Chock It Up To Murder (Part Two): The Aftermath

[Reader Advisory: The oral history featured in this post includes discussion of a murder which occurred in the early 20^th century. While the description is not considered graphic, the crime does include decapitation and thus the recording and transcript – included in the first entry of the two-part series – may not be appropriate for younger readers.]

When we last left off, the trial of Freeman Crowels for the murder of John Moore had just concluded. The jury pronounced him guilty of manslaughter and Freeman was sentenced to eight years [For a full review of the entire case, you can read Part One here]. After listening to both the 1956 and 1957 versions of Adelbert Hays’s account of the murder and Freeman’s subsequent trial, I started digging through the historical record in search of more details about the main players in this true-crime story.

Unfortunately, when I started to delve further into the story, looking to corroborate facts and dates and names, I came up against some pretty glaring problems. The first of these is the identification of Adelbert’s client, Freeman Crowels. As the Library’s catalog record indicated, multiple spellings of Freeman’s last name exist. I found instances of each of the following: Crowels, Crowles, Crowell, and Crowele. For the purposes of this post, I have used the spelling of Freeman’s name that appears on his tombstone, except in cases where I am directly quoting an alternate spelling. “Crowels” appears to be the most common spelling.

The next thing I set about fact-checking was Freeman’s tribal affiliation. One of the first things that Adelbert tells us about Freeman is that he was a Cherokee Indian. Adelbert mentions this in both the 1956 and 1957 versions, and further states that Freeman’s wife (who Adelbert calls Eliza) was Cherokee, as was his legal guardian, a man Adelbert refers to as Tiger Johnson.

It didn’t take me too long to determine that, in fact, Freeman Crowels was not Cherokee. Instead, he is listed on the Creek rolls in both an 1895 Census of Tuckabatchee, Indian Territory and a 1904 Census of Native American Citizens and Freedmen of the Five Civilized Tribes. His wife and guardian are, likewise, registered on the Creek rolls.

Adelbert’s confusion about Freeman’s tribal affiliation makes sense to me. Today, Oklahoma is home to 39 tribal nations. During the Indian Removal period and the years immediately following, even more tribal nations would have made their way through the region. As a white lawyer traveling from Arkansas, Adelbert Hays already had his hands full learning the specifics of Oklahoma’s legal system and the exact tribal affiliation of his client likely would have been the least of his worries.

The next problem I encountered was the lack of a specific set of dates for these events. Adelbert drops several references to people and places that might help us narrow down a timeline, but often these potential dates end up muddying the waters even more. Adelbert mentions that Freeman was just twenty-one at the time. It is unclear whether he means at the time of the crime, at the time of the trial, or both. The 1956 version of the story gives the time of Moore’s death “just about Christmas time,” and the confession of the witnesses takes place the following May or June. Since Freeman was born May 23, 1891, we might reason that the events of the story (the initial crime and the subsequent investigation and arrest) took place between December 1912 and June 1913.

However, in the longer 1957 version of the story, Adelbert makes a reference to his recent defense in “the Tillman case.” This is, he says, what sparks his old friends – “the Darks Brothers” – to put him in contact with Freeman’s family.

“The way that I came to be interested in the case was that, after the – at the time we were trying the Tillman case, where – at Booneville, in Logan County. There were two old, young friends of mine that I had known in, while I lived in Logan County, and they were there and heard the trial and they became very much interested in my trial of the case. Now, later, they were citizens and residents of Wetumka. One of them was the city marshal there, and he was a great admirer of my handling of that case. The Tillman case, I mean. And soon after we tried the Tillman case, there was a murder – a man – this Freeman Crowels was held on a charge of murder, committed in Oklahoma. Freeman Crowels was a relative and ward of Tiger Johnson, a noted Indian Methodist preacher. […]

