A good story – no brag, just fact

Jim Bradshaw
jimbradshaw4321@gmail.com

In 1902, on a lonely prairie near Welsh, in what is now Jeff Davis Parish, Ward Earll, his mother and father, and three brothers were found brutally murdered, some of them shot, some of them bludgeoned, some of them with their throats slit.
Albert Edwin Batson an itinerant farm worker who had been employed by the Earlls, quickly became the prime – and only – suspect. It was a time when the southwest Louisiana prairies were being changed by the coming of the railroad, a disruptive influx of Midwestern rice farmers into what had been cattle country, and the discovery of oil not far from the scene of the crime. All sorts of new people were wandering through little towns like Welsh (which then had a population of less than a thousand).
The townspeople were sure that none of their neighbors could do such a horrendous thing, and were scared that some madman was loose in their midst. They wanted him arrested quickly, and authorities who wanted to quell citizens’ fears, wanted a quick arrest just as badly. Batson, an outsider from Missouri, made an ideal scapegoat
A book just published by the University Press of Mississippi, “Until You Are Dead, Dead, Dead: The Hanging of Albert Edwin Batson,” tells the story of the murders, Batson’s legal trials, and of the emotional trial of his mother – who never quit believing that her son simply could not do a thing like that. She did everything she could think of to save her son’s life, but she was almost alone in her belief.
Although the evidence against him was entirely circumstantial, most of the citizenry of southwest Louisiana considered him guilty. Sensational headlines in national and local newspapers – some of them before he was even arrested – stirred up so much emotion that authorities, including Calcasieu Parish Sheriff John Perkins and Gov. William Heard, were afraid he would be lynched before they could hang him legally.
Batson was tried and convicted twice of the murders and sentenced each time to death. The Louisiana Supreme Court threw out the first conviction; the state pardon board said after the second one that the evidence was not strong enough to hang him. But the governor refused to accept the board’s recommendation that Batson’s sentence should be commuted to life in prison. He was 22 years old when he was hanged.
It’s a compelling story, and I’m pleased to say that some other folk have found “Dead, Dead, Dead” to be a good book. That pleasure stems in good part from the fact that I wrote it with co-author Danielle Miller, who did painstaking research into Batson’s short life and his quick death.
I learned about the story 10 years ago or more and wrote a column about it then. I put that column into a file of “things that I’ll do more with one day,” and pretty much forgot about it until a fellow who was researching a ballad about Batson contacted Danielle, who was then a researcher in the historical and genealogical library in Lake Charles, who came across my old column and contacted me. That began the collaboration that turned into this book.
The story intrigued me from the first on several levels: It is a good mystery story. The question is still open as to whether Batson did the deed, at least to my mind. It has tinges of Perry Mason, with its courtroom drama. Interwoven into it all is the story of a mother whose heart is ultimately broken. One early reviewer says it shows that the phenomenon of “trial by media” began well before the age of television and social media. And, finally, the story raises questions about the application then and now of the death penalty.
Sister Helen Prejean, known for her book (and the movie) “Dead Man Walking,” was kind enough to read the manuscript and wrote that “Dead, Dead, Dead” asks “questions about a long ago hanging that remain pertinent today. … This … examination of the arrest, conviction, and hanging [of Ed Batson] illustrates that the death penalty has presented legal and moral issues for many, many years.”
Another kind reviewer wrote that, although it is nonfiction, “it reads like a crime novel” and that “readers will be hooked until they reach the book’s end and Batson is indeed dead, dead, dead.”
I would be bragging if I had written that myself, and you know I don’t like to brag. But I can say that I agree with the assessment.
You can contact Jim Bradshaw at jimbradshaw4321@gmail.com or P.O. Box 1121, Washington LA 70589..