This is NOT the correct coordinates. Lunch for
two gift certificate for FTF!
The correct cooridinates are:
N40 ABCDEF
W085 GHIJKL
Henry Methvin
Hamer, in the meantime, had learned of the couple’s meeting
with their folks in Dallas. He put two and two together and, again,
guessed correctly. He presumed that they were probably en route
next to visit with Methvin’s father, Iverson, who lived in
Acadia, Louisiana, in the northern part of the state near
Shreveport. Which is exactly where the outlaw trio headed. Ever
since the massacre in Grapevine, in which he killed the motorcycle
trooper, Henry Methvin was skittish. He had known from that moment
on that he had gotten into something way over his head. And he had
heard the "death talk" during the Barrow- Parker reunion; had seen
the sullen faces; had read Bonnie’s poem which spoke of
death. Henry Methvin was not presupposed to the idea of accepting
what Bonnie called "the wages of sin". Simply, Henry wanted to
live. By the time they arrived in Shreveport, Methvin was a bundle
of nerves. Holing up at Iverson’s out-of-the-way cabin off
Sailes Road, Henry confessed his fears to his father. While Bonnie
and Clyde slept in an adjoining room, he rued his association with
them. He wished, he told Iverson, that he could wake up and find
himself pardoned of all his crimes and start life anew. This gave
Iverson an idea. When Hamer, Hinton and the other troopers paused
in Shreveport on May 19, they felt that the end was near. Hamer
contacted Chief of Police Tom Bryan to inform him of their plans
for an ambush, but in turn received startling news. Mr. Methvin had
paid Bryan a visit offering a deal: Bonnie and Clyde for a reduced
sentence for his son. Hamer asked to see Iverson Methvin
immediately. Sometime during the day of May 22, final preparations
were made for an ambush. The plan that resulted was devilishly
simple. Bonnie and Clyde, Methvin confessed, were staying at his
cabin. During the day they tended to make early visits to town in
nearby Sailes. The Sailes Road was dense with woodland, moss
hanging low over the road. The road was narrow and there were
plenty of places a posse could wait concealed. "But, how do we know
your son won’t be with them?" asked Hamer. That problem,
Hamer learned, had already been conveniently worked out by fate. A
day earlier Bonnie, Clyde and Henry Methvin had driven to
Shreveport for hamburgers; while Methvin went in to order, a police
squad had pulled alongside the Barrow car in a parking lot. Clyde,
apprehensive with its appearance, calmly pulled away, intending to
circle the neighborhood and come back for Methvin later. But,
Henry, having noticed what had occurred, left without his order and
went into hiding. The couple returned to Iverson’s cabin
alone, assuring the father that his son would reappear eventually.
Details were worked out. Iverson, a logger by trade, owned a
beat-up Model A truck that he occasionally used to haul pulp lumber
to Sailes. Clyde often poked fun at the truck, so would recognize
it on sight. If Clyde were to spot that truck stalled, say, on
Sailes Road, would he not stop to investigate? A handshake and a
promise of leniency for Henry Methvin ended the dialogue. The spot
that the agents chose for the ambush that next morning, May 23,
1934, was atop one of the many low rolling hills that the road
traversed. "Moss-covered trees grew so close to the road at this
point that we were hidden from view -- but we could see anyone
approaching for almost a half-mile on the road from either
direction," writes Ted Hinton. Old Man Methvin’s beater had
been parked alongside a small ditch that ran along the north side
of the road; the sharpshooters kneeled across the way directly from
it. Iverson himself waited among the posse, biting his fingernails.
Joining the posse were County Sheriff Henderson Jordan and
Bienville Parish Deputy Prentis Oakley.
Ambush Spot
Clyde and Bonnie had gone to town at daybreak and unless this day
differed from the others, would be passing this point on their way
back to the Methvin cabin around 9 a.m. Ted Hinton and Bob Alcorn,
who knew Barrow and Parker by sight, were posted nearest the road
to avoid gunning down the wrong party. At fifteen minutes past nine
Bob Alcorn pointed to a beige ‘34 Ford approaching from over
the nearest hill. As it sped towards them, it seemed to slow down,
its driver’s eyes on the abandoned truck. The current license
plate on the car was an Arkansas one, 15-368. "This is him," Hinton
side-mouthed, and lifted his Browning automatic to his shoulder,
the silhouette of Clyde Barrow’s head square in its sight.
Each of the other officers was equipped with like weapons, loaded
with five full rounds. They watched Clyde’s form bending
forward, scanning the truck, then twisting sideways to look for its
owner among the trees. Body movement bespoke curiosity. Beside him
sat Bonnie; wearing a dress of red, her favorite color. Hinton
heard Hamer, beside him, clear his throat.
