Clyde, Raymond and Ralph fall asleep behind the wheel while traveling to Kansas:
In Okabena, Minnesota, the outlaws discovered what looked like the perfect bank—situated on the main square, with plenty of roads leading out of the area. However, when they started to explore the roads and rehearse an escape plan, they found too much snow and ice on the ground to make the job feasible. With Ralph at the wheel, the would-be Minnesota bank robbers headed south toward Lawrence, Kansas, a town they’d noticed the day before. It was more than 350 miles away, but the Texans decided to drive straight through. Sometime after dark Ralph began to get drowsy. He glanced at his companions. Both were sound asleep. “I’ll try to make it to some all-night diner and tank up on coffee,” he thought to himself.
Suddenly the car started vibrating furiously, rocking up and down as it thundered through an open field. “I’m awake. I’m awake!” shouted Ralph. Clyde and Raymond opened their eyes just in time to see an endless line of young Iowa corn stalks crashing beneath the running boards. “You’re in a cornfield, Ralph,” laughed Clyde. “You sleepy or something?” “I’ll take over for awhile,” said Raymond. Ralph crawled into the back seat while Raymond maneuvered through the corn rows in search of the highway. Before long, the night riders were on their way south, the rhythm of the road lulling Ralph fast to sleep. Within minutes, however, he felt himself being jostled about. A series of bumps, followed by the screeching sound of barbed wire dragging across the body of the car, snatched him rudely from sleep. “I’m awake!” announced Raymond. “I’m awake.”
“Too late,” said Clyde, “we’re in another damn cornfield—let me drive.” Clyde slid behind the wheel, backed through the demolished barbed wire fence, and drove onto the highway. Soon, the car was hurtling along at high speed—Clyde’s foot buried in the accelerator. Ralph felt his eyes closing. He was falling back to sleep. Suddenly, a sharp jolt wrenched him from yet another comfortable position. The familiar sound of snapping wire and crashing stalks of corn told him they’d driven into their third cornfield of the evening. “I’m awake, I’m awake!” exclaimed Clyde excitedly. The car rocked to a sudden stop more than a hundred feet from the road. Considering the speed at which Clyde usually drove, it’s a wonder the car had not overturned, killing everyone inside. The three men decided they had seen enough cornfields for one night. Concealing themselves in a nearby clump of trees, the weary travelers stretched out beneath the stars for a bit of rest.
A woman named Ella Holland tells a story of having shared a ride with Clyde Barrow, Bonnie Parker and Ray Hamilton in early 1934:
"About the time I started school in 1930 things were happening around Dallas, Texas. So what? To me that was like in London, England. I didn't know who Clyde Barrow or Bonnie Parker were. I can't say if this was in January or February of 1934. But I would have been 12 years old. But it was not long before Clyde and Bonnie were killed. My brother Webster and I left the house and before we got far it began to mist a fine rain and then the rain began to freeze in our hair. Neither of us wore a cap. We had decided to turn back. Web was crying and I was getting colder. We paused in the middle of the road on a red clay hill we called the Joe Williams hill. Just then we heard the sound of a car. The lady smiled and asked if my brother and I would like a ride. She looked so warm in her dark coat with a fur collar and a matching small brimmed felt hat perched on her head. Her hair was short and she was made up like a queen. Her voice was so nice as her dark gloved hands helped me get seated by her and gave a man in the backseat instructions on getting Web inside and pulling a blanket over him to get him warm. The man in the backseat smiled at brother and asked what his name was and just made small talk to a kid. But Web noticed he had a blanket on his lap like a child wrapped in it, so he asked, 'Is that your baby?' The man patted the blanket and told Web, 'Yes, this is my baby. Would you like to see my baby?' Of course he got excited and replied. 'Oh yes, could I?'
