From Rich Hill to the Top of the World

“A man of focus: Cleo F. Craig in an official AT&T publicity portrait during his tenure as president in the 1950s. (Photo believed to be in the public domain).”

From Rich Hill to the Top of the World: How Cleo F. Craig Connected the Globe

When we think of the pioneers who built the modern world, we often think of big-city inventors or East Coast executives. But one of the most influential figures in the history of global communication—the man who literally helped connect North America to Europe—called Rich Hill, Missouri, his hometown.

His name was Cleo Frank Craig, and his journey from a local high school graduate to the absolute pinnacle of corporate America is a classic "bottom-to-the-top" success story.

Rich Hill Roots and Global Visions

Born right here in Rich Hill on April 6, 1893, Cleo grew up during an era when the telephone was still a luxury novelty. After graduating from our local schools, his sharp mind for practical science took him to the University of Missouri, where he earned a degree in electrical engineering in 1913.

Armed with his diploma and a strong Midwestern work ethic, he took a job that same year with the American Telephone and Telegraph Company (AT&T) in St. Louis. He didn’t start in a fancy office; he started out in the dust and sweat as an "equipment man," earning a reported salary of just $15 a week.

Climbing the Corporate Ladder

Craig didn't need shortcuts—he had talent. Over the next four decades, he steadily climbed through the ranks of AT&T's Long Lines department, the critical division responsible for managing the nation's long-distance network. By 1940, he was a vice president.

Then, in July of 1951, the boy from Rich Hill reached the ultimate height of the business world: he was named President of AT&T. At the time, AT&T wasn't just a phone company; it was the largest corporate enterprise in the world, managing the communications network of an entire superpower.

Did You Know? Craig didn't just run the company from behind a desk. Even as president, he was famous for visiting local line crews and equipment stations, never forgetting what it was like to work the lines himself.

Connecting the World

During his tenure as President (1951–1956) and later as Chairman of the Board, Craig oversaw a technological revolution. If you've ever picked up a phone and dialed a long-distance number directly without waiting for an operator to manually plug in a cord, you have Cleo Craig to thank. He spearheaded the rollout of Direct Distance Dialing.

Even more historic was his push across the ocean. Under Craig's leadership, AT&T laid TAT-1, the very first transatlantic telephone cable, stretching under the ocean from North America to Scotland. When it went live in 1956, it fundamentally changed global politics and business forever.

A Local Legacy

Cleo F. Craig passed away in 1978, but his legacy stands as a proud reminder of what small-town roots can produce. The next time you make a phone call, send a text, or browse the internet, take a second to look out at the Missouri horizon and remember that the global network connecting us all was shaped by one of Rich Hill's very own.

First Baptist Church of Rich Hill, Missouri.

 

 

A Glimpse into Rich Hill's Past

Every old photograph has a story to tell, and this one offers a fascinating glimpse into the early history of the First Baptist Church of Rich Hill, Missouri.

The photograph, preserved on a commemorative plate, features the church building along with an inset portrait of Rev. J. S. Allen, who served as pastor when the picture was made. Although little information has yet been found about Rev. Allen's life and ministry, his inclusion on this keepsake reminds us of the important role pastors played in the spiritual and community life of small towns like Rich Hill.

The church pictured is believed to be the building dedicated in 1898, after the congregation lost its original church to fire in 1894. Standing proudly with its tall bell tower, the church became a familiar landmark and a gathering place for worship, baptisms, weddings, funerals, revivals, and community fellowship.

One of the most striking features of the photograph is the large group of people assembled in front of the church. They came dressed in their Sunday best, likely for a special occasion worth remembering. Whether it was a church anniversary, revival meeting, or simply a day chosen to commemorate the congregation, the image captures a moment when faith and community were woven closely together.

Today, more than a century later, Rev. J. S. Allen remains something of a mystery. Perhaps future research in old newspapers, church records, or Missouri Baptist Convention minutes will uncover more about the man whose portrait appears on this treasured keepsake. Until then, this photograph stands as a reminder of the generations of faithful people who helped build both the church and the community of Rich Hill.

Sometimes an old photograph preserves more than faces and buildings—it preserves the memory of a time when neighbors gathered together, faith was at the center of community life, and history was quietly being made.

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Part 3: The Ghost of Bates County and the West Coast Showdown

 

Part 3: The Ghost of Bates County and the West Coast Showdown

The iron gates of the Missouri State Penitentiary had slammed shut on the shooter, John Shead, but Dale Jones remained a ghost. He had orchestrated a bloody escape, mocked the law, and vanished into thin air. Yet, the lawmen of Bates County refused to let the file go cold. The memory of Constable Samuel Queen hung heavy over the department, a quiet vow that his killer’s mastermind would face justice.

