Dan Breen and the Wild Side of Life in Texas

    

Born in a small Ohio town into a family of modest resources, Daniel “Dan” Breen, shown here, figuratively “followed the telegraph lines” west to San Antonio, Texas, where he prospered as a saloonkeeper in particularly violent times.

Breen’s 1866 birthplace was Ada, Ohio, a quiet community about 70 miles south of Toledo, a hamlet whose claim to fame is having the shortest name in Ohio.  Dan’s parents were Daniel Breen and Johanna Buckley.   Their 1864 marriage license was unusual since it was applied for by Johanna’s father, Jeremiah, and initially his name was inked in as the groom.   The couple would go on to produce eleven children of whom Daniel Jr. was the second.  The 1880 census listed his father as a railroad worker and “crippled.”

One asset Ada boasted was the presence of a post-elementary educational institution called the Northwestern Ohio Normal School, now Ohio Northern University.   Likely by working his way Breen was able to attend and graduate in 1884 at the age of 18, licensed as a telegraph operator.  That was someone who used a telegraph key to send and receive Morse code in order to communicate via land lines, a 19th Century "high-tech" occupation.  Young men like Breen left farms and small towns  to take high-paying jobs “reading the wire.” In those early days the demand was such that operators could move from place to place and job to job for ever-higher salaries.

Breen followed the telegraph lines out of Ada and away from his immediate family to travel west.  Shown left is a photo of a typical Old West operator, his hat and clothing advertising his professional status.  Dan’s intermediate stops are unrecorded but by 1893 when he was 25, he had located in San Antonio, Texas.  Not long after his arrival Dan married Mabel Donovan, a woman of Irish heritage who had been born in Illinois.  Their only child, a son, would be born the following year. 

At some point Breen exited telegraphy.  In the 1899 San Antonio city directory, he was listed as working in a company called the San Antonio Brokerage Office, in which C.C. Breen, likely a relative, was a partner. It may have been through that occupation that Dan met William R. “Billy” Simms.  

Considered a “desperado” by some, Simms, shown here, was co-owner of the Vaudeville Theater in San Antonio in 1884 when notorious Western gunman Ben Thompson and a companion were shot down at that burlesque house, gambling hall, and saloon.  [See my post on Thompson, September 27, 1917.]  Simms was charged with aiding and abetting the murder.  Considered a friend by Thompson, Billy was accused of having lured him to the scene.  When the accused gunmen were tried in 1887, however, charges were dropped against Simms.  

Perhaps as a way of restoring a more legitimate persona, the native-born Texan subsequently sold the Vaudeville Theatre and with partners opened a new drinking establishment.  Called “The Crystal Saloon,” it boasted impressive crystal glass chandeliers and an elaborate interior, by far the fanciest watering hole in San Antonio and one of finest in Texas.  By the time Breen arrived in town, according to one author, Simms had become: “…One of the leading figures in San Antonio and was a member of the most influential social organizations.  Politicians and businessmen courted his favor and he was consulted on major city projects.” 

Billy Simms must have seen potential in Dan Breen.  When the Texan branched out with a combination saloon and gambling hall named the “Crystal Turf Exchange” he brought the Ada, Ohio, product into the operation as a partner and the manager.  Located on San Antonio’s main plaza, The Turf Exchange may have been a cut or two below Simms’ saloon.  Called a “bookie joint” by some, the business advertised:  “If you want to make a bet on the races, they will accommodate you.”   

More telling was the inclusion of the Turf Exchange in the notorious San Antonio “Blue Book,” a guide to a good time for visitors including information on the location and quality of its brothels.  The author of the Blue Book told readers on the prowl:  “If about town during the afternoon, drop into the Turf Exchange…you can here get some very desired information.”  Simms and his partners in the Turf Exchange were reported to become “very wealthy men.”

Earlier in his career Breen had lived in an apartment with his wife, Mabel, and his son.  His growing wealth now allowed him to buy a spacious home at 518 West Craig Place.  Still standing, the photo here shows how the house looks today.  Breen also used his newly acquired riches to leave the Crystal Turf Exchange and open his own saloon on  Houston Street, below, a major thoroughfare.

