Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1907-02-23
Merry BR|CKY BARR
SaWed-0ff Westerner Who Fid-
died and PIastered.
Mnr RAAM Tn EnnI laurn
NOT A MAN TO FOOL WITH
Angered at Instructor, He Dropped
Him Out of q Window.
HIS ADVENT INTO DURANGO
Went Out After "Bud" Caldwell,
Bank Robber, and Brought Him
Back Dead-Was Made Marshal.

Back Dead-Was Made Marshal.
Wilton Andrews, the leader of the special
orchestra accompanying a dramatic pro-
duction which recently visited Washington,
told at the Garrick Club a curious story
about violin pupil he once had.
1t was at Wichita. Kans., where was
teaching in the early eighties that I got
hold of this pupil, he said. He was a
plasterer- Don't laugh when l say on top
of that that he was one of the most prom
| Using violin pupils 1 ever had. He was a
quiet good-natured, sawed off named Frank
Barr, but everybody called him Bricky
Barr because he had the reddest suit OF
cowlicky hair that ever entered into compe-
tition with stormy sunset. He was about
four inches over five feet high, but as
broad cross the back as Hackenshmidt,
with pair of orang-outang arms that
reached almost to his knees He could pick
UP by the rear axle a two-horse wagon
loaded with brick and raise it five feet clear
of the ground with one hand.
II belonged to the drifters when reached
Wichita and organized my class there One
evening, soon after I'd got my scraping
boarding house on the outskirts of Wichita.
This crfmson-haired runt was sitting be-
fore one Of the open front windows, saw
Ing on a fiddle. It wasn't violin: 1t was
fiddle. and vicious fiddle. The man
making the sounds on 1t was, knew at
once, an ear player. Yet there was occa-
sionally q certain sentiment true and
sound about the fellows rude perform
He told me that he didn't know one
note from another, but that he'd had the
dddlo bug all his life. When he told me
that he was a plasterer 1 looked at his
hQnhq Thav nathan
! fened. Bricky told me that he always
wore gloves while plastering. not with the
idea of keeping his hands dainty, but SO
as not to spoil them for his fiddling.
"Well,I took Bricky into my Wichita class.
inside Of six months he had safe lead on
all the rest of them, even II had been COM
PEELED to make him unlearn all Of his ear
playing denominations.
Bricky Had Temper, Too.
'Inside Of a couple of years had
pushed Bricky, the plasterer.. through
WIGHT, Kaiser and Kreutzer and he didn't
do half badly with the Dancle show pieces
that I occasionally let him have to relieve
the tedium Of exercises.
Bricky was a tractable pupil. But one
evening, after he'd been working at the yio-
lin under my direction for about a year and
a half. something occurred to convince me
that Brfcky wasn't to be fooled with. He
was bit out Of form with his lesson and
In moment of petulance knocked his
bow UP from the strings Of his violin with
my bow. Bricky's bow went flying across
the room.
"Bricky had a pair Of those steely blue
eyes that good many western men Of ex-
traordinary nerve have been provided with.
He turned those eyes upon me for about fif-
teen straight seconds and there were CLEANS
OF a tigerish topa in them. He didn't say a
word but he walked over to a sofa in a cor
ner of the room. He deposited his violin
upon this sofa with great care. Then he
walked back to where I stood. turned me
around, took me under the arms from be-
hind, toted me over to a window OF the Sec
ond-story room as If I'd been a setter pup.
held me suspended out of the window for an
instant and then dropped me to the ground.
1T was only ten-foot drop and the
ground was soft from recent rain. No
harm was done. I didn't take 1t to heart
particularly, after I'd had time to think 1t
over.
AFTER that Bricky and got on perfectly
well together, although never knocked his
bow out OF his hand again: After two
years I gave up my Wichita class and went
to Denver to take position orchestra
leader in q theater. A few years later l
quit music for time and went into busi-
ness.
occasionally my business called me to
Durango. Col. There wasn't any worse
town in the west at that time than Du-
men. Nearly a dozen marshals-none of
them a craven either-had already. at that
period. been put away by the Durango gun
fighters
Something Doing in Durango.
'When reached Durango one afternoon
in the summer of 1886 there was a lot OF
excitement there. Bud Caldwell had stuck
up Schiff's bank that day. He had most
of the man-hunters Of Colorado and New
Mexico tied In bowknots with fear Of him
at that time. Caldwell belonged to that
class Of desperadoes of which Billy the Kid
was another example-that is. he killed
whether there was any necessity for 1t or
not. He had stood off whole camps. back
ing out of the camps afoot when they'd
hobbled or shot his horse. He was so I'M
erring on the shoot that the most deter
mined and reckless bad-man potters fought
shy of him.
ION this day. then, Caldwell had strolled
into Schiffs bank at noon ana put the
whole outfit back of the trellis under his
stack up all Of the gold and currency on
the counter in front of him.
"The cashier didn't make any superfiuous
movements in obeying. The other employees
of the bank. also recognizing Caldwell,
stood or sat frozen at their desks Cald-
well swept all of the banks ready cash,
$4,000, into the leather pouch suspended
from his neck by strap. Then he backed
made move except the cashier, and the
cashier only moved to do what Caldwell
told him to do COldwell got on his horse
IN front of the bank and made for the
canons at a leisurely amble.
LAS I say, when got to Durango, three
hours after the thing happened, Durango
was a heap perturbed over the thing; but
nobody seemed to want the 5000 reward
which the bank Immediately offered for
Caldwell, dead or alive.
1.-THE folks stood around and talked about
1t in the groggeries and gambling joints and
honkatonks. but none of those quick-trigger
people of Durango had lost any 5000 worth
of Bud Caldwell that they were anxious to
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