The Year of the Gangster, Part 5: Firefight on Highway 12

A fierce gun battle had erupted just off a blacktop highway in a small and unsuspecting town called Barrington about 30 miles northwest of Chicago.

The date: November 27, 1934—76 years ago.

On the one side were two dangerous gangsters—the hot-headed “Baby Face” Nelson and his criminal side-kick John Paul Chase.

On the other were two veteran Bureau special agents—Sam Cowley, a high-ranking inspector who was actually spearheading the hunt for Nelson, and Herman “Ed” Hollis, one of three agents who fired the shots that felled John Dillinger that summer and an important player in the pursuit of Baby Face.

In less than five minutes, what came to be known as “The Battle of Barrington” would be over. In less than 12 hours, only one of the four would still be alive to talk about it.

At the center of it all was Nelson. Ever since he'd brutally shot and killed Bureau agent Carter Baum at a Wisconsin resort that spring—and especially after Dillinger and “Pretty Boy” Floyd had fallen—Nelson had been high atop our list of public enemies. Just 25 years old—born a few months after the Bureau itself—Nelson was already a prolific and particularly violent criminal, robbing banks and reportedly murdering several lawmen and innocent bystanders along the way.

Earlier that afternoon, agents on a stake-out had spotted Nelson, his wife Helen, and Chase driving in Wisconsin. They got the license plate and alerted Cowley. By about 3:15, after Nelson had disabled the car of another pair of agents with a hail of bullets, Cowley and Hollis caught up with the criminals at Barrington.

Nelson pulled off Northwest Highway 12 (now Highway 14) at the entrance of a park and prepared to do battle. He and Chase opened fire as the agents stopped their car some 150 feet away. (Helen Gillis jumped in a nearby ditch and wasn't involved in the shooting.) The agents jumped out, took defensive positions, and began shooting. Cowley struck first—hitting Nelson with multiple rounds. But Nelson continued to fire, badly wounding the agent. Hollis bravely jumped forward and hit Baby Face in the legs with a barrage of shotgun pellets, but Nelson fired back and killed him.

Bleeding heavily, Nelson drove off with his wife and Chase. But by 8 o'clock that evening, he had succumbed to his wounds. His body was dumped in a ditch near a cemetery, most likely by Chase, and found by Bureau agents later that evening.

The Bureau had taken down a major gunslinger, but the price was high. Cowley—a steady, unassuming leader who had headed up all of the agency's major gangster cases—died early the next morning. His body was returned to Salt Lake City, his hometown, and laid in state in the Utah capitol. Hollis—another effective and ultimately heroic agent—was buried in Des Moines, Iowa.

For the young Bureau, 1934 had been a pivotal year. Working closely in every case with local and state authorities, they had taken down or helped take down Bonnie and Clyde, John Dillinger, “Pretty Boy” Floyd, Baby Face Nelson, and many of their fellow gangsters. The nation breathed a collective sigh of relief, as the gangster era passed into history. Along the way, the agency had honed its skills and put itself on the crime-fighting map, and in 1935, it had a new name to go with its growing capabilities: the Federal Bureau of Investigation—the FBI.

The Year of the Gangster, Part 4: 'Pretty Boy' Falls

Two cars traveled down a country road towards the Conkle farm, two miles south of a small town named Clarkson on the eastern edge of Ohio. It was 4:10 on the afternoon of October 22, 1934, and history was about to unfold.

In one car were four Bureau agents, led by Chicago Special Agent in Charge Melvin Purvis. In the other were four local law enforcement officers, headed by East Liverpool Chief of Police Hugh McDermott.

The group was searching for Charles Arthur Floyd—known far and wide as “Pretty Boy,” a nickname he hated and refused to answer to, preferring “Choc”—and they quickly realized they’d found him. Wearing a navy blue suit, Floyd jumped from a car he was riding in and bolted across a rolling field, pistol in hand.

Within minutes, Floyd would breathe his last.

Law enforcement had been closing in on Floyd over the past two days. Floyd, just 30 years old, had been in trouble with the law for about a dozen years. He’d stolen money, robbed banks, and reportedly killed some 10 people. But it was his participation in the so-called Kansas City Massacre—a brazen attack in June 1933 that killed four lawmen, including a Bureau agent—that brought the FBI into the chase.