The nice looking man dressed in a sort of light gray plaid suit and gray hat leaned over closer to the small dark man that was driving and said 'Clyde, the boy wants to see my baby. Should I show it to him?' to which Clyde replied 'I don't care.' The rest of the ride there wasn't another word from this young man, just grunts or such to the lady who talked to me and then to the man said what cute kids we were and that they ought to take us with them so that they would have little girl and a little boy. But I did not hear an answer. He was very quiet. But back to the baby. When the man laid the blanket back of course I had to look back to see the baby too. Only there was no baby. I had never seen a machine gun before but I knew what I was seeing was a Gatlin gun. He pulled the blanket back over the gun, which was aimed toward the left back window. I did not get excited. It never did cross our minds the danger we were in. We were too young to know who we were in the car with, and I am still glad for if we had we may have shown our fright. If we had started to cry, then they would not have put us out at the schoolhouse where the teacher would have known that something was wrong and asked questions.
As we rode on the talk was light and when we got to the school house instead of going like people usually did, they went down the side of the school yard and turned right in front headed toward Fairplay and the Henderson and Carthage Highway and stopped; on the far corner of the school yard. Then Bonnie caught hold of my jacket and she handed me a green stick of Double Mint gum. 'But let me tell you something before you go. When we picked you up we had an idea. If we took you with us no one would have shot at us with two sweet children held up at the windows. But we could not do it, so we are letting you out. We are on the run, so don't tell anyone who you rode with until you get home. I mean no one.' I promised. Then she told Raymond Hamilton to open the door for brother. She called us sister and little brother all the time. When Web was out she told me, 'Now little sister I have one more thing I want to ask of you,' and in a soft but strict voice she said 'Now little ones, as long as you live, don't ever get into another car with someone you don't know. Promise? Hear me; do you promise?' I said 'I promise,' then she bent over and squeezed my hand and kissed my cheek. Then she freed my hand and said 'Now run along,' and waved goodbye to us. And believe me, neither of us told anyone until we got home.
I believe we felt like we had a secret that we could only tell mama and daddy. And we kept this secret. That evening they were so busy trying to get us warmed up until they wouldn't listen to us until we got warm and were fed. But I finally got mama to listen to us and guess what; she went into shock and fainted, and daddy had to work at bringing her back. And when he asked her what had caused her to faint, she started crying and then both started to ask us things. We were afraid to tell them for we felt we had done something wrong and they would not be pleased. But gradually they got us to tell them from start to finish. Bonnie had on some make up but not a lot; she was just pretty. For the movie she was a blonde. But even at this time I know a first cousin of Bonnie's. Have known him since 1950. We were neighbors here in Longview where we still live. Not together, just friends. But he says Bonnie was never blonde, unless as a disguise. But when daddy got mama calmed down and we were assured that it was important that we told them exactly what was said and happened because there was people like we described and they were bad. They robbed and killed and they knew we were not just making up a story as I thought they didn't believe us.
But my brother and I did not dwell on the incident and our parents told us to forget about it if we could. We felt like if we told the neighbors or our friends they would shrug it off as a bad joke. What would the bad outlaws be doing out on the narrow roads where we lived? One car had to pull over into the ditch almost if it met another to let the other one get by. But mostly it was wagons on our dirt pig trails. But come spring: let me tell you first. North of our place was a large track of land. A real forest. It was owned by a brother and sister. People who used wood burning stoves could go in and cut wood or fence posts. These woods are called the Big Woods. When we rode with Bonnie and Clyde would have been during the cold, rainy weather like in February before they were killed in May. But I am sure she introduced him as 'our friend Raymond Hamilton'. But that time the law was so close until I guess they had to lay low for a time and they drove over a dirt wagon road way into the big woods located north of our house. In the spring when people began to get out, a friend of my parents and a young man who was to help him went into the big woods to cut some fence posts. They saw car tracks and even though the rain had left the impressions dim, they were curious and decided to look around. They found four tires stacked one on the other, tin food cans, campfire coals, and all the leavings of about 2 weeks' camp out. But most interesting were newspapers, Houston Chronicle, Dallas Morning News, Fort Worth, and Shreveport, all stacked neatly.
