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of the New London School Before Explosion, 1937
New London, Texas, School Disaster:
The Day a Generation Died
by Robert Nieman
of the Front of the New London School, march 18, 1937
2000, the Texas Ranger Hall of Fame and Museum received the personal
papers of former Ranger Bob Goss. The collection was received from
the estate of his friend Jim Clark and documented Goss' law enforcement
career. The bond between Goss and Clark was a love of firearms. Goss
is considered by many Rangers to be the greatest pistol shot who ever
wore a Ranger badge, and Clark was a master gunsmith and champion
Goss' papers revealed that one tragic case stayed with him until the
day he died—the 1937 explosion of the London, Texas, public
school. Three hundred children and adults died, and it remains the
largest single school disaster in U.S. history.
Ranger Bob Goss in the Kilgore Oil Field
Ranger Hardy Purvis
along with Rangers Hardy Purvis and Leo Bishop, was at the explosion
site on March 18 and 19, 1937. This is not really a very long period
but obviously it was lengthy enough to have made a lasting impression
on Goss, a Ranger who saw more than his share of violence.
Goss was raised around Honey Grove, Texas, near the Red River. In
1924, he joined the Rangers and served in most of the oil boomtowns
during that period. He came to Kilgore in 1931, shortly after the
more celebrated Lone Wolf Gonzaullas had arrived. Unlike Gonzaullas,
who left the area in 1934, he stayed in Kilgore until his death in
1978. During that time, he served as a Ranger and as Kilgore chief
Gaudet of the New London Museum and I interviewed Edwin Rasco, a National
Guardsman who had been at New London when martial law was declared
after the explosion. Rasco casually mentioned that he had also been
in the Guard when martial law was declared in the oil fields in the
early 1930s. We wanted to know more.
began by relating incidents occurring during the oil field boom. Times
were so hectic that Guardsmen were stationed all over the oil fields
in small detachments, and a Texas Ranger was assigned to assist several
of the units. Rasco’s detachment was camped at Wright City,
and the Texas Ranger in the area was a man who had an incredible ability
with a pistol—Bob Goss.
several other Guardsman, and Goss were sitting around a campfire on
what Rasco described as an incredibly dark night. Naturally, the talk
turned to Goss’s shooting ability. He was known to be able to
shoot playing cards, sitting on edge, in two by bending over and firing
through his legs while holding his pistol upside down! Not surprisingly,
there were a few “doubting Thomases” among the Guardsmen
who could not—or would not—believe that Goss, or anyone,
was that good.
Goss had enough. He told one of the more vocal critics to take his
cigarette and stick it in the bark of a nearby tree. He proposed to
shoot the fire out of the cigarette—black night or not. This
was too good to believe. The Guardsman jumped up and carried his smoke
to set on a branch. Before he could lodge the cigarette securely in
the tree, a shot rang out and the end of the cigarette disappeared.
stood the soldier—probably needing to answer the call of nature—with
half a cigarette still clutched between his fingers. To the men gathered
around the campfire, this was about the funniest thing ever. The soldier
did not join in their laughter.
also related another story about Goss, and this one was not funny.
In the days of proration (allotment), oil production was limited in
order to stop the glut on the market. In some places, this was forcing
the price of a barrel of oil down to four cents a barrel, and a few
men—known as “hot-oilers”—pumped more oil
than was allotted. One day, the Guardsmen and Goss were chasing a
“hot-oiler” through the woods, and it looked like he was
about to get away. Finally, Goss yelled for the man to stop or he
would shoot. The “hot-oiler” continued to run, however.
Goss promptly drew his deadly pistol and fired one shot straight into
the back of the fleeing felon’s head.
his later years, Goss told his friend Wes Whatley that he had served
as a machine gunner in France during World War I and that he had killed
eighteen men as a Texas Ranger and as Kilgore’s police chief.
When Goss died at Laird Hospital in Kilgore, Texas, Ranger Glenn Elliott
escorted his body to Honey Grove for burial. He said about Goss: “He
Goss was “double-tough,” but his scrapbook says that he
was touched very deeply by the tragedy of the London School explosion.
Perhaps the following story relates why.
1930s will be forever remembered as the decade of the Great Depression.
