Authors: Harry N. MacLean
This is the only warning you will get. Our bellies are full of your kind. Ken did not pay any attention to leave the county when told to. Get out of this territory while you can. You have been warned. We don't want any thieves or rustlers or troublemakers.
Rumor had it that McElroy's oldest son, Jerome, was on his way out from California with a bunch of motorcycle buddies to avenge his father's death. Jerome did, in fact, plan to come for the funeral, and he did say a few things about what he was going to do when he got to town. But Tim and one of Jerome's aunts got hold of him and talked him out of coming, saying things would be best if he stayed in California.
Several letters supportive of Ken appeared in the Forum. One woman in St. Joe wrote that Ken was a very nice person who had done lots of things for her family and many others. She maintained that the people saying bad things about him were doing it only as a way to get rid of guilty feelings. "Ken McElroy was one of the best men I have known."
Although Alice would later make peace with the killing and, in her mind at least, with the people of Skidmore, now she was antagonistic and belligerent. She wrote a letter to the St. Joseph Gazette stating that the real reason McElroy was hassled so much was that the ladies and wives of the big shots in the area liked his looks more than their husbands'. She claimed that the townspeople were determined to kill her and McElroy's children.
But how do I tell [his children] that they can't see their grandma because the same people who murdered their father want to see them dead, too, simply because they are his children?
Ken was simply fighting for his constitutional rights and the rights of his children when he was ruthlessly murdered.
I'll face those people and fight for our God-given rights and constitutional right to go where we want, and if we don't return alive, well, all I can say is that we have made our peace with God and are ready to face His judgment.
Can the people of Skidmore honestly say the same? I think not, because they can't lie to Him.
On Monday, July 20, Judge Monty Wilson received Baird's request to impanel a grand jury. Wilson's response enshrined for all time his reputation for vacillation and weakness. First, he said he was considering the request and would make a decision when he returned from a convention that Thursday or Friday. On Friday, after the coroner's jury had announced its decision not to name the killers, Wilson disqualified himself from making the decision to call the grand jury. He had mailed a notice of his disqualification to the Missouri Supreme Court and had requested that they appoint another judge to determine the matter. Wilson gave no reason for his disqualification, but to the community of Skidmore, there was no mystery: Wilson had been terrified of McElroy during his life and was still terrified of him even after he was planted six feet in the ground forty miles away.
On Monday, July 28, the Missouri Supreme Court appointed Circuit Judge Conley from Columbia, Missouri, to hear Baird's request. On Tuesday, Judge Conley granted the request and ordered the impaneling of the grand jury for the following Saturday. The promptness of his action was noted by the Forum, which pointed out derisively that "Wilson spent about a week deciding to disqualify himself." But the grand jury would not meet to begin taking evidence until August 11, and then it would consider other matters in addition to the killing. Almost two months would pass before the jury would reach a decision on whether to indict someone for the killing of Ken McElroy.
It was a long two months for the community. The grand jury met in secret, issued subpoenas, and put witnesses under oath, which meant that witnesses could be prosecuted for perjury. This would be a true test of the strength of the bond of silence; telling the local deputy on your front porch that you dropped to the ground when you heard the shots and never saw anyone with a gun was one thing, but saying it in front of a grand jury after having sworn an oath in God's name was quite another.
Meanwhile, in a statement to the Forum, Trena announced that she was offering a $5,000 reward for "anyone supplying information to authorities which leads to the arrest and conviction of the persons) responsible for the murder of Ken Rex McElroy." The only catch was that Trena didn't have the money. The reward would be paid only from the proceeds of the sale of Trena's movie rights. McFadin explained that several producers had contacted Trena about the purchase of her rights.
In Skidmore the announcement of the reward brought a big chuckle. Although five thousand dollars was a lot of money, there wasn't a farmer in Nodaway County who would put his rear end on the line for money that wasn't even there.
Of slightly more concern to the community was Baird's invitation to the public to submit information to the grand jury and the listing in the Forum of a post office box number for that purpose. Baird explained that if the grand jury found probable cause to believe that a specific person had committed the murder, an arrest warrant would be issued immediately by the judge. Baird said that he would submit the lab reports, the autopsy report, the ballistics report, and extensive oral testimony to the grand jury. The unspoken message seemed to be that if one witness backed Trena's story, an indictment would be issued.
The Punkin' Show was held on August 8,9, and 10, the weekend before the grand jury convened. An extra deputy sheriff and two plainclothesmen were on hand in case of trouble. The reporters from St. Joe and Kansas City came, but not to cover the beauty contests or the talent show or the tractor pull or the parade; they wanted to talk about the killing and find out how people were feeling about it. Some residents were so annoyed that they told a couple of reporters to get out of town.
Festival played two nights in a row at the Punkin' Show. For years, the band had played at the show for free, and band members had worked on committees and helped design the sound system for the stage. But the band had been losing too much money recently, and members decided they would have to start charging for the concerts in the future. This didn't sit well with a few townspeople, who were already disgruntled that someone had passed a hat to help the band buy a piece of land. Band members noticed bad vibrations-trucks sometimes passed too close to them as they walked in the road, their waves were not always returned, and a few people made nasty comments about them.
After the shooting, Festival members felt their relations with the town grow particularly cool. The townspeople seemed negative and defensive. On stage at the Punkin' Show, Britt Small tried to break the ice with humor, describing Skidmore as a "small town of 440 people, well actually only 439 now."
No one laughed.
"People, we don't have to crumble in the face of the media," he said, hoping to rally the audience. "We can hang together; we can stand tall. There's no reason why we have to let this get the best of us."
He got no response.