  

As seen here from a postcard, Breen’s saloon was itself an upscale place, boasting tile floors, overhead fans in the days before air conditioning, and an ornate bar.  Among the liquors available at Breen’s was “Four Roses” brand, a whiskey originated in Atlanta by Rufus Rose and developed into a national brand by Paul Jones in Paducah, Kentucky, after the Civil War.  As package goods it was available in quart bottles and pint and half-pint flasks.

 

For whiskey over the bar, Dan provided tokens to frequent customers worth, as he put it,  “XII 1/2.”   Customers would know that the reference was to a “bit,” a unit of common currency derived from the early Southwest tradition of cutting a Spanish milled dollar into eight pie-shaped pieces or bits, each worth 12 and 1/2 cents.  “Two bits” made a quarter as that coin sometimes is called today.

Breen’s very simple business card advertised “wine, liquors, and cigars.” The flip side of the card held a verse with a stanza that would prove prophetic:

“Cutoff in the prime of a useful life,”

The headlines glibly say, —

Or “snatched by the grim reaper”

He has crossed the great highway,

They bury him deep, while a few friends weep,

And the world moves on with a sigh.

San Antonio had not yet seen the end of the reckless violence of its past and it would erupt in Dan Breen’s saloon on the night of August 18, 1910.  The shooter was Dennis B. Chapin, a wealthy businessman and public official from Hidalgo County, located about 230 miles south of San Antonio near the Mexican border.  

Chapin, shown here, had been the kingpin of developers who laid out a new community at a crossroads that eventually became the county seat.  Because of his leadership, residents named the town “Chapin” in his honor.  For several years he served as a Hidalgo County judge and recently had been nominated without opposition to the Texas legislature.

Chapin’s target that night at Breen’s was Oscar J. Roundtree, shown here, an Arizona Ranger from 1903 to 1906 and a Texas Ranger from 1906 until 1910.   Roundtree's service with the Rangers was unblemished and he bore a good reputation.  After resigning as a lawman the previous January, he had been living in San Antonio for about four months.

An altercation began after Chapin and a friend entered Breen’s about 9:30 p.m. and encountered Roundtree.  After Chapin invited the former Ranger over for a drink, the two had a heated argument over what the newspapers called “old troubles.”   Drawing his eight-shot 45-caliber Colt, Chapin fired at Roundtree five times.  One bullet hole was found in the ceiling of Breen’s saloon, two in the walls, one in a rear screen door, and one squarely in the center of Rountree’s forehead that tore through his brain and exited back of his right ear.

Roundtree died at the San Antonio hospital the following morning.  Later examination found that he had a pistol in his back pocket but had not had an opportunity to draw it. Unmarried, he was buried in the Sonora Texas Cemetery.  Chapin was arrested immediately  and spent six days in jail until a judge granted his release on $15,000 bond.  

During his trial the following December, Chapin claimed that Roundtree was working as bodyguard and pistoleer for a hostile former business partner.  According to press reports Chapin told the jury:  “Roundtree was hired to murder me.  I know what I am talking about, because I have copies of a cypher translated, which he sent to his employer while spying on my actions.”   Perhaps awed by Chapin's position and wealth, the jury believed him and after deliberating only 20 minutes voted to acquit.  Breen’s reaction to the violence committed in his saloon has gone unrecorded.

Chapin, however, did not go unpunished.  His political career was at an end and his reputation in Hidalgo County plummeted.  The populace there regretted naming their town for him and officially changed it to “Edinburg” to honor John Young, a prominent local businessman who had been born in Edinburgh, Scotland. Today Edinburg has a population approaching 90,000.

The Ohio native appears to have operated his saloon until about 1917 when it disappeared from San Antonio directories.  It might have been the result of the tightening noose of prohibition in Texas or an effect of declining health.  Breen died on April 15, 1918 at the age of 51, apparently the result of stroke.  He was interred in the Mission Burial Park of San Antonio. Unusually, neither his wife or any Breen relative is recorded buried with him. 