All over America—indeed all over the world—people were
starving. Few could get jobs, and once-proud men stood on street corners
begging money in desperate attempts to support their families. Conditions
in the Dust Bowl destroyed farms and ranches, and destitution ruled
supreme everywhere. Everywhere, that is, except in the tiny East Texas
community of Kilgore. While the rest of the world swam in a sea of
poverty, Kilgore sat in a sea of oil. And oil meant money—lots
of money—and money meant jobs.
October 3, 1930, Texas wildcatter Marion “Dad” Joiner
brought in the Daisy Bradford Number Three oil well south of Kilgore.
On December 27, thirteen miles north of the Joiner find, the Lou Della
Crim Number One came roaring in. Still farther north, Longview’s
Barney Skipper brought in the Lathrop Number One on January 26, 1931.
These three wells made the East Texas Oil Field the largest ever discovered
in North America at that time. It was forty-five miles long, north
to south, and at its widest, it was twelve miles wide, east to west.
The colossal field was truly the “Great Black Giant.”
a result of the rich discoveries, the population of the sleepy village
of Kilgore exploded from 800 to 8,000 in twenty-four hours. Towns
such as Arp, Gladewater, Henderson, Longview, Overton, and Tyler also
experienced growth. Others, like Joinerville, did not even exist before
East Texas struck black gold. But they existed now, and they were
blowing out the seams. Not only were towns gushing forth population
explosions like never seen before, but the wells themselves were also
unbelievable. The Daisy Bradford came in at 6,800 barrels a day, the
Lou Della Crim at 22,000, and the Lathrop at 18,000. Just think: these
were considered only fair to average wells. Within a one-block area
inside Kilgore, there were twenty-four producing wells, thus earning
the nickname, “the world’s richest acre.” Land that
had sold for as little as fifty cents to one dollar an acre before
the boom now leased for five and six thousand dollars an acre for
those lucky enough to find land not already taken.
all this new prosperity was good news, however. Before the oil boom,
most of these towns were unincorporated and so small they didn’t
even have the need for a post office. The new influx of people,
therefore, created immediate troubles. One major predicament for all
the tiny communities in the oil fields was incorporating the children
into the schools.
small town of London was one of these areas experiencing growing pains.
At the beginning of the boom, it had a small, four-room school that
housed four teachers and about one hundred students. By 1932, London
proclaimed itself as the richest school district in the world and,
as such, the community decided to build a new, state-of-the-art school.
No expense was spared in its construction. No expense, that is, except
in the heating system. To save money, gas steam was substituted for
a central steam-heating system. Gas systems were in use throughout
the United States, but they required lines to be run under the school.
These gas lines would prove fatal.
the 1936-1937 school year, it seemed that nothing could dim the bright
lights of the London School. No school anywhere in the country could
boast of better teachers or a finer physical plant. Its manual training
shop was the best that money could buy. The football stadium was the
first illuminated field in East Texas, and the band had custom-tailored,
gabardine uniforms. Reminded that the students were still-growing
boys and girls and they would be lucky to get more than one year’s
service out of the uniforms, critics were told not to worry. If new
uniforms had to be purchased each year, new ones would be bought.
Indeed, things could not have looked better for the proud London Wildcats.
came Thursday, March 18, 1937. The community was looking forward to
a long weekend as there would be no school on Friday because of an
interscholastic meet in nearby Henderson. It started out to be an
enjoyable day, but at 3:17 p.m., everything changed forever.
minutes before school was to be dismissed for the week, shop teacher
Lemmie Butler decided he had just enough time to check out “Old
Sparky,” a damaged shop sander that he had repaired. One
of his students, John Dial, saw Mr. Butler flip a switch that sent
220 volts of power surging to the sander. There was a spark, a flash—and
the school was gone.
one will ever know for sure, but the best estimate is approximately
315 students, faculty, and visitors were killed. In the blink of
an eye, the world was focused on the little community and its devastated
question, then and now, dominates any discussion of the London School
Disaster. How could this have happened? No expense had been spared
in building the school. After all, was this not the richest rural
school district in the world? Barely three years old, the London School
was the pride of East Texas. What went so terribly wrong?
the fatal decision of cutting costs with the gas system, the killing
agent itself was the odorless, tasteless, natural gas. Early in the
day, the main two-inch feeder line in the crawl space under the building
had broken, filling the basement with deadly methane gas. When Butler
threw the power switch, the immediate result was countless tons of
debris and more than 300 lifeless bodies.
