Ma Barker Quotes

History is written by the victors, they say, and there was no one alive who would come forward to dispute Hoover’s fabricated story. Never mind that there was no indication whatsoever in Bureau files that Ma Barker had ever fired a gun, robbed a bank, or done anything more criminal than live off her sons’ ill-gotten gains.

To the generations of Americans raised since World War 2, the identities of criminals such as Charles "Pretty Boy" Floyd, Baby Face Nelson, "Ma" Barker, John Dillenger, and Clyde Barrow are no more real than are Luke Skywalker and Indiana Jones. After decades spent in the washing machine of popular culture, their stories have been bled of all reality, to an extent that few Americans today know who these people actually were, much less that they all rose to national prominence at the same time. They were real.

An old lady had an Alderney cow, which she looked upon as a daughter. ....The whole town knew and kindly regarded Miss Betsy Barker's Alderney, therefore great was the sympathy and regret when, in an unguarded moment, the poor cow fell into a lime-pit. She moaned so loudly that she was soon heard and rescued; but meanwhile the poor beast had lost most of her hair and came out looking naked, cold and miserable, in a bare skin. Everybody pitied the animal, though a few could not restrain their smiles at her droll appearance. Miss Betsy Barker absolutely cried with sorrow and dismay; and it was said she thought of trying a bath of oil. This remedy, perhaps, was recommended by some one of the number whose advice she asked; but the proposal, if ever it was made, was knocked on the head by Captain Brown's decided "Get her a flannel waistcoat and flannel drawers, ma'am, if you wish to keep her alive, But my advice is, kill the poor creature at once." Miss Betsy Barker dried her eyes, and thanked the Captain heartily; she set to work, and by-and-by all the town turned out to see the Alderney meekly going to her pasture, clad in dark grey flannel.I have watched her myself many a time. Do you ever see cows dressed in grey flannel in London?

When one looks back across a chasm of seventy years, through a prism of pulp fiction and bad gangster movies, there is a tendency to view the events of 1933-34 as mythic, as folkloric. To the generations of Americans raised since World War II, the identities of criminals such as Charles “Pretty Boy” Floyd, Baby Face Nelson, “Ma” Barker, John Dillinger, and Clyde Barrow are no more real than are Luke Skywalker or Indiana Jones. After decades spent in the washing machine of popular culture, their stories have been bled of all reality, to an extent that few Americans today know who these people actually were, much less that they all rose to national prominence at the same time.

By mid-summer only Ma Barker remained in Chicago, lost in her jigsaw puzzles. Karpis drove over to visit her one weekend and found she was doing surprisingly well. He and Dock took her to see a movie. To their horror, the film was preceded by a newsreel warning moviegoers to be on the lookout for Dillinger, Nelson, Pretty Boy Floyd, Karpis, and the Barkers. Karpis scrunched low in his seat as their pictures flashed on the screen. “One of these men may be sitting next to you,” the announcer said. Karpis pulled his hat low over his forehead.

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I've got a rose on my ass, Vivian. It doesn't make me Ma Barker. -Gabrielle Ross Thomas Mean Street: A Herville Mystery Short

- Bycie seryjnym zabójcą to dziwne hobby, jeśli ktoś ma lęki.

As the indifferent crowd parted to let him through, two young men stepped out of Ma Barker’s Mini Mart—straight into the thief’s escape route. He slammed into the first man—Chandler, all six foot six and two hundred ninety pounds of him—and bounced right off. Chandler didn’t budge.

The boy came to know all of Cully's friends through the stories he told. He longed to meet each one, and he always asked about them. "What about Lucky Lefty? Was he with you this season?" "Yep," Cully said. "And he's luckier than ever. One stormy day we were pushing the herd over Barker's Pass. Lucky and I were riding together, and to while away the time, he was telling the story of Noah and his animal ark. He was just to the part about the forty days and forty nights when, out of nowhere, prairie lightning flashed down from a cloud and struck him right on his chest." "Was he hurt bad?" Evan asked. "It knocked him straight off the back of his horse, but he lived. He's got a long scar to show where the lightning hit him...on his left side of course." "Maybe the Lord didn't like the way Lucky was telling the story," Della said with a smile. "I'll warn him about that, ma'am," the cowboy said, smiling back.