Everett Milton Morrow

Information has been provided for this page by one of his granddaughters:

Crystal Thompson 970-987-9760

Everett married Betty (Mayo), together they had 4 children..Rita,Willis, Paula and Sandy.

‘The badge is yours, the gun is mine.’
Everett Morrow, legendary and lamented town marshal, dies
By Katie Klingsporn
Associate Editor Mar 27, 2011 Telluride Daily Planet

Everett Morrow was small in stature. But he wore a big Stetson, carried a sizeable pistol and had personality enough to stamp an indelible impression on anyone who knew him.

Morrow, Telluride’s hard-nosed marshal who governed the streets with a tough and singular style in the transitional period of the early ‘70s, died on March 13 in his sleep in Parachute, Colo. He was 80.

Morrow remains one of the most colorful characters of Telluride’s history, specifically the early ‘70s, a time of upheaval as the culture of mining was usurped by the development of a ski resort and a flood of young newcomers.


Stories about the marshal, who was known for his strong Oklahoma accent, tin star and tendency to harass hippies, still trail him in the streets of Telluride today, decades after he left.

He is seen by some as a pivotal figure whose actions galvanized the new population to organize politically — setting the tone for what the town would become. And he no doubt represented the focal point of the struggle that existed in those days between the new and the old.

But despite stories of long-hairs getting hassled by the sometimes-questionable tactics of Morrow, those who remember him do so with fondness.

“Despite the fact that he was the symbol of authority, we had quite a bit of respect for him,” said George Greenbank, who moved to Telluride in the summer of ’71 straight from college. “He never shot any of us, which I think was really commendable considering how out-there we were. Those were heavy, heavy times. And he did a good job.”

“He was a character for sure out of the Old West,” said Dick Unruh, another long-time local. “Everybody that ever met him has a story or more about him.”


In the early 1970s, Morrow was actually a bit of a newcomer himself. He had moved to Telluride to work as the marshal — and the lore is that the town council hired him specifically to deal with the overwhelming influx of young people. To keep the hippies in line, in other words.

But his roots were in Oklahoma; he was born in 1931 in a town called El Reno, fought in the Korean War and married Betty Jo Mayo in 1949. They lived in Oklahoma, Maryland and Texas before settling down in Colorado, where he worked as a marshal in other towns.

He moved to Telluride with his wife and children, and patrolled the streets in the early ‘70s. He was a cowboy, drove a Ford Falcon and wasn’t shy about his suspicions of new faces and long hair. People recall being pulled over on their first drive into town and told to leave. Others remember him following them not inconspicuously as they went about their daily business.

“He was pretty visible in the old days,” Greenbank said. He remembers in ’71, when he and his roommate, Bracken Raleigh, would make daily trips to the grocery store for breakfast supplies. Morrow would be there, trailing them.

Unruh, meanwhile, first rolled into town with a couple friends from Aspen in April of 1972 to check out the Miner’s Union, which was for sale. One of his friends made an inquiry about daily deposits at a bank, and the bank must have alerted Morrow, because suddenly there he was, eyeing them warily. Unruh approached him to say hello, and Morrow informed him that if he and his friends were thinking about robbing the bank, he had a pursuit vehicle that would catch them before they even got out of the valley.


But for Morrow, he was just doing his job: keeping the town clean of drugs and crime. And there were people who admired him for it.

“He was really suspicious of all the new people coming into town … he came here to protect the town,” said Scott Smith, who was born and raised in Ophir and was a student in high school with Morrow’s daughters.

Smith wasn’t a rabble-rouser, and didn’t catch the attention of the marshal. He remembers him as a straight-laced man with a drawl and a devotion to his job.

“He was a good-hearted guy and his family was great,” Smith said. “He was a fascinating guy, a character and a half. He was a good man.”

The trove of Everett Morrow stories is brimming.


There was that incident late one night in 1973 when a man named William Woodson shot his wife in the head at the Sheridan Hotel. Morrow set out on a manhunt for the suspect, but didn’t bother to tell San Miguel County Sheriff Fred Ellerd, with whom he had a strained relationship.

After looking for Woodson all night, Morrow spotted him at the Ore Bucket Restaurant the next morning and told him to surrender — but the man fled to the basement. Without notifying other officers or clearing the street, Morrow armed a local blacksmith with a shotgun and told him to keep watch, tossed tear gas grenades into the building and crouched outside with his gun drawn — all while morning’s traffic passed by gaping.

There was the time that he orchestrated a massive liquor bust, having 20-year-old Wayne Webb — whom the Telluride Times described as having a receding hairline and a much older demeanor — walk into every nearly every liquor-serving establishment in town and order a drink.

The bust ensnared every establishment except two, and it outraged the community so much that a special meeting was held where the public criticized Morrow for trampling their rights and pled with the council to do something. His defense was that he had busted everyone in order to demonstrate that he wasn’t out for anyone in particular.

One day in 1973, Morrow shot a deer that had jumped the fence across the highway, to the horror of some young transplants who were trying to herd it back into the meadow where it came from.