Rear of the New London School After the Explosion
night and into the following day, rescue workers removed the dead
while praying they would find the living. By noon Friday, all that
could be done was done. Slowly, painfully, the job of identifying
and burying the dead began. By midday Sunday, all the bodies were
prepared for burial. All, that is, except one. The corpse of a young
girl was at the American Legion Hall in nearby Overton, mangled so
badly that no one could identify her.
process of elimination, logic dictated that the body must be Wanda
Louise Emberling. But A. P. Emberling knew that the girl in the American
Legion Hall was not his daughter. Ever since the explosion, Wanda's
father, like countless other parents, had gone from morgue to morgue
and hospital to hospital throughout the oil field, looking for his
little girl. Mr. Emberling was forced to do so alone because his wife
Mildred had an even more tormenting task: she was keeping a deathwatch
over their son George. The top of the young boy's head had been practically
torn off in the explosion, and death would come as surely as the morning
were posted throughout the area, asking people to come by the American
Legion Hall to try to identify the young lady. All day Saturday, people
filed by, took a quick glimpse at the horribly mutilated body, and
rushed from the ghastly scene. Oscar Worrell was among them. However,
something familiar about the lifeless body forced him to return for
another look. As before, he could not bear to look for more than a
moment before rushing from the room, but he felt sure he knew the
girl’s identity. He had to go back one more time to confirm
it. This time, he asked to look at her left foot.
it was: a scar under the left big toe. This was identical to one under
Dale May York’s toe. In the pre-television days of the 1920s,
children—especially farm children—occupied themselves
the best way they could. Dale May had been no exception. While playing
with a garden hoe, she had slipped and severely cut the underside
of her left big toe, leaving a large, clear scar. There was now no
doubt in Worrell’s mind as to the identity of this poor child.
Being a cousin of the family, he had known Dale May all her life.
He told officials the girl’s name.
the officials said.
there can be no doubt. The young lady is Dale May,” he replied.
Worrell was again told, “this could not be possible!”
problem was that Dale May had already been identified and prepared
May, the daughter of Jessie and Luna York, was born January 1, 1927,
in Genoa, Arkansas. She had two older half-brothers, J. T. and Grady
York. Four years after she was born, a brother, Doug, arrived. Dale,
a peculiar first name for a girl, was named after the doctor who delivered
her, Dr. Dale. Her middle name came from her mother’s brother-in-law
Bill May, in whose home Luna had lived in her early twenties. Dale
May spent seven of her ten years on earth in several locations in
Arkansas and Rusk County, Texas. On March 19, 1934, Jessie and
Luna moved their family to a farm they had bought in the Pleasant
Hill community near New London. Jessie, a farmer, was one of the few
men in the area who did not work in the oil field.
Jessie and Luna York
1934, children were not required to attend any certain school, but
like most of the other children in her neighborhood, Dale May attended
the one closest to her home, Farmer’s Institute. When the 1936-37
school year began, the Yorks were unaware that Farmer’s Institute
had been consolidated into the London system. Therefore, on the first
day of school, Dale May and her best friend Mary Lois King walked
to school, as they usually did. When it was time for the girls to
have returned home and they had not, Mrs. York and Mrs. King began
to worry. Shortly thereafter, Dale May and Mary Lois arrived and told
their mothers that a school bus had picked up all the kids at Farmer’s
Institute and taken them to London School.
investigating and finding out that London School and Farmer’s
Institute had been consolidated, Luna asked the girls how they liked
the new school. The answer was swift: they did not. It was such a
big place that the girls had been lost all day, and they wanted to
go back to Farmer’s Institute. Assuring Dale May that the problem
was not as large as it appeared, Luna told her to take a piece of
red crayon and mark the door of her homeroom. That way, she would
not have to worry about being lost. The next day, Dale May came home
and told her mother that she had followed her instructions and had
found her way. (In the cleanup after the explosion, that doorsill
was found. Dale May’s homeroom teacher Ann Wright showed the
Yorks the red crayon mark, which was still visible.
May adapted promptly to her new surroundings and quickly excelled
in her studies. She was exceptionally pretty, and it was not long
before she had a boyfriend, fellow fifth-grader Preston Crim.
the time of the explosion, Dale May's older brother J.T. was at his
home in New London. Hearing the blast, he ran from his house to the
ruins that had once been the school and miraculously found his sister’s
body almost immediately. He knew his father, like other alarmed parents,
would be on the scene shortly. He decided he would stand vigilantly
over Dale May until then.
