Roy Bean: The West's Most Notorious Judge
- Jody Slaughter
- Jun 13, 2024
- 29 min read
Updated: Sep 25, 2024
Season: 1 \ Episode: 1
In this premiere episode of the West Texas Podcast, we dive into the life and legend of Judge Roy Bean, a man who was as much a showman as he was a judge. Known as "The Law West of the Pecos," Judge Bean's court was anything but conventional. From holding court in his saloon, the Jersey Lilly, to fining a dead man for carrying a concealed weapon, Bean's antics were the stuff of Wild West folklore. Join us as we explore his early life, his unique brand of justice, and the tall tales that surround his legacy.
Judge Roy Bean Trying a Case, 1900, photograph, 1900; University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting Cattle Raisers Museum.
Cold Open: We set the scene in Langtry, Texas, where Judge Roy Bean presides over a courtroom that's more saloon than legal institution. With his pet bear Bruno by his side and a .41 Smith and Wesson serving as his gavel, Bean's courtroom antics are both legendary and infamous.
Chapter 1: Early Life
Born in 1835 in Mason County, Kentucky.
Journey to New Orleans and subsequent adventures.
Escapades in Mexico and California, including a duel on horseback and a daring prison escape.
Partnership with his brother Joshua Bean in San Diego, and the dramatic end of Joshua's life.
Chapter 2: Vinegarroon
Arrival in Pecos County and the chaotic railroad camp of Vinegarroon.
Establishing a saloon and becoming the Justice of the Peace.
Tales of unconventional justice and dealing with lawlessness in the railroad camps.
Chapter 3: Langtry
Setting up the Jersey Lilly Saloon in Langtry.
Eccentric courtroom proceedings and Bean's rise to fame.
Relationship with rival saloon owner Jesus Torres and their eventual friendship.
Notable incidents, including stopping a train carrying railroad magnate Jay Gould.
Chapter 4: Tall Tales
The story of Bruno, Judge Bean's pet bear and unofficial bouncer.
Legendary courtroom antics and Bean's interactions with locals and visitors.
Staging a world championship heavyweight title fight on a sandbar in the Rio Grande.
Chapter 5: Later Years
Bean's legacy as a judge, saloon owner, and community figure.
His interactions with notable figures like Lillie Langtry.
The lasting impact of Judge Roy Bean on West Texas history.
Closing: Thank you for tuning in to the WTX Podcast. If you enjoyed this episode, be sure to subscribe and leave a review.
Media:
"Vintage Photo of Judge Roy Bean in Front of his Historic Saloon," Famous Rose Collection of Old Time Photographs, John Tackett Photography Studio, San Antonio, Texas.
"Vintage Photo of Judge Roy Bean's Pet Bear," Famous Rose Collection of Old Time Photographs, John Tackett Photography Studio, San Antonio, Texas.
[Suspension Bridge Over Pecos River], photograph, June 23, 1929; University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting The University of Texas at Dallas.
["Argonaut" passenger trains in West Texas], photograph, 1929~; University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting Museum of the American Railroad.
[Lilly Langtry Photograph], photograph, 1880/1889; University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting Cattle Raisers Museum.
Undated photo of Judge Roy Bean with his legal book. Source unknown.
Further Reading
Judge Roy Bean Country - Jack Skiles, 1996
The Story of Judge Roy Bean - Frontier Times Magazine, 1948
Southern California Indian Wars... - Homestead Museum Blog, 2018
Torres, Bean feud ends in friendship - Del Rio Herald, 1984
Judge Roy Bean: The Law, the Lies, and Lillie - Texas Highways Magazine, 2000
Credits:
Writer: Jody L. Slaughter
Producer: Jody L. Slaughter
Editor: Jody L. Slaughter
Engineer: Jody L. Slaughter
Music (in order of appearance):
Standoff - Nylonia
Distant Horizons - Gentry Ford & the Homeless Lobos
Ghosts of the Rail - Gabriel Lewis
Run Dry River - River Run Dry
Wedding March by Mendelssohn (Ragtime Version) - Ardhana NP
Outlaw Rambler - Gentry Ford & the Homeless Lobos
Roy Bean's Wake - Gentry Ford & the Homeless Lobos
It's All West Texas (WTX Theme Song) - Gentry Ford & the Homeless Lobos
Contact:
Email: lubbockistATgmail.com
Twitter: @Lubbockist
Listen on:
Thanks for listening, and so long...from West Texas.
FULL TRANSCRIPT
s01e01 - Judge Roy Bean: The West’s Most Merciless Judge
COLD OPEN
The sun is blazing in the sky, beating down on the dusty streets of Langtry, Texas. It’s the early 1890s, and this little town, perched atop the Rio Grande on the edge of the harsh Chihuahuan Desert, is buzzing with a mix of excitement and a bit of fear.
