Authors: Harry N. MacLean
During McElroy's stay the sheriff discovered some loose bricks in the wall of the common room, where the prisoners spent time during the day. The mortar between the bricks had been dug out, apparently with something like a spoon. Prosecutor Lance filed a new charge against McElroy for feloniously attempting to escape while lawfully imprisoned. McElroy denied the charges, but later admitted to Alice that he had dug the mortar out. He wasn't trying to escape, he told her, he was just trying to provoke the sheriff by proving how easily he could undo his building.
Lance and Miller's sole objective in these prosecutions was to nail Ken McElroy. Because the whole case rested on the women's testimony, Lance granted Alice and Marty immunity from prosecution in return for their cooperation. Even so, the case was precarious-Lance had little confidence that the two women would hold firm and actually testify under oath in front of a judge.
Richard McFadin had been admitted to the practice of law in Missouri in 1956. He specialized in litigation and built his reputation in criminal cases, which made up 40 percent of his caseload. Not modest, he claimed to have won approximately 90 percent of his trials, the more glorious of which he would willingly recount in detail with only the slightest encouragement. A short, heavyset man of ruddy complexion, he was easygoing and affable, with a sophisticated type of country charm. He made some people uneasy, probably because they sensed that, behind the easy laugh and relaxed manner, a shrewd and calculating mind was sizing them up and probing for a way to pick their psychological pockets. They were right, and McFadin made no bones about it. He liked to repeat, with a self-promoter's pride, a description of himself as "cunning and devious." "You can call me cunning and devious," he would say with a chuckle, "just as long as you don't call me dishonest." He loved the law and he loved the game-the strategy, the moves and countermoves-and he was good at it, particularly in front of a jury. Like all good performers, he knew his audience.
But like every good lawyer, he also knew that most cases were won by thorough preparation. He sent investigators out to interview every witness, follow up every lead, read every document, and look under every stone. Sooner or later, he usually found something, some discrepancy or contradiction, to hang his case on. And he pushed the law to its limit: His obligation to his client was to uncover and exploit every loophole and every technicality in the law, to use every trick in his bag, while staying within the bounds of legality, if only by one millimeter. He was not morally concerned about or responsible for his client's behavior-he was, in his own words, a "hired gun." His sole concern was keeping his client a free man (and getting paid).
In the burglary and theft cases, McFadin saw clearly that there would be no case against his client without the testimony of Alice and Marty. McFadin took their depositions more than a year after the charges were filed, and both women completely recanted their earlier statements. Alice swore that Miller and Rhoades had threatened and coerced them into making the statements, and that none of the information was true. She and Marty had said what they said because they were mad at Ken and wanted to get even with him. (Their earlier statements confirmed that they had indeed been mad at him.) Lance was not surprised, but he was angry. He knew he had no choice but to dismiss all the charges, (including the one for jaWtoeaVing. Right then and there based on the deposition, he threatened to file perjury charges against the women. Alice asked McFadin to represent her, but he declined because of the obvious conflict of interest. The cases were dismissed, confirming for McElroy the rule of "no witnesses, no case." Nothing came of the threatened perjury charges.
The only good thing resulting from all of this, in Sheriff Miller's mind, was that the hog theft and cattle rustling came to a complete halt.
Alice returned to the McElroy farm near Skidmore. Not much had changed-Ken was gone most of the time, leaving Timmy to look after her and Juarez. Ken had a fear about being trapped on the farm, being unable to move. If a heavy snow began falling, or he heard that a bad storm was coming, he would take off and stay gone until the storm had passed and the roads were clear and dry. When he did come back, there was no telling what might be in store for her.
Tony died in 1970, and Mabel and Timmy moved to the small house down the road. Mabel took Tony's death hard, and some family members feared that she wouldn't last long, but they underestimated her strength. Alice turned to Mabel for comfort, talking to her about her problems with Ken, and Mabel listened by the hour. She cared about people in an old-fashioned way, and Alice knew Mabel could feel what Alice was feeling and understood her in her heart. Mabel consoled and encouraged Alice, and did what she could to make things better at home.
If Ken told anyone how he was feeling, if he confided to anyone his fears and anxieties about how his life was turning out, he talked to his mother. Others in the family tended to stay away from him, to leave him alone, but Mabel encouraged him to come to her and talk. She knew about some of his activities and what he was becoming-she had to go to court and put up the surety bond every time he got arrested, and she could see the marks on Alice. She talked to him about it, particularly about what he did to Alice, but she never judged him or shunned him. The most upset she ever got with Ken was when she learned that Alice and Juarez were going to leave the farm because he was going to marry the blond girl from Graham.
Transcript of Trena's Testimony, February 5, 1985.
attorney: Your father's name was-your real father's name was what?
T
rena: Clarence Otto.
attorney: Clarence what?
Trena: Otto.
attorney: Otto was his last name?
Trena: I think it's his middle name. attorney: Last name?
Trena: McCloud.
attorney: Is he alive?
Trena: I don't know.
attorney: Do you know where he lives?
Trena: I never have.
attorney: Was he married to your mother when you were born?
Trena: Uh-huh.
attorney: Never asked your mother where he was?
Trena: Uh-huh.
attorney: Did she know?
Trena: Huh-uh.
Trena Louise McCloud was born in the small prairie town of Whiting, Kansas, on January 24, 1957. Her mother, Treva, was the second child in a family of eight girls and four boys. In her early twenties Treva met Clarence McCloud, a county road worker, and moved in with him not long afterward. In the spring of 1956, when they had been together about a year and a half, Treva became pregnant. One October afternoon in the seventh month of Treva's pregnancy, Clarence told her he was going out for a few things and would be back shortly. He was never seen or heard from again.