I wonder after so many years, how did they get out and pick up those papers without someone seeing them go out or come back in? But when it turned cold and rainy they knew they had to get out of there so so my brother and I got a ride to school. This had to be in January or February of 1934, and they were killed May 23. When I heard that they had been killed and how, I broke down and cried like a baby. Then mama and daddy could not get me to stop. I woke up in the night crying and I'd start to cry during the day. I have seen their car on display here in Longview some years ago. I parked my car on the parking lot at Treasure City on Highway 80 and started in the front door and then I came to a short stop. What were the people looking at? Then I saw a sign: 'See Bonnie and Clyde's Death Car'. I started toward the crowd to see it. And then I remember running. Right back to my car and to this day I can't remember what I went to Treasure City to buy. But I went back home and cried again after the 25 years since it happened. Now it has been 62 years and I turned 74 the 15th of this month, June, 1996. I feel old and tired. My brother Webster went to war and died in battle September 24, 1944, just barely 20 years old. Mama and daddy have been gone a long time, My husband died 12 and and a half years ago. I have 4 children and 8 grandchildren and 9 great grandchildren. I have lived a long time, worked hard, and have seen a lot. But very few people can say they rode 3 miles in a car with Clyde and Bonnie. About 5 years ago I went to visit my daughter in Monroe and she took me to Arcadia, Louisiana. We just drove through, but I finally saw right where they died. Of course everything has changed, I know, but for me it ended a desire to go the last mile with them. I don't uphold their way of life, but it was an experience."
Bonnie and Clyde + The Barrow Gang plan the Eastham Prison raid:
Bonnie and Clyde were back in Texas after an ambush attempt. Ray Hamilton was incarcerated at Eastham when word got around and he began to resurrect Clyde's revenge plan to raid the prison. Ralph Fults originally planned the raid with Clyde years ago before Ray. But Ralph couldn't be included because he was jailed outside of town. That's when an Eastham convict named James Mullens came into the picture. James was 48 and bunked next to Ray at Eastham. He was about to be released after serving a 21 year sentence for robbery. The downside was that Clyde knew him to be a drug addict—unpredictable and wholly unreliable. Nevertheless, because he was due for release, Ray promised him $1,000 if he could locate Clyde and arrange to have a number of weapons planted in the prison farm compound.
On January 12, 1934, James visited the house of Ray's brother, Floyd Hamilton, hoping to contact Clyde through him. James then accompanied Floyd to a deserted road near Irving, TX. After waiting several minutes, a black V-8 pulls up alongside them. Bonnie and Clyde were inside, staring intently at James Mullens. James was just about the last person on earth Clyde wanted to see. Floyd and James outlined the plan to him as Clyde sat in peeved silence, playing with the safety catch on his automatic rifle. 3 things bothered him: Ray's big mouth, the memory of Ray's refusal to help with the raid in 1932, and James Mullens. Convinced that James was setting a trap, Clyde wanted no part in it unless James took front row action and planted the guns himself. James went pale. He turned to Floyd and said, "I'm not doing that alone. You're coming with me!" Floyd reluctantly agreed.
Before dawn on January 14, Bonnie and Clyde dropped off Floyd and a trembling James half a mile from the main prison compound of Eastham Camp 1. Floyd and James made it through the thick pine forest and through the barbed wire perimeter surrounding the prison. Inside a bound rubber inner tube, a pair of Colt .45 automatics were concealed beneath the drainage culvert near the woodpile at the prison's Camp 1. They exited across the brightly lit prison yard crawling on their hands and knees to the main road. At one point the camp dogs started howling and barking in their kennels, but the guards paid no attention. Clyde then drove to Dallas and dropped off Floyd, but he kept James in the car so he could keep an eye on him. He still didn’t trust James.