Inside the Jersey Lilly Saloon, the air is thick with anticipation. This isn’t just any saloon – it doubles as the courthouse. And the judge isn’t your typical judge. He’s more like a Wild West dime novel character brought to life. And despite the title, he’s not exactly a stickler for the law. Picture this: The judge, with his weathered face, sharp eyes, and long white beard sitting behind the bar, which he uses as his bench. Right next to him, chained to a post, where a modern day bailiff would sit, is his pet bear, Bruno. Yeah, you heard that right. The walls are decorated with pictures of Lillie Langtry, the British actress the bar is named after, giving the place a weird bit of class to go with the border town roughness.
Suddenly, the saloon doors swing open and in walk two Texas Rangers, commanding respect just by their presence. They’re carrying a stretcher with the body of a man who has fallen from a railroad bridge. Next to him are his belongings – $40 and a revolver. Bean, lacking a gavel, raps his .41 Smith and Wesson on the bar to get everyone's attention. The Ranger Captain, steps forward. He explains that the man died from the fall and that the Rangers, after investigating, believe it was an accident.
Judge Bean grabs an old, dusty book of the 1879 Texas Statutes, and opens it, glancing through it. He doesn’t read it – not really - it’s more there for show and to give some sort of officiality to the proceedings. He glances at the body, then looks toward the Rangers. “Where was the weapon found?” The two men look at each other, “It was found in his pocket your honor.” The Judge looks at the crowd and laughs, "Carrying a concealed weapon is against the law. This man, God rest his soul, has offended the Great State of Texas by committing this crime on her sacred soil. I hereby fine him..." The judge squints at the gold pieces lying next to the man, trying to count them from across the room. “$40?” He glances up at the lawmen, the captain gives a quick nod. “I fine him $40. Captain, please help this gentleman out by remitting his fine to the court.”
The Ranger Captain smirks and places the money on the bar in front of the judge. With a practiced ease, Bean sweeps the money into his own pocket. The Rangers, very used to this kind of behavior in this court, nod to the judge and go on their way. The judge reaches into the same pocket and flips a quarter to a man sitting at a table nursing a beer. When you finish that one, drag him to the cemetery and get him in the ground.
As the sun begins to set over the barren landscape, the room transforms instantly from courtroom back to saloon, judge into bartender. Whiskey flows, card games, laughter, and the ocassional fight stretch long into the night. This is Judge Roy Bean’s domain. He is eccentric and authoritarian, brilliant and baffling, lawkeeper and criminal. But love him or fear him, you’d better get along with him. Because he is the law West of the Pecos. It says so right outside.
Hey y’all. I’m Jody Slaughter and welcome to West Texas. Where the sky stretches on forever, and the stories are as vast and rugged as the landscape itself. On this progrum, we will explore the characters who have etched their names into the sun bleached history of this region. From outlaws and lawmen, to everyday folks who dared to dance with destiny, we’ll explore the legends, the truths, and the tall tales that define this undefinable region.
First up: Judge Roy Bean. Was he a champion of justice, or a maverick that wrote his own set of rules?
So grab a seat, kick off your boots, and settle in...because this...is West Texas.
#Chapter 1: Early Life
How did a man like Bean, an outlaw by all accounts with no formal education to speak of, rise to wield so much power in this remote corner of Texas? To figure out how that happened, we gotta rewind to 1835, back when Roy Bean Jr. was born in Mason County, Kentucky. Youngest of five brothers, maybe even just three – details about his early life are murky at best. One thing's for sure, though: his family wasn't exactly rolling in dough.
At sixteen, with dreams of adventure and a brighter future, Roy hopped on a flatboat and headed down the Mississippi to New Orleans, where his brother Sam lived. Think Huckleberry Finn – that was the kind of trip it was.
Didn't last long in New Orleans, though. After a barroom brawl in the French Quarter and not sure if their opponents were alive or dead, Roy and Sam hightailed it out of there, heading for Texas. In 1848, they even tried setting up a trading post in Mexico, but that went south too. Turns out, Roy wasn't exactly a business magnet. One night, while Roy was enjoying a drink, some drunk Mexican desperado announced to anyone who would listen that he wanted to kill a Gringo. Roy, never one to back down from a fight, shot the guy dead, claiming self-defense. Mexican authorities didn't buy it and put a warrant out for his arrest. So Roy headed West again, this time to San Diego, California, to bunk up with his other brother, Joshua.
Joshua Bean, now that was a whole other story. This brother of Roy's served under Zachary Taylor in the Mexican-American War and even became a Major-General in the California Militia, earning the nickname "General Frijoles" from the locals. He helped put down some Native American uprisings during the Gold Rush and even became the first mayor of San Diego after California became a state in 1850. But his time in office went up in smoke faster than a campfire after he sold City Hall and a bunch of other city land to himself and his best buddy – all while they were enjoying a few too many drinks, of course. Joshua hightailed it out of there, ending up in the Los Angeles area where he opened a saloon right across the street from a famous mission.