Treva would later tell Trena that the reason her father left her was "because he didn't want you."
Treva wasn't ready to settle down, either, and she and her younger sister Brenda set off for St. Joe to seek their fortune, leaving Trena behind in the care of her grandparents in Whiting. Eventually, the two sisters migrated north to the Skidmore and Quitman area, where Treva met Ronnie McNeely.
Ronnie was a slight, almost skinny man. A nice enough guy and a decent worker, Ronnie wasn't a strong personality. His nickname was "Muscles." Growing up, Ronnie had done what a lot of poor boys did in rural northwest Missouri: He trained and traded dogs and hunted coons. In the fall hunting season, he would go out in the timber five or six nights in a row, hunting coon for the sport and to earn, sometimes, decent money for the pelts. He became good friends with another coon hunter and dog trainer, a man who preferred running his dogs through the timber and over the creeks on a moonlit night to doing anything else, except perhaps running women.
In 1963, Treva and Ronnie married and moved into a house outside Graham, a couple of miles down the road from the McElroy place. The newlyweds' house was rundown and had neither indoor plumbing nor electricity. Several months later, when Trena was almost seven years old, Treva brought her out from Kansas to become a part of the family.
Trena was a pretty girl, with clear blue eyes, light blond hair that fell to her shoulders, and a soft alabaster complexion. A little on the chubby side, she was an easy child, gentle, quiet, and very shy, responding to overtures with a slight smile. To some, she seemed a little too passive.
Ronnie got a job working on the bridge crew, and Treva began having more children. In a few years, Trena had three brothers and one sister. As the older sister, she worked hard taking care of her siblings and doing housework. One friend of Trena's, who stayed over at her house a few times, remembered Treva sitting around drinking coffee and smoking while ordering Trena to cook breakfast, do the laundry, or fetch water. The children came to call the person who took care of them "Sissy." Although Sissy continued to use the last name McCloud, she soon came to call Ronnie "Dad."
Trena grew up a rural kid in a rural family, meaning in the case of non-landowners, lots of kids, very little money, and not a whole lot of education. The man usually worked for someone else as a hired hand, driving combines and grain trucks in season, and maybe pumping gas or tending bar in the winter. The woman stayed at home and cared for the kids and possibly waited tables at the cafe in town a few evenings a week.
Money was scarce even in decent times, and the kids who were tall enough to reach the tractor pedals worked during planting and harvest seasons. Education wasn't that important; the goal was to find a decent job, get married, and have a family. Recreation consisted of hunting coons and trapping muskrat and, for some of the men, drinking. In terms of community affairs, these families usually had little interest or influence.
Although Trena went to school regularly, she seemed in some ways never to quite fit in. Classmates from better-off families saw her as "rough" because of her poor grammar and the fact that her clothes were not the newest or the best. She was friendly enough to anyone who approached her, but otherwise she usually hung back, keeping quietly to herself. In class, she was not considered bright by her teachers or her classmates. She seldom had her homework done, and she seemed to have difficulty following the teachers' instructions. She often looked over her classmates' shoulders while doing her work. But she excelled in sports, particularly track and basketball.
Most small towns have one teacher who stands out among all the rest -one, who over the years, is a favorite of the kids in class after class. Stories of affection and admiration are passed down until she (it is always a woman) becomes a local folk hero, and the kids entering her class feel as if they'd known her all their life. What sticks with her students long after they're gone and grown up is the feeling that, as children, this adult treated them as human beings.
In the Nodaway-Holt school district, which included Graham, Maitland, and Skidmore, this teacher was Katherine Whitney. She served as the guidance counselor, as well as teacher of algebra, art, business, psychology, and shorthand, from 1965 until she retired in 1985. As guidance counselor, she was the one students talked to about their problems and the one who talked to the parents about their kids' problems. Even the toughest characters in the area-the drinkers, abusers, and active malcontents-remember with a laugh how, on a Monday morning, when they were bragging about their weekend's exploits, she would sit them down and tell them the truth about men and manhood: "Boys," she would say with a serious face, "there's more to being a man than driving cars fast, drinking beer hard, and laying lots of women." She would chide them that, if half of their numbers were true, there couldn't be a virgin left in Nodaway or Holt County. She tried talking to parents about their sons' drinking and fighting, but the fathers' response was usually "Well, hell, that's what I did in high school!"
Mrs. Whitney saw Trena as young for her age. She couldn't recall her mother or stepfather coming to school for parents' night; in fact, she never met Treva or Ronnie.
To Mrs. Whitney, Trena was soft and warm, and had a nice quality of friendliness about her, like a friendly puppy, always glad to see you. She and her friend Vicki were alike, except Vicki was a little bit more bubbly.
Vicki, a pretty brown-haired girl from the Graham area, was Trena's only close friend. The girls had become friends in fifth grade, when they first attended school together and by sixth grade, they had become inseparable. They sat next to each other in class, passing notes back and forth, and hung around together, during recess and after school. They talked on the phone at least once a day about schoolwork and boys. The girls often spent the night at each other's house, and they promised they would always be best friends.
Trena gave Vicki a pendant for her birthday in the eighth grade, and a bracelet with her name engraved on it for Christmas. The pendant was a piece of oval red glass encased in a gold frame with a gold cross etched in the middle. Years later, Vicki still had the pendant and the bracelet securely tucked away in a small box in her bedroom.