The bullet-riddled car of Bonnie and Clyde
(Recent Photo
But, Hamer chose not to call out a warning -- not to Bonnie and
Clyde, who always escaped when given even the slightest advantage.
There would be no advantage here. Instead in a voice audible only
to those around him, void of drama, void of malice, Hamer ordered,
"Shoot! "In the book, Ambush, Hinton tells the rest: "...Bonnie
screams, and I fire and everyone fires...My BAR spits out twenty
shots in an instant, and a drumbeat of shells knifes through the
steel body of the car, and glass is shattering. For a fleeting
instant, the car seems to melt and hang in a kind of eerie and
animated suspension, trying to move forward, spitting gravel at the
wheels, but unable to break through the shield of withering
gunfire...My ears are ringing, there is a spinning and reeling in
my head from the cannonade of bullets and the clank of
steel-jacketed metal tearing steel...." And when the firing
subsided..."Clyde is slumped forward , the back of his head a mat
of blood...I scramble over the hood of the car and throw open the
door on Bonnie’s side. The impression will linger with me
from this instant -- I see her falling out of the opened door, a
beautiful and petite young girl...and I smell a light perfume
against the burned-cordite smell of gunpowder..." It was a season
of "lasts." On May 6, Bonnie and Clyde met with their families for
what would be the last time on a rural road near Dallas. Solemnity
weighted the air. Everyone felt it. And none avoided it, especially
Bonnie who alluded to a forthcoming death. When her mother asked
Bonnie not to talk about death, Bonnie hugged her and, according to
The Lives and Times of Bonnie and Clyde, replied, "Now Mama,
don’t get upset...It’s coming. You know it. I know
it...Mama, when they kill us, don’t ever say anything ugly
about Clyde." She then handed her a poem she had written, which she
called simply, The Story of Bonnie and Clyde. This poem, which her
mother had printed in the newspapers, is a remarkable piece of
self-realization from a woman whose understanding of herself, her
world and her times provides the reader with the realization that,
despite its coarseness, it was written by a very insightful woman.
(The story for this series was written by Joseph Geringer)
Photos of Bonnie Parker's and Clyde Barrow's
Graves
Following is a poem written by Bonnie Parker
somewhere in the last weeks of her life: (The punctuation are
hers.) She entitled it: The Story of Bonnie and Clyde
You’ve read the story of Jesse James Of how
he lived and died
If you’re still in need for something to
read
Here’s the story of Bonnie and Clyde.
Now Bonnie and Clyde are the Barrow gang,
I’m sure you all have read
how they rob and steal And those who squeal
are usually found dying or dead.
There’s lots of untruths to those
write-ups
They’re not so ruthless as that
Their nature is raw, they hate all law Stool
pigeons, spotters, and rats.
They call them cold-blooded killers
They say they are heartless and mean
But I say this with pride,
I once knew Clyde
When he was honest and upright and clean.
But the laws fooled around
and taking him down
and locking him up in a cell
‘Till he said to me, "I’ll never be
free
So I’ll meet a few of them in hell."
The road was so dimly lighted
There were no highway signs to guide
But they made up their minds
if all roads were blind
They wouldn’t give up ‘till they
died.
The road gets dimmer and dimmer
Sometimes you can hardly see
But it’s fight man to man,
and do all you can
For they know they can never be free.
From heartbreak some people have suffered
From weariness some people have died
But all in all, our troubles are small
‘Till we get like Bonnie and Clyde.
If a policeman is killed in Dallas
And they have no clue or guide
If they can’t find a friend, just wipe the
slate clean
And hang it on Bonnie and Clyde.
There’s two crimes committed in America
Not accredited to the Barrow Mob
They had no hand in the kidnap demand
Nor the Kansas City Depot job.
A newsboy once said to his buddy
"I wish old Clyde would get jumped
In these hard times we’s get a few
dimes
If five or six cops would get bumped."
"The police haven’t got the report yet
But Clyde called me up today
He said, "Don’t start any fights,
we aren’t working nights,
we’re joining the NRA."
From Irving to West Dallas viaduct
Is known as the Great Divide
Where the women are kin and men are men
And they won’t stool on Bonnie and
Clyde.
If they try to act like citizens
And rent a nice little flat
About the third night they’re invited to
fight
By a sub-gun’s rat-tat-tat.
They don’t think they’re tough or
desperate
They know the law always wins
They’ve been shot at before,
but they do not ignore
That death is the wages of sin.
Someday they’ll go down together
And they’ll bury them side by side
To few it’ll be grief, to the law a
relief
But it’s death for Bonnie and Clyde.
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