The Last Gunfight at the Rice Hotel
A few weeks ago, at a dinner with my aunt and uncle, I chanced to hear a tale about a great uncle who was killed in a gunfight. I don't remember how or why it came up, but it did. The story came to my aunt from her cousin Bernie. So, she herself had no details other than the duel took place in front of the Rice Hotel sometime in the early 1900's. There were no specific dates or any other forms of substantiation–but that didn't matter. The minute the words left her lips, the images and sounds quickly formed in my mind.
The first thing I heard was the "ching" of spurs striking the cobblestone on Texas Avenue, announcing each man's footsteps. As the picture came into focus of two men squaring-off, the theme from "The Good, The Bad, And the Ugly" steadily played in my mind. The hands on a nearby clock approached high noon while the men's palms hovered frozen over their holstered pistols. When the music climaxed on the hour-strike of a clock chime, one of the two men flinched. At that moment a deadly race was on to see who could draw faster. Only a 100th of a second would separate victor and victim.
In the wink of an eye, both barrels cleared leather and let loose clouds of smoke and booms of thunder. When the smoke lifted and the echoes faded, one man fell to the street as scarlet billowed over the stones and in the spaces between.
My imagination stampeded with this one, which is exactly what my aunt feared. Not that I wished a violent demise on my ancestor, but if the story were true...wow! What was it that lured this uncle to his fate? All the usual cliches come to mind: gambling, a woman, or perhaps simple bravado.
The next morning I was on fire. I needed to know the who, what, when, where, and how. For years, my older brother and I (mostly my brother) had researched family history. But that was primarily on my father's side and nothing as exciting as a gunfight had ever surfaced. So my pursuit of the truth began with scant information and the name of a relative with whom I've never spoken.
I found cousin Bernie listed in the phone book. I dialed the number and waited with anticipation. After a few rings cousin Bernie answered. I introduced myself and explained that I was kin and how we were related.
A minute or two into the call I mentioned the story and asked if he knew much more about it. He perked up and explained that his Aunt Maude had only briefly mentioned it to him. What's more, it seemed to Cousin Bernie that it was something she was reluctant to talk about in detail. But, according to Maude, her brother died in the last gunfight at the Rice Hotel around 1905 or 1906, though he couldn't remember which. He went on to say that his uncle's name was Jack and that he was buried at the Holy Cross Catholic Cemetery in Dickinson. That seemed to fit because my grandfather was Catholic.
Cousin Bernie and I chatted a bit longer, then he asked me to let him know if I found more. I said I would. My next call was to the cemetery where a woman answered the phone and introduced herself as Lucille. Since I had a name and about when he died, Lucille said she should be able to confirm if Uncle Jack was there. She took my phone number and said she would call when she had something.
An hour or so later, Lucille called. She located Uncle Jack within a family plot near the entrance of the cemetery. Along with a map pinpointing the gravesite, she faxed a copy of a ledger showing the precise date of death for Uncle Jack: 2/19/1906.
Here were the first critical pieces of evidence. I had a name, a grave, and an exact date of death. But all they told me was when Uncle Jack died, not how. The Holy Cross file had no death certificate. But Lucille did say Earthman's had prepared other family members for interment. Perhaps they might have done so for Uncle Jack and, if so, they might have a death certificate citing a cause of death.
On the other end of the phone at Earthman Funeral Directors was Peggy. She said it was possible such an old file still existed and that it might contain a copy of the death certificate. However, I’d have to submit a written request for such information. So, I did. I sent a similar request to the state bureau of Vital Statistics as back-up. In either case it could be weeks before I get results.
With the phone-work done, the next logical step was the library. Surely a gunfight would make the local papers. At the turn of the 20th century, Houston was an exploding metropolis where two newspapers battled for circulation. Somewhere in their pages had to be the story of Uncle Jack and the gunfight at the Rice Hotel.
The first microfiche reel contained the editions I needed for the then Houston Chronicle and Herald. I immediately scanned to February 19th to find an obituary. There it was on page 5. Uncle Jack, or JD as the paper referred to him, was aged 22. He died in the early morning hours at his family residence on Main Street. Services were held that afternoon at 3:00 at Sacred Heart church. It also mentioned interment to be made at the Holy Cross cemetery. Parents as well as several brothers and sisters survived him, and one was great-Aunt Maude.
Now I was really curious. What could have cut short the life of such a young man? With no answer as to cause, I figured if Uncle Jack had been shot, it must have taken place pretty close to February 19th. So, I reviewed all the previous week’s issues.
An editorial on February 17th caught my attention. It called for increasing the punishment for unlawfully carrying weapons, especially pistols. What prompted the argument? Was it a rash of events or a single, isolated incident of gunplay in front of a fine Houston hotel? A detailed search revealed the reporting of only one shooting during the week before February 19. Uncle Jack was not involved. The Chronicle was now a dead end.
The Houston Daily Post was the morning edition, so Uncle Jack's obituary appeared on February 20th. It was nearly identical to the Chronicle's text. It, too, lacked any clue as to cause of death. Still, I decided to scan the previous week's editions.
The Post had a story about the same shooting as The Chronicle, but no other shootings were reported. The Post did have something new–a Mortuary Report. Each Sunday the paper listed how many died during the previous week. The list was by name and it featured causes of death. I'd found the report in the Sunday edition the week before Uncle Jack's death. So, I quickly rolled forward to February 25th.
Twice I looked through the issue before I found it. The small report was buried deep in the inside column just right of the gutter and near the bottom of the page. But the report was there and so was Uncle Jack. His name, his age, where he lay and, now, how he died were no longer questions to which I sought answers. Yes, the answer was there but it was less important than the process of research the story.
By diving into family lore I’d tasted a bit of history while learning a bit about my heritage. More importantly, I was fortunate to have visited with a family member I'd never met before. I am now convinced of one other thing, the next conversation with my aunt should be very, very interesting.
Copyright 2006 by David Falloure
