Written for the Kansas State Historical Society by Geo. W. Martin, Secretary.

I am annoyed because I did not learn of the death of Thomas Allen Cullinan, marshall of Junction City, until the morning after his burial, and I am still more annoyed that I did not get a complete write-up of his life, an intention that has been in my mind for a year or two past. A most remarkable story of a turbulent and useful life has been lost. Periodically we read the stories of extraordinary public officials in the tough and riotous days of frontier development, but none exceed that which might be told of "Tom Allen," as he was generally known. He died in a hospital at Kansas City, Mo., Saturday, June 18, 1904.

I have observed, as secretary of the State Historical Society, that it is a common failing for men to defer things just as though death was not a definition or synonym of certainty. Procrastination is not only the thief of time, but it steals also many good purposes. I have in mind a dozen men, old-timers in Kansas, now tottering on the edge of the grave, who have assured me that they would deposit with the State Historical Society articles of value and great historical significance, but who defer doing so just though they owned all time. The will drop some day. Their descendants may not know of their purpose; they may not know or appreciate the value or significance of the articles desired to be preserved from extinction or oblivion, and the identity of the treasures may be lost, and thus the desire of a lifetime, instead of being gratified for ages in the inspiration of others, will go into the grave.

And now, through my carelessness, Tom Allen will not get a proper tribute. What I may say is from memory and not from definite data, but is inspired by a thirty-five-year acquaintance, and two years' very intimate connection with Tom while he was marshal and I was mayor of the town. His wonderful power and judgment as an officer, the unlimited trust reposed in him by the property-owners of Junction City, and the absolute and unquestioned sway given him by the city officers backed by public sentiment, so many years, in his peculiar administration of the duties of his office, strongly attest the force born in him. The fact that, after more than fifty years of as tough a life as was ever allotted to man, he ended his days without a scratch, and without having met a man to "down him," pictures Tom as an extremely exceptional case, in these days of lurid literature.

Tom by no means made his way on his modesty, yet he never made a threat or a promise or had a duty that he did not perform to the letter. He never had a single trouble of his own seeking, and very rarely were those he had on his own account. I think his success or good fortune in escaping trouble was due to his extraordinary judgment, his total and complete ignorance of what fear was, and his sense of fairness, right and justice.

At the time of his death he had been marshal of Junction City, excepting a few years on a farm and in the service of the Metropolitan Street Railway Company in Kansas City, since 1871, being either elected by the people or appointed. During this time he served under some sixteen or eighteen different mayors, representing all sorts of political sentiment, and by the common consent of the people was trusted to do all police duty in his own way.

Several times during his career the city council was pestered with propositions to perform the duties of marshal for a nominal figure, but the business men always petitioned that Tom be retained at a good salary.

There has never been any petty pilfering or house-breaking in Junction City—this class of gentlemen usually resumed their travels on the first train; while no man or dozen men have ever painted the town. Every town has its peculiarities, and a town adjoining a military post enjoys some special peculiarities in its police affairs.

Thomas Allen Cullinan, more generally known as Tom Allen, left Kilrush, county Clare, Ireland in 1849, aged eleven years, to go to sea. His family were well fixed, and all the boy had to do was go to school. He served three years in the English revenue service, doing duty along the coasts of France and the British Isles, and in the Mediterranean. He visited all the seaport towns of England, Ireland, and Wales, and made several trips to Hamburg, and voyages to the East and West Indies and South America. He was in the Crimea in 1854. The captain with whom he first went to sea offered him a course in navigation at Ipswich, and afterwards to give him charge of his vessel.

In 1855 he became engaged on a passenger vessel between Liverpool and New York, and, after his second voyage, concluded to locate in this country. He made two trips to Wisconsin, via the lakes, and was shipwrecked on Lake Erie. He engaged in lumbering on the Mississippi river, and in 1856 was a pilot at $150 per month. That year he came to Kansas, stopping at White Cloud and Atchison. In 1857 he went to the Rocky Mountains in the employ of the American Fur Company, ranging from the Yellowstone on the north to Taos valley on the south. He turned up next at the ranch of Lucius Maxwell, on the Cimarron, where he spent the summer of 1858. Maxwell and Kit Carson offered him 500 cows if he would remain with them, they at the end of five years to have 500 cows back. In the fall of that year he moved north, locating where Denver now is.

His career in Colorado was unusually active, and whether as a miner, explorer, or pugnacious gentleman taking care of his own rights, always universally succeeded. In the early history of Denver he became involved with the town company in a contest over a quarter-section of land. Three others were interested. The four built a log house with port-holes on four sides.

