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Dale Killingbeck

Wyoming Life

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A corrupt Cheyenne mayor and his chief of police ran a protection racket in 1944 that extorted money from black bar owners and encouraged prostitution, leading to their own criminal convictions.  

A new book about how their criminal operation unraveled because of a sting operation is coming out soon.

While working at the University of Wyoming’s American Heritage Center as its associate director, now-retired Rick Ewig remembers longtime Laramie County Attorney Byron Hirst mentioning his prosecution of Cheyenne’s former mayor in 1944.

Hirst, who served as county prosecutor from 1943 to 1947, was filing his papers with the American Heritage Center around 2000 or 2001 and Ewig helped him with the project. 

The topic about the mayor came up more than once.

“I thought, that’s really kind of interesting,” Ewig said. “I thought, when I retire, I should write something on that.”

After retiring in 2016, the historian came back to the idea around the time of the pandemic and, once he started digging into the story, found that there was a “lot more to it than just corruption.”

Four years later he is coming out with his book titled “We Are In Charge Now, The Story of Corruption & Intrigue in World War II Cheyenne.” 

The 200-page history delves into the election of Ira L. Hanna and how after arriving in office, along with his police chief and two officers, they attempted to extort “protection money” from black businesses in the city.

Ewig’s research sent him into Hirst’s papers that were at the American Heritage Center and the Old West Museum in Cheyenne as well as through the daily newspapers to get the context of wartime Cheyenne in 1943 and 1944.

“It turns out that Cheyenne was segregated at that time,” Ewig said. "If you were African American, you lived on the west side and that’s where Lola West ran the Black and Tan Club (Cafe), and there was another African American bar owner, Pop Grimes.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"}],"text":"“He ran the Porters and Waiters Club.”"}]

Hirst had kept the information he compiled for his prosecution case, although there was not a trial transcript, Ewig said.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"A New Mayor"}]

Hanna, who had served as the Laramie County treasurer and then was elected as the county assessor, ran for the mayoral office in 1944. 

After becoming mayor he appointed Jesse Ekdall to be his police chief.

Shortly after coming to power, he and Ekdall approached the two black club owners to sell them protection as well as encourage prostitution, gambling, and illegal liquor sales, Ewig said. 

They were told they would be protected from the Cheyenne Police Department and the military police at Fort F.E. Warren.

“Hirst had kept all those documents related to that,” Ewig said.

The “most fascinating” one he found was related to West and Grimes going to Hirst after being instructed by the mayor and police chief to “not tell anybody” about his protection offer. 

A sting operation was set up between Hirst, two federal IRS agents, and the club owners.

Hirst and the feds were able to obtain a dictaphone device and place a microphone under Pop Grimes’ desk at the Porters and Waiters Club and recorded a meeting between the two black club owners, Hannah, Ekdall, and the two officers in his department.

During the hours-long meeting, Hanna and Ekdall were recorded saying that: “This is what we are going to do. We are in charge now. You have to pay us. If you don’t pay us we are going to shut down your business,” Ewig said.

Ewig said there is no evidence showing that the mayor or police chief attempted to strong arm any white business in town. 

Due to the war and the soldiers at Fort Warren in addition to the other war-support efforts that brought workers to town, prostitution was an issue.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Money Changed Hands"}]

Newspaper trial accounts show money was paid by West and Grimes to the mayor and police and the serial numbers of the bills were recorded.

Fort Warren was putting pressure on the city to get rid of all prostitution due to issues with venereal disease among the troops that hampered training, Ewig said.

But Ewig said the mayor and new police chief were trying to “open up” the city to more prostitution and illegal money to bring in funds despite the city’s stance against it.

His research found newspaper ads from Hanna as he ran for office that promised voters “good, clean government.”

Although all he had was the old newspapers to go by, Ewig did not find any evidence of any election manipulation that may have brought Hanna to power. 

Hanna’s record of public service to that point as the county assessor appeared above board.

“I didn’t find anything that really explained why after 20 years of not any issues at all, all of a sudden, he sees an opportunity to extort money from a certain group in Cheyenne,” Ewig said. 

“In the last part of the book, I do provide answers to what other people thought, but I never found anything that explained it directly,” he said.

During the trial of the quartet, the Casper Tribune-Herald reported on May 5, 1944, that Hanna testified that the money collected were “fines” for illegal activities and were destined for the city’s park and recreation fund.

Hanna said he and Ekdall decided to make the black business owners “pay fines” if the Fort Warren military police allowed prostitution, gambling, and the sale of liquor in the businesses, the newspaper reported. 

Hanna testified he received $340 from his police chief and put it in an envelope with other funds collected and a list of “from whom for what.”