Roy, meanwhile, stayed in San Diego and became quite the charmer with the ladies. Life seemed pretty good for a while, until things went sideways in early 1852. A Scotsman named John Collins challenged Roy to a duel – on horseback, no less! Roy, ever the risk-taker, agreed, but with one crazy condition: they'd shoot at each other! Now, Roy wasn't the best shot, but he managed to graze the Scotsman. Of course, both of them got arrested for assault and attempted murder. Roy spent a couple of months behind bars, but he wasn't exactly lonely. The local ladies doted on him, bringing him flowers, food, and even cigars. One admirer even snuck him some knives hidden in tamales (talk about resourceful!). Roy, ever the opportunist, used those knives to dig a hole in his cell wall and escaped in April 1852, reuniting with his brother Joshua in San Gabriel.
Joshua's saloon, called the Headquarters, was a happening place, and he hired Roy as his bartender. Things were going smoothly, or so it seemed, until a chilly night in November 1852. Roy was behind the bar when five gunshots shattered the peace. The Los Angeles Star reported on the crime, but we'll get to that in a moment...
“General J.H. Bean was most basely assassinated on the night of Sunday last, near the Mission of San Gabriel. He was shot in the right breast, the ball taking an upward direction and passing entirely through him, from which wound he languished about 24 hours, and until two o’clock of the morning of Tuesday. By whom the deed was committed appears to be shrouded in the deepest mystery, and although the coroner’s jury has been unceasing in its endeavors to gain some clue to the murderer, success seems as distant as ever.” End quote.
The number one suspect of anyone you asked around the Mission that day would have been Felipe Reid. Felipe, the adopted son of Hugo Reid, a wealthy landowner in the area, had been in involved in a very public rivalry with Joshua Bean for the affections of a woman.
Due to Joshua’s standing in the military and the community, a vigilance committee was formed to investigate his murder. Now, these committees were basically nothing more than glorified lynch mobs. Their investigation, if you can call it that, was swift and brutal. They arrested Reid first, though his friends soon arrived to give him an alibi. They also arrested a gang of local desperados who had been terrorizing the area for some time. There is no evidence linking any of these men to Bean’s murder, but it made a convenient excuse to get rid of them. The last man arrested was a respected cobbler named Cipriano Sandoval. Sandoval maintained his innocence, testifying that he had been in the area, heard the shots, and had seen Felipe Reid fleeing. He further testified that Reid had confessed to the murder and paid him $5 for his silence. Reid, of course, denied this. The committee sentenced Sandoval and the four desperados to death while setting Reid free. Reid would eventually confess to the murder on his deathbed.
Roy Bean, now the proud owner of The Headquarters saloon, owner himself, found that his success was short-lived. In 1854, in a tale straight out of a Johnny Cash song, a young woman he was courting was kidnapped and forced to marry a Mexican military officer. Outraged, Roy rode out to the camp of the officer and his men, and challenged him to a duel. More skilled with a pistol than when he had dueled the Scotsman in San Diego, Roy swiftly killed the officer. For his troubles, he was immediately assailed by six of the officer’s men, put on horseback with a noose tied from a tree to his neck, and left to hang when the horse decided to move. If you’ve ever seen the Mel Gibson Western movie Maverick, you can pretty well envision this scene. In a stroke of luck for Roy, the horse stood fast, and the woman he had dueled over arrived, cutting him free. He survived the hanging, but the noose left a scar around his neck that he would carry for the rest of his life.
Having had enough of California, Roy ventured to the New Mexico Territory, where his brother Samuel had been made sheriff of Dona Ana County, living near Las Cruces. Roy arrived destitute, but was made a partner in his brother’s saloon and dry goods store. Once again, he found a successful life, until the outbreak of the Civil War. Invading Texan armies are, apparently, bad for business. After the Confederates were defeated at the Battle of Glorieta Pass in March 1862, their supply wagons taken, they retreated to San Antonio. Roy cleaned out his brother’s safe, stole a horse, and joined them.
His long, scraggled beard was beginning to grey. He had survived a murder warrant, two duels, and a prison break before turning 40. It was time for Roy to settle down, start a family, and build an honest life for himself. Well, sorta.
Roy arrived in San Antonio, spending the rest of the war running the Union naval blockade by hauling cotton to British ships off the coast of Matamoros. In 1866, he married 18-year-old Virginia Chavez. They had four children together. During his time in San Antonio, Roy worked various jobs with varying degrees of legitimacy. He was a teamster, a lumberjack starting a firewood business (using stolen timber), a dairyman (until caught watering down the milk), and a butcher (of rustled cattle). His business exploits earned his whole neighborhood the moniker "Beanville."
With his marriage in shambles and the law catching up to him again, Roy sold all his possessions for $900. He used that money to buy a tent, some wholesale supplies for resale, and ten 55 gallon barrels of whiskey. Then, leaving his wife and family behind, he headed West once again.