Floyd had been traveling across the country in the fall of 1934 with another conspirator in the Kansas City attack—Adam Richetti, an ex-sheriff turned bad—and their two girlfriends when the net tightened. On the wet, foggy evening of October 20, not long after the foursome had crossed into Ohio, Floyd ran their car into a telephone poll. Floyd and Richetti camped out nearby as the women went to have the car repaired. The men were eventually spotted, and law enforcement was called.

Richetti was soon captured, but Floyd ran off on foot. Hungry and tired, the fugitive ended up on the Conkle place on the afternoon of October 22 and tried to hitch a ride. That’s when the FBI and law enforcement finally caught up with him.

Fleeing the pursuing officers, Floyd zigzagged across the farm towards a group of trees. All eight law enforcement officers followed, calling on him to stop. As Floyd looked over his shoulder to see the pursuit, gunfire rang out. Floyd fell. “I’m done for, you’ve hit me twice,” he said after officers approached.

As he lay dying, Floyd was questioned. He admitted his identity, but little else. He slipped into unconsciousness and died soon after.

The Chester Smith Controversy

In the 1970s—some four decades after the fact—Chester Smith, one of the East Liverpool officers at the final confrontation with “Pretty Boy,” made two controversial and unfounded claims that continue to color depictions of Floyd’s last moments. Read More

After his death, the legend of “Pretty Boy” just continued to grow. His myth even sparked a revisionist ballad by folk singer Woodie Guthrie, suggesting Floyd saved “many a starving farmer” from losing their homes. While Floyd reportedly destroyed mortgage notes from a bank or two that he robbed in hopes of saving a few farmers from foreclosure, his reputation as a humanitarian or a “Robin Hood” is undeserved. He robbed and stole to support a lifestyle of flash and ease and didn’t hesitate to shoot and kill when it suited him.

For the FBI, Floyd’s death was another key victory in the war against gangsters. Next, we stepped up our search for another dangerous fugitive—Lester Gillis, aka “Baby Face Nelson.” Check back next month for that story and the latest installment in our “Year of the Gangster” series.

The Year of the Gangster, Part 3: The Top Ten Dillinger Myths

On July 22, 1934—75 years ago today—Bureau agents put an end to John Dillinger’s reign of crime when he was shot and killed near the Biograph Theater in Chicago. Dillinger’s story has been told and retold ever since—including in a recent Hollywood movie. Along the way, fact and fiction have often been blended together. Here, from our perspective, are the top ten myths surrounding Dillinger and the facts as we know them.

Myth #10: Dillinger was a “Robin Hood” type criminal, a romantic outlaw.

Dillinger certainly had charm and charisma, but he was no champion of the poor or harmless thief—he was a hardened and vicious criminal. Dillinger stormed police stations in search of weapons and bulletproof vests. He robbed banks and stole cars. He shot at police officers (and may have killed one) and regularly used innocent bystanders as human shields to escape the law. Worse yet, he stood by as his ruthless gang members shot and killed people, including law enforcement officials. And what of his ill-gotten gains? They were used to line his own pockets and those of his partners in crime, not those of impoverished Americans in the midst of the Great Depression.

Myth #9: Dillinger was not carrying a gun the night he was killed.

Dillinger did have a gun on him—a .380 Colt automatic with the serial number scratched out. He reached for that gun when Bureau agents cornered him that fateful night. Not taking any chances, agents shot him before he had the chance to open fire.

Myth #8: John Dillinger was not killed at the Biograph Theater, a stand-in was.

If this sounds like a conspiracy theory, that’s because it is. Claims that a man resembling Dillinger was actually killed have been advanced with only circumstantial evidence. On the other hand, a wealth of information supports Dillinger’s demise. Special Agents M. Chaffetz and Earle Richmond, for example, took two sets of fingerprints from the body outside the Biograph Theater, and both were a positive match. Another set taken during the autopsy were also a match.

Myth #7: The FBI beat up Evelyn Frechette after her arrest.

