Hey everyone, welcome to the show. Great to be
here. Imagine the roar of a 1920s courtroom.
Uh, packed. But not for some gangster, you know,
for a preacher. Yeah, a firebrand pastor, J.
Frank Norris, accused of gunning down a prominent
lumberman. It's quite the setup. Definitely not
your typical Sunday morning story. This isn't
just history, it's, well, it's a true crime story.
Faith, fury, death. All set against the wild
backdrop of the roaring 20s. Absolutely. A really
fervent time, socially, religiously. So if this
kind of intense, surprising history grabs you,
definitely hit that like and subscribe button.
We do deep dives like this all the time. Good
stuff. Today, yeah, we're jumping into The Shooting
Salvationist by David R. Stokes. There's an Amazon
link in the description, by the way. And it's
meticulously researched, isn't it? Yeah. Uses
only direct quotes from the time. Exactly. Which
is amazing. It brings this like sensational case
you've probably never heard of right back to
life. And it's more than just the shooting itself.
Oh, way more. Beyond the shock, you get this
incredible clash of personalities, huge egos.
In a city, Fort Worth, just grappling with massive
change. The oil boom was transforming everything.
Right. And you see the power of religion, obviously,
but also the media shaping how everyone saw things.
We're going to unpack what this forgotten drama
really tells us about America back then in the
Jazz Age. As always, we're your guides. We'll
sift through the details, pull out the juicy
bits for you. And I'm here to help connect the
dots. Look at the bigger picture, the significance
of it all. Okay, so our exploration today. We'll
look at the key players. You mentioned J. Frank
Norris, this controversial pastor. Then there's
Mayor H .C. Meacham, respected guy, owner of
a big department store. The victim, D .E. Chicks,
wealthy lumberman. And Fort Worth itself, Texas
in the 1920s, a really volatile atmosphere. We'll
dig into what led up to the shooting, the immediate
aftermath, you know, the chaos. And that sensational
trial. gripped the whole nation, apparently.
Our mission really is not just what happened,
but why it mattered, and maybe what echoes we
still hear today. We've got bits from the book,
old news articles, even some personal accounts.
It's going to be fascinating. Okay, let's unpack
this. Where do we start? The city. Yeah, let's
start with Fort Worth, because the setting is
crucial. Like you said, 1920s Fort Worth wasn't
some quiet little town. Right, oil money flowing.
Exactly. Texas -most city, as they called it,
just booming. And this rapid growth, well, it
forced changes. Like in city government. Precisely.
But in the council manager system, trying to
professionalize things, manage the growth. Which
probably ruffled some feathers, shifted power
dynamics. It will have. It created perhaps new
ways for someone like Norris to challenge the
old guard. He could engage with the city manager
and the mayor. It was dynamic, maybe unstable,
too. Makes sense. And right into the swirling
pot steps, J. Frank Norris. The book calls him
a very fundamentalist pastor during the Roaring
Twenties. Uh -huh. And known for controversy
and sensationalism, he wasn't exactly low -key.
No kidding. powerful speaker, great organizer.
He built First Baptist Church in Fort Worth into,
well, they called it America's first megachurch.
Which is incredible for that time. Think about
that scale. It's striking how he mixed this like
super conservative doctrine with really modern
ways of promoting himself. How did that work?
Why was that combo so potent then? Well, I think
a couple of things were going on. First, you
had the rise of fundamentalism itself. It was
a reaction, right? People felt traditional values
were under threat. All the change happening,
prohibition, evolution, debates. Exactly. People
wanted certainty, strong leaders. Morris gave
them that, uncompromising. But second, he wasn't
just preaching in church. He used modern media.
The newspaper, the radio. Right. The Searchlight
paper, his radio station. That let him reach
way beyond the church walls, build a personal
brand almost. Bypass the usual gatekeeper. So
it wasn't just sermons. It was building a whole
movement. Absolutely. They called him a go -getting,
up -and -coming, fire -eating parson. Even Sinclair
Lewis, you know, the novelist. He came to Fort
Worth when he was researching Elmer Gantry. And
he noted Norris' fame for his flamboyant anti
-vice crusades. Norris was already a big deal.
Wow. Okay, so you have Norris. Then there's H
.C. Meacham, first mayor under the new system,
owns the department store. Their relationship
sounds tense. Oh. Definitely fraught. Norris
wasn't afraid to fight City Hall, that's for
sure. Classic Clash, really. Established power
versus this rising, unconventional religious
force. And there was a city manager, too. O .E.