J. T. stood guard over his sister, Luna and her neighbor Ora King
were at the York home in the Pleasant Hill community. They had heard
the explosion and assumed that it was another boiler exploding, a
common occurrence in the oil fields. Ironically, Luna said to Ora,
“Well, some poor old mother’s heart’s broken over
something” She just didn’t know at the time that her
own heart would soon be devastated. Soon, another neighbor, Mrs. Will
McClellan, arrived and told the suddenly alarmed ladies that it was
not a boiler they heard: it was the school.
May's father Jessie was frantic to get to the school, but he had a
problem: he did not have any gas for the family car. (Not everyone
had gotten rich off the Great Black Giant.) Faced with no other choice,
the desperate father ran from his house to the main road connecting
New London and Henderson. There he was able to catch a ride.
seeing that Dale May had been correctly identified, tagged, picked
up, and sent to Crim’s Funeral Home in Henderson, J. T. headed
for his father's house. Along the way, J. T. and Mr. York unknowingly
passed one another. Mr. York, after searching the ruins and not being
able to find Dale May, returned home.
Jessie and J. T. were crossing paths, Ora King, Mary Lois’ mother,
came running into the York’s yard. She reported that she had
just come from the home of young Preston Crim, where Preston’s
father told her that the school had blown up. Ora told Luna that they
had to go back to the Crim’s. If Preston was home, Mrs. King
felt sure that Mary Lois and Dale May had to be all right. Grabbing
up six-year-old Doug, Mrs. York and Mrs. King set out.
at their destination, Ora and Luna were met by both Mr. and Mrs. Crim.
Yes, their son Preston was home, but he had told them that Dale May
was dead. Ora asked if she could see Preston. “[N]o, Mrs. York,
he’s in no shape. . . . He and Dale May were sweethearts . .
. . He always said he was going to marry her.”
J. T. arrived at the York home, he found neither his father nor stepmother
Luna at home, so he raced back to the school. Shortly thereafter,
both Mr. and Mrs. York arrived home. Not knowing that J.T. had found
Dale May, they headed for the makeshift morgue at the American Legion
Hall in Overton. Years later, Luna told Doug’s wife Cloe, “I
never in all of my life seen . . . some with their heads off, some
with their legs broke off, some with their feet gone. Oh, I never
in my life. You’d have to raise the sheet. You see, they had
sheets and put over ‘em. Bloody and . . . .” The Yorks
had probably looked at their own daughter and did not recognize her.
Jessie and Luna found J. T., and he told them that he had sent Dale
May to Crim’s Funeral Home in Henderson. All the Yorks immediately
left to see their daughter and sister. Arriving at Crim's, they asked
for Dale May, but were refused because the body was too horribly mutilated
to be observed. A schoolmate, Walter Freeman, who was sitting beside
Dale May, reported that a large slab of concrete had crashed down
to be put off, Mrs. York insisted that she be allowed to see the body
of her daughter. Again, she was turned down. She begged, but to no
avail. Patiently, the funeral director explained that Mr. York could
look, but Mrs. York could not. He told them that he could not have
women fainting, as he felt they would surely do if they were allowed
to see the smashed bodies that once had been their children. Since
his wife was not allowed, Jessie declined to look. From that moment
on, Mrs. York insisted that was not her baby Dale May resting in the
J.T. York at the Grave of His Sister, 1937
time waits for no one, not even bereaved families. On Saturday, March
20, the Yorks, like dozens of other families, prepared to bury their
child. At least the weather was cooperating. Dale May, her cousin
Hazel Pearson, her best friend Mary Lois King, and seven other children’s
caskets were lined up outside the west wall of the Pleasant Hill Baptist
Church. Their funerals were presided over by the Reverend John Buster
the preacher was delivering his service, Bill May Jr., Dale May’s
cousin, came over to his aunt and said, “Aunt Luna, that is
not Dale May.”
York sadly replied, “[H]oney, I know it’s not Dale.”
as she left the graveside, Luna said, “Ya’ll can believe
it [if you want, but] . . . it is not.”
earlier stated, Luna had once lived with her sister and her husband
Bill May Sr. By 1937, the Mays were living in Winnfield, Texas, and
were only able to get together with the Yorks once or twice a year.
The Christmas before the explosion, the Mays were visiting the Yorks
in Pleasant Hill. Billy Jr., Dale May, Doug, and some other kids were
playing outside. Doug became angry at Dale May because he thought
his big sister was paying more attention to Billy Jr. than to him.