###AD Break
[ominous music]
Picture this: the year is 1882 and you’re in a makeshift settlement known as Vinegarroon. About halfway between modern day Sonora and Del Rio. The name itself conjures images of rough edges and biting survival, and the reality doesn’t disappoint. This is a place that sprang up almost overnight, fueled by the relentless westward push of the Southern Pacific Railroad.
Vinegarroon is a tent city, a chaotic patchwork of canvas and wood, stretching as far as the eye can see. The railroad tracks cut through the center like a lifeline, flanked by a sea of temporary shelters. The air is thick with the smell of sweat, dust, smoke, and alcohol. This is a world where men work hard and play harder, each day a battle against the elements and each night a celebration of survival.
The men who call Vinegarroon home are a motley crew. Railroad workers, drifters, gamblers, and outlaws – all drawn by the promise of work, or the allure of escaping something left behind. Faces weathered by sun and wind, hands calloused from hard labor, eyes that have seen too much. These are the denizens of this transient town, each with a story etched in the lines of their faces.
The sounds of hammers and saws ring out, only to be drowned out by the engines and whistles of trains arriving and departing. Voices shout over the noise, deals are struck, and arguments flare up only to be settled with fists or firearms. This is a place where life is cheap, and justice is a concept as mutable as the desert wind.
In the center of it all stands a tent saloon. It’s a hub of activity, a beacon for those seeking a drink, a game of cards, or a front-row seat to whatever violence is in store tonight.
Vinegarroon is a place of contrasts – a microcosm of the American frontier spirit. It’s a place where hope and desperation walk hand in hand, where the promise of progress is shadowed by the harsh reality of survival. It’s a town at the edge of civilization, and for a man like Roy Bean, it’s a place to carve out a legacy, or lose everything.
[Music ends]
#Chapter 2: Vinegarroon
So this is the world that Roy found himself in when he arrived in Pecos County and the rough and tumble railroad camp where he first set up shop. If you’ve seen the series "Hell on Wheels," you’ve got a really good idea of what Vinegarroon looked like. These “end of the tracks” railroad camps, as one Ranger put it, “attracted the worst lot of roughs, gamblers, robbers, and pickpockets I ever saw.”
So, crossing the Pecos River canyon was the last big engineering challenge to complete the Southern Transcontinental Railroad route linking New Orleans to Los Angeles. This route is still in use today—you can actually take an Amtrak through these same areas right now.
When Roy arrived in Vinegarroon, he pitched his tent, unloaded his whiskey barrels, and just like that, he had a saloon. It was a prime spot to sell drinks, gambling, and supplies to the more than 8,000 railroad workers camped nearby.
Now, to call this place “lawless” would be an understatement. “Law-free” might be more correct because there literally was no law, no police, no courts, no government whatsoever. Things got so bad that Texas Rangers were called in from other parts of the state to try to handle the crime. But even when they arrested someone, they had to make a 400-mile round trip to Fort Stockton just to hold a trial.
So, the Rangers made a plea to the county commissioners to establish a new Justice of the Peace. Their nomination for the post? The most reputable man they knew of in the area—reputable being a very relative term here—Roy Bean.
With no formal education, much less any training in the law, Roy Bean became Judge Roy Bean, Justice of the Peace, precinct 6, Pecos County, Texas, on August 2, 1882. Not one to wait around, he had actually tried his first case two weeks earlier.
Without a courthouse, Roy’s saloon became the courthouse. He soon figured out that the saloon was a little busier on days when he conducted legal business. In a place with no entertainment outside of a card game, a makeshift courthouse might as well have been Carnegie Hall. So Roy leaned on his natural affinity for showmanship. His rulings were a mix of common sense, humor, and sheer audacity. He started enlisting his best customers as jurors, always insisting they buy a round during recesses and after sentencing.
Once, Roy was called to conduct an inquest at the site of a bridge collapse near Vinegarroon where ten men had fallen. He pronounced all ten men dead at the scene, even though three of them still clung to life. When corrected, Roy said that the others would soon die, and he didn’t want to have to make the trip again—$5 coroner’s fee notwithstanding. To Roy’s embarrassment, all three men pulled through.
Where there had been no law just weeks earlier, Roy now fined men for petty offenses, often keeping the fines for himself. His sole legal reference was the 1879 edition of the Revised Statutes of Texas, though it’s doubtful he ever read it. Roy was sent updated law books over the years, but he steadfastly refused to use anything other than the 1879 edition, claiming it was all the law he needed. The others were reportedly used as kindling.
In one case, an Irishman shot and killed a Chinese railroad laborer and was brought to court for murder. A mob of 200 angry Irishmen surrounded the saloon, threatening to lynch Roy if their compatriot was not freed. Not wishing to be hung again, and knowing that the Irishmen frequented his saloon while the Chinese did not, Roy calmly flipped through his legal book before pronouncing that homicide is defined as the killing of a human being, but he could, quote, “find no law against killing a Chinaman.” The case was dismissed, and the Irish mob celebrated their victory at his saloon.