Not so. Evelyn “Billie” Frechette—Dillinger’s one time girlfriend—was captured on April 9, 1934 and detained in our Chicago Field Office. She was interrogated about Dillinger around the clock for two days under hot lights. She refused to cooperate and was transferred to St. Paul to stand trail for harboring Dillinger. While her interrogation wasn’t exactly a walk in the park, at no time did agents attack or strike her. Frechette and her lawyer claimed we did during the trail—most likely to win sympathy.

Myth #6: The FBI took physical specimens from Dillinger’s corpse.

There is no evidence suggesting that the Bureau kept “souvenirs” from Dillinger’s body or in any way desecrated his remains. According to media reports, however, the local coroner later admitted taking pieces of Dillinger’s brain to examine.

Myth #5: East Chicago, Indiana Police killed Dillinger, not FBI agents.

While East Chicago Police officers were instrumental in helping the Bureau track down Dillinger the night he died, they were not in a position to shoot him. According to the drawn-up plans of the takedown and individual testimony, all of these officers were too far away to have an unobstructed shot. The closest—Captain Timothy O’Neil—was stationed across the street; his line of fire would have been blocked by special agents and civilians. In the end, it was Bureau agents who shot and killed Dillinger. Claims that someone else pulled the trigger came much later.

Capturing John Dillinger was certainly the Bureau’s top priority in the summer of 1934, but we did not take a “dead or alive” approach as evidenced in our records and in later agent recollections. After the failed raid at Little Bohemia, we did hire several exceptional lawmen with firearms experience and steady gun-hands during times of danger, but only one ended up firing on Dillinger. The idea was to bring in professionals to help mentor less experienced agents, not to get Dillinger at all costs.

Myth #3: Chicago Special Agent in Charge Melvin Purvis single-handedly brought down Dillinger.

Purvis was a key figure, but he definitely did not shoot Dillinger (as some press accounts claimed) and his role in the final days of the case has often been overstated. After the Little Bohemia incident, Director J. Edgar Hoover appointed Inspector and Special Agent Samuel Cowley to oversee what had become a multi-state search. Cowley operated independently, but largely out of our Chicago office. FBI records suggest that he and Purvis worked together on the Dillinger investigation, but Cowley was clearly in charge until the end.

Myth #2: A “lady in a red dress” betrayed Dillinger.

Actually, it was a lady in an orange skirt and white blouse named Anna (Ana) Sage. Sage—a Romanian who was friends with Dillinger’s girlfriend at the time, Polly Hamilton—came up with the idea of turning in the fugitive after she was invited to go to the movies with the couple. She contacted the East Chicago, Indiana Police Department, who passed her on to Purvis. While Sage hoped that the FBI might help her avoid deportation, she also wanted the $5,000 reward. She told Purvis she would be attending a movie with Dillinger and Hamilton at the Biograph and would wear an orange skirt to set her apart from the crowd. (The red dress was an invention of the media—red tends to be a more alluring color and apparently sounded better in a headline.) After Dillinger’s death, Sage was paid the reward, but the FBI was not able to influence her deportation proceedings, and she was sent back to Romania.

Myth #1: Dillinger died expressing his love for Billie Frechette.

Popular culture likes to play up the “eternal romance” between Dillinger and Frechette, but evidence shows that they were in love only a short time. After Frechette was captured, Dillinger looked elsewhere for romance. He found it with Polly Hamilton—the woman he took to the movies the night he was killed. When he was shot, Dillinger had on him a gold ring inscribed with the words, “With all my love, Polly,” as well as a pocket watch that contained a picture of her. Dillinger is thought by some to have whispered something about Billie Frechette as he lay on the sidewalk dying. Several eyewitnesses said they saw Dillinger’s lips moving moments before he died, but no one was close enough to hear if he was whispering or simply exhaling for the last time.

The Year of the Gangster, Part 2: Bonnie and Clyde Redux

It was 75 years ago this past Saturday—on the morning of May 23, 1934—that Clyde Barrow and Bonnie Parker drove their Ford sedan down a dusty back road in Louisiana and straight into an ambush.

A posse of heavily-armed lawmen put an end to the infamous crime couple's deadly reign—but it was really just the beginning of the nation's fascination with the star-crossed lovers, whose story is still being told today.

Now, there's a little bit more to talk about.