Angrily, he threw a rock at Dale May, hitting her in the mouth and
chipping a tooth.
Billy Jr. knew that was not his cousin in the coffin. Unfortunately,
everyone else—including Dale May’s father—thought
it was Dale May and would not listen to Luna’s pleas. The Yorks
buried the little girl who all but Luna and Billy Jr. thought was
their loved one.
late Billy May, Jr.
back in Overton, Felton Waggoner, the junior high school principal
of the destroyed London School, was asked if he could identify the
one remaining unknown body. Entering the room, the first thing he
saw was a little brown coat beside the sheet-covered body. 
Dale May York lies at the American Legion Hall in Overton, Texas.
The "little brown coat" is visible.
first words out of Principal Waggoner's mouth were, “Does that
coat belong to that body under the sheet?” He was assured that
it did. Without ever looking at the body, Waggoner said, “Then
that girl is Dale May York.”
was told that this was impossible. Once again, Waggoner asked, “Does
that coat belong to that body?” Yes, but it could not possibly
be Dale May York; she had already been identified and buried. Exasperated,
Waggoner slammed his fist into the palm of his hand and said, “If
that coat belongs to that body, then it is Dale May York!”
how he could be so sure, Waggoner explained that Dale May had been
absent for two weeks with pneumonia and had just returned to school
that week. Before she could get into any classes, Mr. Waggoner
had to issue her a pass. He distinctively remembered Dale May's little
brown coat. He knew, without doubt, that if that coat belonged to
the little girl under the sheet, it could only be Dale May York.
awful truth began to settle on the community, one that had already
experienced far too many awful truths. Everyone seemed to say, “Oh,
please, don't let that be Wanda Louise Emberling in Dale May York’s
grave. We've seen too much already.” There was only one way
to find out for sure: Dale May's grave had to be opened. The court
was petitioned and exhumation orders obtained.
Sunday, the Emberlings, the Yorks, and Oscelo J. Reed of the Child
Welfare and Health Bureau of Southwestern States arrived at Dale May’s
grave. Both the Emberlings were mentally and physically exhausted.
Having sat up with George for days, Mrs. Emberling was no longer able
to stand and was on a stretcher. Though equally spent, Mr. Emberling
was still on his feet.
York had been given a shot of sedative to soothe her nerves before
going to the cemetery. Throughout the exhumation, she prayed repeatedly,
“Please Lord, don’t let me faint. Please Lord, don’t
let me faint.” Later, Mrs. York said that the Lord watched
over her throughout the ordeal—she remained on her feet.
the grave was opened, Mrs. Emberling, unable to bring herself to look
into the casket, asked Mr. Reed to look. She asked him if the toenails
on the body were colored in red crayon. She asked because, the night
before the explosion, Wanda had invited friends over for the night.
Playing “make-up,” she had taken red crayons and painted
her toenails. Mr. Reed sadly told Mrs. Emberling that indeed that
was the case. Mrs. Emberling immediately collapsed in a dead faint.
There could be no doubt that it was her daughter.
Louise Emberling’s casket was exhumed. A new grave was prepared
near the main entrance gate, and the little body was re-interred.
Later that night, Wanda Louise was joined in death by her brother
George, who had finally succumbed to his injuries. Once more, the
Emberlings made the terribly lonely trip to Pleasant Hill Cemetery
to lay George beside his sister.
mystery was solved, but another remained. How could the mix-up in
bodies have happened? J. T. York had positively identified his sister
at the school grounds, had stayed with her, and had seen to it that
she was correctly identified, tagged, and placed in a hearse that
he thought was going to Crim’s Funeral Home in Henderson. In
all the confusion, however, she had gone to the American Legion building
in Overton, not to Henderson. Also, the name tag was lost somewhere
in the transfer.
that they knew for sure that the girl in the grave was not Dale May,
there could be no doubt about the body at the American Legion building
in Overton. Once more, Jessie and Luna traveled to Overton, and this
time, Mrs. York was not denied the chance to look at her daughter.
