𝗔𝗺𝗯𝘂𝘀𝗵 𝗪𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝗢𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗮 — 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗪𝗼𝗹𝗰𝗼 𝗣𝗮𝘆𝗿𝗼𝗹𝗹 𝗞𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 (𝟭𝟵𝟯𝟰)

In the winter of 1934, Osage County still moved to the rhythm of oil money—checks cashed in town, payroll carried back by car, and a thin line of law enforcement stretched across miles of prairie, timber, and two-lane roads. It was a system built on trust. And on a late Monday afternoon west of Ochelata, that trust was ambushed. Oil communities were scattered across the county, including the community of Wolco, named after the Wolverine Oil Company. Located between Avant and Barnsdall in eastern Osage County.

“𝗝𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗮 𝗣𝗮𝘆𝗿𝗼𝗹𝗹 𝗥𝘂𝗻”

Jesse Whitechurch was just seventeen years old. Mechlin “Mack” Sykes, twenty, was only a few years older. Both worked for W. F. King, the general merchant in Wolco — a small oil community that depended on the steady flow of paychecks from the fields. Their assignment that December afternoon sounded simple enough: drive to Bartlesville, cash the oil company payroll checks, and return with the money so local workers could be paid.

The total came to roughly $963. In 1934, that wasn’t just cash in a satchel. It was groceries on tables, fuel in heaters, and bills kept current in a hard winter. They headed home in King’s Chevrolet delivery car. As they left Bartlesville, the road narrowed and the timber thickened along the shoulders. Around 2:30 p.m., in a wooded stretch roughly three miles west of Ochelata, in very remote eastern Osage County, a sedan pulled alongside them with three men rode inside, the routine payroll run was over.

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗦𝘁𝗼𝗽

The bandits forced the boys to the shoulder and ordered them out. One robber struck Sykes hard—above the right eye—with the butt of a rifle. In the struggle that followed, one of the robbers handled a sub-machine gun—and discharged it. The shot hit Whitechurch in the head, at the base of the brain.

Even in the hard years, this was staggering: the criminals weren’t carrying a single revolver. According to the victims, the gang was armed with a machine gun, multiple automatics, a sawed-off shotgun, and a high-powered rifle—a rolling arsenal.

As Whitechurch slumped, bleeding, one robber looked at the damage and said something chilling in its casualness—words the papers would repeat because they captured the moment a robbery tipped into murder:“𝘞𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘥𝘰𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳… 𝘐 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘐’𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘯𝘬’𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵.”

𝗞𝗶𝗱𝗻𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗱

They abandoned King’s delivery vehicle where it sat and piled the victims into the bandits’ 1934 Chevrolet sedan, pushing them into the back seat. The car surged away, carrying the money and two terrified victims.

As the traveled south, near Skiatook, the gang ran out of gas. They left the wounded Whitechurch in the back and ordered Sykes out. Then they tied him securely, leaving him helpless in the front seat—one of those details that sticks with you because it’s so deliberate. This wasn’t panic. This was control.

But Sykes was observant. He later gave officers a careful description of the bandit car: a cracked windshield, a missing gear knob, and other small identifiers. He also remembered something that sounded minor until deputies chased it down—he believed the bandits had changed oil at a Tulsa filling station. Officers checked, and attendants recalled the sedan had been worked on the Friday before, providing the first fragile thread of a lead.

𝗛𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀 𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗥𝗼𝗮𝗱

After the bandits returned with gasoline, the ordeal continued hours of aimless driving, with at least one robber insisting they should take Whitechurch to a doctor. Whether it was guilt, fear of the murder charge, or simply a criminal’s instinct to manage consequences, no one could say. Eventually, the bandits released the two victims between Sand Springs and Skiatook.

Sykes—bloodied, shaken, exhausted—did something that reads almost unreal until you remember what survival can demand: he carried Whitechurch on his back for roughly a mile and a half to a pumping station. From there, help came, and Whitechurch was taken to a hospital in Tulsa. By then, the robbery was already rippling outward.

𝗦𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗳𝗳 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝗻𝗲𝗿 𝗜𝗻𝘃𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗴𝗮𝘁𝗲𝘀

The bandits’ sedan was soon found abandoned in the Osage Hills north of Sand Springs. Sheriff R. B. “Dick” Conner—working with Tulsa officers—launched raids and searches around Sand Springs, Oilton, and Drumright, leaning on any scrap of information that could put names to the men who had taken a payroll and left a boy dying.

Officers believed the criminals may have been tipped off—oilfield workers reported a suspicious car parked near Wolco, earlier that morning, as if someone had been waiting for the payroll run to start.

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗗𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗗𝗲𝗰𝗹𝗮𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻

Whitechurch’s condition stayed critical. He alternately rallied and failed. But before he died, he regained consciousness long enough to perform one final act that turned a fading investigation into a sharpened case: he identified a photograph of one of the robbers. On December 28, 1934, Jesse A. Whitechurch Jr. died in the Tulsa hospital from the gunshot wound. The payroll hijacking was no longer just a holdup. It was a murder.

