by Wesley Harrison
In Ruston’s early days, the police chief—then called the town marshal—was elected by the people. While some small Louisiana towns still elect their marshal, most jurisdictions opted years ago to appoint police chiefs and their officers after careful analysis of their qualifications and suitability.
Ruston went through a host of marshals in its first 30 years of existence. Some of the elected men simply could not handle the job. The lack of popularity of others denied them a second term. One, John Tom Sisemore, was murdered in the line of duty in 1898.
In 1914, Ruston held an election for mayor, councilman, and marshal. The election was apparently a hot one based on the little information available. A newspaper reported, “…to say the political pot is boiling would be mild; it is fairly seething and on every corner the candidates are button-holing their friends and trying to figure out their chances.”
William Dallas Risinger, 33, led in votes for marshal in the February primary with 130, edging out George Harris, 100; Albert Haley, 45; and George White, 11. In a runoff, Risinger bested Harris 162 to 119.
Risinger found the job tough, especially dealing with drunk and disorderly men alone. He had been on the job about 18 months when he was nearly killed. A gunfight in October 1915 that could have left Risinger and another man dead ended without any injuries.
A Monroe newspaper snared the attention of readers with the sensational headline about the incident: “BLOODLESS DUEL EXCITES RUSTON.” The article excerpted parts of a Ruston Leader article describing “a duel with pistols” between Marshal Risinger and Thelbert Kidd.
The shooting occurred near the Red Onion, a small restaurant at the corner of South Monroe Street and Louisiana Avenue just south of the F. E. Morgan wholesale store. The little cafe building still stood up until a few years ago although it had not been used as a restaurant for decades.
“Thirteen shots were fired, we are informed, five by the marshal and eight by Kidd, but, miraculously, they all went wild and no one was hurt,” the article claimed.
Risinger told the Leader that at about 7:00 p.m. the previous night, several African Americans ran up to him reporting several drunk white men down at the restaurant were looking for trouble and making threats. Risinger was warned to watch Thelbert Kidd.
The marshal went to the Red Onion and found Thelbert Kidd, Spencer Colvin, and Sam Jones. Kidd was the son of E. E. Kidd, a Ruston attorney. The Kidds were one of Ruston’s most prominent and respected families. Thelbert, 31, was known for his prowess as a baseball player, having played in the minor leagues and supposedly the majors although his name does not appear on any big league rosters.
Colvin, 22, was the grandson of Spencer Petrie Colvin, one of Ruston’s first mayors and occasional lawman, one of the most respected Ruston men of his time. Jones, 24, was also well known in the community.
Risinger told the newspaper, “I went up to Spencer Colvin and told him that he had no business down there and to go to his home. Colvin then walked off towards his home, but was stopped by Sam Jones calling to him. I then told Sam Jones to go home and behave himself. I said to Thelbert: You have got a gun on you. Thelbert denied that he had a gun.
“I asked him to allow me to search him; he swore he would not do it. I walked up to him and thrust my hand behind him and felt a pistol. Suddenly Kidd jerked the pistol out and fired, the ball evidently going between my legs, as I was only about three feet from him. I then pulled my pistol and fired at him, but the smoke from his pistol arose between us so thick that I could not see him. Kidd fired a second shot at me and it stung me as it passed my face.”
The shooting continued until Risinger’s revolver and Kidd’s Colt .45 semiautomatic pistol were empty. As Risinger reloaded, Kidd ran off, having no fresh cartridges on him. Later, Risinger discovered Spencer Colvin possessed two boxes of cartridges. The marshal seized them.
The Monroe paper repeating the story said, “It is marvelous how these men and others escaped being killed by some of the bullets.”
Marvelous, indeed. And fortunate for both men. Apparently no arrests were made and Kidd, Colvin, and Jones outgrew their youthful indiscretions and became productive Lincoln Parish citizens.
Fortunately for Ruston, too. Risinger served as a police chief for 20 years and another six as an officer when he was kept on when another man won the marshal’s election. In 1933, when Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow kidnapped two Ruston residents, Risinger took off after them. In Bernice, Risinger and Mayor C. C. Goyne nearly caught up with the outlaw gang in Bernice. Clyde and his brother Buck spotted the officials and readied to kill them. The gang managed to move on with their hostages without detection.
In 1938 Risinger left city employment and worked for the Criminal Identification Bureau of the Louisiana State Police. He passed away in 1940 at only 59 and was buried in Greenwood Cemetery, the final resting place of dozens of early Ruston lawmen.
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