Oneida Police Veterans Hated Family Squabbles
By Mary Matthews Journal Correspondent
Malad-Settling a family argument is the worst thing a policeman can be called upon to do, and radio (though they never had one to use) is the biggest change in law enforcement, say three retired Oneida County lawmen.
Well-known throughout the area by their nicknames, Big Jack (John A.) Evans, Tall Bill (William E.) Thomas and Little Arthur (Arthur E.) Williams, are all natives of Malad and have 80 years of law enforcement experience among them.
Big Jack was elected Oneida County sheriff in 1942, with the late Jim Chivers serving as his deputy. He hired Little Arthur as deputy in 1946 and they served together until their retirements in January 1965. Tall Bill was sheriff in 1929-30 and became police chief of Malad, serving from January 1931 until his retirement May 30, 1962. He also served as deputy sheriff under the late Al Josephson, rolling up 36 years in police work.
The three worked closely together over the years and got along well. Though many of their experiences overlap, a few were singular.
Big Jack recalls, early in his career, single-handedly capturing three “notorious thugs’ from Pocatello. Jack, informed by phone that they were in the area, came upon them stripping a car. He had no way of calling for help, so made them back away from the car and “herded them down the road” to Malad, where a woman called Tall Bill to his aid. Big Jack recollects the walk as a nerve-wracking trek.
Tall Bill once journeyed by bob sleigh and team into the Black Pine area, to pick up a man who fired a shotgun blast at his neighbor in a dispute over a small pile of straw – about as big as a car, he recalled. The victim had come to Malad to report the incident, in which his jacket collar had been shot off and pellets had stung his face and neck. The 40-mile trip took Tall Bill five days over the drifted, unplowed roads. That was in March 1929, when times were bad and tempers were short, he said.
All three were involved in an effort to recapture a murderer in the Cherry Creek area of Oxford Mountain. They spent more than two days on the chase, finally running the man out of the hills, where the man finally stopped and surrendered. That was the closest Little Arthur ever came to shooting a man, Big Jack said. A game warden and Bannock County officers were also involved in the pursuit.
(Picture of Big Jack and LIttle Arthur standing by the doorway of the Jailhouse. Caption says, Lounging in the Doorway of the Oneida County Jail just before their retirements in 1965 are Big Jack Evans, sheriff, and Little Arthur Williams, deputy. Though Williams is wearing a pistol in the picture, neither man wore a sidearm as a regular part of their equipment. Big Jack’s closest call came when another deputy (not Arthur) accidentally fired a pistol in the sheriff’s office, right over Jack’s foot, as the deputy was drawing his gun. The hole is still in the office wall. (Norma South photo)
…Prohibition kept the policemen busy, with plenty of incidents dealing with bootlegging, still operation and transportation of booze, Tall Bill said. Some residents looked on it as a kind of a game, he feels. Immediately after the repeal of prohibition, when beer was again sold openly, the former chief recalls it seemed like everyone was trying to catch up on the dry years, and for a while drunkenness was a major law enforcement problem.
During the span of years Little Arthur served as deputy, the lawmen retrieved 37 bodies, including one murdered person. Tall Bill handled one murder investigation and assisted with another during his career, as well as working on many accidental death cases.
Burglaries and thefts, often of cars, were the major crimes, but auto accidents took much of the city and county officers’ time. Back then, when word of an accident in outlying areas was relayed by word of mouth to the nearest phone, directions were often misleading. It was like the child’s game of “gossip” on some occasions, one of the men said. In those days victims were moved quickly, when possible, to the nearest medical help.
Big Jack noted he never had the use of a county car and worked on a mileage basis with his own. He said a good car, new Levis and a decent hat were all the uniforms he and Little Arthur ever had. He did not often carry a gun. Big Jack preferred to “work things out” with people in trouble and felt if officers could get the support of parents when kids were in trouble, more than half of the battle was over.
Many men and few women have come to him in later years to thank him for “not giving them a record,” he says. All three men are a little reluctant to recall incidents from their careers, which might now be embarrassing to families in the county.
Child abuse and the use of drugs were rare complaints during their careers, they say. While much was made of livestock rustled off the range in trucks, the biggest losses came when cattle were butchered in the fields and the meat hauled away in car trucks, Big Jack remembers.
All three men support the death penalty, though they believe in trying to work with first time offenders rather than arresting them. Big [Tall} Bill cites overprotection of criminals and leniency by the courts – especially higher courts – as adding to law enforcement problems.
Big Jack feels victims of crimes are often forgotten. “We can’t go much longer before help for victims becomes necessary,” he said. “When there is no respect for human life just because you have the power to do evil, then I’m for capital punishment.”
Getting people to testify or to file a complaint when necessary was a problem during Tall Bill’s career. “An officer must have evidence (to make an arrest),” he said. “People complain but won’t appear.”
Their nicknames are applicable in a community with a plethora of Evanses, Thomases and Williamses. Tall Bill, 81, belies the popular conception that all Weshmen are short, standing a slim six feet, five inches tall. Big Jack, 85, tops six feet by two inches and still weighs the 250 pounds he did while on active duty. Little Arthur, 88, also of Welsh heritage, stands five foot, eight inches tall and tips the scales at 138.
All three were born in log cabins in Oneida County, Tall Bill just a few hundred feet from the home where he and his wife now live.
All of them farmed with teams, Big Jack and little Arthur in the Deep Creek area and Tall Bill near the present Devil Creek Dam site. None of them completed high school and only Bill completed the eighth grade, though all have attended a variety of law enforcement training schools. They worked at a variety of jobs to supplement meager farm incomes during the Depression and still own their farms. Leasing them or making other arrangements to keep them productive.
Big Jack and his wife, the former Katie Hill, will celebrate their 62nd wedding anniversary Nov. 1. Tall Bill married the former Bessie Crookston of Logan on June 5, 1935. Little Arthur’s wife, the former Nora Harrison, died Jan. 3, 1977, after 64 years of marriage.
Little Arthur still keeps a saddle horse and last fall accompanied a daughter and her husband to the head of Lost River for cattle grazing at 9,000 feet on Copper Mountain. He misses the activity of his deputy years, having nothing to do now except walk his dog, as his eyesight precludes driving.
Among the mementos Big Jack cherishes is a scrapbook made by fellow workers at the Oneida Court House, and citations signed by the late FBI director J. Edgar Hoover, Gov. Don Samuelson, the Montana Board of Pardons and the Youth Training Center, St. Anthony. He is an honorary sheriff of Weber County, Utah and a lifetime member of the Southeast Idaho Peace Officers Association, as is Tall Bill.
The three men, who developed close friendships during the three decades they worked together, still visit and spend time together.
The men speak with affection and respect for the office deputy during much of Big Jack’s career, Mrs. Wanda Napier, who is still on the job with Sheriff Kenneth Wharton. “She’s much younger than us,” Big Jack said.