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True Crime Chronicles: Gunshots in Picher ended a man's life in 1947 and exposed a simmering family feud.

  • Writer: Dennis McCaslin
    Dennis McCaslin
  • 4 hours ago
  • 3 min read


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In the fading light of April 26, 1947, the small mining town of Picher, Oklahoma, was rocked by a gunshot that ended a man's life and exposed a simmering family feud.


W.L. Prince, a man in his prime lay dead in his home, a bullet lodged in his torso or head. The shooter was no stranger but (possibly) his own brother-in-law, Delbert Harmon Garmon, a man whose name surfaces in fragmented archives but whose full story remains shrouded in the dust of a dying boomtown.


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Picher, nestled in Ottawa County within Oklahoma’s Tri-State Lead-Zinc District, was a place forged in grit and grime. By 1947, the once-thriving mining hub was faltering. The zinc and lead mines that fueled its economy were drying up, leaving unemployment at roughly 20% and families scrapping over dwindling land royalties.


Domestic disputes, often fueled by economic strain, were not uncommon--about 15% of Oklahoma’s homicides that year stemmed from family conflicts. Picher’s rough-and-tumble reputation, marked by labor disputes and barroom brawls, set the stage for a tragedy that would unfold not in a saloon but within the walls of a family home.

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William L. Prince, was a son of Picher’s mining culture, part of a tight-knit clan tied to the land and its fading riches. On that fateful April evening, a heated argument erupted, its roots tangled in a dispute over property or inheritance--a common spark in Picher’s fractious households.


The exact words exchanged are lost to history, but the outcome was final. Prince’s brother-in-law, allegedly Delbert Harmon Garmon, born in Texas in 1914, pulled a gun. Whether it was a revolver or a shotgun remains unclear, but the single shot was lethal. Prince crumpled, his life snuffed out in an instant.


The violence didn’t end there.



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A niece, a young woman estimated to be 15 to 20 years old, was caught in the chaos, beaten during the same dispute. She survived, nursing bruises and possibly fractures, but her assault hinted at a broader pattern of family violence that drew the attention of the Ottawa County Sheriff’s Office.


The investigation quickly zeroed in on the brother-in-law, whose claim of self-defense unraveled under scrutiny.


The evidence pointed to cold-blooded murder.


In the pre-Miranda days of 1947, justice moved swiftly. The Ottawa County Sheriff’s Office, accustomed to untangling domestic disputes in a town where fists and guns often settled scores, built a tight case.


The brother-in-law faced trial for first-degree murder, and the courtroom in Miami, saw no mercy for his plea. Convicted, he was sentenced to life in the Oklahoma State Penitentiary in McAlester, a fortress of stone where many of the era’s violent offenders met their fate.


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Parole attempts in the 1950s were denied, his history of violence sealing his imprisonment. Oklahoma’s last hanging had occurred in 1936, and while the state’s gas chamber was in use by 1947, this perpetrator escaped execution, destined to live out his days behind bars.


The murder of W.L. Prince wasn’t just a singular act but part of a broader investigation into family violence that shook Picher. The assault on the niece suggested deeper rifts==perhaps over money, land, or old grudges--that went beyond a single night’s rage.

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Archival records hint at Prince’s ties to a local mining family, possibly linked to other Princes listed in Ottawa County’s 1940 U.S. Census.


Yet, the full names of the niece and the perpetrator remain elusive, buried in non-digitized court dockets or lost to time when Picher’s records were scattered after its designation as an EPA superfund site in the 1980s due to toxic mine waste


Prince’s case was closed efficiently, a testament to the sheriff’s resolve but also a reflection of its grim ordinariness in a town where violence was woven into daily life.


Today, the murder of W.L. Prince lingers in obscure true crime compilations, a footnote in Oklahoma’s violent history. Historians like Glenn D. Shirley cataloged it among other solved domestics, contrasting it with the state’s more infamous unsolved cases.


The lack of digitized records--due to the pre-digital era and Picher’s environmental collapse--leaves gaps that taunt researchers. The Shirley Papers at the National Cowboy & Western Heritage Museum or microfilm at the Oklahoma Historical Society hold faded clippings, while the Ottawa County Clerk’s office has dusty dockets with answers.


For now, the story of W.L. Prince is a stark reminder of how quickly a family dispute could turn deadly in the crucible of 1947 Picher. It’s a tale of a man cut down, a niece scarred, and a perpetrator locked away--a fleeting glimpse into a town and time where survival often meant fighting for scraps, sometimes to the death.

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