The road from sleepy Ada, Ohio, to gun-toting San Antonio was a long one for Dan Breen.  He had escaped a humdrum life working in his tiny home town to running his own saloon in a wide open  — and too often violent —booming Texas city.   For an adventurous youth of America’s mid-19th Century, the choice had been clear.

Whiskey Men and the Gunslingers

Foreword:  Whiskey and the American West have been inextricably intertwined in both history and myth.   Saloon scenes seem to be a requirement for any motion picture depicting the “Old West” and are a favorite location for shootouts.  As exaggerated as such depictions may be, gunslingers did exist and whiskey men had to deal with them.  As the four saloonkeepers featured here demonstrate, they chose a variety of strategies.

Austin’s Iron Front Saloon, shown right, has been recognized widely as one of the notable “watering holes” of the Old West.  Like other Texas saloons, it saw its share of violent encounters but was known for its gracious and well-liked owner, John B. Neff, a proprietor who was overshadowed in his own establishment, however, by the man who ran the gambling concession upstairs, the notoriously dangerous Ben Thompson.  

Thompson, shown left, was a gunfighter with a number of killings attributed to him, quick to anger and reach for his gun, especially when he had been drinking.  That Neff selected Thompson to operate the gaming room with its faro, monte, poker, dice and roulette tables, might have puzzled his customers, but the owner had good reason.  Thompson had reputation for running honest games, an oddity in Austin, and his prowess with a pistol kept things orderly .  As much as $30,000 month might pass over the tables — equivalent to a quarter million dollars today.  Shown here is the actual roulette wheel used by the gunslinger.

Unfortunately, Thompson could not avoid violence.  In 1881 he had gotten involved in a dispute with a saloon and hotel owner in San Antonio, shot and killed him.  Although it cost him his job as town marshal, he was tried and ultimately acquitted of murder and returned to Austin to continue to run the gambling at Neff’s Iron Front Saloon.  In 1884 he ventured back to San Antonio, was lured into an ambush, and met with a hail of bullets.  Shot in the head, Thompson died instantly.  

The life of Ben Thompson has earned him considerable attention in subsequent years, including a long Wikipedia entry and many Internet photos.  Meanwhile, John Neff, the genial saloonkeeper, ironically has gone largely forgotten.  The bad men of the West unfortunately get far more publicity than the good guys.

Known as among the wildest of Western towns, Dodge City, Kansas, shown here, had a reputation for frequent murders and casual justice.  A Kansas newspaper in the 1870s declared:  “…We have only room for one Dodge City; Dodge, a synonym for all that is wild, reckless and violent; Hell on the Plains.”  This milieu failed  to deter Henry Sturm, a German immigrant saloonkeeper and liquor dealer, who faced off in Dodge against formidable odds — a gun-toting gang led by Bat Masterson, shown below.

Sturm had arrived in Dodge City about 1876 to establish a wholesale and retail liquor store.  He prospered and a year after arriving bought the Occident Saloon.  It is shown above as reconstructed as part of an “Old Dodge” exhibit.  Sturm soon was heavily engaged with other business owners in efforts to tame Dodge City’s image as a lawless frontier town, involving him deeply in what became known as “The Saloon War of 1883.”

The conflict began when authorities banished from town Luke Short, the owner of the Long Branch Saloon.  Quick with a gun himself, Short was backed by gunslingers like Bat Masterson, described at the time as “one of the most dangerous men in the West.”  Repairing to Topeka, Kansas, Short and Masterson assembled a group of armed men with the purpose of returning to Dodge and reeking revenge. When the pair threaten to bring their rowdies to town, the local sheriff enlisted local guns.

Sturm put himself on the line, signing an anti-gang telegram to a reluctant  Kansas governor, asking that state troops be deployed.  The message talked of the need in Dodge for “clearing out” the guntoting crowd.  It continued “This element has to be banished or else respectable people have to be bulldozed and browbeat by a class of men without any vested interest or visible means of support….”  High tension gripped Dodge City for days.  In the end issues were negotiated and no shots fired.  Masterson returned to town a year later where he opened a short-lived newspaper, seemingly devoted to justifying his position during the Saloon War.

