When people learn that our family name is James, a common question is, “are you related to Jessie James?” As a little cowboy, watching Roy Rogers, Gene Autry, and the Lone Ranger and idolizing John Wayne, it seemed not only plausible but certain. Later in life I discovered two truths about my assumption. One thing I learned is that other people don’t care or value that you might be related to the infamous folk hero and train robber. The second and harder truth to learn was that no matter how much genealogical research was done, Jessie is nowhere to be found in the branches of our family tree. Now, that isn’t to say there were no horse thieves, bank robbers or other bandits in our history. It just means that Frank and Jessie James are not related to us. One such bandit was my grandpa, the car thief, well, sort of.
The family farm did not provide all of the income or food for the James family and most of the time Grandpa worked away from home to help provide for the family. One spring he was working in a sawmill seven miles down the mountain at Jasper. Dewey did not drive to work. He would ride to town with someone else and after work he would catch a ride with whoever was going back out on the mountain. One day, a friend dropped by the saw mill to visit. “Hey Dewey, that was some storm that came off your mountain this morning! Everybody alright out at your place?” “What are you talking about?” Grandpa queried. “Why I thought you knew, there was a big ole tornado came across the top of your mountain scattering barns and trees all the way down to Brasel creek. I was just wondering if you had any damage up at your place.” After the man left, Dewey spoke with the saw mill owner and told him he needed to go up and check on the farm and family. That would be fine except the saw mill truck was not there. So, Dewey set out to find someone to take him back up the hill.
He walked in to town and around the square knowing he would find someone or some vehicle for the emergency run. After a quick walk around the square, he spotted one possibility; the Sherriff’s car. After all, this was an emergency. No, it was not the official lights and siren equipped emergency vehicle, it was the sheriff’s own personal car. After a quick check in the court house and a few businesses, it was pretty obvious that the sheriff was not around. But, the car and the car keys were. A key being left in the car was probably more common than keys being taken out of the car back then and after all it was an emergency. So, Dewey jumped in the car and took off up the mountain to check on things at home. Fortunately, things were not as bad as he had feared and aside from a few limbs being blown down there was no damage to the place. The car was returned and work at the sawmill resumed.
Saturdays were always special and festive around the Jasper square. Not only was Jasper the county seat, it was the social and shopping center for the whole county. People came to town on Saturday to buy, sell and trade and even if you didn’t have commercial business to do, everyone had social business to take care of. Most of the county came out to socialize and catch up on news and make plans for the coming events. Dewey and several of his friends were sitting and whittling on the court house lawn when the sheriff walked up. “Hello boys, how you doin’?” There was the usual round of muffled greetings. Then Dewey looked up and said, “Oh Sheriff, thanks for the use of your car the other day.” “What do you mean?” came his response. “Oh yeah, guess you didn’t exactly know I borrowed it, did you?” “Dewey James, what in the world are you talking about?” “When that storm came through last Tuesday, that’s what, I needed to go out and check on the farm. I couldn’t find you. So, I took your car and went out to check on things. So, thanks Sheriff.” “Dewey, you didn’t borrow my car!” “Well, I sure did. It was parked on the square, the key was in it and I took it!” “Now, I did hear about the storm last Tuesday. But as for my car and me, we were both in Fort Smith on Tuesday! So, you could not have borrowed my car with or without my permission.” The boys around them were really enjoying the argument. After a long pause and in typical Dewey James humor he finally said, “Well, in that case, Sheriff, has anyone reported a missing or stolen car this week?” Till this day, no one has ever figured out who owned the car that Grandpa took and no one ever reported it missing. We may not be related to the infamous Jessie James but Grandpa Dewey James was a car thief. Well, sort of.
Tony Peoples
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