Now the way I became interested in it, as I told you, was through the Dark Brothers, who lived in Wetumka. And when, finally, after a year, when Freeman was arrested by – Tiger Johnson went to the Dark Brothers and others in town, to know who to get to defend Freeman. He didn’t think Freeman was guilty, or ought not to be punished, even if he committed the crime. And the Darks recommended that he get in contact with me. And in fact one of them wrote to me, and enclosed a check or money order for fifty dollars to pay my expenses to go out there and see if I would take the case.” – Adelbert Hays, AFC 1957/011

While it is certainly possible for more than one person with the name “Tillman” to have been tried in court in Arkansas, the phrase “the Tillman case” would seem to refer to a particularly notable case that even people a state away would have heard of. As it happens, there was such a case. I believe that Adelbert was referring to the trial of Arthur Tillman, who was accused of murdering his pregnant girlfriend, Amanda Stephens, on March 10, 1913.

Tillman’s first trial began in Booneville, Arkansas – the same town Adelbert mentions – on August 27, 1913. That trial resulted in a hung jury, but Tillman was later moved and retried in Paris, Arkansas in October of that same year. That time he was found guilty. He was eventually executed on July 15, 1914. Tillman has the dubious distinction of being the last person to be executed by hanging in the state of Arkansas.

I do not know whether Hays was involved in both trials, or if he was only involved in the trial set in Booneville. Those details are not included in Adelbert’s recounting of Freeman’s story. I, for one, would have been more willing to hire a lawyer whose defense resulted in a hung jury than one whose client had ultimately been found guilty and executed. For the purposes of this exploration, let us propose that Adelbert’s friends in Oklahoma contacted him about defending Freeman after the first Tillman trial – the one that resulted in a hung jury. This would adjust our timeline a little later. Say, perhaps, December 1914 – June 1915.

There is another little fact which further muddies the waters of our timeline – Freeman’s wife.

In Adelbert’s original 1956 discussion of the case, Freeman was already married at the time of the murder:

“Well, Freeman Crowels was, like I say, about 21 years old. But he was married. Hadn’t been married more than three or four months, when this experience, this killing took place.” — Adelbert Hays, AFC 1956/001

However, according to Adelbert’s 1957 version of the story the killing took place first, followed sometime later by Freeman getting married and, later still, being arrested for the murder:

“Now Freeman had not, was not married at the time of this killing, but in the year before the crime was – the identity of the deceased was discovered – Freeman had married another Indian. An Indian girl, whose name was Eliza something. I don’t know what.” – Adelbert Hays, AFC 1957/011

Whether he was married before or after the murder took place is not the fact that throws our timeline into further disarray…it’s the fact that, when I found a copy of Freeman’s marriage license, it lists the date of the wedding as January 6, 1916. And the name of the woman he married was not Eliza, it was Louisa. According to the license, Freeman was 24 years old and Louisa 22 years old when they were married by Ralph P. Welch, a Justice of the Peace in Holdenville, Oklahoma. For our original timeline to work, either Freeman had to have had another marriage that predates his 1916 marriage to Louisa (which I have not found a record of), or the couple were living together as unofficial man and wife for several years before they decided to go to the courthouse and make everything official. Barring those two options, we must adjust the timeline yet again. If we are going to base the time of the murder and the subsequent arrest and trial around Freeman’s marriage, rather than Freeman’s age or the general dates of the Tillman trial in 1913, but still in keeping with it taking place “just about Christmas time,” this puts our timeline December 1915 – June 1916.

The mis-naming of Freeman’s wife, while inconvenient when it comes to pining down details, is not necessarily unexpected or unheard of when trying to tie oral histories to historic documents. Human memory is, after all, imperfect. Even with his education and training as a lawyer, Adelbert is prone to some very human lapses in memory. Regardless of whether the murder took place in 1912 or 1916, we must consider that Adelbert is recounting this case some 40 or so years after the fact. That he remembers any of these names is remarkable, after so long a career. To be fair to Adelbert, “Eliza” and “Louisa” do sound very similar. Plus, we’ve already seen that official documents themselves can include misspellings and mistakes.