For the first time, we're releasing on this website nearly 1,000 pages of new material on our investigations of Bonnie and Clyde and their partners in crime—including some pictures that you see here. The information represents the investigative case records of our Dallas Field Office, which were uncovered in the course of preparing a historical exhibit in Dallas and disclosed last year.

These pages describe the Bureau's involvement in the pursuit of Bonnie and Clyde, which began almost exactly a year before their deaths when we discovered evidence that they had crossed state lines in a stolen car. By the time we joined the hunt, the pair had been crisscrossing the Midwest, chased by every level of law enforcement across eight states—stealing cars, robbing banks and gas stations, taking hostages, and even gunning down police officers and innocent bystanders alike. Their rapid-fire movements and connections were such that our agents in Dallas, New Orleans, Detroit, Kansas City, Oklahoma City, San Antonio, St. Louis, and elsewhere were soon involved.

Our Dallas file clearly shows how the many different levels of law enforcement worked together closely in the hunt for Bonnie and Clyde. They shared information, leads, and informants, with the FBI often acting as a clearinghouse for the spread of information across the Midwest.

New Orleans Division Special Agent Lester Kindell, for example, played a central role in this cooperative effort to track the fugitives in Louisiana and parts of Texas, joining hands with former Texas Ranger Frank Hamer and others. Kindell was also closely involved in discussions that led to the final confrontation with Bonnie and Clyde, although he did not participate in the fatal ambush.

The four parts of this file add to the information we've already made available on these notorious criminals, and we hope that they lead to new understandings of law enforcement and crime during what we are calling "The Year of the Gangster."

The Year of the Gangster, Part 1

Dillinger Crosses a Line

An elderly janitor walked into the cell block of the Lake County Jail at Crown Point, Indiana. The date: March 3, 1934. It was a relatively new facility, built onto the back of the sheriff's house in 1926, easy to clean, impossible to escape from. The addition of a notorious prisoner—John Dillinger—would prove that. Or so the sheriff thought.

As the janitor entered the cell, the prisoner jumped him and jammed a gun—actually a piece of wood carved in the shape of one—into his ribs. Quickly, through a combination of bravado and desperation, Dillinger tricked half a dozen guards back to the cell block, confiscated their weapons, and jailed the jailors.

On that day, Dillinger was 30 years old. He was of medium build and average height, with brown, thinning hair. His most distinguishing feature was a roguish smile, which he had put to good use in a series of press photos with the prosecuting attorney Robert Estill and the sheriff upon his extradition to Crown Point. The chummy nature of the photos contributed to both these officials losing their jobs that year. And Dillinger's charm had already begun to captivate the American people, who began to see him as part Robin Hood, part vicious thug.

The notorious gangster had been captured in Arizona two months earlier. He was wanted in connection with the murder of an East Chicago, Indiana police officer named William O'Malley. At the time Dillinger was not on our radar; he had committed no federal crimes. But we had been assisting Ohio law enforcement in their search for him after he was freed from a Lima jail by his confederates in the fall of 1933.

Now Dillinger had escaped once more. In making the break, he'd stolen the sheriff's car and driven it to Chicago, 50 or so miles northwest of Crown Point. In the process, he crossed the Indiana/Illinois border and violated the National Motor Vehicle Theft Act, commonly called the "Dyer Act." John Dillinger was now a federal fugitive and an FBI subject.

Over the next several months, the Bureau tracked Dillinger and a wide array of violent criminals who worked with him—making mistakes along the way, but ultimately bringing these violent criminals to justice.

This year marks the 75th anniversary of that chase. More importantly, it is the 75th anniversary of the emergence of the FBI as an organization of national and international stature.

The Bureau's success in dealing with the gangsters led to significant changes in the FBI and law enforcement nationwide. Over the next few months, we will spotlight what we are calling "The Year of the Gangster" on this website through stories, photographs, and multimedia presentations, along with some new case details. We will tell how we went after such desperados as Bonnie and Clyde, "Pretty Boy" Floyd, "Baby Face" Nelson, and more. We will examine the social and political changes that arose from these criminal threats, bring to light long-forgotten historical sources, and consider the role that the Gangster Era played in the evolution of the FBI and its portrayal in American popular culture.

Next month, look for a story on the Bureau and Bonnie and Clyde, including a newly released field office file on the notorious crime couple.