled Crowell, Crowles, Crowes) identified in the clipping as a Cherokee Indian.”
I pulled up the digitized copies of the three sound reels that comprise the collection and immediately fell down a true crime rabbit hole.
The three-reel recording is one of two separate collections that Congressman Hays made with his father, Adelbert Steele Hays, who had been an attorney in Arkansas for nearly 60 years and was, at the time of the recording, enjoying his retirement. The other collection, Congressman Brooks Hays recordings of pioneer stories from Arkansas (AFC 1956/001), was presumably made around the same time. Although Freeman Crowels is only mentioned in the 1957/011 collection’s catalog record, both collections featuring Adelbert Hays contain an account of the case. After having listened to them both – and based on the years associated with their arrival at the Library – it is my opinion that the “pioneer stories” version (AFC 1956/001) was recorded first. Prior to launching into the story on the first reel, Adelbert spends a little bit of time talking about how he and his son need to get a better understanding of how the recorder works. Something clearly goes wrong during the recording process as, halfway through the story, the tape encounters issues, speeding up and skipping at random intervals until, finally, the voices become unintelligible. I believe that Brooks Hays listened back to the tape, realized that the second half of the story was lost, and went back to his father to relate the entire thing again, resulting in the 1957 recording.
There are understandable differences between the two versions. For the purposes of relating the story, I have included sound files of the longer 1957 version the story throughout this post and will provide the additional information/alternate interpretation from Adelbert’s initial 1956 telling of the story, where appropriate.
In the early 20th century (exact date unknown – more on that later), Freeman Crowels and two of his friends rode their horses from their hometown of Wetumka, Oklahoma to the nearby coal-mining town of Dewar. With a population of 3,000-4,000 people at the time, Dewar was well-known for its saloons and beer halls, where patrons could purchase beer and whiskey, despite the fact that Oklahoma had entered the union as a dry state in 1907.
“Dewar was about twelve, fourteen miles from Okmulgee and was a coal mining town. And there they have all sorts of things going on there that the miners demanded. A gambling town. Sold beer and whiskey. A honky-tonk town. Well, the boys never seen or known of any such thing as that, but they decided that to go down there and see, so they carried on.” – Adelbert Hays, AFC 1956/001
The primary draw for patrons looking to assuage their thirst in Dewar was a drink called Chock beer – presumably named such because it was originally made by individuals from the Choctaw tribe. Though hops were introduced to North America post-contact, the drink (as it appeared in the early 1900s) seems to have a connection to a much older, pre-hops beverage made using a combination of tobacco and fish-berries, which have a paralytic effect. In addition to being sold in tented saloons in town, the drink was often made in homes throughout Oklahoma.
The three boys spent several hours in Dewar, enjoying its unique charms:
“So they drove, rode down there and got there about noon. They went in and got their lunch, went over to a gambling place, went first to a shooting gallery, and there they saw them shootin’ for prizes and then another place where they were throwing baseballs. Things were set up, and breaking bottles and – it was great sport to the boys, and they enjoyed themselves very much. They finally went in, and they were selling beer and whiskey in there. And they had never taken any liquor. But they prevailed on ’em and set ’em up to what they call Chock. Which was a homemade beer and you’ll remember was mighty strong and was very much in evidence during the Prohibition days. […]
Well, the boys drank a glass or two of it, and it made ‘em feel pretty good. And they drank some more, and finally they found out there was a baseball game going on out in the edge of town, Indian boys were playing a match game of baseball. They went out there and stayed, oh they were there two, three hours. After they got through the ball game, they went back to the gambling houses and Chock saloons, all in tents, you know, but it was a town of three or four thousand people all – practically all living in tents and just running a gambling place for the service of those people at Okmulgee, where of course the law was enforced. There was no law down at Dewar.” – Adelbert Hays, AFC 1956/001
After getting significantly sloshed, the three young men – now in the company of John Moore, a new acquaintance they had met in town – got on their horses and began the trek back home to Wetumka. They only got about four or five miles from Dewar before the effects of the Chock beer necessitated dismounting and attempting to sleep off their stupor. The men tied up their horses and settled down to sleep a few yards from the road.
