“The Rangers’ action-packed and unique history includes no shortage of…rectitude and heroism. But the movies, TV shows, museum exhibits, and adulatory accounts usually skip past a big part of the story. Across the centuries, the Rangers did this too: They were the violent instruments of repression. They burned peasant villages and slaughtered innocents. They committed war crimes. Their murders of Mexicans and Mexican-Americans made them as feared on the border as the Ku Klux Klan in the Deep South. They hunted runaway slaves for bounty. They violated international law with impunity. They sometimes moved through Texas towns like a rampaging gang of thugs. They conspired to quash the civil rights of black Americans. They busted unions and broke strikes. They enforced racial segregation of public schools. They botched important criminal investigations. They served the interests of the moneyed and powerful while oppressing the poor and disenfranchised. They have been the army of Texas’s ruling class…”
- Doug J. Swanson, Cult of Glory: The Bold and Brutal History of the Texas Rangers
The Texas Rangers rank among the most famous and well-known law enforcement agencies in the world. Over its colorful history, Rangers have warred with Indian empires, patrolled the border with Mexico, and chased bandits and outlaws of all disposition. Its makes for compelling drama, and the Texas Rangers have been the subject of countless films, television shows, and novels good and otherwise.
Of course, you don’t achieve the level of name-recognition enjoyed by the Texas Rangers without a little mythologizing. And by little, I mean a lot. There is no doubt that certain Texas Rangers were brave, clever, hardy, tough, well-intentioned, and ferocious in battle. There is also no doubt, however, that some were cruel, racist, vengeful, and murderous.
In Cult of Glory, Doug J. Swanson sets out to scrape away the outer layer of whitewash to expose what lies beneath. The result is a serviceable, generally entertaining mix between popular history and journalistic expose.
***
Cult of Glory starts in the earliest days of the Texas Rangers, and ends with a superficial look at its present-day posture. Despite this chronological overlay, this is not intended as a comprehensive institutional examination. Instead, it is a collection of episodes strung loosely together, which serve to illustrate the Rangers’ highs and lows. This makes for an exceptionally fast-paced narrative centered on memorable personalities and incidents, but one that sometimes feels lacking in context.
***
Informally, the birth of the Texas Rangers took place with Texas still a part of Mexico, their remit from Stephen F. Austin to protect American settlers in the wake of the Mexican War of Independence. Following the Texas Revolution and the formation of the Republic of Texas, the Rangers took on a more official form, with the creation of companies under command of a captain. In their early days, they served as a paramilitary organization, less a police force than guerilla fighters who took on local Indian tribes using similar tactics.
During the Mexican-American War, the Texas Rangers served as super-auxiliaries to the United States Army. In many respects they were quite good at fulfilling their missions. Yet their lack of discipline and violent excesses did not go unnoticed by the military.
Though it faced many foes, the Texas Rangers’ most formidable opponent was the Comanche. Reinventing themselves into an imperial force by acquisition of the horse, the Comanche bedeviled Spain, Mexico, Texas, and the United States for decades. The larger part of Cult of Glory is focused on the Rangers’ attempts to eradicate the Comanche, aided by Samuel Colt’s revolver and implacable commanders such as John “Rip” Ford and John Coffee Hays.
In many ways, and for many years, the Texas Rangers and Comanche Indians were evenly matched. Both sides were comprised of hard-riding killers not averse to slaughtering noncombatants. As the Comanche sun set, however, the Rangers entered a far grimmer period as border patrolman. Well into the twentieth century, the Texas Rangers tangled with both Mexicans and Mexican-Americans. Sometimes, this involved actual lawbreakers. At other times, the victims of the Rangers’ fury were simply people who were in the wrong place, at the wrong time, with the wrong ethnicity.
The farther we get into Cult of Glory, the more the Ranger bloom fades. On many occasions, the Texas Rangers acted as an enforcer for the executive branch. On others, they were used to block integration or break strikes, maintaining the status quo for those most benefiting from the status quo. There is also a ludicrous “public corruption” charge in 2017, focusing on a district clerk who threw away an abandoned refrigerator costing between zero and fifty dollars.
***
Cult of Glory succeeds on the basis of storytelling. There are a lot of remarkable tales within these pages, and it’s tough to go wrong when you have guys like Frank Hamer and Billy Sol Estes on stage.
Swanson is less effective at tying all the strands together, or in providing a sufficient framework to understand the big picture. For instance, the Texas-Mexico border war of the early 1900s, which occurred as an offshoot of the Mexican Revolution, is not super-well explained, meaning that it sometimes feels like things are happening in a vacuum.
***
Swanson attempts to be fair in his portrayal of the Texas Rangers, but there is no doubt that Cult of Glory has an angle. This often involves focusing on the Rangers’ flaws, rather than their virtues. At a certain level, the negative attention makes perfect sense, since this is a work of deconstruction that presupposes you’ve already heard all about the positives. Still, there are times in which Swanson seems a bit too eager to find any flaw, no matter how small. He also spends far too much time patting himself on his back regarding the dirt he uncovers.
With that said, Cult of Glory has received a lot of criticism that does not withstand scrutiny. In short, it has received the dreaded indictment of being “woke.” This is really a word that has lost all meaning, but as applied against Swanson, the epithet apparently signals a belief that the Texas Rangers are being defamed or otherwise unfairly judged based on twenty-first century standards.
The only problem with this argument is that truth is always a defense against defamation. The descriptions of slaughtered women and children, slave hunting, and extralegal lynchings are factual. Moreover, these are not actions that seemed right at the time, but look different through our modern eyes. Rather, they have always been considered outside conventional ethics, and shocked even contemporaries.
The best thing that Swanson does in this realm is to use the actual words of the participants. For example, he quotes at length from the reminisces of Ben Dragoo, a Ranger who rode with Sul Ross during the recapture of Cynthia Ann Parker, kidnapped as a child by the Comanche. Charging pell-mell into a Comanche camp, Dragoo recalled that he “rushed in among” the Indians, “shooting right and left.” Then comes the kicker: “I dashed alongside an Indian woman…mounted and carrying a babe in her arms. I was just in the act of shooting her when, with one arm, she held up the baby and screamed ‘Americano!’”
These are not the words of a man under duress. Dragoo did not reveal this information under torture. It was a statement given freely and voluntarily to the Frontier Times in 1929. A statement in which Dragoo confessed an intent to blow apart a woman holding an infant – I was in the act of shooting her – but did not, because she was white. There’s just no way to spin that.
***
It can be hard to be confronted with the oft-ruthless reality of history. This goes not only for Americans in general and Texans in particular, but for people all over the world. When I stayed with a host family in Germany in the late 1990s, the literal first words the father spoke to me was an apology for the Second World War, which I duly accepted while drinking my first beer.
Life is tough enough without trying to shoulder the burdens of the past or the psychological guilt of others. Illusions ease this strain and give us comfort. It’s simpler to believe that all Texas Rangers were like the humane, perceptive, irascible-yet-deadly Augustus McCrae from Lonesome Dove, or the honor bound Ranger-cum-martial artist played by Chuck Norris.
Alas, ease is no excuse for ignorance. Ignoring yesterday’s misdeeds make tomorrow’s far easier to commit. Furthermore, there is something satisfying in embracing complexities, and in accepting that existence is messy.