Latest / Gone Cold - Texas True Crime / The Murder of Auvord Jones Part 1: The Paris Hermit

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The Murder of Auvord Jones Part 1: The Paris Hermit · Gone Cold - Texas True Crime

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Ah Asia, the land of contrast, So mysterious, so diverse, so
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peaceful, so safe. But seriously, is that how it really is?
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While Asia is one hundred percent filled with amazing people, culture, food,
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and landscape, it is also home to crazy lugends, superstitions, and,
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of course, atrocious crimes. The Asian Madness Podcast covers a wide variety of
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topics, ranging from silly, weird things to unimaginable horrors. Why is a
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murder case nicknamed the Hello Kiddy Murder? Why do people avoid picking up random
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red envelopes on the streets? And who are the most infamous serial killers you've
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probably never heard of from Asia. If any of that sounds interesting, search
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for and subscribe to The Asian Madness Podcast on your favorite podcast app. Hey,
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y'all, a couple quick things before we get started. First of all,
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I'd like to thank all of you who donated to our fund to obtain
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the case file we're trying to get. The case in question is particularly important
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to me because the missing people have no one looking for them or the answers
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as to what happened to them. It's a big, incredibly expensive records request,
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and there are no words to describe the appreciation Erica and I have for
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the generous donations we've received, so thank you for that. There's also big
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news that recently came out of Lamar County. In August twenty twenty two,
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we told the story of the nineteen ninety six murder of philanthropist and Texas hero
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Mary Moore Seawright. Thanks to Paris Police Department Lieutenant Lee Foreman, who picked
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the cold case back up, Mary's alleged killer has been arrested and charged.
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Lieutenant Foreman submitted evidence in September of two, twenty twenty three, swabs from
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a laceration of the right hand of a man named David Paul Caty DNA testing
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showed quote a high probability that Missus S Wright's DNA was present on David Paul
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Cady's injured right hand on the day of the aggravated assault end quote. I'm
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in the process of trying to get more information and I'll do a little update
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with more details hopefully next episode. Today's case is also out of Paris and
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Lamar County. I've recently come upon new information in the case. I decided
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to rewrite, re record, and re release the episode which like the case
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concerning the records listeners and friends have generously donated toward, is particularly important to
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me since there's no one speaking up for the victim anymore. Anyway, Here's
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part one of the story of the murder of Auverd Jones, the Paris Hermit,
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The Gone Cold. Podcasts may contain violent or graphic subject matter. Listener
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discretion is advised. Living off the grid is appealing to many because society's norms
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and expectations often feel overbearing and overwhelming, particularly in today's world, where technology
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has created and forced virtually every citizen of every industrialized nation into kind of a
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subworld in which we must also live. Constant bombardment of news and social medias
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and the advertising that inevitably comes with both are enough to drive even the most
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psychologically healthy individual to anxiety and negative self reflections while waiting on those likes on
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the latest status post. But even before the Internet and mobile devices snapped the
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last thread connecting the human world with a natural one, and whether or not
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it will the cause of their days technological advancements, some folks still sought refuge
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from people, sometimes even among them. Recluses and hermits are usually seen as
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harmless eccentrics by most as oddities within their communities or the communities in which they
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live. On the fringes, they are often surrounded by whispered rumors about their
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past. Ne'er do wells and scoundrels seem to think they're easy targets. In
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fact, you're much more likely to come across the story of a hermit being
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victimized than one victimizing others. Texas is chock full of the tales of such
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folks. These are stories markedly similar to one another, though spread out so
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far apart that a connection besides perhaps a trend of motive, is an impossibility.
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In San Benito, Texas, on February eighteenth, nineteen thirty two,
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for example, a mysterious hermit whose name eluded investigators died after succumbing to injuries
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after lying comatose for twenty hours. He'd been brutally clubbed near his lonesome one
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man encampment. The reclusive skull was crushed, his face battered. The man
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slapped in a horse's drinking trough, using a bundle of his clothing for pillows,
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and the strips of steel that lined the top of the trough were used
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as kind of a blanket. It appears the toothless, gray haired man had
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just begun preparations to cook his dinner on the stones fashioned into an outdoor open
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air oven when he was attacked. The bloody clubs that were used to bludgeon
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the approximately fifty five year old hermit were found about forty feet from his camp.
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Law enforcement theorized the motive behind the attack was robbery. The only clue
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to this man's identity was a tattoo on his left forearm that read Jay Martin.