At some point in the next few hours, an argument broke out between John Moore and Freeman Crowels. This is one of the first places where Adelbert’s two versions differ. In the longer telling, Adelbert says that Moore and Freeman got in an argument and then everyone finally settled down and fell asleep:
“And Moore and Freeman got into an argument about which was the best ball player. In kind of a maudlin condition. And they argued the question as to which was the best player. And Freeman says he doesn’t – didn’t remember anything about it, but it happened that, during the argument led to a fight, and they were lying there on the ground, wallowing on the ground, and they got into a fight. And two or three hours later, they went to sleep then, all went back to sleep, they got quieted down, and they woke up about nine or ten o’clock at night, and when they got up, they – Freeman and his two companions – now, Moore was just a, had just got in with them on the road home. But when they waked up, and got ready to leave, they looked for Moore and he was lying there, and his head was cut off, completely severed from his body.” Adelbert Hays, AFC 1957/011
In the 1957 version, all three boys wake up the next morning to find John Moore dead, with his head cut off. The boys assume that Freeman did it, as he had been the one to have an argument with Moore, and Adelbert’s narrative leads us to think that none of them have any recollection at all of how Moore’s head came to be separated from his body. This is a departure from the chain of events Adelbert had provided in the 1956 version:
“Freeman Crowles had claimed that he was a pretty good ball player. And Moore’s claimed that he was a better ballplayer. Freeman had learned to play ball while he was away at an Indian school up in Kansas, where he had been educated. He was a pretty well-educated Indian. But the dispute finally led into an argument and from an argument led into a fight. They fought there well, and we never knew who was getting the best of it. But it ended up by Freeman Crowles cutting John Moore’s head off. And I don’t mean just partly. Cutting his throat. He cut his head entirely off. The other boys had not wakened at first, but they did wake up during the fight, and they saw part of the fight. They decided then that they’d better get their horses and get away from there. While they were fighting, they’d run and saddled up the horses for all three of them, or all four of ‘em. But when they got back, why Moore was dead and his, Freeman Crowles was there, not, not excited much, just sitting there waiting for them to bring his horse back. And when they brought the horses up, why they were still – the three boys decided there wasn’t any great hurry, and they just laid down and went to sleep again, left the, leaving the horses all saddled. And Moore, head layin’ over there, by the side of his body, and a little after dark they had slept off their stupor, woke up, and decided they’d go home.” – Adelbert Hays, AFC 1956/001
This version is more horrifying, considering the death and decapitation occurs and then the three young men proceed to bunk down near a headless body. Then, of course, comes the equally unsettling fact that the trio continue their trek back home, this time with John Moore’s body hidden in a clump of bushes on the side of the road and his head tied to Freeman Crowels’ saddle.
“Well, they had enough sense and appreciated the condition enough that they knew that wasn’t gonna be good for them. And so they decided that they’d have to take Moore’s head home with them. Take it away from there. And they did that. Freeman fastened the body, the head, tied the head on his saddle with a string, a saddle string, and they rode home.” – Adelbert Hays, AFC 1957/011
There is a discrepancy between the next stage of the story, as well. In the 1957 version, all three young men conspire to conceal the evidence, and they bury the head and never talk about it:
“So they, together with his two companions, they agreed that they wouldn’t tell anything about it, and they together, the three of them together, buried that head out in the horse lot. Threw the straw and things around, over it, and they buried it right by the – in the middle of the – ‘bout the middle of the horse lot. […] it was just about daylight, or possibly just a little before daylight. And then Freemen went on, went on to the house, and the other two boys went on to their homes. All under an obligation to keep secret about the killing.” – Adelbert Hays, AFC 1957/011
The 1956 version of the presents a slightly different take:
“Well, Moore – they left Moore’s body lying up there in that little clump of bushes where they’d been sleeping. But Freeman took Moore’s head and tied it – he had long hair – he tied it to his saddle, and got on his horse, and the three boys rode back to Wetumka. Their home. Got there about ten or eleven o’clock, it’s about 25 or 30 miles. By that time they’d got Moore – Freeman got sobered up enough to know that that wasn’t – he’d done something he ought’n’t to. The other boys didn’t tarry with him when they got to his house first. They rode out by the barn and the other two boys rode on, went on to their home and left Freeman alone there with that head. Well, he considered what he ought to do with it. He went and got a spade and went and dug up a hole in the cow barn. Where the cows were kept. Dug it a pretty good, deep hole and put that head in it and just covered it over and, of course, the cows were brought in there the next morning, they tramped over it. It was just about Christmas time. And they were left all that day, and they were left.” – Adelbert Hays, AFC 1956/001
At any rate, the head is buried and everyone sworn to secrecy. In both versions, Moore’s body is found within a matter of days, near the road leading out of Dewar. However, the lack of any kind of papers on him or identifying marks (including a head), meant that the identity of the body remained a mystery and the investigation stalled. Until next spring, that is, when one of the two witnesses finally confessed that he knew the identity of the headless body found outside of Dewar and, furthermore, knew who killed him. Secrets like that don’t stay buried long, after all.
An investigation turned up that Moore had been seen riding out of Dewar in the company of the three young men and, on the strength of the testimony of the two witnesses, the police began an investigation of Freeman Crowels and soon discovered Moore’s head. “A Grand Jury was called,” Adelbert recounts, “and the boys testified before the Grand Jury and Freeman was indicted and arrested and carried and put in jail in Okmulgee.” Though he had never been in trouble before, the fact that he had removed and buried the head was enough to move the judge to initially deny bail.
When the crime comes to light, a man Adelbert repeatedly refers to as Tiger Johnson began asking around about a good defense lawyer. Two old friends of Adelbert’s, from his hometown of Booneville, Arkansas, had somehow ended up around Okmulgee, Oklahoma and told Johnson that they knew of a good lawyer. They sent Adelbert a letter with some money for travel expenses and asked him to come to Oklahoma to defend Freeman. Adelbert accepted and arranged to meet Tiger Johnson and the rest of Freeman’s family at the Okmulgee train station. The only one to meet Adelbert at the station, however, was Freeman’s young wife (Adelbert calls her Eliza) and newborn son. Together, the three of them traveled from the train station to the Okmulgee jail, where Freeman and forty-two other men were awaiting trial.