Louisa isn’t the only one whose name is mis-remembered or mis-represented in Adelbert’s story. Remember Tiger Johnson, the well-respected man who had originally been looking for a defense lawyer for Freeman? According to Adelbert, Tiger Johnson was a noted Indian Methodist preacher:

“He was a full-blood Indian and an outstanding citizen. He had been very much attached to Freeman Crowels, who was his nephew, or the nephew of Tiger Johnson’s wife, possibly. Freeman Crowels was a young Cherokee Indian, as I told you. He had been raised under the strict guardianship of Tiger Johnson. When he became about 20 years of age, he had never been out in the world any, he’d been in school up in Kansas and had finished his education in the Indian School up in Kansas.” – Adelbert Hays, AFC 1957/011

I figured it would be easy to find records of Tiger Johnson, considering Adelbert’s assessment of the man’s reputation as an outstanding citizen. It wasn’t. At least, not until I realized that, in this case, Adelbert had repeatedly transposed the man’s first and last names, instead of the conflation that occurred with Freeman’s wife name. Instead of Tiger Johnson, I needed to look for a man named Johnson Tiger.

According to an interview[1] with Lena Benson Tiger, Johnson Tiger’s wife, her husband had served as a court interpreter for the Creek tribe and had been a presiding elder in the Creek Methodist Church for many years. At one point, he had served as the superintendent of the Creek Orphans’ Home, which was located east of Okmulgee. From other probate records, it looks like Johnson Tiger served as the legal guardian for a number of other Creek children under his care. This is where knowing Johnson Tiger’s actual tribal affiliation is important, as it helps us to confirm the identity of an individual who appears in Adelbert’s story, in other oral histories of the time, and in official tribal and court records.

So far, I have not found any official records that speak to the exact familial relationship between Johnson Tiger and the Crowels family. I will note that, on his 1942 draft card, Freeman lists “Roley Canard” as the person who will always know his address. Canard was the maiden name of Johnson Tiger’s mother, Hettie. Knowing how the familial connections work in my own tribal community, it is certainly possible that Freeman Crowels and Johnson Tiger were related. It is just as likely that, even in the absence of a relation by blood or marriage, the Crowels and Tigers saw each other as family.

I did find a July 16, 1910 probate record that included a petition for guardianship for Freeman (along with his younger brothers, Edword Salt (Crowels) and Edmond Crowels. The probate record is similar to another one – dated March 31, 1910 – which named Johnson Tiger as the guardian of Freeman’s sister Katie. All of these petitions were approved by the court and Johnson Tiger was listed as the official guardian for four of the Crowels children, even though their mother, Annie Crowels, was still alive. I think the primary reason for this was that Johnson Tiger, as a well-respected and educated member of the community, had the ability to negotiate business on the family’s behalf. In fact, shortly after being named guardian, Johnson Tiger approved several small land sales and oil and gas leases on behalf of the four youngest Crowels children, to help pay for their education and living expenses.

Finding the record of Johnson Tiger’s guardianship of Freeman brought up more questions about the timing of the crime, and Freeman’s marriage to Eliza/Louisa. In the 1957 recording, Adelbert told his son:

“After my investigation out there and my visit with Tiger Johnson, and we agreed on an arrangement on fees and that he was able, and was willing to assure a reasonable fee as guardian of Freeman Crowels, who was then just about 21 years of age and had his rights all having been established, he had a fund subject to the guardian’s orders.” – Adelbert Hays, AFC 1957/011

If this was truly the case, though, it throws our entire timeline back into disarray again. The petition for guardianship was filed July 16, 1910. As part of the guardianship, Johnson Tiger had to make annual reports about expenses for caring for each child, as well as report any money made from real estate sales and leases, as well as oil and gas leases. The record shows the sale of a portion of Freeman’s allotment on January 21, 1911, with the money then used to pay for expenses such as clothing, lodging, school books and some pocket money. In a report filed March 4, 1913 – almost a full year after Freeman turned 21 – Johnson Tiger writes in his report “This party is now of age, therefore the guardian makes this his final report, and asks that he be discharged as such guardian.”