Jack Ryan took an entirely different approach to the outlaw element.  Not being able to beat them, he has been accused of having joined them.  After robbing a coal company payroll of $8,000 the notorious Butch Cassidy and the outlaw gang he headed known as the “Wild Bunch,” stopped in Ryan’s Home Ranch Saloon in Baggs, Wyoming, got drunk and shot up his bar.  As the story goes, Ryan stayed calm through the chaos and was rewarded with a silver dollar for every bullet hole found in his walls and ceiling.

Moreover, Ryan was able to earn the confidence of Cassidy and the others as a reliable collaborator.  When he moved to Rawlings, Wyoming, the Wild Bunch followed.  Shown here is a photo from about 1889, showing the gang and Ryan posed in front of the saloon,  That is Cassidy in the bowler hat, standing fourth from the left.  Jack Ryan is standing on the steps above him, also wearing a bowler.  Mischief would follow.

Subsequently two of the last great American train robberies occurred in Wyoming, one at Wilcox where the Wild Bunch got away with $30,000 (equivalent to $750,000 today) and a second near Tipton, Wyoming, when $50,000 in gold was taken.  Suspicion immediately fell on Ryan who was a former brakeman on the Union Pacific and presumably had inside knowledge of railroad operations.  Giving him the code name “Basket,” investigators opened a criminal history dossier on him.

Nothing was ever proved, however, and Ryan continue to prosper as a saloon owner while detectives hunted down most of the train robbers.  The Wild Bunch became history, its members, including Butch Cassidy, shot dead or in prison.  Meanwhile, Ryan was expanding his business interests with large real estate holdings, oil rich lands, a productive stone quarry, and a horse ranch.  He became active in civic affairs and a co-founder of the local lodge of the Fraternal Order of Elks.  Any taint from Ryan’s association with outlaws seem to have been forgotten.  Of him a local newspaper editorialized:   “A man with diversified interests is J. P. Ryan and since his advent in Rawlins no effort has been spared by him for the advancement of the town’s best interests.”

For decades the men of the family of Ernest Schwethelm (pronounced “Sweet-helm”) were virtually synonymous with the famous Texas Rangers, lawmen whose mission was to bring law and order to the Lone Star State.  His father, Henry, was the captain of a ranger company tasked with patrolling the Texas hill country against cattle thieves.   Schwethelm, shown here at a ranger reunion, served with the organization before moving to Kerrville, a market town and county seat, where, with a partner, owned and operated saloons.  Among his drinking establishments were the Ranch Saloon, left, and the Favorite Saloon. Both were housed in sturdy Italianate style buildings and still stand in Kerrville.

Despite Schwethelm’s background as a lawman, the Ranch Saloon had a reputation for being a rowdy place and reputedly the site of the murder of a Texas Ranger.  His name was Tom Carson, a man with a reputation for being tough, bad tempered and somewhat mysterious.  Although details about the event and his assailant are sketchy, Carson reputedly was shot and killed in the Ranch Saloon in April 1893.

No such violence attached to Schwethelm’s Favorite Saloon.  While catering to the ranch hands who supplied the wool and fleece markets that operated in Kerrville, Ernest was rectifying liquor, blending whiskeys to achieve taste and color and selling the results via the post office and railroad express to the increasing number of “dry” counties around Texas.  He had progressed beyond pushing drinks over the bar into a commercial operation that sought a wider customer base.  In a word, the Wild West saloon was beginning to go Main Street.

A photograph exists that epitomizes the changes at work in Texas. It is 1912.  Henry Schwethelm and his three sons, Texas Rangers all, who had known the perils of being lawmen when the state teemed with outlaw elements, are with wife and mother, Emilie, for a 50th wedding anniversary.  Ernest Schwethelm is standing center. The men are all dressed in suits and ties, flowers in their button holes, looking like Rotary Club businessmen.  

