—and you wind up in part of a long-ago Missouri political embarrassment.

I was headed back to my Illinois home town of Sullivan for a brief visit a few weeks ago when I missed the entrance to I-72 from Highway 54 and wound up in Griggsville, Illinois, a small town of about fifteen-hundred people that fifty years ago, or so, was linked to Jefferson City because of an event that some people in Griggsville and elsewhere thought was a major scandal.

Whatever you want to call it, the incident made national headlines—even in the New York Times. The incident/scandal came to mind as I saw the big sign painted on the wall of a downtown Griggsville tavern, just around the corner from city hall. The incident was known in Jefferson City—and Griggsville— as the Great Purple Martin Massacre. Griggsville had started calling itself the “Purple Martin Capital of the Nation” just two years earlier. At the time it was the home of Trio Manufacturing Co, the nation’s leading producer of Purple Martin bird houses.

This is the story, then, of how a little Illinois town and Missouri’s capital city suddenly had a lot in common.

It was the summer of 1967, a usual hot and muggy Monday night in the heart of downtown Jefferson City when five men armed with shotguns invaded the grounds of the Executive Mansion, ready to kill. It was August 21, fifty-two years ago today.

Governor Hearnes had been bothered for a month or more by smelly, noisy, roosting birds in the trees around the mansion, His spokesman told New York Times reporter Douglas Kneeland (whose career later included coverage of somewhat larger stories such as Charles Manson’s murders, Patty Hearst’s kidnapping, the Kent State shootings, Richard Nixon’s “Saturday night massacre,” the firing of special Watergate prosecutor Archibald Cox, and four presidential campaigns), that Hearnes “said to a sergeant in the State Highway Patrol who was on duty at the mansion on Monday, ‘Let’s try to do something about these birds.’”

The sergeant apparently took that to mean the governor had ordered a “hit” on the thousands of noisy starlings, maybe as many as ten-thousand, around the old white-painted mansion (Betty Hearnes later led the effort to wash off decades of paint so the beautiful brick could be seen). The word was passed along to Stan Diemler, the assistant to the director of the Department of Planning and Construction, who recruited two other employees, Roy Renn and Earl Campbell. They invited two other state workers, Ed Plogsted and Larry Jarrett to go starling hunting. This wasn’t the first time shotguns had been used to encourage starlings to find other roosting places. Diemler had consulted with the Conservation Commission on previous occasions and had been encouraged to poison the birds.

“Last time we tried poisoning them we didn’t kill any birds and just killed six pet squirrels,” he said later.

The shooting started about 9 p.m. Street lights provided limited visibility of the clusters of birds on the limbs above the men. About one-hundred shots were fired into the trees and about 2,000 birds dropped to the ground. But, said the spokesman, “In the course of the shooting, a little old lady called a state biologist who was a neighbor of hers and said someone was shooting those lovely birds.” The biologist showed up, got the killers to stop shooting, and started looking at the carcasses.

Not a single starling was found. The birds were Purple Martins, most of which were hauled away to be cremated. But some were turned over to the Missouri Department of Conservation, which confirmed that the five men had murdered birds protected by state and federal law and international compacts.

“It’s a sad story. I just wish to hell we could redo the whole thing,” the spokesman told Kneeland. “We made a mistake and we’re sorry. The Governor regrets this thing more than anyone else at the present time. He never would have condoned the shooting of Purple Martins. Nobody is his right mind would, particularly since we had a wet spring and there are a lot of mosquitoes around here.

You know, this has been done for several years previous to this. It has been S.O.P., standard operating procedure. Now the question has arisen in our minds as to whether we have been killing starlings all these years or Purple Martins.”

National umbrage made itself felt almost immediately. The National Audubon Society Executive Director Charlie Callison, a former director of the Conservation Federation of Missouri, admitted the birds do migrate in large flocks about that time of year. But, “If their droppings are offensive to anyone, all they have to do is call upon the local fire department to chase them out of the local trees with water from a hose line.”

Truth to tell, Purple Martins and Starlings can be easily confused, particularly in the dark, especially by amateur bird observers (as opposed to the more serious bird-watchers). Purple Martin Place, an internet site that advocates for the Martins, says they’re sometimes confused with Tree and Barn Swallows and European Starlings.

The European Starlings are darkly colored with some feathers of iridescent green or purple. Purple Martins are “blackish” colored. Males are “blueish-blackish” while females have chests that are creamy colored or grayish. The most distinguishing feature is the beak.

The European Starling beak is “long pointy and deadly…designed to unearth ground dwelling insects…bright yellow in color in both males and females. The shape of the head is more narrow and longer.”   The Purple Martin beak is “ALWAYS dark colored and much shorter with a downward curve…much wider at the base as it is designed to catch insects while flying.”

Within twenty-four hours the incident had gained national attention. Federal Game Management Agent John Hague, who lived in St. Joseph, was ordered to start a federal investigation.

Letters began to pour into Jefferson City from individual bird lovers and bird advocacy organizations demanding the heads of the shotgun five.

“Yes,” said Cole County Prosecutor Byron Kinder, “I’ll file charges,” a statement that quickly put long-time Magistrate Judge O. Lee Munger in the spotlight. “Let’s have a hearing,” he said.

The hearing November 15 was, as you might expect, a colorful event, highlighted by testimony from M. D. Anglin of Berryville, Arkansas, who once described Berryville as being “about eight miles, as the crow flies, to the Missouri line,” an interesting observation for the President of the National Association for the Protection and Propagation of Purple Martins and Bluebirds (NAPPPM&B), who claimed he had “fooled around with Purple Martins and Bluebirds” for 56 of his 62 years. He disagreed with the defense that Purple Martins had been known to break tree limbs. “Never heard of it before in my life,” he said. He maintained the only way to keep Purple Martins from flocking into a tree was to “cut the tree down,” a comment that prompted Kinder to protest, “But, Mr. Anglin, only God can make a tree!”

Anglin complained that man had spoiled nature with pesticides, insecticides, and even birth control pills for birds. He charged that most people won’t know anything about birds except that they have feathers and can fly. Personally, he said, he would rather clean up after Purple Martins and do without the mosquitoes they eat. As for Starlings—they’re so bad that even cats wouldn’t eat them.

“I don’t want to cut their throats,” he said referring to the five defendants. “Or I don’t want to see them shot because they didn’t know the difference between a Purple Martin and a Starling. If you shot everyone who didn’t know the difference, you’d have one big funeral.”

Munger and defense attorney Bud Wilbers hoped to keep any mention of Governor Hearnes out of the proceedings. But Anglin, who called himself “a fellow Democrat,” said he’s heard all kinds of reports about the killings, even that the governor——

But shouts from the dozen spectators, the two lawyers, and the judge cut that part of his testimony short.

Wilbers withdrew the earlier “not guilty” plea from the five shooters, who pleaded “guilty,” although Wilbers doubted Kinder could have made much of a case because it could not be determined which of the five men actually killed or wounded all those birds. Besides, “the defendants felt a moral obligation” not to “hide behind the law.”

Kinder, who had a bit of a flamboyant side at times, argued that the honest intentions of the men made no difference and that they should have looked into “what species they were dealing with” before they started shooting.

Munger wanted to know three things “for my own conscience” from the accused killers. Had the men been acting on their own or at the request of “someone else,” if they knew the birds were Purple Martins, and whether they would have shot them even if they had known it.

Diemler said “someone else’ had made the request. He said he decided to use shotguns because “this is the way it was done in the past” in getting rid of starlings. And, no, he wouldn’t have shot the birds if he’d know they were protected by law.

The five threw themselves on the mercy of the court. Munger find each of them fifty dollars plus $12.10 in court costs.

Among the onlookers were Thomas Coulson, the editor of the Purple Martin Capital News, published in Griggsville, who brought with him Wayne Bradshaw and George Mobus, a photographer and writer for the paper. They described themselves as representatives of the Griggsville Wild Bird Society, which had a membership of 12,000. He described the organization as having a “Madison Avenue approach” to selling the concept of protecting wildlife.

“We thought by this time in the Midwest everyone knew the difference between a Purple Martin and a Starling either by sight or sound,” he lamented. “It will take years again to build the martin bird society in this area.”

He found Munger’s judgment unsatisfactory. “If I went out and shot a duck that wasn’t in season I’d be fined $25 or $50 for each duck I shot. But here we had 2,000 federally protected species slaughter and all it cost them was $50 for the whole lot.” He considered the possibility the case could be prosecuted by federal authorities (it wasn’t). And, in noting that the birds are protected by compacts with other nations, “It could go as far as the United Nations.” It didn’t.

Retired Presbyterian minister A. B. Jackson, in his weekly column in the Jefferson City Sunday News and Tribune, observed a couple of weeks later that various groups were demonstrating for their rights in those days and “I suppose the purple martins would have liked to have some rights, but somehow they didn’t seem to have. The ‘purple martin incident’ is over, and a lot of folks would like it to be forgotten, but it leaves some unanswered questions. Such as, who ordered the shooting and why didn’t he come forward and take the blame? When someone said at the trial that the only way to get rid of the birds was to cut down the trees, someone remarked, ‘But only God can make a tree.’ True, but it is also true that only God can make a purple martin and it will take him some time to replace the 2,000 which were killed.”

For months after the trial, Governor Hearnes’ office received The Purple Martin Capital News, which had covered the massacre as most newspapers cover major wars. Prosecutor Kinder, who once opined that his knowledge of birds was not very extensive although he felt he could tell the difference between an ostrich and a hummingbird, also received gifts for several months, including a stuffed bird.

The incident appears not to have caused lasting damage to the major participants. Hearnes was elected to a second term as governor. Kinder became a widely-known circuit judge. Diemler later was a deputy sheriff and then Cole County Clerk. The incident is remembered, if it is remembered at all, as one of life’s embarrassing moments, although Purple Martin lovers would never dismiss it that lightly.

And Griggsville, Illinois, remains a small town about sixty miles west of Springfield, a town whose streets are lined with Purple Martin houses including a 70-foot tall, 562-apartment complex for the birds. Trio Manufacturing, founded in 1947, was a leading maker of television antennas until founder J. L. Wade started building Purple Martin houses and selling them throughout the nation. Wade, by then 93, sold his company—then known as Nature House and Nature Society, in 2006 to Erva Tool and Manufacturing Co., of Chicago. Production of Purple Martin houses ended in Griggsville in March of 2007 and the twenty-two employees were laid off. Erva today makes a lot of metal lawn and garden equipment, still makes metal Purple Martin Houses, and “the World’s Greatest Squirrel Baffles” (that’s the real name) to keep squirrels out of bird houses. And the company ships directly from its factory. No Amazon involved.

When I told the folks at the Griggsville City Hall I was from Jefferson City, Missouri it didn’t cause a stir. They hadn’t heard about the connection between Griggsville and the big state government scandal in Jefferson City so long ago.

It’s a nice, clean, little town just off I-72. You’d like it. And I bet if somebody says Griggsville is for the birds, the folks there would smile and say, “It sure is.”

Governor Mike and First Lady Teresa Parson have moved to temporary quarters while a much-needed extensive renovation and repair is made to the Governor’s Mansion. One nice touch during that effort might be to add a Purple Martin house to the place.   Have a little dedication ceremony for it. Invite the mayor of Griggsville. I bet he’d enjoy it.

(Photo credits: Griggsville—Bob Priddy; Mansion—Missouri Secretary of State; Purple Martin—Audubon.com)