The dragnet stretched across state lines, following the whispers of a multi-state auto theft ring. In late 1914, investigators finally caught a break. Jones was tracked down, captured, and dragged back to Missouri in heavy irons.

But Dale Jones was a slippery devil. On November 13, 1914, before he could stand trial for his role in the ambush, Jones executed a daring escape from the county jail, slipping into the night once more.

To survive on the run, Jones shed his real identity like a second skin. He knew every lawman from Kansas City to St. Louis was looking for "Dale Jones," so he buried that name in the dirt. He began floating through rural border towns using the name Fred Jones, and later, Charles J. Taylor. With a handful of forged papers and a rotating roster of aliases, he fled the Midwest entirely, heading for the sun-drenched coast of California.

By late 1915, detectives finally pierced his cover, located him in California, and brought him back to Missouri a second time. Yet, due to a stunning twist of legal maneuvering—and because John Shead stubbornly refused to testify against his boss—Jones eluded a murder conviction. He was sentenced to just two years on secondary charges.

It was a slap on the wrist. And it was a fatal mistake by the justice system.

The Spree Begins: Upon his release, the man once known as Dale Jones reinvented himself completely. He adopted his most permanent and dangerous alias: Charles Forbes. Partnering with his equally ruthless wife, Margie—who now went by Mrs. Charles Forbes—he launched a violent, desperate crime spree across the American Southwest that mirrored the future exploits of Bonnie and Clyde.

By 1918, "Charles Forbes" and his wife were terrorizing cities across the Rockies. They left a trail of empty bank vaults and stolen vehicles, running purely on adrenaline and stolen horsepower. When law enforcement tried to intervene, the response from the Forbes couple was instantaneous, lethal violence.

On September 13, 1918, Detective John W. Rowan of the Colorado Springs Police Department cornered the duo. Jones drew his weapon and shot the detective dead.

Less than twenty-four hours later, while fleeing through Denver, Policeman Luther Mahill attempted to stop the murderous couple. He, too, was shot down in cold blood.

The "Forbes" bandits were now the most wanted fugitives in America. With two fresh bodies in their wake, they pinned the accelerator to the floor and flew back toward Los Angeles, California, looking to lose themselves in the sprawling Pacific coast.

But they had run out of road.

On November 19, 1918, a heavily armed posse of Los Angeles County Sheriff's deputies and local police surrounded the bungalow where the self-proclaimed Charles Forbes and his wife were holed up. There would be no handcuffs this time. There would be no arrogant taunts in a jail cell.

The quiet California neighborhood erupted into a warzone, echoing the tragic night at the Rich Hill depot five years earlier. Bullets ripped through walls and shattered windows. In the opening volleys of the fierce gun battle, Deputy Sheriff George W. Van Vliet was struck down and killed by the outlaw's frantic fire.

But the law would not retreat. Officers poured a relentless hail of gunfire into the hideout. When the smoke finally cleared and the ringing in the streets died down, both the mastermind and his wife lay dead on the floor, riddled with bullets.

When the authorities searched the bodies and ran the fingerprints of the dead gunman they called Charles Forbes, the trail led all the way back to a cold November night in Missouri.

Five years after he looked Samuel Queen in the eye and chillingly declared, "You'll never get me to Butler," Dale Jones’s violent prophecy had run its full, bloody course. He never did see the inside of the Butler jail—but the relentless ghost of the Bates County lawman had chased him through every fake name and every state line, all the way to the edge of the Pacific Ocean, where his criminal empire finally died in a rain of lead.

Part 2: The Dynamite Plot and the Dragnet

 The Rich Hill Depot Ambush: The Tragedy of Constable Samuel Queen

Part 2: The Dynamite Plot and the Dragnet

The gun smoke had barely cleared from the shattered windows of the Missouri Pacific passenger car before one of the largest dragnets in the history of Western Missouri was unleashed. A beloved lawman had been mortally wounded on a crowded train platform, and the state of Missouri wanted blood.

Bates County Sheriff George W. Sunderwirth immediately mobilized every available deputy, while the Governor dispatched bloodhounds and state investigators to scour the countryside around Rich Hill. The auto theft syndicate had successfully broken Dale Jones out of his shackles, but by killing Constable Queen, they had turned a local heist ring into public enemy number one.

The outlaws didn't stay hidden for long.