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In eighteen ninety one, in a gigantic stack of cavernous boulders called Huaco
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Tanks, about thirty miles east of El Passo, lived a herma known to
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residence as simply French John. The man is said to have left France due
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to a romantic relationship that had gone bad. He subsequently went to live in
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the cool, remote caverns in Solitude to escape the devastation. The lifestyle ultimately
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proved fatal. French John was found floating in the Rio Grande River, his
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head crushed by a blunt heavy object, his throat slashed. Sixty year old
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W. A. Mitchell was once a man of wealth and influence, and
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he still owned real estate, oil royalties, and had cash savings when he
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was found murdered on October twenty seventh, nineteen thirty one, About ten years
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prior, he retired and sought to live out the rest of his life in
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solitude in what was described as a dirty hole in the ground, a dugout
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in Graham, Texas. Though police determined that only a small amount of change
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was taken, they believed the motive to kill the recluse was money. Mitchell
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was found nude on his cot save a pair of socks, shot in the
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head. In February of nineteen oh nine, sixty eight year old recluse Hermann
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Kountz was found dead in his hut a few miles outside of Houston city limits.
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He was scantily clad and had frozen to death, seemingly a victim of
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the elements, and although there was no evidence of violence, reports of Koontz's
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fortune for mining, and the fact that no money was found on the man
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or his property led police to theorize he'd been robbed and murdered. Rumors of
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recluses holding large sums of money are more urban legend than reality as a rule,
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though there are exceptions. Of course, the above cases share striking similarities
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with another that occurred in nineteen sixty three just outside the city limits of Paris,
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Texas. There was no rhyme or reason to the killing of the hermit
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of the Red River Valley. The story headline in True Detective magazine's November nineteen
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sixty four issue read just before declaring the death of a man known only as
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A. Jones, Texas's number one murder mystery. On Tuesday, January twenty
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ninth, nineteen sixty three, Lamar County Deputy Sheriff Jim Dunn sped to a
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familiar shack on the northeast outskirts of Paris, the home of Auverd Jones.
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On the way out, he picked up Justice of the Piece, J.
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P. Gilbert Streadey. It was an especially cold day, and in fact,
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this particular cold snap had lasted for several days before and left ice patches
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on the roads and dustings of snow on the grazing fields and atop the thickets.
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Two of Auverd's friends had summoned the Sheriff's department after discovering the recluse's blue
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and purple foot sticking out from a pile of laundry. When they arrived at
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the scene, Deputy dun and Justice Streaty took notice of Averd's frozen foot.
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Presumably the Deputy's first thought was that Averd Jones had froze to death. It
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had been a brutally cold last few days. They began carefully removing the clothing
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from atop the man, one piece at a time. There were foreign newspapers
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mixed in the clothing, and when they reached Auverd's body, they saw filth
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all around him. His floors, after all, were nothing more than packed
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dirt. Also around him was blood, coagulated and frozen. He laid partially
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on his back, his eyes closed. Blood had frozen and crystallized in the
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wrinkles on Auverd's face and forehead. His flesh was waxen, and his long
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hair was locked with the crimson substance. Auverard's wrists were bound behind him with
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cotton binder twine, or at least they were before rats chewed through it.
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It was obvious he'd been badly beaten with a blunt force object. There were
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dark purple contusions on his head, easily seen over his bluish white skin.