By the end of 1882, railroad construction moved further west, and Vinegarroon began to die. So, wasting no time, Roy packed up his tent and moved his operation 70 miles away to the town of Strawbridge, now known as Sanderson. He didn’t find Strawbridge very welcoming, though. It already had an established saloon, and the owner secretly laced all of Roy’s whiskey with kerosene. Time to move on.
He tried again at the nearby town Langtry, Texas. With the local landowner also being a saloon owner and refusing to give any land to a competitor, Roy set up shop right next to the railroad tracks on the railroad’s right of way. It was there he built what would become his world-famous Jersey Lilly Saloon, on railroad land he didn’t own.
Chapter 3: Langtry
So, by the time Roy rolled into Langtry, he was pushing 50. Ready to finally settle down somewhere, he ditched the dusty tent life and built a proper saloon. Now, forget those sprawling saloons you see in movies – the Jersey Lilly was tiny, barely 500 square feet. We've actually got some pictures of the place on our website, wtxpodcast.com, so you can see just how cramped it must have been.
Imagine a long, single room, no insulation, with rough wooden walls where you could probably see straight through the cracks. Up one end, a ladder led to a tiny loft where Roy probably slept like a sardine. Down at the other end? The bar, of course. Whiskey, beer, maybe some tequila – that's about all you'd find. Behind the bar hung a picture of Lillie Langtry, a British actress and the namesake of the whole place. There was also a sign on the wall that said "Argumentum Adjudicum." Now, Roy wasn't exactly a Latin scholar, so he'd tell curious folks it meant "Don't argue with the judge," which wasn't exactly right, but hey, it got the point across. A few beat-up tables and benches filled the rest of the space, each one carved up hundreds of times with Bowie knives. The Lilly also had a big porch out front, and Roy was known to hold court out there whenever he felt like it.
If Roy's judge act in Vinegarroon was kind of funny for the locals, in Langtry, he went full-blown PT Barnum with his theatrics and shenanigans.
Back then, there was a saying: "There's no law west of the Pecos, and no God west of El Paso." Roy, ever the opportunist, decided to fill that void. He started calling himself "The Law West of the Pecos." Maybe he even dreamed of becoming the god west of El Paso someday, but hey, judge worked for now.
To attract thirsty train passengers, Roy plastered his bar with hand-painted signs. At first, it was simple stuff like "Ice, Beer, The Jersey Lilly" hanging from the porch roof. But as Roy's fame (and ego) grew, so did the signs. Soon, they covered the entire roof and stretched across the whole front of the building.
The biggest sign declared, "Judge Roy Bean. Notary Public. Justice of the Peace. LAW WEST OF THE PECOS." The last part was all caps, twice the size of everything else, and right above the doorway. Talk about making a statement!
Just like in Vinegarroon, Roy's legal expertise came from a single book: the 1879 Revised Statutes. And forget gavels – Roy used his trusty .41 revolver to rap for attention. Jury duty? Well, you couldn't serve if you weren't drinking, and trials were conveniently held in the afternoons and evenings, peak drinking hours of course.
Langtry didn't have a jail, so if you got sentenced, you were chained to an oak tree outside the Lilly. But most punishments came in the form of fines, which suited Roy just fine. Often, the fine for bad behavior was simply buying a round of drinks for the jury. Funny how the fines often ended up being the exact amount of cash the accused had on them.
Roy's court was basically a one-man show to benefit himself, but he also had this weird patriotic thing going on with Texas. He'd talk about it like a woman he was protecting, spouting lines like "You've offended the great state of Texas by committing this crime on her sacred soil!" before sentencing someone. This love for Texas didn't extend to paying any of his collected fines back to the state, though.
Finally, even though Justices of the Peace couldn't legally grant divorces, Roy did them anyway. Weddings were a steal at $5, but divorces cost double. And to top it all off, every wedding ceremony ended with a cheery "and may God have mercy on your souls."
There was a popular saying at that time, “There’s no law west of the Pecos, and no God west of El Paso.” It was with this in mind that Roy began styling himself “The Law West of the Pecos.” I’m sure it was somewhere in the back of his mind to one day become the god West of El Paso, but this would have to do for now.
The hand-painted signs he adorned his bar with would serve as billboards to passing rail passengers looking for a drink. First it was “Ice, Beer, The Jersey Lilly” hanging from the overhang of the porch. But as his notoriety and ego grew, he added more and more signs, until they covered the roof and all the way across the front of the building.
“Judge Roy Bean. Notary Public. Justice of the Peace. LAW WEST OF THE PECOS.” That last part he hung in all caps, painted twice as large as the others, and prominently above the entryway.
Just as in Vinegarroon, he used the 1879 Revised book of Statutes as his only legal counsel, and rapped his .41 revolver on the bar in lieu of a gavel. You couldn’t serve on a jury if you didn’t drink, and the trials would often be expertly scheduled for afternoons and evenings – prime drinking hours.
