"Ma" Barker

I've become quite interested in the legend of the "Ma" Barker gang lately, I guess since I know that much of the story plays out on or near Route 66. There was a great article in the local Afton newspaper last week, but unfortunately it's too long for me to reproduce here. I'll summarize a bit of it. I became interested in Ma Barker when I located and visited the Barker Family graveyard (Williams Timberhill Cemetery, Welch, OK) which isn't far off Route 66 near Miami. I never found the specific graves, but that's only because it was a rainy day and the ground was too mushy for me to tramp around. I'll be going back soon.

Ma was born near Springfield, MO and married George Barker in 1892 and had four sons. They moved to Tulsa, OK in 1915 and it was then that the illegal activities of the family made them known as The Central Park Gang. Although it's indisputable that the sons were engaged in a great deal of criminal activity, it's not certain that their mother joined them on their forays or rather that she was more of an advocate for them and defended them both in court and out. In any case, she was always lumped in with the "gang" which was made up of the sons and a few other unrelated men. Eventually, all four sons wound up in prison, Alcatraz and Leavenworth. One son committed suicide and another was murdered by his own wife. It's unknown why and how the entire family ended up in the Welch cemetery, but Betty W. told me it was because Mr. Barker (the father) was from Welch originally. There's so much more to this story, but I'm telling you this just in case you'd like to take a little side trip on your way down Route 66 to visit the graves. If so, here are the instructions for getting there:

Located off Craig County Road N4485, North of Oklahoma Highway 10/US Highway 59, at Williams Timberhill Cemetery Road. Craig County Road S485 is a gravel road that heads north off of Oklahoma Highway 10/US Highway 59. Right after you turn on to S485, on your left hand side, there is a sign pointing the direction to William Timberhill Cemetery. You go up the gravel road about a half a mile then turn right, under the arch that says Williams Cemetery. You travel about 100 yards to the entrance of the cemetery on your left. Once you reach the entrance to the cemetery, go straight through the entrance gates and up the road to the north side of the cemetery.

There's a more detailed story about the Barker family here:
Biography - Ma Barker on Crime and Investigation Network

Thoughts of my Dad

Were he alive today, my dad would be 100 years old right now. I thought about him a lot today, and I'll explain shortly. But first, a brief explanation of my day. . .

I headed for Afton Station, but my heart wasn't really in it. It's just so darn cold in there when I first arrive, and it takes hours to warm the place up. I just wasn't in the mood for shivering away my morning. However, I wanted to do the end-of-month books and the end-of-year books for 2010. I discovered after I arrived that, since almost nothing sold in December, it took me about 5 minutes to do the monthly accounting. Winding up the year barely took longer than that. I stuck it out at Afton for about 2 hours though, then felt the itch to leave. I doubted there would be any visitors anyway.

I decided to drive to Welch to visit the grave of Ma Barker, the notorious outlaw. She and her family are buried in a small cemetery on the road to Welch, and Betty W. has explained to me several times how to get to it, so I figured I could find it on my own.

The first small cemetery I passed looked right, so I drove all the way to the back, as Betty had explained, and tramped around in the cold wind for a while, finding no Barkers whatsoever. When I got too chilly to continue, I just gave up. I decided to continue on the road to Chetopa KS, as I was feeling I needed a little dose of Great Plains under my tires.

It was then that I started to think of my father. Nobody I've ever known was as avid a roadie as my dad. He was never happier than when he was behind the wheel of the family car, preferably on some small road out in the middle of nowhere. If he wasn't driving and exclaiming about the beauty of farmers' fields or lakes or silos, he was almost equally as happy driving through tiny towns, very slowly so as to take in every detail of life there. We'd often have discussions about the stores and houses in the little villages, imagining who lived there and what it would be like to live so far from civilization. These were the best times of my childhood.

My dad never had the chance to live that small-town life. He was born in Cleveland, worked his way through school crewing on the ore boats on the Great Lakes, and from there went on to a succession of high-intensity jobs that took him up the corporate spiral quickly and left very little time for dreaming. (Did you know my dad invented the Sealy Posturpedic Mattress?) But in all of his high level positions, he always -- ALWAYS -- made time for vacations. He was fortunate to have come to the point where he could get away several times a year for extended lengths of time, and he also retired at age 54.

On family vacations, we would drive and drive. My dad remained in a constant, unbroken state of wonder when he was behind the wheel. Everything was taken in and appreciated. Majestic mountains weren't any more interesting to him than little details such as the laundry on the clotheslines of passing farmhouses. He loved to visit little local grocery stores, and especially tiny 5 and 10s. He was the perfect companion for any road trip.

I was thinking today that a huge chunk of my genetic makeup comes from my dad. And he was with me as I drove through the ranchland to Chetopa, and then Oswego, KS. I've been to Chetopa before. I wrote about it here once before, mentioning that it's called the Pecan and Catfish Capital of Kansas, but on both that trip and this, I was unable to find any place to purchase either of those things. However, this time I found this restored Sinclair station which is now a variety store.

I love towns that have parking down the middle of their Main Streets. Oswego is such a town. I'd never seen that before moving to this part of the country, and it sure makes a lot of sense. I took an immediate liking to Oswego. It seems relatively vital and well-kept. There were several large Victorian houses of the type that I appreciate. My father would have liked this town, too. If he'd been with me in body rather than just in spirit, I'm sure we would have stopped and walked around a little, stopping for a bite at one of the local cafes. Being alone and not having a lot of time, I just drove around a bit.

I liked the fact that the old theater marquee was still standing, although it appeared that the building was being used as an antique auction place. That's ok, at least it's still there.

Time was getting short, so I headed for Tulsa. Back on the road outside of Welch, I passed another cemetery sign, and after arriving home I looked up Ma Barker and found out that she was indeed buried in the second graveyard, Timberhill. Oh well, that gives me another excuse to explore that territory some time!

Wrong Cemetery

Correct Cemetery

Information about Ma Barker and her "gang" here:

Kate "Ma" Barker (1877 - 1935) - Find A Grave Memorial