Each of the four saloonkeepers featured here took a different strategy to dealing with armed and dangerous hombres --   from collaboration and tolerance to opposition and active law enforcement.  No matter their approach, a strong and inevitable march toward civilization was taming the West and ending the day of the gunslingers.

Note:  For more elaborated stories on the four whiskey men here, please access the following posts:  John Neff, September 18, 2014;  Henry Sturm, June 15, 2017;  Jack Ryan, November 18, 2015;  Ernest Schwethelm, November 15, 2013.

John Neff — Genial Proprietor of Austin’s Iron Front Saloon

Austin’s Iron Front Saloon was one of the notable “watering holes” of the Old West.  Like other Texas saloons, it saw its share of violent encounters but was known for its gracious and well-liked owner.  He was John B. Neff, a man who was overshadowed in his own establishment, however, by a man who ran the gambling upstairs, a notoriously dangerous killer.

Information about Neff’s origins are scanty.   He is said to have been born in August 1850 in LaGrange, Texas, a town in Fayette County about half way between Houston and Austin.  One source suggests that he was a veteran of the Indian Wars, but I have been unable to find any corroboration.  He married a woman named Adela about 1876.  She was Texas born of immigrant parents, father from Norway, mother from Germany.  She may have been her teens when they wed.  Their union produced three children.

Neff came to Austin from LaGrange in 1872.  Shown above is the main street, Congress Avenue, as it looked in the late 1800s, Austin was experiencing important economic and population growth.   The opening of the Houston and Texas Central Railway in 1871 had turned the town into a major trading center with the ability to transport both cotton and cattle.  It was also the terminus of one leg of the famous Chisholm Trail where cattle were driven to the railhead.   Austin also had become the state capitol of Texas.

The booming economy had fostered a number of saloons to serve a thirsty clientele of cowboys, drovers, railroad men and state employees.  First among them all was the Iron Front Saloon.  It was located at 605 Congress, established about 1849 by Philip W. Jobe and run by him alone successfully until the early 1870s.  Then perhaps for reasons of health he took a partner named Robinson and continued until 1877 when the pair sold out.

Enter John Neff who purchased the property with a partner named Harry H. Duff.  There is only one photograph of the exterior of their saloon, taken around 1800, it shows the Iron Front only as a background for wider view.  Moreover a giant billboard for General Arthur Cigars blocks most of the upper story and a horse and buggy the lower half.  Nor are there interior shots of this legendary establishment.  From Sanborn insurance maps an artist has reconstructed what the both the exterior and interior might have looked like. 

Neff and his partner wasted no time in sprucing up the interior.  They brought in new billiard tables and redecorated the entry parlor, called by the local newspaper “fitted up in superb style…unapproached by anything in the city.”  The walls were embellished with oil paintings, steel engravings, and other ornaments.  Neff particularly liked the offbeat and bizarre to adorn the place.  Upon its reopening to the public the owners assured that in addition customers would find available the “purist of wines, liquors and cigars.”

The partnership was relatively short-lived.  Duff was known as a man with a short temper and a tendency to get into trouble with the law.  Whether that was the cause of the split is unknown but by 1881 Neff was sole proprietor of the Iron Front Saloon. Bar tokens show both management situations.  The Austin Daily Statesman reported in 1883 that Neff was “repairing and rekalsomining [whitewashing] his saloon and is fixing it up in grand style.  The overhead will be frescoed in the most artistic way.”   The newspaper lauded Neff as “a man of great taste” and described the Iron Front as “the chief place of entertainment in the city.”

Neff also was wholesaling and retailing whiskey, probably raw product shipped from the East that he likely was blending and compounding and selling in ceramic jugs.  Two are shown here, one of five gallons likely was meant for saloons but he also was retailing his liquor in smaller containers, some with cobalt blue labels featuring the head of a longhorn steer.  Neff advertised that “Nothing but straight goods sold at the bar,”  but did not mention what might be found inside his jugs. 