Without a jail in Langtry, incarceration meant being chained to an oak tree outside the Lilly. But most of the time that just meant punishment was doled out with fines, which was great with Roy. Often, the fine for misdemeanors was just to buy a round of drinks for the jury. Many times, the fine imposed would coincidentally be the exact amount of money the accused had on him.
As much as Roy Bean’s court existed to serve the interests of Roy Bean, he also would gush patriotically about Texas as if she was a woman and he served as her protector. Quoted as preceding sentencing with words like, “You have offended the great state of Texas by committing this crime on her sacred soil…” This devotion to the state would not extend to Roy ever remitting any of the fine money he collected to the state government.
Although Justices of the Peace were not legally allowed to grant divorces, Roy did them anyway. Charging court fees of $5 for weddings but $10 for divorces. He would also end all wedding ceremonies by stating “and may God have mercy on your souls.”
Chapter 4: Tall Tales
One of my favorite wrinkles in this story is Bruno.
Bruno was a black bear that Roy acquired under circumstances that, like many stories from the Wild West, are a bit hazy. Some accounts suggest that Roy won Bruno in a poker game, while others imply he bought him from a traveling circus that had fallen on hard times. Either way, Bruno became a fixture at The Jersey Lilly.
Visitors to the saloon were often taken aback by the sight of a bear chained outside or lounging inside the establishment. Roy even encouraged patrons to buy him a beer, at the astronomical price of $1 each, to give to Bruno. The bear would work the cork out with his pays and teeth, before chugging the whole thing in front of the delighted travelers. Best dollar they ever spent. But Bruno was not just for show – he also served as an unofficial bouncer. There are numerous tales of Bruno deterring troublemakers just by his presence.
One such story involves a particularly rowdy drunk who was causing a disturbance in the saloon. Bean, seeing the potential for escalation, casually instructed Bruno to “escort” the man outside. The bear, responding to his master’s command, approached the drunk, who quickly sobered up at the sight of the imposing creature and left without further incident.
Bruno’s presence also played into Bean’s courtroom theatrics. During trials, when defendants or witnesses became unruly, Bean would point to Bruno as a silent reminder to behave. The threat of being left alone with a bear was often enough to keep even the most recalcitrant individuals in line.
Despite the fear Bruno instilled in some, he was generally a well-behaved and even-tempered bear, particularly when Bean was around. The two had an undeniable bond, and Bruno seemed to understand his role in Bean’s peculiar brand of justice.
By 1883, about the time the railroad track was completed, stories of Roy’s antics were beginning to spread regionally. A reporter from the San Antonio Express had ventured to Langtry to see it for himself, and wrote a scandalous article describing customer shake downs, theft of fines and court fees, and releasing charged criminals just because it appeared they didn’t have money for fines. He described Roy drunkenly brandishing his revolver during court, causing such a scene that Rangers had to take his gun away and shackle him until he could sober up and continue proceedings the next day. Aside from his “bibulous peculiarities,” the reporter noted, “Old Roy is generous, brave, courteous, and a keen lover of fun. He holds court anywhere and carries a pocketful of blank warrants, one of which he will fill out and sign at a moment’s notice.”
Bean’s fame continued to grow, and so did the stories of his bizarre brand of justice. Travelers passing through Langtry would often stop to see the legendary judge in action. His saloon was filled with travelers, locals, and curiosity seekers, all eager to witness the spectacle of Judge Roy Bean.
He was known to show particular contempt for east coast city “dudes” that would arrive on the train from time to time. One such story, described in Frontier Times Magazine in 1948, tells of one of these men strolling in the Lilly and ordering a beer.
"Oblige me with a glass," suggested the customer.
"Drink it out of the bottle or leave it alone," Bean countered.
"My mistake," said the dude, and drained the bottle. He cast a scornful eye at the resplendent sign, "Ice Cold Beer" and asked, "How near the ice do you keep this beer?"
Bean snorted. "Whoever heard tell of ice in the summer time."
The visitor dropped a $20 gold piece on the bar. Bean chucked it into the cash drawer.
"My change?" the gentleman queried.
"You don't get no change. Any galoot that comes into my bailiwick and puts down a $20 gold piece and expects to get change back ought to have a guardeen."
"But my good man, that's robbery!" protested the easterner. "Is there no law in this country?"
"I'm the law," said the judge dryly. He took off his bar apron, shrugged into his judicial garment and mounted the chair of justice.
"I find you guilty of disorderly conduct and fine you $10 and costs. The costs will be $9. Court is adjourned."
The judge descended from the bench and became the bailiff.
"With the dollar you owe me for the beer, that makes $20 which has already been paid into the treasury of the honorable court,' he explained. "The prisoner is discharged, and you'd better run for that train; it's about to pull out and we don't aim to harbor no disorderly persons in this town."