The Yorks personally made positive identification.
if you can, the pain the Yorks suffered. Mrs. York, who had been convinced
all along that it was not her daughter who had been buried, had to
once again lay Dale May in the ground. The parents had already gone
through the trauma of one burial; now they had to do it again. This
time, however, Mrs. York insisted on a different grave site than the
one that had been occupied by Wanda Louise Emberling. A new grave
was prepared, ironically only a few plots from Wanda Louise. In the
case of the Emberlings, two children were laid to rest. It is said
that time heals all wounds. Whoever said that is wrong. Parents are
not supposed to bury their children. That wound never heals.
the Yorks had another funeral for Dale May. This one was private and
with no fanfare. Several years had passed, and Mr. and Mrs. York had
finally come to grips with the death of their beloved ten-year old;
it was time to put her completely to rest. One solemn day, the family
gathered for this final act of remembrance to their daughter and sister.
From a trunk of family mementos, Mr. and Mrs. York took the shredded,
bloody clothes that their daughter had been wearing that fatal afternoon
and joined the rest of the family who were gathered in the same backyard
that Dale May had known so well. A small hole was hollowed out, and
Dale May’s clothes were placed in the grave.
you are ever close to the Pleasant Hill Cemetery, located on Texas
State Highway FM 323 midway between New London and Henderson, stop
for a short visit. It will be a moving experience, and one you will
never forget. Immediately after passing through the main entrance
gate to the cemetery, the graves of George and Wanda Louise Emberling
are on the left. A few feet directly south is the resting place of
Dale May York.
has been but two out of more than three hundred stories of the London
School explosion, each tragic in its own way. Atop hundreds of graves
in the Pleasant Hill Cemetery, there are tombstones with a common
notation: “Died March 18, 1937; Victim of London.” Many
have pictures of children mounted on them. One is of a frail young
lady, forever ten years old: Dale May York.
ancient Greeks have a saying, “No one truly dies until no one
remembers their name.” Hopefully, Dale May York and the hundreds
who perished with her that terrible Thursday afternoon will never
York--Dale May's brother.
James A. Clark and Michael T. Halbouty, The Last Boom, (Austin, Texas:
Shearer Publishing, 1972), 109.
2. From a movie shown in the East Texas Oil Field Museum in Kilgore,
3. In 1938, when the community needed a post office, the name "London"
could not be used as there was already a post office in a West Texas
community named London. Therefore, the name "New London"
was adopted. The tragedy is known to the world as the New London School
Explosion, but as former students assert, the school’s nickname
was the "London Wildcats"—not the New London Wildcats.
4. Interview with John Fuhr at his home in Denton, Texas, on July
15, 1994. Fuhr was a member of the New London High School Band.
5. Interview with Loyd Richardson, Henderson, Texas, in Mr. Richardson’s
home in Henderson, Texas, on November 9, 1994. Richardson’s
brother Roy worked during the night searching the wreckage for survivors.
One piece of debris that he removed was a clock. It was stopped at
6. Interview with Jack Strickland in Overton, Texas, on April 7, 1994.
Strickland was in Mr. Butler’s shop at the time of the explosion.
He remembered the nickname the students had given to the sander.
7. Michael Toon, The New London School Disaster, master of arts thesis,
Stephen F. Austin State University, 1977.
8. Mollie Ward, a survivor, has extensively researched this subject
and confirms that this is only an approximation. The exact number
of dead will probably never be known.
9. Interview with Doug York, brother of Dale May York, March 19, 1994.
York told me that Oscar Worrell first identified his sister.
11. Sometime before her death on June 5, 1988, Dale May’s mother,
Luna, was visiting with her son Doug. Unknown to her, her daughter-in-law
Cloe had turned on a cassette recorder. I am thankful to Doug and
Cloe York for giving me a copy of this tape. During Cloe’s recording,
Luna made the statement that she and Jessie had moved to the Pleasant
Hill community on March 19, 1934.
14. Interview with Doug York.
15. Cloe York’s interview with Luna York.
17. Interview with Doug York.
18. Cloe York’s interview with Luna York.
19. Interview with Doug York.
20. Interview with Bill May Jr., first cousin of Dale May York, January
15, 1995, at Shepherd, Texas.
22. In both my interview with Doug York and Cloe York’s interview
with Luna York.
23. From an interview with Mr. Waggoner at his home in West Monroe,
Louisiana, on March 26, 1994.
24. Interview with Doug York.
25. Michael Toon’s master’s thesis, Stephen F. Austin
State University, July 1977.
26. Cloe York’s interview with Luna York.
30. Today, Dale May/Wanda Louise’s grave is occupied by Perry
Lee Cox. In many ways, Perry’s story is equally as tragic as
that of the two little girls.
31. This story was related to me by Doug York.