Hanna testified he was found with three $5 bills that had been paid by West on his person because he wanted to “get a $5 bill to contribute to the Red Cross.” 

He exchanged a $20 bill for four fives that were in the envelope, he said.

West’s daughter testified at the trial and said she paid $100 on two different dates to police for protection. 

One of the officers on trial told her that if she received a phone call and “told us to wash our necks, there was going to be a raid,” the newspaper said.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"}],"text":"Ewig said all four men were convicted."}]

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Sentenced And Commutation"}]

The Casper Herald-Tribune reported on May 7, 1944, that both Hanna and Ekdall were sentenced to not less than seven or more than 10 years in prison on charges of soliciting and accepting a bribe. 

The officers and E.K. Violette received a sentence of two to three years, and officer G.J. Morris a one to two years.

However, on Oct. 4, 1945, the Casper Tribune-Herald reported that both Hanna’s and Ekdall’s sentences had been commuted by a state board of pardons and they would be eligible for parole on Dec. 15, 1945, and discharged from parole on Dec. 15, 1946.

The newspaper reported the board of pardons had received more than 200 letters encouraging the commutation of their sentences. 

While in prison, both men quickly obtained trustee status with Hanna keeping the books for prisoner accounts at the prison and Ekdall serving as a caretaker for the governor’s mansion.

Ewig said his research did not corroborate something that Hirst had told him a couple of decades ago about mafia from Denver and Chicago being involved with criminal activities as well. 

He said there is a chapter devoted to one individual who may have had ties to the mafia, but he could not prove it.

The book is about more than the corruption of the mayor. 

Ewig said he tried to portray the whole atmosphere of Cheyenne during that time in the war.

“I’ve done a lot of Wyoming history, and this one was so Cheyenne specific that it was fascinating about life in World War II Cheyenne,” he said. “It’s not only the story about Ira Hanna and Lola West, I also look at what Cheyenne was like during World War II. 

"It was a boomtown, and there was a housing shortage, and all these issues come up.”

The book, Ewig’s third, is published by WordsWorth Publishing of Cody and will be available in bookstores in the next week or two, he said. It can be ordered now from 

A bonus from his research led to a friendship with Lola West’s grandson, Leon Reed of Cheyenne, Ewig said.

“He allowed me to use some of the family photographs in the book,” he said. “I’m going to sit with Mr. Reed and do and oral history with him because he would like the story of the African American community in Cheyenne to be better known, and to be explored more. So, that is going to come out of this research as well.”

Black and Tan Cafe inset 5 31 26

<title>That Time Cheyenne's Mayor, Police Chief Convicted Of Extorting Black Bar Owners | Cowboy State Daily</title>

It was 80 years ago that Cheyenne’s mayor and police chief were convicted of running a protection racket and extorting black bar owners. "You have to pay us. If you don’t pay us we are going to shut down your business,” federal agents recorded them saying.

That Time Cheyenne's Mayor, Police Chief Convicted Of Extorting Black Bar Owners

Headshot of Cowboy State Daily's business and tourism reporter, Renée Jean

Renée Jean

EVANSTON — One of the first times Jim Davis walked into the city’s historic Roundhouse and Railyards decades ago, it was like a scene from a movie. 

There was the crumbling railroad roundhouse, with its broken windows and pigeon feathers floating on the air, spinning as his footsteps stirred little puffs of dirt.

The rusted tracks disappeared into darkness. The roof was leaking, and the smell of that decay was everywhere. 

But there were rays of sunlight shining down into that darkness, and he had the sudden sense that all was not lost here. 

This was something special, something worth saving. 

Saving Evanston’s roundhouse has taken $28 million in private money and grants, as well as decades of volunteer time and effort, Davis said. 

But that’s given Evanston something few communities in America have — a completely functioning, fully intact roundhouse that he believes could be a tourism powerhouse, if Evanston ever decides to lean into promoting it. 

Everyone he has ever taken to see the building, without fail, has the same reaction, Davis told Cowboy State Daily. 

“Every single time I open the doors and walk into the roundhouse …. the first words out of their mouth are, ‘Oh my God,’” Davis said. “Their reaction was it was so phenomenal to see that space the way we were able to fix it up.”

 is a 63,000-square-foot, 96-foot-deep curved brick-and-mortar behemoth built around a post-and-beam interior.

The walls are lined with huge banks of wood-framed windows to provide natural light. It has a two-level terraced roof, and the face of the terrace is covered with windows to provide additional natural light. 

Davis likes to go up to the mezzanine level, where there’s a small kitchen area and space for parties.