The young man ran.
Another story relates a man who entered the Jersey Lilly limping with a cane, with a sob story about his handicap, and passing around a hat for patrons to make donations to him. He thanked the crowd and ambled off into the night.
Two curious boys from the town followed him and witnessed him returning to his buddies camped outside of town, no longer crippled, where they all laughed about the suckers in the saloon. The boys ran to Judge Roy, who quickly deputized some bar patrons to go bring the man back to the saloon.
When they returned with the con man, Roy had them flay him out on the pool table and cut one of his pant legs off at the knee. The judge told his right hand man “Domingo, andale, triega la serucha” and informed that man that he intended to cut his leg off and make him a real cripple.
After a long production of marking the man’s leg with a carpenter’s pencil and arguing about how high they should cut it off, the mob decided they should turn around and have a drink at the bar before continuing with the amputation.
The man took his opportunity and ran, straight out of town, jumped into the Rio Grande, and swam across. He was never seen in Langtry again.
His appointment up, Roy was re-elected JP in 1884, but lost the next election in 1886 25 votes to 17. He raised such a fuss that the next year 1887, County Commissioners created a new precinct and appointed Roy as justice of the peace there.
In 1896, rival Saloon owner Jesus Torres was declared the winner after Roy received more votes than the number of qualified voters. But Roy refused to hand over his notary public seal or law book. So the two men reached a compromise in which each would handle cases on his side of the railroad tracks. In the 1898 election, Roy chased Torres voters from the polls with a shotgun, prompting Del Rio sheriff to intervene, threatening to chain the judge to Bruno, his bear. Roy would lose that race, but win the next two in 1900 and 1902.
But win or lose, drunk or sober, he continued to hold court whenever it suited him.
Now Bean and Torres had been enemies ever since Roy had arrived in Langtry. Torres owned all the land in town, and refused to grant any to a competitor like Roy. Which is how Roy became a squatter on the railroad easement.
Not content to suffer defeat, Torres also denied Roy use of the only potable water in the area, a natural spring located on Torres’ land. Undeterred, Roy just stole from the railroad water tanks nearby.
The feud went on for decades, until in his later years, Torres converted his saloon to a general merchandise store. No longer in competition, the two community leaders actually became close friends.
In 1890, Roy received word that railroad magnate Jay Gould, one of the richest men in the world at that time, would be passing through Langtry, but his train was not scheduled to stop there.
So Roy, using a railroad danger signal flag, alerted the train as it steamed through town. The conductor, assuming the upcoming high bridge was out, engaged the emergency brakes, bringing the train to a stop.
Roy, with long, white beard, dark leathery skin, and his favorite wide brimmed sombrero, probably looked more like a Bandido than a respected magistrate and community leader. Guards with shotguns jumped off the train and approached Roy. Roy removed his sombrero and asked them if Mr. Gould was aboard. Before any of them could answer, Gould appeared on the platform and asked him what he wanted.
“I’m Roy Bean,” he said. “The Law West of the Pecos, and I want to shake your hand. Won’t you get out and say howdy?”
Mr. Gould, some aids, and his daughter exited the train and Roy invited them to his saloon where they stayed talking, laughing, and drinking champagne for over two hours.
The Langtry station agent had telegraphed that the train had passed through without incident, but had never amended his message after following the group into the saloon himself. When the train never arrived at the next station as scheduled, a frantic telegraph operator assumed that it really had plummeted off of the high bridge.
By the time Gould’s train left, word of the supposed crash had gotten out at the speed of telegraph and the railroad stock had suffered a panic sell-off on the New York Stock Exchange.
Once the station agent returned to his post and responded to the frantic telegraph messages, by now threatening his job if he didn’t respond, the crisis was averted. His reply, “Jay G. been visiting with Roy Bean and me. Been eating lady fingers and drinking champagne. Take your old job and go to hell. Special just left.”
One of Roy’s biggest and most legendary stunts came in 1896. Wanting to attract tourism to the area, he negotiated with two boxing superstars of the day – Bob Fitzsimmons and Peter Maher – to stage a world championship heavyweight title fight in Langtry. One small problem. Like much of the US at the time, Texas had outlawed boxing. It was also outlawed in Mexico.
Undeterred, Roy built a makeshift boxing ring on a sand bar in the middle of the Rio Grande. Had crews build a temporary bridge out to the ring, and brought in spectators and press from all over the country to see the fight. Many Texas Rangers were also his invited guests. Though the fight only lasted about 90 seconds, news of Roy’s audacity quickly spread throughout the country, gaining him immediate notoriety.
#Chapter 5: Later years
Newspapers loved to print tales of his judicial shenanigans and in the ensuing years and many Hollywood performances, Roy Bean has earned a reputation as somewhat of a ruthless hanging judge. But that’s not a portrait that history actually backs up. In fact, it’s not clear if he ever actually hanged anyone. The closest he may have come was staging a mock hanging of a gun thief off of a rail car (but like the crippled con-man, allowing the perpetrator to escape). He regularly let off horse thieves (a hangable crime anywhere else in the West) with a fine if they simply returned the horse.