Carr. Yes, the first one. His job was efficient
revenue collection. And pretty soon, he started
looking into Norris' various enterprises. Tax
questions, maybe? Uh -uh. That never goes well.
And don't forget Eamon G. Carter. Huge figure.
Owned the Fort Worth Star -Telegram radio station
WBAP, the city's main booster. How did he fit
in with Norris? Complex. Often tense. Norris
wasn't exactly his biggest fan, especially when
it came to media competition. Okay, so a lot
of powerful men circling each other. And then,
caught in a crossfire, Dee Chips. The victim.
Wealthy lumberman. Part of the establishment
member of the Fort Worth Club. And importantly,
a friend of Mayor Meacham. So taking sides was
almost inevitable, it sounds like. Faints that
picture, yeah. Clear social circles connections.
And the legal eagles got involved too. Like wild
Bill McLean. Sounds like a character. Definitely.
Well -known lawyer. Apparently hated Norris.
He later became a special prosecutor in the trial.
And Norris' lawyer. Dayton Moses. Very popular,
respected Texas lawyer. Took on a huge challenge
defending Norris. And one more figure you mentioned.
Lloyd P. Bloodworth. This is wild. Methodist
minister turned Baptist under Norris. Yeah. And
the local KKK Grand Dragon. Yeah. That connection
is stark. It really shines a light on the darker
undercurrents, the prejudices, the social tensions
of that time. It's disturbing. Absolutely. So
Norris' style. Conservative doctrine, modern
promotion. Comfortable everywhere, it seems.
Right. Pulpit, political backrooms, boards of
trade. He knew how to work the system, how to
use platforms. Like that newspaper, The X -Ray.
Yeah. He saw its potential early on. Seems like
it. Initially contributed. Saw it as a tool for,
quote, public accountability. He always had an
eye for media leverage. Then there were those
fires in 1912 at the church, at his home. Yes,
very mysterious. And anonymous threatening notes
he supposedly received. Supposedly. Well, the
book raises the possibility, based on sources
from the time, that maybe, just maybe, Norris
had a hand in it himself. Wow. For the trauma.
For sympathy. Perhaps. It speaks to his understanding
of narrative, of how to generate support, deflect
suspicion maybe. Hard to know for sure, but it
adds a layer. It's a volatile mix. But despite
all this, his church just kept growing. The world's
largest Sunday school. Incredible, isn't it?
It shows his charisma, his connection with his
followers. They stuck by him through thick and
thin. And this is all happening against the backdrop
of rising fundamentalism. Exactly. A major reaction
to cultural change. Big issues were prohibition.
keeping it strong, and fighting the teaching
of evolution. And Norris was a leader in that
movement. A huge voice, articulating those anxieties,
offering what felt like solid ground in changing
times. And part of that, a really big part in
the mid -20s, was his anti -Catholicism. Oh,
very much so. A central theme. He talked constantly
about the menace of Catholicism, this alleged
plot for the Pope to take over America. Which
aligned with the KKK's views. Directly. And we
know about his connections there. He even let
the Klan use church buildings for an event. It's
jarring to hear that now. It reflects the time,
unfortunately, and shows how intertwined some
religious movements were with those prejudices.
OK, so he's clashing with the Klan's enemies
and also with the city's establishment figures
like Eamon Carter. Right. Their relationship
was rocky. Norris apparently hoped Hearst buying
a rival paper would sink Carter's Star -Telegram.
Didn't happen, though. Carter bought it back.
Power struggles everywhere. And he took on City
Hall directly. Oh, yeah. A tap to previous mayor,
Davis, over city funds. Then went after Mayor
Meacham and city manager Carr. Taxes, alleged
misuse of funds. Like a donation to a Catholic
school. That would definitely get Norris fired
up. Precisely. He positioned himself as the city's
moral watchdog, you could say. Holding power
accountable, in his view. But the feud with Meacham
got personal, didn't it? Extremely. Norris didn't
just stick to policy. He went after Meacham's
private life, brought up a past affair publicly.
Oof. That's crossing a line. It felt like a real
escalation. Meacham was, understandably, very
uncomfortable. Started looking for ways to deal
with the Norris problem. Including that closed
-door meeting at the Fort Worth Club. Yeah, trying
to figure out what to do. It shows the level
of concern among the city's elite about Norris'
influence and tactics. And... Then the spark
that lit the final fuse. Meacham's store manager,
who was Catholic. Right. He fired eight employees.
And these employees were all active members of
Norris' First Baptist Church. Wow. Whether it
was purely about religion or not, Norris must
have seized on that immediately. Absolutely.
