Red Crown Tourist Court - at The Red Crown

At The Red Crown

The Slim's attendant directed Barrow to the Red Crown office in the Tavern building, but before they drove over, they covered Buck and Jones with blankets in the backseat so that when Blanche Barrow went in to book the room, she could claim they were a party of three; this was not to save money off the room tab, but Clyde's attempt to disguise the size and makeup of the party if any prying officers inquired about them. What he couldn't have known was that there would be officers aplenty, since the Red Crown was a favorite gathering spot of the Missouri Highway Patrol in the days before two-way radio in Patrol cars, when "officers and supervisors would often meet somewhere at mealtimes to exchange messages and receive orders."

It was a shaky plan from the start, and things only went downhill from there. Red Crown manager Neal Houser was immediately suspicious when Blanche flounced into the office in tight, provocative jodhpurs riding breeches, a get-up unheard of in stodgy Platte City and one much discussed at the time and still remembered by eyewitnesses forty years later. She booked both rooms out back for three guests, one night, then paid the $4 with a fistful of small change. Houser watched out his rear window as the driver of the car carefully backed it — nose out, "gangster style" — into the left garage and closed up the doors. A short time later, the young woman reappeared at the Tavern's restaurant and bought five chicken dinners and five beers for the party of three. She paid for them with more small change. Houser insisted on following Blanche back to the cabins to record the car's license plate number, but had to content himself with just peering into the garage for it when Clyde wouldn't let him into the cabin. After he left, the five settled in for supper; since the two brothers were still not speaking to each other, it was a silent, somber repast.

The gang slept late the following morning; overnight, Clyde had taped newspapers up inside the windows of the left cabin, revealing another flaw in his selection of the Red Crown: with only two units, there were no other guests with whom to blend in. This was apparent to everyone but the outlaws: even The Platte County Landmark noted "Windows curtained with newspapers, continually peeping out of windows by the gang, refusing to admit any of the station employees to the cabins, hiding from view all of the members except one woman, created a suspicion on the part of Neal Houser..." The aforementioned woman appeared again, again in her jodhpurs, again buying five meals for her party of three, and once again paying in small change. This time, however, she felt the air of suspicion around her and when later she learned his identity, realized it had been the eyes of Platte County Sheriff Holt Coffey boring into her as she completed her transaction.

Clyde had also instructed her to pay for another night's stay, but "to see how the people acted and what I thought about them, if I thought it would be safe to stay there another night." Blanche got a bad vibe off Houser as she dribbled more warm coins into his hands, but when she apprised Barrow of her fears, "Clyde said it was just my imagination, that everything would be all right. So I said no more."

It was not, however, just her imagination. Red Crown manager Houser had lawman restaurant patrons other than Sheriff Coffey — namely Captain William Baxter of the fledgling Missouri Highway Patrol. Houser had a word with Baxter about his suspicions concerning his motel guests, and Baxter spoke with Coffey. When the hotelier mentioned the Oklahoma plates on their car, the officers began wondering just who it might be in the cabins with the taped-over windows, which limited visibility in both directions.

Later that afternoon, Sheriff Coffey got a call from Louis Bernstein, the druggist at Platte City Drugs, about a stranger who had just left his store: "a good-looking gal in a slinky riding habit," the eager pharmacist reported. Both drug stores and law enforcement agencies had been alerted by Oklahoma, Texas and Arkansas officials to be on the lookout for strangers seeking certain medical supplies. The stranger was, of course, Blanche, buying bandages and atropine sulfate to treat Bonnie's leg burns. For Coffey and Baxter, Bernstein's call pushed the situation to critical mass: if the guests had indeed bought burn wound supplies, it may well be the scorched Bonnie Parker and the freeshooting Barrows within the brick cabins. Although "ost of the general public had never heard of them" that afternoon, Coffey's son Clarence was on the scene as it dawned on his dad whom he would be going up against: "The look on my father's face," he told the papers then and later, "I'll never forget that!"

But Coffey's was just a county sheriff's operation — "no protective gear, no radios, no weapons to speak of other than 'squirrel rifles and a few pistols.'" Even with Baxter's help, both men knew they were seriously outgunned, and Platte County prosecutor David Clevenger suggested they confer with Jackson County Sheriff Tom Bash in nearby Kansas City, a big-city jurisdiction "whose available armaments included machine guns, steel bulletproof shields, tear gas launchers, and armored cars." Coffey headed over to Bash's Kansas City office, but did not get the response he had hoped for. "I'm getting pretty damn tired of every hick sheriff in the country coming in here and telling me they have a bunch of desperadoes holed up and wanting help. I'm afraid there's nothing I can do for you," Bash said. Coffey was tenacious, though, and eventually got Bash to agree to supply some men, some weaponry, bulletproof shields and "a bulletproof car."

Participants and spectators — word was getting around town that there might be a replay of the "Kansas City Depot job" out at The Junction — began gravitating to the Tavern and to Slim's Castle across the road as the sweltering July day led to a muggy July night. The assault force numbered thirteen: six from Platte County, four from Jackson County and three from the Missouri Highway patrol. Coffey and Baxter thought it best to wait until later to make their move, after the traffic of the intersection and its two busy establishments had thinned out. Everyone seemed to sense the impending action — except the outlaws, shrouded as they were by their newspaper curtains.

After dark, Blanche emerged and covered the short distance to the Tavern to get more soap and some fresh towels. As she entered,

"I noticed everyone in the place was doing a lot of talking. I could hear them and see several of them sitting around a table. But when I walked in everyone stopped talking. The place was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. It was just as quiet as a death chamber. I knew something must be wrong.... Everyone acted as though I might pull out a machine gun and turn it on them at any minute. As soon as I stepped outside, the talking started again...."

She told her husband about the ominous behavior of the crowd in the Tavern, and he told her to go to the other cabin and tell Clyde (they apparently still were not speaking). Clyde, despite his often-cited "sixth sense" about impending danger, was unconcerned and told her not to worry about it. "'Okay,' I said. 'If we all get killed here tonight, you can't say I didn't warn you.'" She returned to her own cabin, followed shortly by Jones with a message from Clyde: he wanted her to fetch more food. This angered Blanche and she told Jones to tell Clyde that she wasn't going out any more that night, which in turn angered Clyde.

The lawmen watching the cabins were surprised when, at about 10:30, one of the doors opened and a young man emerged; up to this point, it had been the slender gal in the riding breeches who had done all the errand-running. 17 year-old W.D. Jones crossed the road, went into Slim's Castle and ordered five sandwiches and five bottles of soda pop. Clerk Kermit Crawford noticed the young man seemed nervous and kept peering over at the millers-about in the Red Crown parking lot. It could not have seemed too out-of-the-ordinary to the young outlaw; he did not mention it to the boss.

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