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The Atlanta Constitution,

Sunday, 9th November 1913,

PAGE 9, COLUMN 1.

Photos by Francis E. Price.

Upper picture: Boots Rogers, at extreme right, standing beside

automobile with detectives with whom he worked on the Phagan murder mystery.

Lower illustrations: Rogers at time of the Frank trial, his daughter, Louise,

and his wife, who formerly was Miss Louise Petty.

By Britt Craig.

The little

clock ticked impatiently between the statue of the market girl and the boy with

the finishing rod on the mantelpiece. The folding doors were closed, and the

shades came plumb down to the sill.

W. W. (Boots) Rogers got down on one knee in

appropriate attitude of humbleness on the flower-bordered carpet of a

north-side parlor not so awfully long ago and said to the maiden, who blushed

and fidgeted on the sofa:

Howd you

like to get married?

It wasnt so

eloquent as the proposal in the third act of Lovers. You and I, but it amply

conveyed its fullest meaning. It was with some difficulty that the blushing

maiden stammered this reply:

Sure,

Boots, just as soon as you quit being a policeman.

She could

have told the humble swain at her feet that she must deign his proposal because

of an earlier offer which she had accepted from the Earl of Denmark, and Boots

would have been no more surprised. He jumped to his feet, flicked the dust from

his knees.

Then this:

But why quit

the police force?

Oh, just

because.

But thats

purely a womans reason and its ridiculous.

The maidens

nose tilted skyward and she pouted, which isnt unnatural in maidens even in

those who are receiving proposals of marriage. Considering the fact that but a

moment previously a very worthy young mad had entreated her to become his

bride, she was legally, probably, unquestionably entitled to pout, or most

anything else.

WOMANS REASON

IS GOOD ENOUGH.

Well, I

guess if a woman decides mans wife, she has a perfect right to give any kind

of reason she wants, womans reason or not. And besides, I guess a womans

reason is as good as anybodys, I do.

Very well.

Resignedly. Have it your way. But dont think for a minute that when I turn in

my resignation purely on the grounds of Because, that the chief will accept

it without investigation. We have some kind of system even in the county police

department, you know.

But the

chief doesnt have to know anything about it. You just quit and be done with

it.

Great! You

ought to be in politics. You could just do things and be done with them.

All right,

thenhave if your own way. Remember, young man, I dont have to marry until I

get good and ready.

Now, listen,

Louise, you dont understand. Being a policemans honorable

I

know that

And

upright

I

know that, also.

It

pays well

And

I know that.

Theres

nothing disgraceful about it.

But,

its not that; its none of those. Youre just a great big fool when youre in

uniform, and youd do most anything on earth and try to get away with it. I

dont want them to bring in my husband a corpse the first week were married.

Hes got to be aliveabsolutely aliveand I positively refuse to have any other

kind.

LIVE COWARDS

V. DEAD HEROES.

See, Boots;

Id rather have a live coward than a dead hero. Live cowards can make some kind

of a husband, at least an excuse for one, but dead heroes dont make anything

but widowsandorphans.

Oh! Now, youre snowing right. (This with

elation.) Im beginning to catch your drift.

I knew you

would. You see. I didnt want to tell you until you made me. I was afraid youd

get the swellhead. Its so easy.

But Im no

heroI dont get in danger. Im just a plain, ordinary policemana county

policeman, at that. You women ought to stop readin novels.

But, Boots,

what about that time the negro shot at you at the oil mill?

Oh, I forgot

that.

And the time

you drove that automobile at that crowd of burglars?

That, too. My

memorys bad here lately.

Also the time

you jumped off your motorcycle into that crazy automobile?

You dont

expect me to remember everything?

And that time

your automobile ran off the bridge?

Oh, I

remember that occasionally.

Now, listen!

I wouldnt mind you being a policeman, dear, if a policeman didnt have to

police like they do. To tell the truth, I think you look good in

uniformespecially the one you wore last summer. But, as I said just now, my

husbands got to be perfectly alive with good prospects of staying so for a

good, long time.