Local accounts at the time report that he made sure that local widows, as well as the school in Langtry, always had firewood for the winter. He was known to keep a list of local children so that he could make sure each of them received a Christmas present. He served as a trustee of the local school. And would never allow children in the Jersey Lilly.
Though he never reconciled with his ex-wife, his children were known to come and go between Langtry and elsewhere. He even built a house across the street from the saloon. He had always been content to sleep in the bar, but didn’t find it fit for his kids to spend their nights sleeping on a billiards table.
He never remarried, and I couldn’t find any other mentions linking him with any women after his divorce. Except, of course, Lillie Langtry.
He was known to talk about her often. He apparently wrote her a series of letters, inviting her to come visit him in the town he named after her (a lie) and to perform in the new opera house he had built. The opera house didn’t exist, not really, but he did put one of his famous hand-painted signs on top his own home, styling it the “Roy Beans Opera House Town Hall and Seat of Justice.”
Roy would die in 1903, at the age of about 70, in his bed at Langtry. Reportedly of heart problems. He was buried in Del Rio. His children sold the Jersey Lilly and the Opera House to a local rancher, Will Ike Babb. Who lived in the Opera House and stored hay in the saloon. He planned to dismantle the saloon and use the wood on his ranch, but his wife stopped him, quoted as saying “There’s gonna be people comin’ to see that someday.”
One person, in particular, did come to see it. In 1904, just months after Roy’s passing, a train arrived carrying none other than Lillie Langtry.
She didn’t stay long, the Sunset Limited only stopped in Langtry for 20 to 30 minutes to fill its boilers. But she had time to visit the Jersey Lily, describing it and her visit in her autobiography years later. Langtry citizens also reported that she made a $50 donation to help expand the schoolhouse (next to the Lilly) after seeing how overcrowded it was.
In her book, she describes reboarding the train to see quote “the strange sight of a huge cinnamon bear careering across the line, dragging a cowboy at the end of a long chain…” end quote.
Some local boys who had taken over Bruno’s care, thought that the bear would make a fine gift to Ms. Langtry, known as an animal lover. She continues in her book, quote “they hoisted the unwilling animal onto the platform, and tethered him to the rail, but happily, before I had time to rid myself of this unwelcome addition without seeming discourteous, he broke away, scattering the crowd and causing some of the vaqueros to start shooting wildly at all angles.”
In 1935, on the eve of the Texas Centennial, the Del Rio Chamber of Commerce alerted the state that tourists were stealing wood and other souvenirs from the Jersey Lilly. After a negotiation with the Babbs and the Southern Pacific Railroad (the land still, ostensibly, belonged to the railroad), The Jersey Lilly was gifted to the Texas Highway Department in 1936.
The Jersey Lilly was restored and reopened to tourists in 1939. Today visitors can tour the Lilly, Opera House, and even inspect Roy’s law book, revolver (aka gavel), his handcuffs, notary public seal, and walking stick.
Judge Roy Bean’s legacy, like that of most Old West figures, was complicated. So, I’ll just wrap up with the thoughts of two of his contemporaries on the Judge.
Beula Burdwell Farley, who lived with her family in near his Opera House, told biographer Jack Skiles quote “Roy Bean was a smart ol booger. He had his faults, but listen, he was a good man at heart. He might have been a murderer and a robber, and a thief, but he was good in his own way. He was the best-hearted old fellow you ever saw.”
U.S. District Court Judge T.A. Falvey, summed up the man for the El Paso Herald in 1914 quote: “That man did a world of good,” said Judge Falvey. “He was the man for the place. The rough community where he had settled would have tolerated no enforcement of the law as it was printed on the statute books. But they tolerated Bean, because he was both law and equity, right and justice. He filled a place that could not have been filled by any other man…His decisions were not always according to the law and the fact, but they were accepted and that was the big point. Roy Bean’s part in the pioneer history of West Texas cannot be written in a page. He was what he claimed to be: the Law West of the Pecos.”
You’ve been listening to the West Texas Podcast. I’m Jody Slaughter. You can find this and future episodes on YouTube, Spotify, and Apple Podcasts. To get ahold of me with questions, comments, or show ideas you can email me at lubbockist@gmail.com or on Twitter @Lubbockist. L-U-B-B-O-C-K-I-S-T.
This episode was written, produced, engineered, and edited by me, Jody Slaughter.
Music featured in this episode came from Nylonia, Gabriel Lewis, River Run Dry, Ardhana NP, and Gentry Ford and the Homeless Lobos. You can find our theme song “It’s all West Texas” by Gentry Ford and the Homeless Lobos on their new album West Texas Werewolves, wherever you stream music.
Thanks for listening , and so long...From West Texas.
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