“It’s just a beautiful space,” he said. “And I really enjoy taking people up there. It’s really well-thought of and the architects were so good to work with.”

Keeping it a roundhouse, Davis believes, is key to its intrigue. 

To think that inside that cavernous, multistory space lit by sunlight still that huge train cars were driven inside on tracks and then rotated by the gigantic round wheel inside to one of 28 stalls is awe-inspiring. 

All the historical photos, meanwhile, help tell a timeless legend of how America was built.

A Roundhouse Corridor That Built Southern Wyoming

Once upon a time, there were dozens of roundhouses like Evanston’s in towns across Wyoming and the West, Davis said. 

They were positioned all along the tracks, about every 100 miles. That’s about how long trains could go in the beginning without having to stop to refuel and repair. 

Over time, they became more and more efficient and roundhouses began to close. Evanston’s was slated for closure in 1926, putting at least 100 people out of work.

“We were the first roundhouse in the state to close,” Davis said. “Engines had become more efficient and they could run from Green River to Ogden without stopping in Evanston.”

It seemed unfortunate at the time, but it set off a series of events that would ultimately help save the facility.

“The city leaders thought we need those jobs now,” Davis said. “So they got on a train to Omaha, which is the headquarters, and begged them to keep the buildings open.”

Union Pacific ultimately did listen, and reopened the roundhouse and rail yard the following year as a reclamation plant, which added 200 jobs to the former 100, making for a total of 300.

“That saved those buildings,” Davis said. “They fixed all kinds of equipment for Union Pacific.”

Other roundhouses in Wyoming shut down: Laramie, Rock Springs, Rawlins, and even Cheyenne.

But Evanston’s, as a reclamation facility, kept going until 1971, after which Union Tank leased the facility from Union Pacific, and then Union Pacific quit-claimed the 21-acre property — depot, roundhouse, machine shop, yard, and related buildings — to Evanston in 1973.

For decades after that, almost nothing was done to maintain it. 

Windows broke and stayed that way. Boards were put up to block most of the rain, but roofs leaked and kept on leaking. 

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"First Came The Depot"}]

Saving the roundhouse from decades of neglect wasn’t a straightforward process.

What came first was actually saving an entirely different structure, the depot.

Davis had been hired as executive director of Evanston’s Urban Renewal Agency in 1987, charged with revitalizing the town’s central business district. That included not just Evanston’s great historic downtown, but Depot Square as well.

The space, he found, was structurally sound, even if plaster was falling off the walls and years of neglect were etched upon all of its dust-covered surfaces.

What to do about it, how to preserve it, weren’t part of his expertise.

“I had a business degree in general business administration from Arizona State,” Davis said with a chuckle. “I worked in the corporate world until 1984 when I came back to Evanston.”

A chance encounter helped him with that problem. Soon after joining a national economic development board, he found himself standing in the lunch line beside an architect whose family was from Evanston.

The friendship was instant. Better still, Davis’ new friend knew exactly how to proceed with preserving the depot: assuming Davis could overcome his two biggest hurdles — community buy-in and money.

“There were a lot of naysayers,” Davis said.

Not too far in, though, Evanston was gripped by an oil and gas boom that brought big corporate players to town like Amoco and Chevron.

A planner was hired to help the city, who put together a plan for downtown.

“It wasn’t real specific,” Davis said. “But there was one paragraph, about three sentences long, about how the roundhouse could be a key element in diversifying and revitalizing our downtown.”

There was a vision, Davis realized, that could win people over, starting with the Depot.

Fixing the Depot took years, Davis said, but when it was finished, he’d built a core group of people who believed in historic preservation in Evanston. 

“That gave us the springboard to do the roundhouse,” Davis said. “When we finished the depot, we said, ‘Let’s look at the historic value of all those buildings.' And a citizen’s group was formed that wanted to save them because they saw the historic value, the uniqueness of them. 

"There aren’t many roundhouses left in the country, and, in Wyoming, Evanston had the only one still standing. Cheyenne has one section of a roundhouse, but Evanston has the full semicircle, still standing the way it was built in 1912.”

Megan Stanfill, executive director of the Alliance for Historic Wyoming, confirmed the rarity. 

Of roughly 3,000 roundhouses built in America, only 200 survive. Of those, perhaps a dozen are fully intact like the one in Evanston. 

That makes Evanston’s roundhouse a significant piece of history on a national scale.

“It’s one of the most intact roundhouses along the Union Pacific railroad,” she told Cowboy State Daily. “This one still has the working mechanisms in it as well, so it’s a very intact, contextual example of a roundhouse in Wyoming.”