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Auvred's scalp and forehead had been lacerated from the blows he received, and his
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hands and face, like the twine, had been gnawed by rats. The
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scene was shocking, gruesome, but it was the act itself, the murder,
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that appalled Deputy Dunn and Justice Streaty. In eighteen eighty four, Lamar
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County, Texas, was named in honor of the then President of the Republic
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of Texas, Mirabeau Lamar. Originally known as Pinhook, the county seat of
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Lamar County was renamed Paris, also in tribute to Lamar, or rather his
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French heritage. Situated on the western edge of the Piney Woods, Paris serve
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does a center of trade for cotton farms. The city was a vital commercial
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hub for northeastern Texas and southeastern Oklahoma, becoming a center of business for cattle
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and farming by the Civil War when the population was about seven hundred. By
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nineteen sixty three, Paris was a well established small city with the population of
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around twenty thousand. Besides a handful of troublemakers and sluggards, the folks who
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populated the small Texas City were mostly working class and proud of it. Also,
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they knew their ilk when they saw them. A fixture of Lamar County
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and Paris for many decades by nineteen sixty three, was Auverd Jones, a
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hermit whose name seemed to perfectly match the eccentric lifestyle he chose. Even before
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he settled into the Texas town, the community referred to him as simply a
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Jones or Albert, perhaps after misunderstanding his unusual first name. But little to
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nothing was known about the man regardless, he was one of them, a
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Parisian, and a well liked, well respected one at that. When he
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turned up slain in his home, residents and police alike were shocked. They
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wondered what kind of monster could have performed such a depraved act. One of
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the last times anyone saw seventy nine year old Aubred Jones alive was at the
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town's grocery store on Thursday, January twenty fourth, nineteen sixty three, where
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he bought two packs of chicken gizzards, twenty four cans of tomatoes, some
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onions, and a sack of potatoes. To pay for the items, he
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pulled out some cash from a sheath he kept in the sweat band of his
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black sagging hat. He was seen at a pharmacy not long after, discussing
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with the pharmaist some diet pills he had ordered. A few days later,
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friends of his folks who looked out for the old man, came knocking at
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the door of the shack where Auverred Jones slept. Rancher and neighbor Reuben Burnett
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and postman Bruce Ray hadn't seen Auvered for a few days. It was unusual,
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but then again, so was the weather. Still, it wasn't like
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the recluse to be completely out of sight for so long, and there was
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no sign of warmth from the hermit's set of shacks, no smoke. Reuben
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and Bruce decided they'd go over to his house to investigate and make sure everything
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was fine. It was the dead of winter, a quiet day, and
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a light dusting of snow could be seen on just about everything, though the
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muddy slush on the roads where cars had passed cut through the beautiful white scene.
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The nights and mornings had seen temperatures in the low twenties, and the
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day Auverd's friends went to check on him the night and morning temperatures had taken
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a dive into the low teens. When they arrived at his door on Sunday,
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January twenty seventh, Ruben and Bruce saw a mechanical pencil through the hasp
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on the outside, a task that of course couldn't have been performed from the
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inside of the shack, So the two friends figured Auverd had latched the door
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before heading off into town. It was a relief, and they left when
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Ruben and Bruce still hadn't seen Auverd on Tuesday, January twenty ninth. However,
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worry began to sink in. At about five point thirty pm that day,
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Auverred's friends returned to the shack. The plastic pencil, a metallic blue
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color, was still in the hasp. In fact, it appeared to have
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not been moved since the previous Sunday. Ruben and Bruce decided they'd better check
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inside the shack. Ignoring the warning stay out inscribed in the door in large
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letters, they removed the pencil from the hasp and entered. They saw Audred's
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foot protruding from a pile of clothing that was two or three feet thick.
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Reuben and Bruce raced to a telephone to notify police. That's when Lamar County
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Sheriff's Deputy Jim Dunn and Justice of the Piece Gilbert Streaty responded, found Auvred's
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bloodied body and sent for County Attorney Jim Noble Thompson, who contacted the coroner
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and a funeral home. It was obvious and autopsy was in order. The
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death was far from natural. Auvred's body was taken to Jean Rodin and Son's
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funeral home in Paris. The victim's trademark floppy black hat, the place where
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everyone knew he kept his money and any important documents or papers he had,
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was nowhere to be found. Inside the shacks was dark by this time anyway,
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and Auverd's home had no light outside. Clouds blanketed the sky, covering
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any chance for the moon's natural light to shine through. The cops here didn't
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have the big city resources like Dallas did, and the flashlights they carried in
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their patrol cruisers or unmarked city vehicles were all they had for searching. Murders
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were nearly nonexistent in those parts at the time, and taxpayer money was best
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spent elsewhere. Investigation of the scene had to wait until the following day.
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A night shift officer was ordered to stand guard until morning. At sun up
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on Wednesday, the thirtieth of January, detectives and officers arrived at the home
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of their murder victim. They began digging through Auverd's possessions and scouring the snow
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dusted yard looking for clues. Auvard's rubber boots were found in the corner of
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his sleeping shack, as if they'd been tossed aside in the course of turning
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over the place. County Attorney Thompson bagged them in case they'd been handled by
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the killer. He knew lifting latent prints off the boots was a possibility.