Floyd Hamilton returned to Eastham the following day for his regular biweekly visit with his younger brother, Ray, who was serving 266 years in prison for auto theft, armed robbery, and murder. During that visit, Floyd filled Ray in on the details of the prison break. On Monday, an inmate named Aubrey Skelley set out to retrieve the weapons. Aubrey was a building tender, a trusty position that allowed him to move about the prison with a certain amount of freedom. He managed to smuggle the inner tube into the Camp 1 dormitory and deliver it to Joe Palmer. Joe, serving 25 years for robbery, hid the tube and its contents in his mattress. Word that the break would take place the following morning reached the two other prisoners who would take part—Henry Methvin, serving 10 years for robbery and attempted murder, and Hilton Bybee. Hilton was a killer who tried escaping from the Wichita County Jail with Ralph Fults. At Ralph's request, he was added to the list.
At 6am on January 16, 1934, the gang slipped quietly in their black Ford V-8 through the dense fog rising from nearby the Trinity River. With lights extinguished, the Ford parked just beyond a narrow bridge. Clyde and James stepped out with loaded BARs tucked under their arms, capable of firing a 20-round clip of 30.06 armor-piercing shells in less than 3 seconds. The two men crouched along the creek bank and waited. At 7am Clyde detected movement beyond them. The ghost-like images of a line of prisoners slowly materialized in the distance. The white denim of their prison uniform glowed with an eerie radiance. Guards bearing weapons accompanied the line. Soon the field was covered with prison work crews, each preparing to clear the land for the spring planting and cutting wood to stoke the camp stoves. Guard Olan Bozeman had already noticed Ray moved from his own group and joined Joe Palmer, Henry Methvin, and Hilton Bybee.
The guard chose not to take action. Until they moved farther. He then called for a mounted guard to hold a gun on Ray so that he could be whipped with a trace chain, just as he had planned. At that point, the men were less than a 100 feet from the creek where Clyde and James were hiding. Major Joseph Crowson, who had repeatedly beaten Joe in the past, was called on by Bozeman. While the two guards conversed, Joe walked up as if to ask a question. He turned to Crowson, leveled his gun, and fired a single round into the guard's stomach, knocking him off his horse. Crowson died instantly. Shocked at what just occured, Bozeman pulled the trigger at Joe. Joe ducked just as a charge of buckshot sailed past his head, a lone pellet creasing his temple. Joe fired two shots. A bullet teared the shotgun from Bozeman's hands and another wounding him in the hip.
Ray fired one shot when the clip popped from its housing and tumbled to the muddy ground. Virtually disarmed, Ray searched for his clip in the mud as Joe helplessly fought it out alone. Clyde and James then reared up and fired shots above the heads of the startled men in the field. While guards and prisoners alike were diving on their stomachs, Ray, Joe, Henry, and Hilton ran for their life. Bonnie sounded the car horn from the getaway car, using it as a beacon for the fleeing men. 3 guards started running as fast as they could in the opposite direction, leaving the 4 of them unguarded. Taking advantage of this, a convict named J.B. French slipped quietly into the pines and made his way to the Trinity River on foot. He was captured the following day without ever meeting the men responsible for his brief taste of freedom.
"Nobody but Ray and Joe can get in the car," James called out. "Everybody else go back." Clyde snapped. "You shut your damned mouth, Mullens, this is my car! I'm handling this!" The fleeing men jumped in the vehicle. As the distant whine of prison sirens came closer, Clyde shifted to first and sped away. Roadblocks sprang up in nearly every town between Dallas and Crockett, but Clyde outflanked them all by driving cross-country through farm after farm. In Hillsboro, TX, Clyde stopped for gas. The attendant spoke excitedly as he serviced the getaway car. "Did you hear about Ray Hamilton escaping from prison?" he asked. "No, really?" Clyde said. "Yeah! Bonnie and Clyde just walked right into the dining room this morning and took Ray out while everybody was eating!" Bonnie and Clyde were amused. As they fled Texas, the gang switched vehicles often. They decided to rob a bank to pay James his $1,000. The gang eventually split and went their seperate ways until things cooled down. Hilton was the only one who got captured and was sent back to prison.
