The most pleasurable time in my 32 year career in law enforcement was when I served in the Fort Worth, Texas Sheriff Department’s Criminal Investigation Division and had the honor of working with Texas Ranger Dave Dunaway. He and I were about the same age, and we agreed that in many cases, the old ways were best. After retiring and moving to Tennessee, I began to write about some of the experiences of those days, not only mine but also those of the Rangers who joined us for lunch and shared their stories with us.
“Rangers of the Rio Grande” was my first effort, but one book led to another and soon, seven books had been published by Amazon. Since ebooks seemed to be the coming thing, I decided that readers would rather spend a couple of dollars to be able to read them on Kindle readers or their own computers rather than pay $24.95 at a bookstore for a hardcover book they would read once and put on the shelf to gather dust. Here is one of the true stories from the case files of my good friend, now retired Ranger Dave Dunaway.
The Old Ranger
He was from the old school. Tall and lanky, with a weathered face, chiseled features, and a deep voice, Dave was the embodiment of the old time Texas Ranger. In his mid-sixties, Dave was friendly and well-liked but he got more than his share of teasing from the younger Rangers over his choice of a side-arm. Not one to follow the latest trend with the 9mm Glocks or even the .45 semi-auto’s, Dave Dunaway stuck with his old Colt .45 single-action revolver. “If it was good enough for Bill McDonald, then it’s good enough for me,” he’d say. Bill McDonald was the Ranger credited with the famous saying, “One riot, one Ranger.”
“You seem to be a little over-balanced there Dave,” one would say. “Could it be that ole hog leg doin it? Or are you just naturally lop-sided?” Dave would just grin and his come-back remark was, “Anytime I need more than six shots, I’ll hang it up.” No one he arrested ever gave him any argument as soon as they spotted the “big iron on his hip” as the song goes.
He had two years left before retirement when he was called into the Ranger headquarters in Waco and informed that he was being given a desk job. “Our files are a mess and the guys in the Fort Worth Sheriff’s Department made that nice office in CID for you that you never use. Besides, some guy has been hitting all the small-town banks and making fools of all of us. Nobody’s been able to catch him since every description we get is different. Take this stack of files with you and maybe you’ll have better luck.”
The next day, he stopped in and let his friends in CID know that he’d be spending some time there doing some records work. They were all glad to hear it. “Nice to have a Ranger around,” one of the investigators said. “Kinda dresses up the place.” Dave just smiled and headed for the break room and some coffee. He put the reports in order, then began to see a pattern to the bank robberies that were still unsolved. He got a map of Texas and a box of push pins, then found a cork board that he set up on two folding chairs from the breakroom. Soon, he had made several triangular designs on the board, and he sat back in his chair and studied them. One in particular caught his eye as it was missing a corner where the map had Haltom City. He grabbed a phonebook, then listed the names of the banks located there and the weekdays and usual times that the robberies had been taking place. The next thing anybody knew, Ranger Dave had left.
He parked his car behind one of the banks, left his Stetson on the seat, slipped inside the bank and waited. He had read various descriptions of the robber, so he kept his eyes on the tellers as each customer walked up to their windows. One lady teller began glancing around, her eyes wide as a well-dressed man wearing a suit and tie with shined shoes and fedora hat had stepped up to her window. As Dave slowly walked over, he noticed that the man had kept one hand in a pocket as he was showing the teller a note. The next thing the man heard was a click, click, click as he felt the cold steel of Dave’s gun barrel pressing against his neck. He closed his eyes as he took a deep breath, then drew the small pistol from his pocket and laid it on the counter. “You got me, Ranger,” was all he said as Dave holstered his revolver and cuffed the man behind his back.
“How’d you know it was me?” Dave asked him as he walked him out, the man’s pistol stuck in Dave’s gun belt.
“No other lawman would carry an old Colt .45 single-action nowadays like you do and those three clicks gave you away.” Dave smiled as he loaded him up in the back seat of his dark blue Ford Interceptor sedan and headed for Fort Worth and the county jail. After booking him in, Dave went back to his office in CID and the Sheriff’s investigators there couldn’t wait to ask him how he knew which bank of the three in Haltom City the fellow would be attempting to hold up.
“Easy,” Dave told them. “It’s the only one situated on the highway. The other two are in town. By the way, you can send a wrecker to pick up his car. It’s the one backed into a parking space instead of heading in like all the others. You might run the plate just to make sure you don’t tow the wrong one but after the bank closes and the employees leave it’ll be the one still sitting there.” The investigators were still looking at each other and shaking their heads as Dave nodded to them and headed for home and to his supper.
Jim Wood - 1060 words Author’s note: Texas Ranger Dunaway and his wife, Jennifer have come to Smithville twice to visit with Jim and Elizabeth after retiring.