There is a mention of court fees in one of the reports in the probate record, but this appears to be associated with the aforementioned land sale, as the name given in the receipt is the same as the man who was responsible for assessing the value of the allotment.

So far, I have been unable to find any record of another important name from Adelbert’s story – that of the murder victim, John Moore. Part of the problem is that we are told very little about him. We know two things for certain: his name (John Moore) and his tribal affiliation (Cherokee). However, as our exploration of Freeman’s and Johnson Tiger’s records show, neither of these can be considered certain. The victim’s name might have been John. It could just as easily be his last name, as “John” is a common surname found in the Muscogee Creek rolls of the time. It is also entirely possible that John Moore wasn’t a member of any tribe. I found several entries for “John Moore” in Census records for the same area of Oklahoma. It is a very common name. With no further details, such as a definite year of death or the name of family members who might have been at the trial, we are left with more questions than answers when it comes to the victim’s full identity.

The documents I managed to track down relating to Freeman help to give a better idea of what his life was like in the years following the trial and sentencing. On June 5, 1916, a year and a half after he and Louisa married, Freeman filled out a WWI draft card listing his employer as the railroad. It was a little difficult to make out the exact position, but it appears he worked with a bank engine – a train car that helps provide additional power to help another train climb up a steep grade, sort of like a tugboat but for trains. The draft card also listed his wife and child as dependents, which corroborates Adelbert’s claims that Freeman had a wife and child around the time of the trial.

A year after filling out his draft card, Freeman shipped out with his unit – Battery C 344^th field artillery, Nineteenth Division – aboard the Runic. The ship left Boston, Massachusetts on June 30, 1918. On the passenger manifest, Freeman lists his next of kin as his wife, Mrs. Louisa Crowels. Sadly, Louisa would die only ten days later, on July 10, 1918. Freeman’s older brother, Jonah, also died later the same year. The Battery C 344^th field artillery returned to the states on the U.S.S. Swanee on June 2, 1919 and Freeman is listed on the passenger list, but the letters “N.S.R” are scrawled in pen under his name, meaning “Not Sailed, Returned,” (alternately, “Not Sailing, Re-booked”), leading me to believe that Freeman did return to the states some time after the death of Louisa but before his unit returned home.

The Dark Brothers, who were responsible for enlisting Adelbert’s help for the trial, make another reappearance in Freeman’s story at this point. According to yet another probate record, when Louisa died she left her allotment to both Freeman and her brother, Eddie Wesley. The fact that the will lists her only surviving relatives as her husband and brother indicates that Freeman’s young son had also passed away around the time of Louisa’s death. On July 5, 1919, Freeman sold his half share of Louisa’s allotment – land he described as “prairie land” – for $2250.00 to an H.H. Darks and a C.S. Darks. Both men had a connection to the Oklahoma legal system, one reportedly serving as a Justice of the Peace and the other working for Sheriff Harve Ball at the courthouse, leading me to believe these are the same Darks Brothers that Adelbert mentioned.

Sixteen days after the land sale, Freeman – now 28 years old – married Katie John, from Dustin, Oklahoma. They remained married until Freeman’s death in 1965. In the intervening time, Freeman found work as a laborer for a gin company in Wetumka (possibly referring to one of several cotton gins that operated in the area), performing odd jobs, and working for a man named James Taylor around 1940, when he filled out his second draft card at the age of 51.

Freeman and Katie Crowels had five children. I found records of four of them, showing they lived to adulthood, though I was unable to determine if one of their daughters survived. I did stumble across a survey someone made of the Wetumka Indian Baptist Church Cemetery, where Freeman is buried. According to the survey, there is an unmarked child’s grave next to his, but there is no way of knowing whether the inhabitant was related to him and, if they were, whether the child was his unnamed son with Louisa or his daughter with Katie.

