Richard Eldred Blalock, part 3

My father was a peace officer in Cass county for many years, and Justice of the Peace toward the last. He had his ups and downs with a few narrow escapes. He had a big horse which we called old Ben. He and old Ben went everywhere, sometimes in a buggy when the road permitted, and horse back when the trails were bad.

Dred Blalock and old Ben made history in our part of Cass county. It would take too much time and space to recount all the escapes and deals he got into. Let’s take just a few to remember what it was like.

One time he got home in a very grim fury. Not so many miles out of Queen City riverward, the trees grew thick and tall. He was traveling a narrow dirt road some way after leaving the main road or highway, such as it was. He knew he was persona non grata in that area for shortly before in innocent person had been shot along there while riding in a buggy. So, he was keeping mentally alert, and soon he saw the end of a shot gun poking around a big tree, pointing straight at him. The road sort of curved Around the tree and the person holding the shot gun was entirely covered by the tree. Looked as if he was going to get it. He dropped the reins between his knees and told old Ben to take it away. At the same time, he pulled his old .45 Smith & Wesson in line with the shot gun barrel. Daddy could shoot from the hip as well as on the aim, and he was ready. As old Ben took the buggy around the tree, the party went around too, keeping the tree between them. As the road curved Daddy also turned, leaving the tree between them. When he got home, his mad was up. “The dirty so and so just did not have the guts to shoot looking in MY gun barrel”, he said, “but I am going back tomorrow. No so and so who had to hide behind a tree is going to run Dred Blalock out; He went back all right. One night though, old Ben came home in a long run with an empty saddle.

We recognized the sound of the house’s hoof beats as he came tearing down the road, into town. Of course, we all ran out to catch him, but old Ben knew where the barn lot was, and he did not stop until he was there. We tied him up looking for signs of violence, but soon a little Ford car came tearing along the same way, tooting the horn, and sure enough, Daddy was in it. We knew where he had gone to try to talk sense into some people about their ignoring a law which said the cattle must be dipped in disinfectant in order to kill the tick infections and tick fever be eliminated. The people resented this law. Not realizing what the alternative was, they did not want their cattle “mistreated”. I expect in many instances they were. For many years I lived among ranchers who took care of their own problems of this kind. They did the chore themselves, knowing that their bread and butter were going to be short if tick fever got into the herds. Sometimes people got into these jobs who were unnecessarily brutal and in those cases the cattle owners had a right to rebel. But a better way would have been to see that the job was done right. All this Dred was going to explain to these people who had gathered upstairs in a small building. All at once a great noise was heard - an explosion down stairs and outside somewhere. Everybody headed for the narrow stairs and outside somewhere. Everybody headed for the narrow stairway, but Daddy got there first. With gun drawn, he held them back as he backed down the stairway first. He then saw what had happened.

They had dynamited old Ben, who was tied to a tree. He had broken loose, going practically berserk, but he still knew the way home. My father walked quite a distance to reach a phone. He called Homer Stanley, who ran a “jitney” service, to come get him. The road was bad, but Homer made it. We had a big scare, but nobody was seriously hurt, Dred had his mad up again. No sleep for him. “I know the who did this; I just bet I do. I cannot prove this on him, but the sorry so and so has been making and selling bootleg liquor out in those swamps for years. I’ve let him get by but now I am going to get him. Before another night I’ll have him in jail.” He did. Many of the old timers must remember the night the car rustlers hit Queen City. The minister of the Methodist church called on our phone sometime n the night for help. He had heard a suspicious noise and went outside to investigate. The thieves were pushing his car out in to the street. He was yelling for help. Hastily dressing, Daddy ran for his old car. And found that it also was being pushed out into the alley. After a shot or two they ran, and the hunt was on. Well, a group had hit town planning to get away with a bunch of cars. They were all over town, but as people became aroused, there was help. Officers from Atlanta were called and came running. The chase was hot as they turned up just all over the place. Finally deciding their luck was no good that night, they grabbed one car, belonging to Ross Powell, as well as I can remember, and headed out toward Texarkana. By that time Daddy was after them, of all things, on foot: They began to shoot at him. He Was in the open with no protection. He just kneeled down on one knee and aimed back at them, with some effect, no one killed but wounded and the car obtained. Well, Mother and us two kids were home listening. We recognized Daddy’s gun shots, but counted eleven shots fired back at him. Mother thought he could not possibly be alive after that. We were scared to death but he got home safely. Shooting from a speeding car may not be so accurate, but mighty uncomfortable when it’s coming at YOU.

The closest escape he ever had though, was at home. The night was dark and stormy, But he had a tip something was going to be pulled, and he had to go see about it. The wind was howling, and the sleet was coming down. He bunded up and took off on old Ben, for a quite distant objective. It grew late but we did not want to go to bed. We were worried about Daddy and old Ben. Suddenly, a great banging and knocking began on the kitchen door. We went and Mother, with gun ready, called to know who it was. No answer. Just more hard banging. It went from door to door and were we scared: Finally at the back hall door, Mother said she would just have to open the door and find out what was going on before they tore the house down. We kids were hanging on to her when she unlocked the door and began to open it a crack with her gun barrel coming thru. “NOLIA! DON’T SHOOT — IT’S ME — IT’S ME”, Daddy was yelling. That was one time when Dred Blalock was really scared. Of course, what happened was that the storm grew so bad that Daddy decided to turn around and come home, only to be met with a gun barrel in the hand of a frightened and very nervous wife.

One thing I disagreed with my father about, in no uncertain manner. He was what is termed by some as a “good Joe”. All he ever thought of was the job, never mind what was in it for him. He would spend his last dime hauling somebody around in his old car for maybe, just a “thank you”, sometimes not even that. Furiously we argued as I grew older. I was always a talk backer or backer talk or something. He argued that friends were better than money. Guess I got all the Scotch out of our part of the family tree. I yelled at him “Friends don’t pay your bills” I That did not worry him and he died, from a heart attack while driving his worn out old car. It ran out into plowed ground of a field and there was no one hurt. It did not even turn over. He had a ten-dollar bill in his pocket. But while he lived, he really got around, and you might say that he lived for others.

I sometimes think the back roads of Cass County must miss old Ben and Dred. I do too.