𝗦𝘂𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗰𝘁 𝗡𝗮𝗺𝗲𝘀 𝗕𝗲𝗴𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗼 𝗦𝘂𝗿𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲

With Whitechurch’s death, warrants followed. Officers announced that three suspects were held and that a fourth Jack Ford, described as a Tulsa police “character”—was the object of a wide search. Early reports also circulated other names among those questioned or detained as the dragnet widened. But the real break came later—after months of frustration and dead ends.

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗕𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗸: 𝗞𝗶𝗹𝗴𝗼𝗿𝗲, 𝗧𝗲𝘅𝗮𝘀

In the summer of 1935, far from Osage County, police in Kilgore, Texas, arrested several men in connection with an attempted robbery. They found firearms, ammunition, and burglary tools. One suspect, authorities said, had been fingerprinted under an alias— “Owen Johnson”—but was believed to be the man Osage County wanted. Sheriff Conner drove south to view the prisoner. The man was identified as Jack Ford. Ford was brought back to Oklahoma. Almost immediately, arrests tightened around alleged accomplices:

• Emmett Reynolds (arrested in Wellston, Oklahoma, described as a driver)
• Kermit Blevins (Tulsa; arrested and held for Osage County)

Later reporting added Esley D. Pruitt and Frank Smith, as the case expanded and prosecutors worked to link additional men to the crime. The accused were arraigned in District court and pleaded not guilty as preliminaries were set.

𝗔 𝗖𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝗧𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗞𝗲𝗽𝘁 𝗥𝗲𝗯𝘂𝗶𝗹𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗜𝘁𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳

The Blevins portion of the story became a legal tug-of-war that shows how hard these conspiracy cases were before modern forensic tools. Charges against Kermit Blevins were at times dismissed for lack of evidence, then refiled after the county attorney claimed new evidence connected him. A judge later ruled that the evidence insufficient in a habeas proceeding, reportedly noting the only incriminating testimony was that Ford and Blevins had been seen together the same day.

In other words: the investigation had suspects, but proving who did what—and who knew what—was the fight.

𝗖𝗼𝗻𝗳𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀

Over time, the legal picture tightened. Reports state Jack Ford pleaded guilty and awaited sentencing, and that his confession implicated others. Later coverage describes Ford as a former oilfield worker with a record that included earlier imprisonment, escape, and return—suggesting a man who cycled in and out of trouble until Osage County finally stopped the cycle.

And then came the sentence that marked the case’s grim finish, Esley Pruitt was tried in Pawhuska and sentenced to life in prison, reported as the second of the suspects to receive a life term connected to the Whitechurch killing.

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗩𝗶𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗺𝘀 𝗕𝗲𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗛𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀

It’s easy to remember the machine gun. The cracked windshield. The missing gear knob. But the heart of this case is two young employees on a county road, doing a job that mattered to their town.

Jesse Whitechurch was not a hardened man running with criminals—he was an oil-country kid trusted with the day’s wages. Mechlin (“Mack”) Sykes survived, but survival came with a cost: the blow to the face, the ropes, the hours captive, and the memory of carrying a wounded coworker toward the nearest light of help.

Osage County lawmen faced a familiar reality: criminals could vanish into Tulsa, Oklahoma, or across state lines—but a mistake, a witness, or a photograph could pull them back. And in this case, one last identification from a hospital bed helped bring the hunt to a close. … See MoreSee Less

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
March 31, 2026
Two Arrested Following Suspicious Activity Near Dick Conner Correctional Facility

OSAGE COUNTY, OK — On Monday, March 30, 2026, at approximately 1:50 a.m., Osage County Deputies, in coordination with the Osage Nation Police Department, responded to a report from casino security regarding a suspicious vehicle parked after hours in the Hominy Casino parking lot.

Security personnel reported that a subject dressed in dark clothing exited the vehicle carrying a black backpack and proceeded toward the Dick Conner Correctional Facility, while the driver remained with the vehicle.

Upon arrival, deputies utilized a thermal monocular to scan the area and observed what appeared to be a heat signature near the exterior fence of the correctional facility. Deputies approached the location and discovered a male subject lying in the grass near the fence attempting to conceal himself. The subject was dressed in dark clothing and was found in possession of a black backpack.

Following the detention of both individuals, deputies conducted an inventory of the backpack, which contained multiple cellular phones, approximately 30 grams of a white crystalline substance believed to be methamphetamine, over 500 grams of a green leafy substance believed to be marijuana, nicotine vape devices, cigars, loose tobacco, lighters, and other miscellaneous items.

The driver of the vehicle was identified as Jalen Cortez Mack, and the individual located near the fence was identified as Santale Lamont Cephus II.

Both subjects were arrested and charged with:

•Trafficking in Amphetamine or Methamphetamine (20 grams or more)
•Distribution/Possession with Intent to Distribute a Controlled Dangerous Substance (CDS)

These are arrests, not convictions. … See MoreSee Less