The 2004 book, "Legendary Watering Holes:  Saloons that Made Texas Famous," points out that saloons came to be known by their owners names:  “The custom extended to the sign over the door, which prominently featured the owner’s name.  Reputation of owner and saloon were thus inseparably intertwined.  And the proprietor infused the saloon’s operations….A saloonkeeper was an entrepreneur of the highest orders.”

A canny publican also was someone active in community affairs.  Neff filled that role admirably as he sought a good image for himself and his establishment.  For example, in 1882 Texas State Fair directors were considering canceling the steer roping contest for lack of steers and prizes.  Neff came to the rescue by offering to provide a fancy saddle to the winning cowboy.  That gesture apparently convinced ranchers to contribute steers and won the saloonkeeper plaudits for his “display of public spirit.”  The Austin newspaper regularly referred to his establishment as “John Neff’s Iron Front Saloon.”

Given his standing in the community, Neff’s selection of an individual to run the second floor gambling concession at the Iron Front is puzzling.  The game room provided card games like faro, monte and poker but also dice and roulette.  The man he chose was Ben Thompson who Texas authors described as “a very dangerous man.”  He was a gunfighter with a number of killings attributed to him, quick to anger and reach for his gun, particularly when he had been drinking.  But Thompson also had a reputation for humor and for running honest games.  Twice he was elected to the post of marshal in Austin.  It is said that the crime rate in town dropped sharply during his tenure.

Shown here are two of the gambling devices actually used by Thompson on the second floor of the Iron Front Saloon.  One is his version of a roulette table, handed down in his family but eventually burned in a home fire.  The second is French-made device featuring a monkey dressed as a magician that mechanically shook dice, assumed to be more honest than human hands.  Thompson’s occupation was lucrative.  As much as $30,000 a month might pass over the tables — equivalent to $750,000 today. 

Thompson, however, could not avoid violence.  In 1881, he had gotten involved in a dispute with a saloon and theater owner in San Antonio, shot and killed him.  Although it cost him his job as marshal, he was tried and acquitted of the murder and returned to Austin to continue running gambling at the Iron Front.  In 1884 he ventured back to San Antonio, was lured into an ambush, and met with a hail of bullets.  Shot in the head, he died immediately. The life of Ben Thompson, the gunman, has earned him lots of attention in later years, including a long Wikipedia entry.  Meanwhile John Neff, the genial saloonkeeper, has gone largely forgotten.

Neff continued to run the Iron Front through the 1880s and into the 1890s, receiving tributes that included the Austin Board of Trade lauding him and his saloon as being entitled to the “prosperity and support” it had received over the years.  In 1894, Neff sold the Iron Front to new owners.  Even after retirement he maintained an office at 605 Congress Avenue, but lived quietly with his family, out of the public eye.  In February 1896 while cleaning a pistol, Neff accidentally shot himself, dying almost immediately.  He was only 46 years old.  He was buried in Austin’s Oakwood Cemetery, shown below, not far from the grave of Ben Thompson.  The 1900 census found his widow, Adele, living in Austin with her two adult sons.

 

The Iron Front Saloon survived Neff’s death by only 13 years.  In 1909 it and surrounding buildings were torn down to build a “skyscraper” for the American National Bank.  The bank president was a local who had been nine years old when the drinking establishment opened and later had spent many an hour at its bar.  A contemporary observer has opined:  “But sentimentality has no place in business, so when the opportunity came to cash out the old place, Littlefield gave it scarcely a second thought ordering the demolition of the granddaddy of all Austin saloons.”

The destruction of one of the most famous Texas watering holes in order to build a bank building signaled a real “sea change” in Western America.  Men like Ben Thompson were disappearing from the scene as respect grew for law and order.  Moreover, within a decade saloonkeepers, genial or otherwise, would be rendered an extinct species by the passage of prohibitionary laws. John Neff clearly was the right man at the right place at the right time in Texas history. 

Note:  Much of the material for this post comes from the book, Legendary Watering Holes, cited above, particularly from a chapter by Chuck Parsons, a Texan who has written widely on the Texas Rangers and other Western topics.  The architectural drawings shown here were the work of Bob Smith.