The grand jury met for the first time on August 11 but did not turn to the killing until Thursday, August 20. The press kept the story alive because McElroy's death was the only news other than hog prices, predictions for the fall harvest and garden club meetings. After every headline" Jury Work Begins," "Grand Jury Slated to Meet Again Thursday," "Grand Jury Reconvenes; McElroy Probe Started"-two sentences would be devoted to a new fact or two, followed by two columns rehashing the entire sequence of events. The articles continued to describe the crowd as surrounding the truck.
The grand jury subpoenas went out, and the recipients were eager to know who else was on the list. Those who had been outside the tavern at the time of the killing, but claimed not to have seen anything, were particularly nervous. They talked some about what was going to happen, but the discussions were generally superficial.
The first day, eight residents testified. Trena testified on Friday. She arrived with Alice Wood, Juarez, and McFadin, who was in a three-piece suit, briefcase in hand, to face a throng of reporters and cameras on the courthouse steps. Never far from Trena's side, McFadin was photographed and quoted extensively. Lest there be any doubt, he said that he "hadn't accepted a dime" from Trena and didn't intend to.
At a press conference after her testimony, Trena stated that she didn't think anyone would talk, for fear of being killed. "I think if anyone would come forward with any information they would have to get out of town or be in constant danger. I think the whole town would do as they did to my husband."
Trena's claims of grand jury bias got a slight boost when a newspaper revealed that one of the jurors was married to Del Clement's wife's great-uncle.
In August and September, Skidmore continued to draw attention from the national media. Staff from "60 Minutes" showed up to begin researching their story, and a free-lance writer doing the Playboy article came to town. He wrote a melodramatic piece entitled "High Noon in Skidmore," which angered the community by stating that the townspeople had hunted McElroy down like a coon and by portraying the town as a hick backwash.
People magazine published its article on September 14. It began: "Anyone looking for Ken Rex McElroy could usually find him at the D & G Tavern in Skidmore." McFadin gave his usual quotes about the immorality of the people taking the law into their own hands, but this time he proclaimed, "The whole county is guilty."
Newsday published its piece, entitled "A Town Bully Meets His Match," which described his vehicle (the shiny Silverado) as a "battered pickup" and McElroy as a "hulking 230-pound farmer." The article said that several "stony faced citizens surrounded him in the bar" and "stared him down in a wordless sidewalk confrontation." Newsday described the town as a "close knit, hardworking group of farmers" who, among other things, "appreciate good beer."
The first two weeks of September were hot, a scorching continuation of August. The growing season for corn was coming to an end, and the green stalks and leaves were gradually turning yellow, from the bottoms up and the tips in. The cobs, encircled with rows of plump kernels, peeked out of their husks, and began to point out and gradually downward, as the moisture left the plant and the stalk withered. In a few weeks, the leaves and stalks would shade from yellow to burnt orange, then to a rusty brown. The bean plants expired more subtly. About a foot and a half tall, and covered with dark green leaves, the plants spread across the fields, hiding the soil beneath a solid green carpet. The carpet faded unevenly, and the fields became a huge impressionistic canvas: deep emerald fading into lighter, more delicate green shades, and small splotches of bright yellow emerging beside the palest hues.
Judge Donelson had not yet finished with the community of Skidmore. Reporters had been hounding Baird for information on the Bowenkamp trial, and he had referred them, logically, to the official court records in Bethany. Judge Donelson, upset by the reporters (the one from Playboy in particular) crawling all over his domain, and perhaps concerned about what they might find, decided to close the files to the public.
Under Missouri law, criminal files were closed in cases where the defendant was arrested but not charged, or where the defendant was charged but the case was later dismissed, or where the defendant was found not guilty. The rationale for the law was that the legal system should not maintain records of alleged misconduct of which a defendant was not convicted.
In this case, of course, McElroy had been charged, tried, and found guilty of a crime. But Donelson, relying on the technical status of the case, devised a way to twist the statute so that he could close the files. Because the motion for a new trial had not yet been filed or heard, and because no judgment had been entered by the court, McElroy technically had not yet been convicted. Since the case was thus still alive, it could be dismissed, and if it was dismissed, Donelson could argue that the records were sealed by statute. His only problem was that under Missouri law, the judge couldn't dismiss the case. But, at least arguably, the prosecutor could. Donelson telephoned David Baird and said that he wanted Baird to dismiss the case. Baird clearly understood that Donelson was seeking the dismissal in order to close the files. Although Baird was skeptical of his legal authority to dismiss a case after a jury verdict had been rendered, he bowed to the judge and filed a motion with the court reciting the facts of McElroy's death and dismissing the case. Now, when someone sought the files, Donelson could point to Baird's dismissal and say the law declared the files to be closed. Even if Donelson's action perverted the intent of the statute, a journalist's only recourse would be to file a lawsuit-in Donelson's court-to open the files. When that suit failed, the journalist could appeal the decision to the state supreme court.
Over the radio, almost incidentally, the townspeople learned that the case had been dismissed and the records closed. They were not particularly upset about the records, but to learn that the case against McElroy had been thrown out was galling. The judge had denied them their only victory against Ken McElroy; now in the eyes of the law, McElroy was not guilty of second-degree assault for shooting Bo Bowenkamp.
A vote of eight of the twelve members of the grand jury was required for an indictment to issue. Such a result was never very likely. The jurors knew all about Ken McElroy, and, in their view, if anybody was responsible for his being killed, the law was. Although Trena had identified Del Clement as the killer, no one else had backed her up, and she was as bad as Ken had been. Nobody was going to stand trial solely on the basis of what she said. Even if someone else had corroborated Trena's identification, if someone had cracked under pressure, an indictment would have been hard to come by. The man had got what he deserved.