Within days, the relentless pressure of the dragnet began to crack the syndicate's outer edges. Leads poured into the Sheriff's office, placing the gang in Kansas City, where they felt safe hiding in the urban underworld. But Bates County lawmen, working alongside Kansas City detectives, squeezed the syndicate's known safehouses.

Before long, the law caught up with the man who pulled the trigger: John Shead.

Shead, the cold-blooded gunman who had cornered Queen in the train car, was captured in a tense raid in Kansas City. Dragged back to Bates County in heavy irons, Shead was locked away securely inside the stout stone walls of the Butler jail—the very cell that Dale Jones had bragged he would never see.

But the syndicate wasn't finished with Bates County yet.

With Shead behind bars and facing a certain hangman's noose for murder, the remaining members of the auto theft ring grew desperate. They knew Shead held enough secrets to dismantle their entire multi-state operation. They needed him out, or they needed him dead.

In the dead of winter, a terrifying rumor leaked out of the underworld and reached Sheriff Sunderwirth's desk: a plot had been hatched to break John Shead out of the Butler jail using a massive cache of dynamite. The plan was as simple as it was brutal—blast the jail walls to pieces, liberate Shead, and kill any lawman who stood in the way.

The county went on a war footing. Extra guards armed with repeating shotguns were stationed around the perimeter of the jail night and day. The residents of Butler slept with one eye open, half-expecting the night to be ripped apart by an explosion.

Thanks to the iron-clad security and a series of preemptive raids on syndicate safehouses, the daring dynamite plot fizzled out before the fuses could be lit. Denied his rescue, John Shead stood trial in a courtroom packed with angry local citizens. The jury took little time to reach a verdict. Shead was convicted of first-degree murder for the slaying of Constable Queen and sentenced to spend the rest of his natural life behind the gray walls of the Missouri State Penitentiary.

Bates County had secured a piece of justice. The shooter was caged. But the arrogant mastermind behind it all—the man whose taunts started the tragedy—was still running.

While Shead began his life sentence, Dale Jones was fleeing across the American West, leaving a trail of stolen cars, empty bank vaults, and gunsmoke in his wake. He was heading for the sun-drenched coast of California, unaware that the ghost of Samuel Queen was riding right on his heels...

The Rich Hill Depot Ambush: The Tragedy of Constable Samuel Queen

 

The Rich Hill Depot Ambush: The Tragedy of Constable Samuel Queen

Part 1: "You'll Never Get Me to Butler"

In the late autumn of 1913, the quiet roads of Bates County, Missouri, became a pipeline for a modern kind of outlaw. Automobiles were still a luxury, but to a sophisticated ring of thieves operating out of Kansas City, they were a goldmine. The syndicate specialized in grand larceny—stealing high-end motor cars from the city, altering their markings, and trafficking them down through rural border towns like Hume and Rich Hill to be sold off illegally.

But on Sunday, November 23, 1913, Howard Township Constable Samuel L. Queen put a wrench in their gears.

Constable Queen, a respected 40-year-old lawman, along with his deputy, Charles Horton, had successfully tracked down and arrested one of the key operatives of this multi-state auto theft ring: a hardened, dangerous criminal named Dale Jones. Eager to secure the high-value prisoner and get him to the county jail, Queen transported Jones into Rich Hill to await the evening Missouri Pacific train to Butler.

While they waited inside the old Rich Hill jail, an eerie, arrogant confidence settled over the prisoner.

Jones didn't look or act like a man facing a prison sentence. Instead, he looked directly at the lawman and began to taunt him. Over and over, Jones repeated a chilling warning: "You'll never get me to Butler. I'm telling you, you'll never get me to Butler."

Word of the arrest and the prisoner's bold taunts quickly leaked out into the streets. As the afternoon wore on, a heavy sense of dread blanketed the community. The talk of Rich Hill that Sunday wasn't about the upcoming winter or local gossip; it was about the dangerous man sitting in their jail cells. The whole town doubted that the transfer would go smoothly. Whispers passed from neighbor to neighbor, repeating the criminal’s own words: He’ll never make it to Butler.

But Constable Queen had a job to do. As evening fell, he and Deputy Horton marched a shackled Dale Jones out of the jail and down to the bustling Rich Hill railroad depot.

It should have been a routine prisoner transfer. Instead, the town's worst fears were about to come true.

Jones’s syndicate wasn't about to let their man talk to the authorities, and they had used the afternoon to set a deadly trap. In a coordinated ambush, two heavily armed accomplices closed in on the station. One of those men, a cold-blooded gunman named John Shead, quietly slipped unnoticed onto the passenger car, while his partner took up a position outside on the depot platform.