I get you!

Then, are you

going to quit?

Are you going

to marry me?

Curtain.

A WOMANS BECAUSE,

THATS ALL

Twenty-four

hours later, Chief Zack Rowan, in his office at county police headquarters,

receives a resignation from one of his motorcycle staff, for which he cannot

account. There are no grounds to it, no reasons, nothing.

Except

Because.

Thats all.

Next Sunday the society columns announce the

engagement of Miss Louise Petty to Mr. W. W. Rogers.

Which brings

on more talk.

During his

several years service as motorcycle patrolman with the county police

department. Rogers gained the wide distinction of the nerviest and most daring

man on Chief Rowans staff. Many have been the times the chief has gone out of

his way to bestow praise upon the dauntless youth who grazed death so

frequently that he was on speaking terms with it.

The career of Boots has been

entertainingly varied. He served as a sharpshooter in the Philippines, as

sailor on a man-o-warsman and as a private detective. Finally, as county

policeman. The God of Fate, who seems to be partial, more or less, to the courageous

has been good to him. He is still this side of thirty without a gray hair in

his dome.

It was during

the famous Buckeye oil mill barricade that Rogers won his first laurels of

heroism.

A negro

desperado, wild and drug-crazed, who had slain four of his race in the Backeye

plant, had sought refuge in the loft of a vacant dwelling out near Pittsburgh,

the scene of the famous riots of several years ago.

With pockets

overloaded with ammunition, a repeating Winchester and revolver at his service,

he pumped lead on defiance in the faces of the two mounted policemen who just

reached the spot. An emergency call for reserves was sent to headquarters of

both county and city police departments.

Rogers and

three other motorcycle men were sent from the county force. Arriving at the

negros stronghold, they were met by an auto filled with reserves sent from

police headquarters on Decatur street. In the machine was Detective George

Bullard, who since has been promoted to sergeancy.

EVERY BULLET SANG

A FUNERAL NOTE.

George evinced

no hesitation in attempting to rush the negros fort alone. He barely realized

his mistake in time. As his foot reached the front doorsteps of the barricaded

dwelling house, a bullet sang through his hat, while other played a funeral

roll about his feet.

The detective

jumped for shelter with an exclamation that had something to do with the

futility of such generous warning, when one shotprobably the one that went

through his hatwould have been a Lords sufficiency. George prudently turned

his footsteps toward a considerate oak tree and the job over to whichever

applicant who might be braveor foo
lishenough to tackle the black brute and his

bullets.

Its up to

some unmarried guy, he said. My endowment policy wont permit it.

Rogers was

standing behind the automobile that had brought the men from the city

headquarters, blazing away at the shattered plane from which protruded the

outlaws gun, verbally and pistolly trying to consign the hapless negro to

every kind of eternity from fire and brimstone to a hereafter of nakedness in

the frozen arctic.

After the

unfortunate gentleman behind the barricade had been doomed to Hell, Hull,

Halifax and all intermediate points, Boots emerged from behind the machine, his

ammunition and profanity at low ebb.

Ill get

you, you blasted blister on a snakes skin. Getcha head back in at hole.

This from behind

several trees as Rogers skirted the yard and reached the building in a

precipitation of bullets.

Thank God,

the poor fool isnt married.

BOOTS EMERGES WITH

THE SHIVERING SMOKE.

When boots

emerged, he dragged a shivering negro by the collar. All the outlaw desperation

and bravado were gone. His Winchester and revolver upstairs with his

ammunition. All he now had were a set of chattering teeth and a prayer for

mercy. Rogers had caught him unawares through the trapdoor that enters in the

loft. And, even a desperado, as desperate as they may sometimes get, isnt

going to start something when the drops staring him in the face.

Its like

turning your four perfectly good sevens over to a royal flush when the jokerbless

his heart, even though he is untrue at timesis completely out of the deck and

over in the discarded strips.