It was perfect fodder for him. Proof in his narrative
that his people were being persecuted for their
faith. It enraged his followers. You can just
feel the tension ratcheting up. Exactly. This
incredibly volatile atmosphere sets the stage
for the fatal encounter. July 17th, 1926. D .E.
Chips goes to J. Frank Norris' office. And what
happened inside? That's the core of it. Accounts
differ, naturally. Naturally. But the outcome
is clear. Norris fired three shots. D .E. Chips
was killed right there in the pastor's study.
The immediate aftermath must have been chaos.
Total chaos. Chips was taken to a Catholic hospital,
St. Joseph's, where he was pronounced dead. That
detail itself probably inflamed tensions. And
Mayor Meacham. Reportedly devastated. Emotional.
Apparently he feared Chips had died defending
him, trying to confront Norris on his behalf.
Heavy. What did Norris do? Right after shooting
someone. Conducted Sunday service the next day.
Declared his faith was unshaken. Unbelievable.
Though the book notes, interestingly, that the
number of converts that day was unusually low.
Maybe even his flock was a bit stunned. And he
immediately started framing it as self -defense.
Right away. Claimed self -defense. Talked about
a deep, dark -laid conspiracy against him. The
narrative started instantly. What was his specific
story to the press? He claimed Chips had called
him, made threats, then came to his office, was
angry, and, quote, lunged at him. That's when
he fired. The classic self -defense posture,
victim of aggression. Exactly. That was crucial
for his defense. So the grand jury gets involved.
Were there immediate questions about his story?
Oh, yeah. Rumors flew. Like, was there a mystery
man in the office during the shooting? Things
like that. But Norris, he wanted to be indicted.
That seems counterintuitive. It does, but it
fits his personality, perhaps. The book suggests
he saw a trial as his ultimate stage. A chance
to expose this conspiracy he kept talking about
and rally his base. Precisely. Turn the tables,
paint himself as the persecuted one on a national
scale. He got his wish. Indicted for murder.
And the stakes were incredibly high. The death
penalty was on the table. Absolutely. This wasn't
just a scandal. It was life and death. And the
media just exploded, right? National news. Totally.
Fort Worth became ground zero for a media frenzy.
Reporters flooded in. It was a huge sensation.
And Norris knew how to play that game. Masterfully.
He actually started selling stock in his newspaper,
The Searchlight, to raise money for his defense
fund. Wow. Framing it as investing in the fight
for truth. Essentially, yes. Defending him was
defending truth against modern infidelity, as
he put it. He knew how to mobilize his supporters
financially and emotionally. They even planned
a parade for him. A parade of the faithful. They
did. Initially denied a permit, but they pushed
and got it granted. Imagine that a parade for
a man on trial for murder. shows the depth of
his support. The book mentions how the wives
were portrayed differently. Mrs. Chips, the widow,
versus Mrs. Norris. Yeah, that's interesting.
Mae Chips got the sympathetic treatment, naturally.
Lillian Norris, the pastor's wife, was often
depicted as more stoic, tough. A Spartan image.
Public perception being shaped right there. So
the trial begins. They tried to move it out of
Fort Worth. His defense team did, yeah. Argued
the local feeling was too intense, too biased
for a fair trial. Motioned for a change of venue.
But it was denied. Denied. So the trial happened
right there in Fort Worth. The heart of the storm.
Made it even more dramatic. Jury selection must
have been intense. Painstaking. Huge pool of
potential jurors. Both sides scrutinizing every
single one, trying to find people not already
completely decided. And the testimonies must
have been fireworks. Mayor Meacham testified.
He did. Talked about why he hired special prosecutors,
including Wild Bill McLean, denied ever -threatening
Norris, denied firing those employees just for
being church members. Did he attack Norris? He
actually questioned Norris' sanity on the stand,
raised doubts about his mental state. Ouch. And
witnesses backed up the idea that a fair trial
was impossible there. Yes. Several testified
for the change of venue motion, saying opinions
in Fort Worth were just too strong, too divided.
It was hard to find anyone neutral on J. Frank
Norris. Okay. Key witnesses. Norris' secretary,
L .H. Nutt, he backed up the self -defense story.
He did. Claimed chips, made verbal threats, made
that hip pocket move, suggesting he was going
for a gun. Crucial for the defense. Yes. Under
cross -examination, some inconsistencies apparently
came out in his story. Cracks started to show.
Then Roxy E. Parker. Her testimony sounded critical.
Very critical for the prosecution. She said she
saw Chips leaving the office with a hand raised,
not lunging forward, right before the shot. That
directly contradicts Norris' core claim. Directly.