Just as the locomotive hissed steam on the tracks, preparing to pull out of the Rich Hill station, the train car erupted into a warzone.

Without warning, John Shead and his partner opened fire, catching the lawmen in a vicious crossfire inside the crowded train car. Bullets shattered glass and tore through the wooden passenger seats as terrified travelers scrambled for cover. Constable Queen drew his weapon and fought back bravely, but he was caught in the open. John Shead's bullets struck the constable twice—once in the arm, and once heavily in the abdomen.

In the blinding chaos and gunsmoke, Shead and his accomplice managed to overpower the remaining lawmen, break a smirking Dale Jones free from his shackles, and vanish into the dark Rich Hill night.

Constable Queen was rushed back to his home in Hume by Tuesday noon. Though a tough frontier lawman, his abdominal wounds proved too severe. Pneumonia set in, and on Friday, November 28, 1913, Samuel Queen breathed his last, leaving behind his grieving wife, Daisy, and a young daughter, Rita.

Dale Jones had spoken his grim prophecy into existence: he never made it to Butler that night. But the killing of Constable Queen would unleash a relentless, multi-state manhunt that would span from the streets of Kansas City all the way to the coast of California...

Stay tuned for Part 2 and Part 3, where we follow the trail of a dramatic dynamite plot to blow up the Bates County jail, the capture of the shooter John Shead, and the violent "Bonnie and Clyde" style final showdown of Dale Jones on the West Coast.

About the Rich Hill Bandstand from The Bates County republican Dec. 1938

 

This Article is Word for Word from the Bates County Republican Newspaper (Dec 1938)

Bates County Republican  1/7/1938 to 12/26/1941 Reel# 35376

Finished  Band Stand

Barring a few Minor Details the New Band Stand is all  ready for use!

Every small Detail is looked after making this a fine piece of work

Great Job!!

The Great American implement of cleanliness ,the broom was applied to the Bandstand in the Central Park indicating that the stand was finished and ready for use. There are a few details yet to be finished such as putting some metal strips in the corners of the ceiling and putting the top ornament on the roof, But taking it all in all the stand is finished. And a Dandy fine piece of work it is, we calls  it. 

 We have watched  this stand from its start, seen the rock piled up in the park, viewed with interest the Trenches dug for the foundation, appointed ourselves as a committee of one to inspect the layering of the rock and then offered invaluable suggestions as to the best ways to proceed since the very beginning. We have glorified in the large rock supporting the pillars, thought about the great sport we have had in yesteryears skinning the cat over the railing, argued about the finishing the peak of the roof and  then came right out and bluntly advised them as the best way to light the stand. We are happy to say that in all of these socializations on our part Forman J. S. Thompson has been most kind and considerate. He had the happy faculty of making us think that our own suggestions would be followed out to the most minute detail.  And then he went on and did just as he thought best. And so the Bandstand is a great success and we congratulate Mr. Thompson and through him the members of the American Legion and also the city officials. They have had a monument that the town can point to with a great deal of pride now and in the ages yet to come. For It will be there for a long time.

 We have gone into details telling about this Bandstand so many times that a repetition of them would be boresome.  It is all that we could be desired. From the Indirect lights peeping through the brown ceiling with the black trim to the massive stone pillars it is a most completed piece of Park furniture.

 The lighting fixtures are so arranged that in the years to come the folks will be able to get lights on any setup they might have. A loudspeaker could be installed on the stand and immediately the wires would connect it with the current. In front of the stand where the roof does not extend  there is a place where they will have flood lights in case of an amateur show-heaven forbid. When not in use this floodlight trough will be neatly covered with a lid that fits perfectly. And then later a bronze plate will be placed on one of the corner posts telling the coming generations just when the stand was built and who was responsible for its erection. No doubt but what this plate will answer many an argument when folks get to talking about when the work was done.

  A mighty nice piece of work this stand. And we think the town ought to decide to keep it. 

Missouri Gas for Rich Hill

Missouri Gas for Rich Hill

Taken from the Nevada Daily Mail Thursday February the 18th 1909.

 The Nevada Daily Mail Thursday February the 18th 1909.

Missouri Gas for Rich Hill

The citizens of this town held a jubilee in advance today on account of the fact that tonight Missouri natural gas was turned into the city gas mains. For 20 years this city Has paid $1.50 per thousand cubic feet for artificial gas, Which is five times the price they will pay to use the natural article. a franchise was voted a year ago to business men Of this city who Incorporated  the Rich Hill Natural Gas Company with a paid up capital of $12,000. They have grilled in five big wells in the Elgort field five miles west of Town ,laid the pipe line and attached to mains 

Yesterday.