“I was preparing then for the writ of habeas corpus to put him on, get him out on bail. There was no reason, it wasn’t murder in the first degree,” Adelbert insisted.” He had been held under the charge of murder in the first degree, but on the writ of habeas corpus I could introduce that testimony, I could find out what they [the witnesses] were going to testify on the final trial without any jeopardy attaching to Freeman.” When questioned, both witnesses stated that they did not know whose knife it was, but that they had never known Freeman to carry a knife before and that it very well could have been Moore’s knife and Freeman took it away from him. Clearly, Adelbert was trying to sway the judge into considering this as a case of self-defense. This might have worked, if not for the fact that Moore hadn’t just been killed, he had been decapitated.
The murder trial went forward, and Adelbert argued for Freeman to be let out on bond. Originally, according to Adelbert, the judge tried to set bail at $10,000 – an amount he said Freeman could easily afford to pay out of his Indian allotment. It is unclear whether Adelbert was successful in arguing the judge down to a lower bail, as he finished that portion of the story saying “But finally he granted bail. And he put it at five or ten thousand dollars. By that time, Tiger Johnson was there with his friends. They made the bond, and so Freeman got out and went home with Eliza that afternoon on the evening train.”
Around this point, the 1956 recording essentially ends. This is a shame, as I believe that the differences between the two versions help us pin down some details of the case and help determine just what happened, when.
The 1957 version goes on to fill in the remaining details. Since Adelbert was used to practicing law in Arkansas, he enlisted the help of a local attorney, Lewis Wallace, to help navigate Oklahoma’s legal system and provide feedback on jury selection. When the case went to trial, Adelbert had two main goals. The first was to argue that Freeman was merely the weapon and the true killers of John Moore were the men in Dewar who sold the Chock beer and the law enforcement officers who had looked the other way. He insisted that the prosecution should be going after the makers and purveyors of illegal alcohol in and around Dewar:
“The truth is in this case that Nelson’s trying the wrong man! Your county attorney has indicted the wrong people! Freeman Crowels didn’t kill him, except that he was the instrument, but he was no more the instrument of death than the knife in the hands. He was simply following the, the men that killed him were the fellas that sold that Chock! And they were permitted and on every, surrounded every part of town, these beer joints and liquor stores, flying tigers, were permitted to run there, and the officers and the citizens had done nothing about it to protect them. And here’s an innocent young fella that thrown into that kind of surrounding and commits this crime, they say, and I say that he didn’t do it at all. No more, he had nothing more, twas no more his will to kill than it was the will of that knife that he held in his hands, this drunken man. And the thing for them to do was to indict those fellas that brought about the condition in which Freeman Crowels found himself.” – Adelbert Hays, AFC 1957/011
The second half of his plan relied on engendering sympathy from the jury in the form of Freeman’s wife and infant son. “Our main defense is not Freeman,” he told her, “it’s you!” On the day of the trial, he told her to sit up front after lunch, when it was time for him to mount his defense. “I wanted her to sit there, right by Freeman with that baby in her lap, and if it wanted to cry, it could cry a little, it wouldn’t hurt. Indian babies don’t cry much but I said ‘If it does, don’t you go to hush it up’.”
Unfortunately for Adelbert’s plan, he couldn’t find Freeman’s wife or child anywhere near the front when the court came back from lunch. He was partially through his defense when he finally spotted them both, sitting in the windowsill in the back of the courtroom, both of them fast asleep. “And she never did wake up,” Adelbert laughed. “And the absence of Eliza and that baby, I thought, hurt my – not only hurt my cause, but I know it confounded my speech. A good deal.”
At the end of the trial, while the jury deliberated, the judge tried to offer a plea bargain to Adelbert. The judge assured him “I’ll be a good deal more lenient with him than a jury will. They’re liable to give him a life sentence!” Adelbert asked what sentence the judge would offer. If they withdrew the plea of not guilty and entered one of guilty, he offered to give Freeman twenty-five years in prison. Adelbert told him “You’re not even talking to me about that. The jury won’t even do anything like that.” The judge countered with fifteen years and, when Adelbert still wouldn’t budge, dropped it to ten years. Adelbert still decided to rely on the decision of the jury.
It appears that Adelbert’s instincts were correct. “The jury returned a verdict of guilty of manslaughter, and fixed his punishment at eight years,” he told his son
The case, believe it or not, does not end there, but we will press pause for now, and pick back up next week with the second half of the tale, where I will address some of the details (or lack thereof) that make confirming aspects of Adelbert’s story difficult.
Further Reading
Check out the Oklahoma Historical Society’s encyclopedia entry on Choc/Chock beer
Make an appointment to visit the American Folklife Center reading room to view or listen to these collections contributed by Congressman Brooks Hays:
- Congressman Brooks Hays recordings of pioneer stories from Arkansas (AFC 1956/001)
- Congressman Brooks Hays collection, 1954-1957 (AFC 1957/011)
For other oral history collections related to Brooks Hays, make an appointment with the Recorded Sound Research Center to listen to: