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This podcast episode is brought to you by Progressive Insurance. Do you ever think about switching insurance companies to see if you could save some cash? Progressive makes it easy. Just drop in some details about yourself and see if you're eligible to save money when you bundle your home and auto policies. The process only takes minutes and it could mean hundreds more in your pocket. Visit progressive.com after this episode to see if you could save Progressive Casualty Insurance Company and affiliates. Potential savings will vary. Not available in all states.
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Back in 1899, a guy known as Climax Jim was arrested for stealing cattle in Arizona. Again, for about the 20th time. I guess the deputy's guard and him at the jailhouse felt as if their new prisoner could use a bath. So they stripped him down naked, gave him a bar of soap, and directed him towards the nearest horse trough. That's when he spotted a pony tied to a hitching post. And what happened next would become one of the most talked about jailbreaks in all of the Old West. And I promise it is every bit as ridiculous as it already sounds. But then again, so is today's story. You see, Climax Jim at best, was just a mediocre criminal. His main talents were picking locks and escaping from jail. And boy, oh boy, did he escape from a lot of jails. Who was the real Climax Jim? How'd a kid from the nation's capital end up in Arizona working as a cowboy? How'd he go from being a cowboy to such an accomplished escape artist? And more importantly, how exactly did he get the nickname Climax Gym? What's that all about? Hold on to your hats, ladies. Things might just get a little steamy. My name's Josh, and this is the Wild West Extravaganza. The man who would come to be known as Climax Jim was born in Washington, D.C. on November 17, 1876. His parents initially wanted to name him after then President Rutherford B. Hayes, but the paperwork got botched, so he ended up with the name Rufus. Rufus nephew. Now, as tends to be the case, there's not a lot of information out there on Rufus's childhood. Shocker, right? All we know for certain is that he was born in D.C. his parents were Canadian immigrants, and that by 1894 he was in Arizona working as a cowboy for the infamous Hash Knife Cattle Company. What happened in between, why he left home at such a young age, and how he got from D.C. to Arizona remains unknown. Now, speaking of the Hash Knife, if you're not familiar, this was a pretty big outfit back in those days. I'm talking like 60,000 head of cattle, some 2,000 horses, all spread across 2 million acres in northern Arizona, and of course, owned by rich investors from back East. And to say that their hired hands had a bit of a reputation be an understatement. Nor, as historian Fraser Hunt once put it, the man who rode for the Ash Knife, where the thieving is fighting this bunch of cowboys in all of the United States. And that's really not much of an exaggeration. Hell, in just the year 1886 alone, the nearest town of Holbrook, where many of the Hash Knife cowboys would go to blow off steam, experienced a whopping 26 shooting deaths. And yeah, that's the world that young Rufus found himself in when he showed up at the Hash Knife as a teenager with nothing more than a head full of dreams and a 12 pound sack of chewing tobacco. Which, as it turns out, is how he garnered the nickname Climax Gym. According to Rufus, quote, I used to like tobacco, right? Well, and when I was just a kid, I lit into the camp of the Hash knife outfit and was going on a roundup for a month. So I just laid in a supply of tobacco, 12 pounds of climax in a gunny sack and a full bar tied to my saddle. At the end of 25 days, I had chewed every leaf of that tobacco. There wasn't a puncher in the outfit that wasn't calling me Climax Jim. And just in case anyone's a little confused, Climax was the brand name of the tobacco. I guess Skull and Grizzly weren't around just yet. And from what I understand, Climax was the preferred choice for everyone from baseball players to cowboys. Now, the word climax itself is defined as the peak or culmination of something. Comes from the Greek word for ladder. I can only assume that the tobacco company used it as a way of saying that their chew was the absolute pinnacle. And, yeah, there's also a bit of a sexual connotation. But you know what? This is a family show and I really don't have time for juvenile jokes, so please, let's just all get our minds out of the gutter and try to get through the rest of the story like mature adults. All right? They called him Climax Jim because he enjoyed Climax tobacco, not because he knew exactly where the clitoris is located. And that if a man were to, I don't know, gently massage seclatoris with one's tongue while simultaneously purring sweet nothings into a woman's welcoming thighs while maybe even sticking a finger up her butthole, it could possibly bring about a sexual climax that's not where he got the name, it was just his favorite tobacco. End of story. I hate that I even have to say this, okay? But let's just put on our big boy pants and move on. Thank you. Now, at some point, Rufus, now known as Jim, graduated from being a cowboy to a cattle thief. Only problem was, he wasn't very good at it. Or I guess I should say he wasn't very good at getting away with it. His main skills seemed to be escaping from behind bars after he was already apprehended. The first time he got locked up, at least that I'm aware of, was in 1894 after the then just 17 year old stole about a dozen steers from a slaughterhouse over in Winslow. The jail they stuck him in was just an old adobe building, so young Jim waited till dark, tunneled his way out through the wall with a pocket knife. Skip ed a few months later when he celebrated the fourth of July by stealing a horse over in Gila county. The sheriff, guy named John Thompson, who also went by the very awesome nickname of Rim Rock, caught up with Jim over in Pleasant Valley and started hauling him back towards Globe. He even took the precaution of chaining Jim to a post later on that evening when they made camp. But shackles notwithstanding, Jim still managed to escape, at least temporarily. He was recaptured shortly thereafter, but again managed to fly the coop by digging through the walls just like he had done back in Winslow. Only this time he used a spoon instead of a knife. Now, eventually the authorities got tired of Jim's antics, no surprise there. So they sent him to the territorial prison over in Yuma, AKA the Hellhole of the West. And this time he did not escape. All total Jim would do a full 12 months behind bars. Then just as soon as he got out, he went right back to Rustling. Sure enough, By June of 1898 he was once more in custody, this time having been arrested by none other than his old boss, hash knife foreman Burt Mossman. Apparently, Burt didn't keep him long though, as by New Year's Day 1899, old Climax found himself under indictment over in Graham county county for altering brands. He was arrested again and by late February he and three other inmates had already say it with me class, escape from jail. Telling you, this guy was a pure magician when it came to busting out the clink. And when he was rearrested, as he always was just a few days later, even though the sheriff fitted him with special shackles riveted shut by a blacksmith, Jim was still able to shimmy out of his chains, climb his way to freedom over the jail's walls. A freedom that would be very short lived. I'm talking just a matter of minutes before he was recaptured and reshackled. Was until some friends posted his bond that Jim was finally let loose. At which point he went ahead and stole a bunch of cows belonging to the Chiruicawa Cattle Company. According to Jim, he was just riding around one day minding his own business when he stumbled upon the herd. He figured that it would be the neighborly thing to do just to drive him along till he found the rightful owner. And when he didn't come across anyone, he just kept on a driving all the way east to New Mexico where he used them to form his very own ranch. And he might have gotten away with it too, had it not been for the pesky range boss over at the Chiricahua. He noticed that the cattle were missing and began following the trail located Jim. He then notified the sheriff of Apache county and Climax was once again taken into custody. Now this is the part that I sort of teased back in the intro.
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So what's next?
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I feel liberated.
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We're gonna take this city back over
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They're hunting us. It's time we started hunting them. I can work with them.
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This should be tons of fun.
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Marvel Television's Daredevil Born Again now streaming only on Disney plus.
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The deputies guarding gym over there in the town of Springerville felt as if their new prisoner needed a bath. So they made him strip down naked, gave him a horse brush and a bar of soap and pointed him towards the horse trough. And then, just as Jim was about to climb in is when he spotted that pony tied to a hitching post without skipping a bead. He then hopped on the horse's back, still butt ass naked, mind you, and took off at a dead gallop right through the middle of Springerville and then right through the middle of the neighboring town, eager for finally escaping into the mountains wearing nothing but a smile. And whatever the good Lord gave him. Now, full disclosure. But Jim would later share a slightly different version with journalist George Smalley, in which he claimed to have struck one of the deputies in the face with his pants as he was undressing. And that's how he was able to bolt out of the jail and hop on that horse. Either way, Jim did escape fully naked, only to show up a few days later at the camp of lawman Joe Pierce. And years later, when Pierce read Smalley's account, he confirmed it by saying, that's the way it happened. Now, if you're wondering how Jim could have gotten himself locked up so often without doing more than just a year in prison, well, apparently he was pretty good when it came to getting acquitted. Like in 1907 when he got busted for forging a check. Apparently Jim had stolen a small herd of cattle and sold them to a butcher shop. He wasn't pleased with the money, so he went ahead and altered the check to what he considered to be more of a fair rate. Didn't work out quite as he hoped and he was arrested yet again as per usual, and locked up over in the town of Solomonville. Now he did escape, also per usual, but when he was rearrested and brought to trial, that damn forged check was presented as evidence. So Jim just waited until everyone was distracted, grab said check and stuck it in his mouth along with the ever present wattachu. When the judge restored order and told the prosecutor to present the now missing evidence, Jim just sat there in his chair chewing away, seemingly without a care in the world. Later on, as he was leaving the courthouse, he just went ahead and spit out the evidence rotten to the judge's own personal spittoon. Or at least that's how the story goes. There was another time when he managed to beat a cattle rustling charge in Graham county by producing witnesses who swore that the crime had actually been committed in Apache County. He was then acquitted and retried in Apache county for stealing the same cattle, only to produce more witnesses who swore that it happened in Graham County. And once again he won an acquittal. Just to give you an idea of Jim's talents when it came to avoiding conviction, there was a period of about six years where grand juries in both Apache and Graham counties handed down a total of five felony indictments against Climax Jim. And he somehow managed to talk, chew or wiggle his way out of every single one of them. Now, eventually he would settle down. Sometimes all it takes is the love of a good woman. And Rufus found such Love in the form of a teacher 12 years his junior, by the name of Gertrude. The pair tied the knot on January 15, 1910. It's also about the same time that Jim filed on a homestead over near Marinci, which he then sold to a mining company for a pretty decent profit. The happy couple would welcome their first child a year later, with three more to follow. One boy and three girls. And at some point around the year 1911, they all headed west to California, putting down roots near San Diego. In fact, it's there where Jim found himself an honest job as a well digger. Sadly, it was this job that would cost him his life. You see, on September 28, 1921, just 44 years of age, the great Climax. Jim fell off some scaffolding while digging a well. And that was it. There's no escaping that one. If you'd like to pay your respects and leave him some chewing tobacco, you can find him still resting over at the Mount Hope Cemetery in San Diego. I don't know about you, but as someone who spent a lot of time studying outlaws who murdered people in cold blood and committed all manner of atrocities, it is kind of refreshing to research a guy whose worst crime was stealing cattle. Rufus Nephew was not a violent man. He never killed anybody. And from what I can tell, he never even used his pistol during the course of a robbery. He was just simply a rascal with a mouthful of tobacco and a knack for making lawmen look foolish. Pretty sure there's worse things to be remembered for now. Just a few odds and ends, but I was able to find a marriage certificate from Graham county in 1907 showing that Jim had gotten married to a lady named Virginia Gonzalez a full three years before he got hitched to Gertrude. As to what happened to Virginia and whether or not they had any children of their own, I honestly don't know. It's also worth noting that Jim may not have been quite as innocent as I made him out to be just a few moments ago, as there is some evidence suggesting that he participated in at least one train robbery over in New Mexico. Once again, as to where the truth lies, who knows with a guy like Climax Jim? There's really not much out there other than official records like the census reports and prison records, and believe it or not, a lot of voter registrations. Apparently, old Jim liked exercising his civic duties. And then there's that interview I mentioned earlier that he gave to journalist George Smalley. Other than that, all we've really got to go on are stories. Stories that may or may not be exaggerated. I'll leave that up for you to decide. Just thought this would be a fun topic and really didn't see any need to go over it with a fine tooth comb. Speaking of fine tooth combs, before we wrap things up, I do have a correction to make. On a recent episode I did cover in the Macy County War, I stated that if you've ever enjoyed the sausage and cheese kolache washed down by an ice cold shiner Bock, you can thank the Germans who settled in Texas during the 19th century. And many of you pointed out that it was not the Germans who invented kolaches, it was the Czech. And many of you also pointed out that real kolaches are filled with fruit as opposed to meat, whereas the thing that I call kolaches are actually called something like Klobus neck. And look, man, I had a very long rebuttal typed out where I covered the many similarities between the Germans and the Czechs. And I described how Texas is essentially just one huge melting pot where all these different groups, you know, everyone from the Spanish to the Europeans, Creoles, Asians, pretty much every demographic you can think of, just sort of blended together and formed a very unique culture. The type of culture that has accordions and ortegno music in sausages and kolaches. In fact, I have spent my entire life in Texas and I have yet to see one solitary kolache filled with fruit. But you know what? Technically I was wrong, so I'll spare you the long ass explanation. Just go ahead and own was definitely the Czech who invented kolaches, not the Germans. Allegedly. All right, and I guess that's about all I've got. Thank you so much for joining me. Don't stick your finger up anybody's butt. And until next time, adios. Maybe even sticking a finger up a butthole.
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Have you ever looked at some of the most successful women and wondered, how did she get there? And how does she make it all work? Well, here we have some answers. I'm Karen Feinerman, the host of How She Does It. You may have seen me on CNBC's Fast Money. Every woman I admire has a story, a pivot that challenged her, a risk that paid off. On the podcast, I sit down with CEOs and industry leaders who are carving their own paths, and they share with us how they build lives of impact, meaning, and financial success. So join us. Subscribe to How She does it with me, Karen Feinerman. Wherever you listen to podcasts,