Davis and the citizen’s group decided to start by defining the complex not just as a cluster of old buildings, but as the physical heart of a much larger American story. 

Davis secured a Brownfields Grant from the Environmental Protection Agency to test for contaminants and ensure the project wasn’t a hopeless Superfund site. 

That found asbestos and lead, tough and expensive to remediate, but not impossible.

Around the same time, they landed a grant to re-roof the machine shop.

“That was the first major maintenance that had been done there for years,” Davis said. “That was probably in 1998.”

One year later, Union Tank decided to leave the dilapidated roundhouse to build a new, better site. 

Now the question wasn’t just if Evanston’s Roundhouse and Railyards could be saved, it was how anyone could possibly afford to do it.

Fortunately, Davis was about to meet another person who would become instrumental to the story of saving the roundhouse.

“I had heard of this organization called the National Trust for Historic Preservation in Denver,” Davis said. “And so Bonnie and I went to Denver every six months to market our retail gift store.”

In 1999, after Union Tank had left the roundhouse, Davis made an appointment to talk to someone there about options for saving the roundhouse. 

“I met this lady by the name of Mary Humstone,” Davis said. “And so I told her what we were trying to do. They didn’t have money to do it, but they knew how to do historic preservation.”

Humstone recognized how unique the story in southwestern Wyoming was to American history.

“Our populations in southern Wyoming all came to be due to the railroad,” Davis said. “Because the railroad came through in 1868, and lo and behold, every 100 miles, they needed a roundhouse.”

Wyoming towns grew up around these roundhouses, creating a line of cities that still exist today, from Evanston in the West, to Cheyenne in the East, with Green River, Rock Springs, Rawlins, and Laramie in between.

In all of those communities, the same magic happened. Engines would pull in, turn on great circular turntables for maintenance, then head back out onto the High Plains.

Working with Humstone and others, Davis held forums in Evanston for all of the communities along southern Wyoming’s railroad corridor, bringing representatives from all the roundhouse communities together. 

Out of that meeting, a new organization was formed called Tracks Across Wyoming, devoted to highlighting the state’s shared heritage of railroads, migration routes, and early highways across the state. 

That made the roundhouse more than just a local project. It was the flagship in a statewide vision.

In the midst of that, Davis was tapped by then Gov. Dave Freudenthal to join the Wyoming Business Council (WBC). At the same time, Evanston’s roundhouse made the list for a $3 million grant to tackle restoring Section One of the roundhouse — a portion that today hosts citywide meetings, conventions, and celebrations. 

The WBC grant joined a growing list of support that was pouring in to saving the roundhouse: federal grants, state money, and countless local donations, all braided together by relentless advocacy and careful planning.

More important than just money, though, was getting community buy-in, Davis realized, a point that was driven home by a Halloween spook house put on to raise a little money for the project.

Hundreds of people flocked to the event, eager to see the inside of a space everyone was familiar with, but few had seen in years. 

They paid $1 each for the thrill, Davis recalled. And the curiosity that unlocked would prove instrumental in building community support for saving it.

The spook fest helped show Davis the power of the community’s enthusiasm, but he quickly realized that $1 tickets weren’t going to do much in the grand scheme of saving a building that needed millions of dollars of work.

So the community came up with a concept they called the Renewal Ball, an annual June fundraiser that became a legend of its own. 

In its prime, it drew 300 people to an event that cleared upward of $100,000 in a single night. That funding became crucial local match money for grants. 

“Governors would come to it, and senators and representatives,” Davis said. “And that’s how we built consensus to put money into that project.”

Keeping The Beating Heart Of A Railroad Town Alive

Progress has come in phases, Davis said. First, a common roof to stop water damage, and then windows to finish weatherproofing.

Then the machine shop, roughly 20,000 square feet of space, that was turned into something Evanston didn’t have yet — a convention center, complete with radiant floor heating and towering windows. 

With sun pouring through the glass and warmth radiating from beneath the floor, it feelslike an atrium and an oasis from winter, Davis said.

Conferences, weddings, funerals, statewide gatherings (like for the Lincoln Highway Association) began filling up its calendar. 

Every meeting brought more supporters and more ammunition to use in persuading skeptics that the building was worth saving.

Today the roundhouse hosts dozens of events every year, ranging from weddings to statewide meetings and conferences.

By the time Davis retired from city service in 2014, investments into the roundhouse restoration was around $28 million by his estimate, with roughly 40% from grants and private fundraising. 

Davis, who was this year’s winner of the Mary Humstone Lifetime Achievement Award from the Alliance for Historic Wyoming, continues to bring people to the roundhouse for the very first time. 