As we wind up this story, you may perhaps find yourself looking at the dates I provided, mapped against Freeman’s life, and realize that those dates do not seem to match up with the outcome of the trial. The jury, you might remember, found Freeman guilty of manslaughter and sentenced him to eight years. If that were the case, how could he have possibly filled out a draft card, or gotten on a boat to serve in WWI, or married his second wife at the First Baptist Church? Wouldn’t an eight year sentence in prison have kept him from doing all of that? The answer to that is yes, it would have…if it hadn’t been for one more twist in the story.

When I went looked through the manuscript items that accompanied the AFC 1957/011 recordings of Adelbert’s story, I found an interesting note provided by his son, Brooks Hays. The letter reads:

“Dear Miss Korson:

I believe that the tape ran off before my father finished the Freeman Crowell story, and I am giving you this information so you will know how the story ends.

The jury recommended a sentence of eight years, having found him guilty, and it was affirmed by the Criminal Appeals Court. Ten years later when my father was in Oklahoma he inquired about Crowell and found he has never served a day in the penitentiary. A few minutes after the trial ended, Mason was appointed judge and the new county attorney was Lewis Wallace, also appointed by the Governor. There is a strange procedure, or was, at least, at that stage of Oklahoma’s development, and it required action by the county attorney to secure the commitment of the convicted criminal, even after affirmation of the conviction. The county attorney had never acted, so the officers apparently lacked any authority to commit Crowell to the penitentiary.

Brooks Hays, M.C.”

Nothing happened, all because of a little quirk of Oklahoma legal procedure. One might wonder why the incoming county attorney never took the action to secure the conviction, until you read back over the letter and notice the name of the new county attorney. Lewis Wallace.

If you remember, when Adelbert took on Freeman’s case he was coming in from Arkansas. He was not as familiar with Oklahoma legal procedures and precedents, and so enlisted the help of a local attorney who was sympathetic to Freeman’s plight. That young attorney, the son of a well-respected judge, wasn’t listed as Freeman Crowels’ co-council, but he had helped Adelbert prepare his argument and aided during the jury selection.

That young attorney’s name? Lewis Wallace.

My journey with this wild oral history began back in January. Now, several months later, I’ve answered some questions but unearthed even more: Who was John Moore? Did his family ever learn of his demise? Who were the two witnesses who had traveled to Dewar with Freeman? Did Louisa and her young son fall victim to the early days of the 1918 influenza pandemic? Did Lewis Wallace not affirm Freeman’s conviction on purpose, or did the details just fall through the cracks?

While I might not have the answers to these new questions, the entire exercise helped to reaffirm my love of both history and folklore, and emphasizes the importance of incorporating oral histories in our history research. As this exploration has shown, neither approach is foolproof. Names can be misremembered and obfuscated in personal narratives. Just as easily, those same names can be misspelled, abbreviated, and left off entirely in official documents and reports. Oral histories give us an individual’s perspective, and help to humanize past events in a way that reports and court documents often don’t, and official documents such as draft cards, probate records and passenger manifests can (if we are lucky) help us build out timelines that help us contextualize these narratives in a wider story. This interplay of official records and oral histories reminds me of my favorite quote from author Charles de Lint.

“We’re all made of stories. When they finally put us underground, the stories are what will go on. Not forever, perhaps, but for a time. It’s a kind of immortality, I suppose. Bounded by limits, it’s true, but then so’s everything.”

In the end, all of the folks in this collection – Adelbert Hays, Freeman Crowels, Johnson Tiger, Louisa Crowels (“Eliza”), Freeman’s unnamed son, and even poor John Moore – will share a kind of immortality through story.

[1] Oklahoma and Indian Territory, Indian and Pioneer historical collection 1937. Page 230-23. Mary D. Doward, Investigator, March 15, 1938. An interview with Lena Benson Tiger (Mrs. Johnson Tiger), 417 West 7^th Street, Tulsa, Oklahoma.

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:

• Oral history collection, 1974-1980, audio materials
• Brooks Hays Inst. 73, live