The Way It Was: Guns, Graft, and Corruption

Another election cycle and it’s easy to tell the difference at polling places today compared to, say, 20+ years ago — not as many fights between candidates. Real fist fights, mind you, not that verbal sparring.

That’s what smartphones have done during a time when everyone and their brother is a photographer with a ready-to-go camera in their pocket/ purse at all times.

Politicians in the smaller jurisdictions, campaign workers, don’t want to get into fistfights because they don’t want anyone taking a photo and/or video of their bad behavior.

Same goes for tearing down campaign signs.

Good times. All gone.

Even the profanity-laced tirades so familiar at RGV polling places in years gone by. Nonexistent. No more hand gestures. Where’s the fun?

What follows has been published in this newspaper before, but just this week, someone called to talk about something and mentioned the stories recently published in The Advance about the old Valley lawman, Tom Mayfield.

“I love history,” they said. “Do some more history stories.”

Okay, since we’re short a front-page story this week, we’ll resurrect this old one and attach a fresh lede to it and go with the flow. A jump back in time, again, as it were when local politics were far wilder than they are today.

County’s History is Wild

If we look back at this county’s history, it’s interesting to note, not only were some “interesting” things going on behind political doors in days gone by, but these people were not only “getting away with it,” they ended up having streets and public buildings named after them.

Big surprise: News of possible corruption in Hidalgo County goes way back.

To get a feel for local history, you can’t do much better than picking up the non-fiction book, 'Wild Horse Desert' by a former local writer named Brian Robertson, which talks about politics here in the late teens and early 20's. You can still find it for sale in print edition at Amazon and Barnes.

Part of the book describes how local Democrat leader of Hidalgo County John Closner, who owned the San Juan Plantation around the turn of the last century (after whom the city of San Juan was named), resigned as county treasurer on Feb. 5, 1918, perhaps pressured by a lawsuit filed by members known as the Good Government League. At the center of the lawsuit were allegations of misappropriation of county funds. Additional suits were filed against other county officials 'alleging negligence of public duty, failure to count the cash each quarter, transferring funds from different accounts and other irregularities.'

The county ordered an investigative audit be done by an out-of-town CPA who found "that the Treasurer's records prior to April 9, 1908, are missing and none of the officers of Hidalgo County have been able to locate the same."

Robertson's book says that in spite of the numerous questions raised by the audit, the cases against county officials who came to trial in March 1918 were immediately dismissed by District Judge Volney M. Taylor.

In response, shouting out that Hidalgo Co. citizens deserved better, the Good Government League launched an attack against the Hidalgo County government through the newspapers friendly to its cause.

Time Magazine and Colliers picked up the stories coming out of South Texas, making our problems known to a national audience.

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

One leader of the Good Government League was referred to in print as 'the Red Headed Rooster of the Rio Grande.'

Shots Fired

Robertson's book, “Wild Horse Desert,” reports that a local newspaper, the Hidalgo County Independent, published a story on Oct. 11, 1929, about a pastor in Weslaco who was awakened at 3 a.m. by a pistol- packing man looking for Ed Couch candidate for county judge. Apparently, he was upset with something the pastor was telling his congregation.

In 1929, some murders were said to be the work of political assassination, and as Robertson's book reports, 'important county documents were permanently misplaced, conflicting versions of county commissioners' minutes appeared, and allegations were tossed around regarding misplaced public funds.'

In contrast, today's political landscape seems relatively tame.

In another book about Hidalgo County’s history, called Nickel-Plated Highway to Hell: A History of Hidalgo County from 1852 to 1934, written by Ruth Griffin Spence, we discover these amazing tidbits:

# There was the rumor in 1908 that the county commissioners had a good reason for moving the county seat from Hidalgo to Edinburg. The three commissioners had organized a townsite on the 50,000 acres of land they had purchased where present-day Edinburg now stands. It was also rumored that the county commission chose the middle of the night to hold the election that would decide where the county seat would be moved.

# Under the 'Bossism' form of politics here in the early part of the century, a person who did a favor for Hidalgo County’s political 'boss' would often be awarded a reduction in taxes, or a road contract, or an appointive job in county, city or school district governments.

# In the early days here, there was indeed a two-party system. The Democrats were considered the Blue Party while the Republicans were considered the Red Party. Colors were used so that the illiterate could simply make a scratch on a piece of paper next to the color they wanted to vote for. The night before an election, both parties organized torch light parades, according to Spence's book. The lead wagon of the parade was filled with kegs of beer and a band held up the rear. The parties lasted all through the night until the voting booths opened the next morning, at which time the voters were led to their respective voting booths.

# By the mid-20s, Hidalgo Co. residents were wondering why no one outside the 'Baker Ring' (named for Sheriff A. Y. Baker) could be elected to public office. What really got voters mad was what came to be known as the 'Nickel Plated Highway to Hell.'

It stretched less than eight miles from McAllen to Hidalgo over perfectly flat land. But it was built at a cost to taxpayers of $1 million (in the 1920s, when money was money).

It just so happened that the road ended at a .60 toll bridge, which was mainly owned by A. Y. Baker. Next door was the saloon and dance hall owned by another one of the county officials.

Unlike today’s Valley “casinos,” these rackets were at least protected.

# According to Spence's book, county residents were also upset over the way county officials held sway over the local school system. One school, the Tabasco School, was situated in the midst of mesquite bush, miles away from any irrigated land. It had a total enrollment of 129 students, yet it cost county taxpayers $400,000 to build. All school equipment, which still sat uncrated three years after the school opened, had all been purchased from "friendly" firms.

To pass another school bond, county officials put the notice of election on a tree out in the bush and on the back door of the courthouse, where no one could see it when the door stood open, which it did most of the time.

In July 1928, Carl and Ruth Armstrong became publishers of a new newspaper, titled the Hidalgo County Independent. It was committed to the political reform movement then underway across the county. On the front page of the Sept. 19, 1928 issue, Ruth Armstrong wrote the following editorial: 'Hidalgo County has suffered the pangs of political perdition from those scions of public life who have insisted on getting easy money. If you and your neighbor shall properly insist upon it, there shall be no more easy money for anyone who sits comfortably ensconced at the courthouse with nothing to do but write out a few warrants when he wishes to build a new house, buy a new car or take a trip to Europe.'

The calendar may change, but human nature, not so much.