He said it never gets old watching their shock and awe when they first enter this building, which once housed the Goliath engines of America’s railroad era.

Today, the semicircle of stalls still curve around the turntable. The machine shop is still warm like a sunroom in winter. And events now spill out into big, open spaces between restored doors and brick walls decorated with photos that tell the history of the space. 

The fight for continued investment and thoughtful use of this unique space will never be over, Davis said. Future challenges remain — including questions about long-term funding and community support. 

But for now, Evanston is home to one of roughly a dozen fully intact roundhouses left in the nation. 

That means it’s not just the beating heart of a railroad town’s story. It’s among the last intact reminders of how the great American West was built.

Evanston Roundhouse Visit Evanston 5 31 26

<title>Evanston Has Spent Decades, And $28M, Restoring Its Historic Railroad Roundhouse | Cowboy State Daily</title>

A century after Union Pacific stopped using it, decades of work has saved and restored Evanston’s historic Roundhouse and Railyards. The $28 million spent so far has made it one of the rare roundhouses in the U.S. that’s still completely operational. 

Evanston Has Spent Decades, And $28M, Restoring Its Historic Railroad Roundhouse

Zakary Sonntag

Rusty Rawson was good at asking for trouble. He wasn’t good at asking for help. That started to change one night in a desert wash on the outskirts of Las Vegas.

He was out of work, hooked on meth, and surviving by the reflexes of a gang life he thought he’d left behind.

He slept in a makeshift fort of rods and tarp. He boiled water for hygiene over an open flame and washed his clothes in a splash pad at the public park. 

To sustain his addiction, he beat up pedestrians and robbed them for cash.

Through it all, he wasn’t alone. His 11-year-old son, Sterling, was there with him.

Rusty knew if they were caught by police the state would take his son. It was the outcome he feared most, and it began to feel inevitable. Then one night a thought dropped into his head.

in our little hut we built in the desert, and out of nowhere I heard something tell me, 'Ask your son what to do. He’s got the answer,'” Rusty said.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"‘Go Back To Casper'"}]

It wasn’t in his nature to take direction, but the thought wouldn’t go away. 

Finally, he turned to his son and said, “What do I need to do for you?” 

Sterling said the question caught him off guard, but the answer came to him instantly.

"I turned to him with as calm a voice as I had, and said, ‘Dad, everything will be OK if we go back to Casper,’" Sterling said. 

Three days later, they were on a bus to Wyoming, where Sterling was raised. 

Now, nearly two years after their return, father and son find themselves within sight of a future that once felt out of reach.

Their turnaround, rooted in the Wyoming Rescue Mission, stands out not just for how far they’ve come, but for the role each played in helping the other get there.

At a time when homelessness has reached record levels nationwide, and growing numbers of children experience housing instability, their story offers a rare perspective about what happens when a child becomes the steadying force in a parent's life.

“The only thing that kept me sane at that time was my son,” said Rusty. “He kept me calm. He was my peace.”

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Not The One To ‘Test’"}]

Rusty Rawson has a barrel chest and a bald head. 

He grows a mustache to hide his missing teeth, half of which he lost in a blow from a baseball bat. The rest fell out from decay because of meth use, a habit he picked up at the age of 12.

He fidgets with tissue to mitigate his ADHD and bounces his leg when anxious; it bounces a lot when he talks of his past.

He grew up in a trailer home in North Las Vegas. He ran with rough crowds, but he also showed promise as an athlete. 

As a freshman at Western High School, he placed second in state as a wrestler. He placed second again his sophomore year, and then took fifth place in high school wrestling nationals.

All the while his support system at home weakened due to his parents’ failing health.

His father, a Teamsters Union truck driver, was sidelined by a severe bowel condition and repeated surgeries. His mother’s life was upended by a sexual assault and later a brain tumor that led to surgically induced epilepsy.

“I had to fend for myself,” Rusty said. “I started selling drugs, and school was the best place to do that.”

He was caught with marijuana at high school his sophomore year, and administrators responded by barring him from extra-curricular activities, like wrestling. 

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"}],"text":"That’s when he dropped out."}]

He was one of the few white kids in a predominantly black neighborhood, and he said that made him a target for rigorous “testing,” street speak for measuring whether he’d fold in the face of intimidation, or if he’d fight back.

“I was a white kid in a black neighborhood, so we would get tested a lot more to see if we had the heart, to see if we were down, to see if we could scrap,” he said.

Living homeless in a Las Vegas wash, hooked on meth, and surviving by the reflexes of his past gang life, Rusty Rawson turned to his adolescent son for guidance. The answer brought them back to Casper and toward a life that seemed out of reach.

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