Captain Harry Wheeler: Arizona Lawman
By: Bill O’Neal
Publisher: Eakin Press, 2003
Pages: 190 pp, including photos, index, bibliography and endnotes.

Review by: The Man Behind the Mask

Bill O’Neal knows the Arizona Rangers.

His 1987 book of that title was the first in-depth look at the organization. He’s an honorary member of the Rangers. And in the summer of 2003, he was presented with his own Ranger shirt and badge, symbolic of his contribution to the history and understanding of the group.

Need any more proof?

Then pick up his latest effort, the biography of the third Ranger captain.

Harry Wheeler was born into a military family in Florida in 1875. As an army brat, his early years were spent on the move to posts in Montana, Kansas, and various locations in Texas. But his parents instilled rock-solid principles of duty, honor and responsibility that would stick pretty much throughout Wheeler’s life.

When he reached the age of 21, the young man joined the army himself, spending several months in Oklahoma before being shipped out to the Philippines to serve in the Spanish-American War. His luck was bad, however;
sickness and injury stunted his military career. So in 1903, Wheeler tried the next best thing—law enforcement.

He applied to the two-year-old Arizona Rangers in 1903 and was accepted. Within four months, he was promoted to sergeant, reporting to legendary Ranger Captain Thomas Rynning. By 1905 Wheeler had reached the rank of lieutenant—and been involved in his first gunfight, killing a robber who was trying to hold up a Tucson saloon (he’d eventually rack up another three victims, all in the line of duty).

The lieutenant was based in Willcox during this period. He proved adept with various types of firearms, winning a number of shooting competitions. In fact, Wheeler became known as one of the best marksmen in the West. He’d also gained a reputation as a tough but fair lawman, and when Rynning resigned in 1907 Wheeler took his place as captain of the Arizona Rangers.

For the next two years, Wheeler would prove to be a formidable leader of the organization. But the Rangers had been a political pawn since their formation in 1901, and by 1909 their enemies got the upper hand. The group was disbanded and Wheeler had to find another job.

In 1911, he was elected sheriff of Cochise County, a position he would hold for more than six years. During his tenure, Wheeler battled illegal gambling, bootleggers, rustlers and other bad guys. But one incident in particular—one that had nothing to do with criminal activity—would stand out large, giving him more fame (and infamy) than he’d ever dreamed of.

It was 1917, and America was just entering the fighting of World War I. Labor troubles had been fairly constant for nearly 30 years, and Arizona had a lot of union members working in its numerous mines. The most radical group was the International Workers of the World (IWW), or Wobblies. They represented only a small number of mine workers, but that group was big enough to hurt mining operations. Work stoppages could limit the amount of copper intended for the war effort. Many folks, including super patriot Harry Wheeler, believed that wartime strikes were unpatriotic. So in July, when the Wobblies announced a strike in Bisbee, he deputized hundreds of men and went after the IWW.

More than 1,000 men were rounded up and marched several miles to a ballpark. They were then herded into cattle cars and shipped to New Mexico. It was called the Bisbee Deportation, and Wheeler was the lightning rod for criticism and acclaim. Lawsuits were filed, a recall effort was launched, and the sheriff found himself scrutinized by media from around the globe. Wheeler would be forever haunted by the incident—although he also never wavered in taking full responsibility.

So it’s not too surprising that Wheeler tried to get back into the army at this point. Sure, he wanted to fight for his country—but he also wanted to find a respite from the public attention. In spite of his age and his physical problems, Wheeler eventually received an army commission.

But his latter day military career was just as star crossed as the early one. Just a couple of months into his enlistment, he badly injured his hand. And then he was shipped home to answer kidnapping charges resulting from the deportation (they were later dropped). When Wheeler got back to Arizona, his carefully crafted discipline fell apart.

Wheeler, who was 43, became attracted to an 18-year-old waitress in Douglas. His marriage collapsed, and he remarried in late 1919. The couple eventually had three children.

His professional life was not nearly so productive. Wheeler ran for Cochise County sheriff in 1921 but lost, probably as a result of the deportation controversy. He tried mining again, with little success. And in 1925, at the age of 50, Wheeler caught pneumonia and died.

So Harry Wheeler is something of a tragic figure, a man dedicated to public service who was frequently thwarted by events beyond his control. He’s best known for an incident that covered just a few day—but it tended to overshadow all of the outstanding deeds acquitted over a thirty year span. Wheeler should have had a lot of additional time to reclaim his reputation and standing, but he died before his time.

Fortunately for Wheeler and his descendants, Bill O’Neal has squared the books on the lawman. And that’s fortunate for us, too.

One other quick point—

The author had 100 trade paperback copies printed for the various meetings and conventions during Summer 2003. In its haste to get things done, Eakin put the wrong photo on the cover: Captain Tom Rynning is the subject, not Harry Wheeler. That is being corrected for all future editions. So if you get a copy of this special 1st, you’ve got yourself a collector’s item.

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