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Near the cooking shed, they located the victim's famous hat. It was turned
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inside out and the inner sweatband reversed. It appeared to have been looked through
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angrily, as if the perpetrator was expecting more than what was there. No
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money had been left in the hat, of course, nor had any been
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found, and either of the two other hats officers found. The killer had
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turned over the inside of Auverd's shacks, though the several items that might have
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fetched a few bucks, namely an old adding machine and a typewriter were left
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undisturbed. The fact that the hat seemed to be the focus, and it
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appeared Auverd's other possess were rifled through robbery of only cash was theorized as the
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motive. Investigators wondered. Was the killer a withdrawing alcoholic or drug addict looking
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for a quick buck to get a fix, or perhaps a desperate sad sack
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who was in too deep on a gambling debt or loan. Anything was possible.
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There was no real physical evidence to rule out or in any theory.
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Not yet, investigators searched the hermit's connected shacks, but found no other evidence
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or clues, no murder weapon. The Lamar County Sheriff's office began efforts to
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contact Auverd's brother, Barton Jones of Spiceland, Indiana, whose information was located
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by the paperwork Auverd had filled out at the welfare office. When they finally
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reached Barton, he said, for the world of me, I don't see
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how anyone could hurt my brother. He was the kind of person in the
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world. Marton Jones lamented to sheriff lawnie player. It was only after reaching
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Audred's brother that authorities discovered what his full name was. Up to that point,
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he'd only signed his name A. Jones instead of his full name,
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Auvard Bevins Braithwait Jones. The Paris hermit's unusual name was far from everything police
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learned from his brother. Auvred Bevins Braithwait Jones was a mystery to practically every
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resident of Paris, a well respected member of the community and a stranger at
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the same time. No one knew much more in nineteen sixty three than when
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he came to the area some forty years before. How and not why he
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came, or even his full name. Certainly they didn't know the interesting background
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that follows. Auvard was born in Henry County, Indiana, in eighteen eighty
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three. His father, doctor Henry Warren Jones, was a physician, and
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his mother, Caroline Thornberg Jones, a housewife. A year after Auverd was
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born, his mother gave birth to Barton Elwyn, Auvard's only sibling. The
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Joneses came from a long line of Quaker farmers, and in fact, Auvred's
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two middle names where his parents tribute to their faith. The middle and last
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name of a Quaker minister, Alvard, moved to Portallis, New Mexico at
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some point prior to nineteen ten, where he acquired tracts of land for farming.
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His father retired the same year, and he and Auvred's mother joined him
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in Porte. Auvred farmed there for years, and though it is unclear what
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his crop was, there are two well educated guesses. Portalis, New Mexico,
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is known for what is referred to as a peanut boom in nineteen fourteen,
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after a farmer there harvested his first crop, and farmers in the area
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immediately followed suit. In his success, many of the farmers also became successful
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harvesting peanuts, creating a multi million dollar industry in Portalis. Of course,
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peanut processing plants popped up in no time. The city became synonymous with peanuts
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from that point forward. It is certainly within the realm of possibility that Auverred
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Jones was a peanut farmer, though again that's just a guess. He could
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also have farmed grains. Kaffir corn or maize were both big business in Portalis.
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At some point Auverd's parents moved back to Indiana. In nineteen eighteen,
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at age thirty five, Auverd registered to be drafted in World War One,
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but there is no evidence that he was ever called to duty, considering the
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war officially ended a few months after he registered, it's unlikely. That same
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year Auvred's mother passed away. His father was never the same after, and
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he died four years later in nineteen twenty two. Then there are the things
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locals did know about the Hermit of Paris. At some point in nineteen twenty
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two, Auvard migrated to Fought, Texas in Lamar County, where he took
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odd jobs to sustain himself. It was there in Fought where Auverd would settle
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into a lifestyle in which he would remain until his death. At first,
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those who came across him referred to him as strange and remarked that he upheld
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a veil of mistry around himself and his past, perhaps hiding some sort of
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dark secret or unforgivable past deed. But not everyone convinced themselves of the life
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on the Lamb scenario. When Dan Bills was eighteen years old, he worked
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digging ditches for a pipeline with Auverd. Bills, who went on to become
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the police chief in Paris, Texas, said that Auverd, then thirty nine
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and brand new to the area, already looked like a hermit. He said.
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Auverd worked hard and offered up fragmented information about his life to his coworkers
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as they swung shovels and picks, But when everyone gathered to eat lunch,
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Auvard went off and ate alone. His fellow ditch diggers didn't take it personally.
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They liked the man. He was as hard a worker as any of
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them, and when he sang hymns as they thrust their digging implements into the
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earth, it took them to another place and made them forget they were even
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working at all. His voice, they all testified, was absolutely beautiful.