Huge blow to the self -defense narrative. What
about J .T. Pemberton? A deacon in Norris' church,
but new Chips? Right. His testimony apparently
didn't fit the defense's picture of Chips as
this purely aggressive figure, complicated things.
And they brought in people who saw Chips drinking,
trying to discredit him. Seems like it. A barbershop
quartet testified they saw him drinking earlier
that day, trying to paint him maybe as unstable
or aggressive due to alcohol. Any other corroboration
of threats? Well, a city patrolman, John Woodruff,
recalled Chips threatening Norris years before,
saying he'd put Norris in a grave. Long time
ago, but maybe relevant to a pattern. Hmm. And
witnesses who heard the shots? J .M. Gilliam's
wife heard them. Then saw a man stooping over
outside. Picking something up. Or just reacting.
Unclear. And the hotel clerk? L .S. Grubbenberg.
Testified seeing Chips at the Westbrook Hotel
twice that day. Potentially relevant to Norris
claiming Chips called him threateningly from
the hotel. Connecting dots. Then Norris himself
takes the stand. The main event. He repeated
his story, the threats, Chip's anger, the hip
pocket move, pure self -defense. Did he seem
convincing? Reports say he got emotional, sobbed
on the stand, very dramatic performance. And
he flatly denied saying, I have killed me a man,
which some reports claimed he said right after.
But the prosecution had a rebuttal, Clarence
Wisecup. Yes, he testified seeing a woman run
from the building right after the shots and hearing
someone nearby say Norris had killed a man. contradicted
Norris's version of the immediate aftermath.
So conflicting accounts right down to the wire,
closing arguments must have been fiery. Oh, absolutely.
Dayton Moses for the defense, passionate plea
for Norris, and wild Bill McLean for the prosecution,
just tearing into Norris. Did McLean go after
the defense lawyers too? He did. Accused Moses
and another lawyer of just being Norris's mouthpieces.
Real courtroom drama. Okay. The jury goes out.
What happens? They deliberate. And then... They
come back. The verdict. Not guilty. Not guilty.
After all that, acquitted. Acquitted of murder.
It must have stunned many, delighted others,
a really shocking conclusion given everything
presented. What happened to Norris after that?
Did he just go back to preaching? Pretty much.
His ministry continued, still full of controversy,
though. He eventually moved his base to Detroit.
Paced more trouble there. Another indictment,
actually. Something different. But he was acquitted
again. He remained a major figure in fundamentalism
right up until he died. Did he keep the newspaper
going? Oh, yeah. Changed the name a couple of
times. The Fundamentalist of Texas. Then just
The Fundamentalist. Started a seminary, too.
Left a big, complicated legacy. And the church
building in Fort Worth? The scene of the crime?
First Baptist was rebuilt after the fire. But
the new auditorium was more basic. Eventually,
those downtown properties were sold off. And
now a bank stands there. The Chase Bank building,
right on the site where Norris shot chips. History
buried under commerce. Wow. What a story. What
do you think it all means, looking back? Well,
the trial just ripped the cover off the deep
divisions in that community. Religious, social,
political. And it's a stark lesson in the power
of personality, of rhetoric. How a charismatic
figure could command such loyalty, even in the
face of murder charges. Exactly. And influence
opinion? maybe even justice it raises big questions
about faith power the media celebrity things
we still grapple with so for you listening this
isn't just an old texas tale it's got layers
absolutely so wrapping up this deep dive into
the shooting salvationist it's just a gripping
true story religious fervor, personal feuds,
a trial that had the whole country talking. We
saw this incredibly complex character, J. Frank
Norris, build a megachurch, huge following, tons
of controversy, then ends up in a murder trial.
And it threw a spotlight on the 1920s, didn't
it? Fundamentalism, the Klan, cities changing
so fast, all those tensions boiling over. Which
leads to a thought. Think about the media frenzy
back then. National news, intense opinions. How
would a case like this play out today? Oh, wow.
With instant news, social media, 24 -7 commentary.
Right. Would it be even more polarized, more
of a spectacle? What parts of this 1920s drama,
the faith, the power, the personality clashes,
the fight for justice, feel surprisingly familiar
now? That's definitely something to chew on.
Great point. Thanks so much for joining us for
this deep dive, everyone. Yeah, this is a fascinating
one to explore. Really makes you think. We'd
love to hear your thoughts. What was the most
surprising detail for you? Or a moment that really
stuck with you? Drop a comment below. And please,
if you found this story as compelling and maybe
as disturbing as we did, share it with someone
else you think will be interested. Keep the conversation
going.