Cow Thieves and Outlaws Reunion

Quid pro quo among bandits

Author’s note: The historical fiction I write is set in the American West, specifically Oklahoma and the Indian Territory. The following is a blog post I’m re-purposing here. It’s based on research I did while writing my novel Red Lands Outlaw, the Ballad of Henry Starr. All of it is true, except the dialogue.

Henry Starr did one thing well in his life, he robbed banks. More than any other outlaw ever did.

The banker didn’t know about Starr when the young Cherokee, his hat in hand, approached his desk one morning in January 1906. L.E. Phillips was the righthand man and brother to bank’s owner, Frank Phillips.

“I’d like to hire some money, five hundred dollars,” Starr said to the banker. The new Citizens Bank and Trust in Bartlesville, I.T. hadn’t yet been open two months. This handsome young fellow would be their first borrower.

“What’s your name,” asked the banker.

“Henry Starr.”

“What do you do?

“Oh, I work various jobs around here.”

“Do you have any collateral?”

Henry shifted his feet and looked sideways. “I ain’t sure. What’s that?”

“It means do you have any property or goods to secure the loan…” L.E. Smiled. “In case you don’t pay it back.”

“Well, I got my horse and saddle… and my Henry rifle.” Starr could tell by the banker’s expression that wouldn’t be enough. “I reckon they’s a couple fellers here in town would stand by me for the money.”

Sizing up the young man, L.E. decided he liked him, thought he looked like a hard worker. Plus, the two references he’d provided were reputable men in the community, so they filled out the loan papers and L.E. handed Henry the cash money.

Later that day, when brother Frank looked over the day’s transactions, he asked, “You gave Henry Starr a loan?”

“Why, yes,” answered L.E. “Do you know him?”

“Only by reputation,” his brother answered. “He’s robbed several banks.”

The color left L.E.’s face, and he grabbed the back of a chair to steady himself.

Frank laughed softly. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I believe he’ll pay it all back.”

And Henry Starr did, on time and with interest.

In his book Oil Man Michael Wallis said this about the Iowa farm boy turned barber turned banker turned oil tycoon:

“Frank Phillips was… a complete contradiction. It had to do with outlaws, real honest-to-goodness desperadoes. When it came to outlaws… the ramrod stiff banker and conservative businessman side of Frank Phillips melted like a cube of sugar in a cup of hot jamoke.”

And the community of outlaws in those parts knew it, too, which gained Frank a certain amount of respect among the local banditti. They even extended to Frank Phillips that part of the brigands’ code about honor among thieves.

No one ever robbed his bank, nor stole a head of cattle off his ranch. It’s said many outlaws deposited cash in the Citizens Bank, the source of such lucre being dubious. Most likely, much of it came from unlawful withdrawals from other area banks. Could’ve been Henry Starr borrowed that $500 to outfit an upcoming job. He was a thorough planner.

But Frank practiced “don’t ask, don’t tell.”

On the other hand, many owners of said robbed banks made out like bandits themselves by reporting to the insurance examiners two to three times the amounts actually stolen. So it was win-win-win. Except for the insurance companies, of course.

The Old West and its ways enamored Frank Phillips. He loved outlaws and lawmen and cowboys and Indians and roughnecks and all such people and things. After his oil millions started pouring in, he purchased land in the Osage hills of the I.T. putting in cattle and horses and American bison to roam the 3,600 acres of prairie, rugged hills, and woodlands.

It became known as the FP Ranch, and later Woolaroc (a contraction for Woods, Lake, Rocks). He built a rustic lodge overlooking a natural spring-fed lake. The ranch and its lodge became his personal retreat, and a place to entertain eastern business associates and celebrities he wanted to impress with western lore. It still exists today as a museum and tourist center.

The vast FP Ranch crossed into and butted up against the campgrounds and hide-outs for several local desperadoes like Al Spencer, Frank Nash, and Henry Wells. It’s said on more than one occasion Phillips would show up at Wells’ cabin to spend a night playing poker with him and his group of shady characters.

Phillips put Wells on his ranch payroll any time he had guests at the lodge, just to add an air of old west authenticity. One time when a group of easterners came to town, eager to experience the flavor of the “real” west, Phillips had a stagecoach meet them at the train station to transport them to the ranch. A mile or so from the main gate, Wells and his mounted gang stopped the stage at gunpoint and robbed the passengers of every wallet and watch fob.

A couple figured Phillips staged the whole thing, but after Wells and his boys roughed some of them up a little, they weren’t rightly sure. When they got to the lodge, all a-bluster, they found all their belongings on a table, and Wells and gang drinking beer and laughing out back.

Phillips had a lot of company picnics and barbeques at the ranch, but he wanted to devise a way to salute all the outlaws, cowboys, and Indians of the Osage hills and plains. He headed up the formation of an association for all these tough guys, and in 1927 held the first of an annual gathering called the Cow Thieves and Outlaw Reunion.

About 100 “guests” attended the first Reunion, all by invitation. In the years to come the guest list and crowd swelled to well over a thousand. Plenty of cow thieves and outlaws attended, but also lawmen, politicians, celebrities, and business owners.

They admitted none without an invitation; however, Phillips left instructions at the gate to welcome in any World War I or Spanish-American War vets in uniform, any cowboy on a saddle horse, and any full-blooded Indians in regalia.

Reunion ground rules were simple: Check all guns, knives, and grudges at the gate. After the festivities, the lawmen had to give the outlaws with any outstanding grievances a 24-hour head start.

The annual party started by “Uncle Frank” Phillips in 1927 continues to this day. Don’t know how many cow thieves or outlaws show up nowadays as it’s a dance and dinner shindig, for mainly Woolaroc Foundation patrons, high rollers. Not quite a black tie affair, but close.

And most likely any veterans or Indians or mounted cowboys would still need to purchase the $75 ticket at the gate to gain entrance. Over 900 attended the last pre-pandemic year, and they have big expectations for this year’s event. I’m sure the spirit of Uncle Frank and Osage Chief Baconrind and Henry Wells will be there, too.

© 2020 by Phil Truman. All rights reserved

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