One of the witnesses, Wayne Watkins, a former newspaper photographer, was so upset by the incident that he and friends loaded the dead deer into his Jeep and hauled it onto the Sheridan Bar — telling anyone who walked in that night how it met its death.

By 1974, many newcomers were fed up with what they saw as ugly politics and law enforcement in town. The atmosphere spurred them to organize politically.

Everyone registered to vote, Greenbank said, and a group of progressive young people ran a slate of candidates for six council seats and that of the mayor.

The group was elected to five of seven seats, including mayor (Jerry Rosenfeld), and the complexion of local politics was forever altered.

Greenbank was one of the newly elected. Immediately following the swearing in of the new council, he said, an emergency meeting was held, and the council’s first order of business was to fire Morrow.


The marshal ended his tenure in unforgettable fashion.

He indignantly tossed his badge across the chamber floor toward the council, Greenbank recalls. Then his hand went to his gun, and he uttered words that have now become famous: “The badge is yours, the gun is mine.”

“We still haven’t gotten that gun back,” Greenbank said.

Rick Silverman said that though he caused people a lot of trouble, Morrow can be credited as galvanizing people to political action.

“For Telluride to take that direction, in many ways it can be traced to Everett,” he said.


In the mid-70s, Morrow moved to Parachute, where he would continue to live for the rest of his life. He worked as a marshal there until the early 1980s, and then worked as an auctioneer for several years before working for Unocal during the oil shale boom.

He is remembered by his family as a man who loved horses and animals and taught his children and grandchildren how to ride.

“He really enjoyed his horses and he always had a dog he was training,” said Linda Cannizzaro, his niece.

He was also known around Parachute for raising the biggest turkeys in town — kids would come by his yard just to gawk at them. And he was always willing to help out.

“He was a good fellow,” she said. “He was always out helping neighbors and involved with the community.”


Morrow is survived by brothers Rueben Morrow, Paul Morrow and children Rita Parsons, Willis Morrow, Paula Thompson and Sandy Carnes, as well as 10 grandchildren and 23 great grandchildren.

Everett Morrow - Town Marshal Telluride Colorado

This is the magazine the picture of Everett was in... SNOW & SKI November 14, 1971 from Debbie Duncan Boyd who added:

Telluride, Colorado 1971
Everett Morrow, Town Marshal
His License Plate read NO. 1 and his Bumper Sticker read: If you don't like Cops, the next time you're in trouble, Call a Hippie (Excerpt from The New York Times)
I knew him as a Cop, but he was also my best friend's Paula Thompson, and Sandy Morrow Carnes, Dad. He was also Cousin Daisy Goldsworthy's daughter, Jennifer Summerville's Grandpa!! He was a Character, and Life wouldn't have been the same, without him in it!♥️♥️
Everett Morrow
1931-2011
R.I.P.

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Ads for Garfield County Colorado

Everett Morrow is fondly remembered by many.  Here is an article written in the Daily Sentinel back in 1982

Everett Milton Morrow
January 2, 1931 - March 13, 2011
Everett Milton Morrow, long time Parachute resident and one time marshal, passed away there peacefully in his sleep March 13, 2011, at age 80.
Everett was born January 2, 1931, to James Leslie and Allie Dora Morrow, in El Reno, Oklahoma.
He is survived by brothers, Rueben Vester Morrow (KS); Paul Ray Morrow (CO); sister, Ellen Marcel Crawford (MI), and children, Rita Parsons (Berthoud); Willis Morrow (Parachute); Paula Thompson (Rifle), and Sandy Carnes (Ft. Meyers, FL), and his ten grandchildren and 23 great grandchildren. He will also be missed by Carmen Abuda and his nieces and nephews.
He joined the Army Air Force in 1946 to do his patriotic duty for the Korean War. His tombstone inaccurately is inscribed WW2, however, he was 10 years old, almost 11 when the US entered WW2. He was still just 15 going on 16 when he did join the service.
When he was discharged in 1949 he went back home and married Betty Jo Mayo (d.1991). They lived in Oklahoma, Maryland, and Texas before deciding to settle down in Colorado.
Everett had worked as a welder and auctioneer, but is best remembered as a small town marshal. He was the town marshal in Frederick, CO, Telluride CO, thenj Parachute CO.
He moved to Telluride in the early 70's where he won election as marshal running as an independent. Telluride was a drug haven back then and his attempts to eliminate drug use clashed with the town council. He was fired in 1974. He famously threw his badge at the council saying "the badge is yours, the gun is mine.” Telluride never did get their gun back.
In 1974, Everett moved to Parachute as town marshal. He would continue to live in Parachute 37 years, all the rest of his life. He was marshal until 1981 when he was dismissed.
He then worked as an auctioneer several years before working for Unocal during the oil shale boom.
He was known around Parachute for raising the biggest turkeys in town. Kids would come by his yard just to gawk at them, and he was always willing to help out.
Everett enjoyed working with horses and sharing his knowledge with any family member or neighbor who expressed an interest.
His other interest included participating in the training of dogs to be used in police work. He even had the first canine partner in Garfield County.
His memorial service was held at the Veteran's Memorial Cemetery of Western Colorado, located at 2830 D. Rd Grand Junction CO, on March 24, 2011.

 

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