A company of eighty men one day rode up to dislodge them. One of their number was permitted to approach for talk. He inspected the inside and reported to the "command" tha the boys were so well fixed and armed that if they made an attack not one of them would be left to tell the tale. Several public meetings were held and great excitement prevailed, during which the boys were offered $3000 for their claim, but it collapsed, and territorial fame, after whom Marshall county in this state was named. Those familiar with Denver may know where this tract is when we say that the Central Presbyterian Church is located near the centre of it.

While in Denver Tom became involved in a row with a bully who had slapped a woman. He had no knowledge of the affair or the parties, but shortly after the slap came across the woman crying and the bully blustering. It was a rough and tumble fight, lasting one hour an twenty minutes. A similar instance in the mines gave him the sobriquet of "Yellow Tom." He was never very dudish, but his buckskin suit becoming dirty, he obtained some yellow ocher and painted it. As he never made a mark on dress parade this attire failed of attention until the "Terror of the Gulch" opened his sluice and took his water. He tried reason with the "Terror," and the "Terror" indulged in a bluff. Tom told him it would therefore have to be settled in a rough and tumble, or according to the rules of the ring. The inhabitants of the gulch were amazed at temerity of the Irishman, and the excitement reached the remotest settlement in the night.

In the summer of 1860, accompanied by David Thompson and Jack Menzies, two of his companions in the stockade on the Denver town site, he explored the Colorado river eight years before Major Powell. They were in the employ of the merchants of Denver, and by them furnished letters of credit sufficient to convey the party through to California and around by New York and return. They followed the river 250 miles, when they were taken in by the Utes.2

Here occurred one of those instances illustrating his judgement and coolness in the face of danger. An Indian pulled Tom's ear, and Tom knocked him over. It was his time now to bluff. He approached the chief and told him in Spanish of his acquaintance with the prairier Indians; how he had heard that the Utes could whip the prairie Indians three to one, but he thought the Utes were cowards, and that he could whip the best Indian of the tribe. It won. The chief was pleased, and turned the party loose the second day. In the winter of 1860 he returned from Colorado to Leavenworth.

When the war broke out he became a scout, serving with the St. Clair and "Red" Clark in Tennessee, Louisiana, Mississippi, Missouri, and Kansas. In 1862 or 1863, during the administration of H.B. Denman as mayor, the redlegs took the town of Leavenworth, overpowering the police. The marshal was run out and two policemen shot. The authorities urged Tom to take the position of chief of police. He did so, and in thirty days cleared the town, resigning as soon as quiet was restored.

In 1866 he had charge of an Indian contract at Fort Laramie for Matt Ryan and Chester Thomas. He came to Junction City in the fall of 1866, and was a partner with H.D. McMeekin in a beef contract at Fort Riley. In 1867 and 1868 he had the contract himself. In 1869 and 1870 he supplied with meat the camps engaged in the construction of the M.K. & T. railroad. In the fall of 1870 he had a subcontract to supply the troops at Wallace with beef. In November 1871, he returned to Junction City, where he remained until his death, with the exception of a couple of years in Kansas City.

It is hardly necessary to say that the marshalship of Junction City has not been in sinecure. The proximity of Fort Riley, with the constant changes of troops, the irresponsibility of many private soldiers, the buzzards and loose women who flock around on pay-days, and the fact that the cross railroads make a dumping-ground of Junction City for tramps, has called for the very best policy duty. The residents may be managed by a very effeminate service, but no tenderfoot can deal with troublesome soldiery. I never heard of another single officer who could corral or lock up a gang of six or seven men at once without aid. Tom Allen did it frequently.

One evening, a number of years ago, six men came from a hay camp at Riley for the purpose of having a time. The marshal warned them not to attempt it. They started along the street overturning boxes and disturbing everybody. He overtook them, and in less time than I can tell it, four of them lay on the ground. Another time he took without assistance six soldiers out of a gang of eight, shooting two of them slightly. In all this service he never killed a man, although suffering at times great aggravation and taking desperate chances. A great many funny stories might be told illustrating Tom's idea of dealing with the cattle for whom policemen are provided. Loaded with budge, a certain individual once cleaned out a house, and was out in the street with a rock in each hand when Tom arrived. "Looking for a fight are you?" remarked the police officer, as he gave him a swipe on the jaw, knocking him down and punishing him severely. This individual never drank a drop since, and he has thanked Tom repeatedly for that thrashing. Tom had previously loaded this man in a wagon and sent him home; he had locked him up and fined him; and his judgment that the fellow needed only a licking was confirmed.

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