That placed

the first feather in the Rogers cap for police duty.

Then, there

was the time he drove four policemen and a helpless police reporter into

perfect hail of burglars bullets out on the north side at an hour of night

when all respectable folks are supposed to be in bed. He had charge of Chief

Rowans car, at the time, and was loafing with the big machine down at police

headquarters.

It was about

3 a. m. when a message came over the telephone that burglars were robbing a

store out near Pryor street and Georgia avenue. Rogers offered to carry the

reserve men out in the chiefs car, which stood outside at the curb. Three

motorcycle men, a captain and police reporter for a morning newspaper jumped

in.

As the car

neared the scene of burglarization, Rogers cut out his engine and lights and

coasted down the slope. Barely had he reached sight of the building than two

menlookouts stationed on the corneropened fire, Policeman Anderson, who sat

on the front seat, was first to return the shots.

NEVER SIT ON

A RED LAMP.

Captain Mayo

and Policeman Watson, sitting in the tonneau, also opened up. The reporterunarmed,

his revolver having fallen prey to the sign of the three ballsdid the only

logical thing he could expected to do under the circumstances. Which was

climbing over the back of the tonneau and sitting upon the red lamp. There are

scars, yet. What more could you expect of an enterprising red lamp?

The two

lookouts were augmented by three others who came from the building. Fire from

five burglars is generally supposed to be enough to repulse three ordinary men,

and, undoubtedly would have repulsed three perfectly good policemen on this

particular occasion, had it not been for Rogers, who threw in his engine and

drove the car directly into the fusillade.

The burglars

probably took fright more at the onrushing automobile than they did at the

pistoles. They scattered in all directions, ducking into a big touring car that

stood, engine running on the shadowy side of the street. The car was off before

Rogers could swerve into the center of the road. A few shots were exchanged,

but the burglars had escaped before pursuit was possible.

Also, there

was the time Rogers, unassisted, unaided, unabetted, leaped from his motorcycle

into the driving seat of a runaway automobile, saving the life of a wild and

hysterical gentleman and $1,500 worth of 1910 model automobile.

Boots was

patrolling his beat along Paces Ferry road, a favorite route for speed-fiends

who have money enough to pay for the gasoline and sufficient lightness of the

head to take the risk. Jerry M. Fields, a resident of north Georgia, who owned

a car that went quite cranky at times, was bowling along at a goodly pace on

his way home.

ROGERS SPRING OUT

AN AUTO HERO.

Something

went wrong with his engine. Either that or Mr. Fields lost his head and

absolute control of said engine. Evidently the latter, as Rogers afterwards

said he found no difficulty in shoving in the clutch and using the emergency

brake. Anyway, the car dashed down the river hill like an anti out of an

equal rights convention.

The machine

shot by Rogers on his motorcycle. He speeded up, overtaking the runaway near

the river bridge. While both machines were running at a dizzy rate the

policeman left his motorcycle, clung to the tonneau of the swaying automobile

and crawled to the steering wheel. In a moment the car was at a standstill.

Returning to

town, Rogers could find but few who would believe the story of this late heroism.

However, he had a badly bent and battered motorcycle for substantiation and the

business card of Jerry M. Fields, Jackson County, with a cordial invitation to

call around whenever in the vicinity.

And, there

have been many other times, including the incident when he toppled over a

bridge at Peachtree creek trying to outrun a speeding automobile that outdid

the law by at least twenty excess miles an hour. They had to fish him out and

parts of his motor are still in the creek.

Then he fell

in love. And what love cant do, it behooveth no man to undertake. In the words

of Boots:

A guysome

guyscan do most anything and get away with it, but when it comes to trying to

outdo love and a woman, there isnt a chancea bit of a chance.

By the way, Rogers is now doing

office worktame, but safe and compensating.

Sunday, 9th November 1913: A Dead Hero Is The Poorest Sort Of A Husband; Boots Rogers, Hero Extraordinary, Learns Lesson, The Atlanta Constitution
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