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All of them too, could see a deep sadness in his eyes. From
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the bits and pieces of his life he did share, his coworkers surmised that
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he ended up living a reclusive life in Lamar County due to a girl,
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presumably meaning a failed relationship, a relationship that never happened, or they shuddered
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to think, the untimely death of the love of his life. They were
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all just guesses. No one knew for sure. Auvard never named this presumed
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love. While in Fought, which is just northeast of Paris, he lived
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in a storage building in the woods that he rented from a local individual,
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where he stayed for years before settling into Paris's northeast city limits, close to
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the railroad tracks on Center Street. Finally, in nineteen fifty two, Auverd
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purchased his last home, eight acres, also on the outskirts of Paris,
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where he began building a series of one room shacks near a one hundred year
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old well. The shacks were connected and each served its own purpose or function.
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There were five altogether, one eight by eight living quarters, one a
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kitchen, another a tool in supply shed, and the other two chicken houses.
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Auverd Jones scrawled stay out on the doors of all five. He stayed
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to himself for the most part, but he did interact with a community plenty
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around town, particularly on North Main Street. He could be seen selling brooms
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that he had crafted himself. Auverd offered a warranty on the craftsmanship, no
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one ever had to use it. Peanuts, old lumber, or whatever other
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items Auverd made or accumulated were also for sale. Because of his honesty and
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decency, a Jones, as townfolk knew him, quickly gained the respect of
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the residence of Paris. After being overpaid a few cents for picking cotton,
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it is told Auverard walked a mile to return the extra money. He often
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donated five to ten dollars to local charities, though, according to records,
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subsided on a sixty two dollars per month welfare check. Auvard received a small
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inheritance at some point and immediately visited the welfare office and told them to stop
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the monthly checks. He didn't need them anymore, he said. It was
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another testament to his honest character. Auverd was known as a gentleman eccentric,
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yes, but friendly to the children, who flocked to him and followed him
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as he sold his goods around town. The kids were drawn to Auva as
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the result of his kindness, but also presumably drawn to the mystery. Auverd
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Jones didn't put a lot of effort into his appearance, fashioning most of his
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clothes himself out of duck cloth or canvas around his small frame. He wore
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them until they were torn and tattered, and sewing them was no longer an
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option. Auverd, Bevins, Braithwaite Jones lived in what most described as filth
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and clutter, conditions that most would consider unhealthy. Appearances, however, can
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be deceiving. Auverd ate only the healthiest of foods, fish and fowl,
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fruit, prunes, dried figs, vegetables, things like that. He only
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drank from the artesian well water on Clarksville Street in Paris, and refused to
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drink city water. No booze either. While Auverd told some friends and residents
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that he only had a seventh grade education, he was pulling their leg.
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He'd bragged others that he worked as an oil seeking geologist. Auvard subscribed to
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foreign magazines and could read and speak Polish, German, French, and some
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Spanish. He was a Bible scholar and possessed the book in each of the
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aforementioned languages, plus English. Of course, his brother would later report that
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he held a master's degree. The few who had held deep discussions with him
29:33
have said that he could discuss current and foreign affairs as well as history,
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as good as, if not better than, any politician or professor. Auvard
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was said to have been a weather prophet, having famously predicted a drought.
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Locals sought him out to read their fortunes after that, and it looks like
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he got a kick out of that. But the hermit would only do it
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for children. Their futures apparently looked bright. Adding to the legend of his
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affable manner and decency. Auverd never picked up a check that county owed him
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for buying a portion of his land. A small, though not insignificant corner
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was needed as the Highway Department sought to build Loop two eighty six. Just
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a little over a half acre of his land was needed for the project,
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for which the county attempted to pay one hundred and five dollars, but rumors
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began spreading around town that he'd been paid an exorbitant amount, which led to
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even further rumors of the riches Auverd stockpiled in one of his scanty lumber shacks
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in a cluster of scrap there. Though no one really knows but his killer,
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he most likely had no hidden fortune. Investigators continued to struggle with the
30:52
case of the murder of Auverd Jones, and although they lacked evidence, there
30:56
were plenty of leads to follow and potential suspect to vet. That's next time
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on Gone Cold. If you have any information on the nineteen sixty three murder
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of Auver Jones, please contact the Paris, Texas Police Department at nine zero
31:15
three seven eighty four six six eight eight. If you like gon Cold's mission
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