BADGES oƒ Honor

“Never give in! Never give in! Never, never, never, never—in nothing great or small, large or petty—never give in except to convictions of honor and good service.”
—Teddy Roosevelt

Michaux Nash Jr. is a third-generation banker. A fan of history, he prefers the Lone Star brand; his hero is Teddy Roosevelt. If you spend any time with him, you’ll learn he’s a treasure trove of Texas relics and history.

Nash is chairman, chief executive officer, and president of Dallas National Bank.
A big-game hunter and fly-fisherman, he has collected all but two—the walrus and the polar bear—of the North American 31. That is the number of species of big-game animals that can be hunted [editor’s note: the jaguar and walrus were removed from the list, so now hunters are only allowed to take the North American 29.] He loves and collects fine Western art, preferring bronzes and original paintings, and anything associated with Teddy Roosevelt.

With roots in Kaufman County, Nash is the nephew of former U.S. Marshall Robert Nash, Northern District of Texas, October 1961-1966. Fascinated with tales of Texas law enforcement, especially the Texas Rangers, Michaux Nash Jr. served as president (1982-1984) and chairman of the board (1984-1986) for the Greater Dallas Crime Commission.

His home and office are full of drawers, shelves, and boxes of collectibles—arrowheads, early Texas books, stamps, game warden patches, and Indian pottery.

However, Nash’s crowning achievement is his collection of Texas sheriff’s badges, one from each of the 254 Texas counties. No other collector or collection can boast such an assemblage. The stories of how the badges were collected are every bit as entertaining as the collection is beautiful.

“In the mid-1970s,” Nash began, “Governor Dolph Briscoe Jr. appointed a statewide steering committee to plan celebrations for the 150th anniversary of the Texas Rangers. The governor and I were friends, and he appointed me to that committee because he knew of my keen interest in the work of the Texas Rangers.

“The group met regularly in Waco at the Texas Rangers’ Regional Headquarters. Enroute to each of those meetings, I carpooled with another invitee—Captain M.T. “Lone Wolf” Gonzaullas, a legendary retired Texas Ranger who also lived in Dallas.

“After I picked him up, Lone Wolf would share war stories with me all the way to Waco; he wouldn’t be finished until we returned to Dallas and were within a few blocks of his home. One day, at the Texas Rangers’ central headquarters, Company F, I noticed a small collection of deputy sheriff’s badges; seeing that collection gave me the idea to start my own.

“I remember telling the Texas Rangers’ captain in Waco, ‘I will collect every one of the 254 Texas county sheriff’s badges.’

“You’ll never do it,” he insisted. “You won’t even get the shoulder patches.”
Nash just grinned.
Never tell Michaux Nash Jr., he can’t do something.
Nash returned to Dallas and wrote the first of many letters to Texas county sheriffs. In the beginning, those replying to Nash’s letter sent deputy sheriff’s badges. He gave those to the new Ranger museum in Waco; Nash was after the sheriff’s badges themselves, which he has studied at length. “Texas badges come in various sizes and shapes,” he explained. “Most are five-sided stars, some are surrounded by a border. Generally, each has the name of the bearer and the county inscribed on it. Sheriff’s badges from counties along the Mexican border resemble the badge worn by the Texas Rangers—silver or gold Mexican pesos. The gold peso is called the 50 peso.”

Since the very beginning of his badge quest, Nash spent countless hours penning letters to each of the 254 sheriffs throughout Texas, placing phone calls, twisting arms, calling in favors, and writing checks—in nominal amounts ranging from $50 to $100—to purchase the actual badges worn by Texas lawmen. On occasion, he has secured badges posthumously from the families.
Every badge represents a state treasure; some hold great sentimental value—like the one from Archer County.

“The original badge wasn’t flashy enough for Hollywood,” Nash proclaimed.
During the filming of The Last Picture Show with Cybill Shepherd, the film’s producers decided that the borrowed Archer County sheriff’s badge wasn’t shiny enough for the camera. The movie people got a new badge made, and the real Archer County sheriff—a woman—got her original star back.

“She was nice and decided to give me that one,” said Nash.

Collecting the badges has been no easy task. Responses to Nash’s letters, which often had to be written numerous times to the same sheriff, ran the gamut from a simple “yes” to an absolute “hell, no!” Not easily deterred, Nash doggedly pursued his quest to acquire all 254 badges for more than 30 years —harkening back to his hero Teddy Roosevelt’s admonition: “Never give in!”
On the more recalcitrant subjects, Nash had to bide his time, waiting for the dissenting sheriff to die before hitting up the next sheriff for a chance at his star.

“Those men and women didn’t know me,” he said, “so I dropped names of law enforcement friends. During my forays throughout the state, I would often stop at banks in county seats and speak with business friends. In the early days, bankers and sheriffs had a special relationship—the sheriff protected the bank, and the banker was helpful in getting the sheriff re-elected.

“As a follow-up to my letters, coaxing from friends in law enforcement, and help from fellow bankers, my last resort was a pleading phone call. You’d be surprised at the kind of response I got—from polite and mildly amused to downright agitated.

“One sheriff threatened me with a letter from the district attorney—said what I was suggesting was illegal, that I might use his badge to impersonate him. I mean, what did he think I was going to do—rob a bank?”
Nash leaned back in his chair and remembered yet another story.
“I called the sheriff in Limestone County, in the town of Mexia. ‘You get my letter?’ I asked the unamused sheriff. ‘I did, and I’m not gonna send you my badge,’ the sheriff replied.

”Your dad was sheriff before you,” Nash reminded the younger man.
Nash heard the grunt of affirmation on the other end of the line.
“Your dad was a good friend of my uncle, Robert Nash, U.S. Marshall,” Nash said.

The line went dead.
“When you get 253 badges, I’ll give you mine,” the man responded, and hung up.

Nash beamed, “I just wrote down his name and started another letter.”

Good Deeds Pay Off
“Frank Tolbert wrote for The Dallas Morning News,” Nash continued.
“There was a chili cook-off down in the Big Bend, at Terlingua, and Frank’s daughter asked if I’d help judge the contest. I agreed.

“Upon arriving, I noticed there was a sizeable contingent of peace officers in town—too many for a community of that size. It turned out that lawmen in the three surrounding counties had heard rumors that some motorcycle gangs had threatened to show up and disrupt the cook-off, which they never did.

“At the time, Terlingua had a population of about 50. I already had badges from Presidio and Pecos counties, but I didn’t have one from Brewster. I contacted the Brewster County sheriff, and he said, ‘No.’

“Looking around the day of the cook-off, I made eye contact with this tall chief deputy. ‘Is Sheriff So-and-So here?’ I asked. ‘What do you want with him?’ the deputy replied. I explained who I was, that I had started a collection of sheriff’s badges, and that I didn’t have one from Brewster County. ‘I’ll see you outside,’ the deputy drawled.

“I was worried that I’d said the wrong thing to the wrong man. The deputy met me outside and said, ‘You’ll never get one from him, Mr. Nash.’

“It turned out that chief deputy was a retired Texas Ranger. ‘You know my dad. He’s a retired Ranger from Carrizo Springs,’ he said. ‘You invited him to your hunting camp, and you were very nice to him when he was in Baylor Hospital.’ I had met the sheriff of Dimmit County, his dad, at the grocery store getting meals for my hunting camp. His father remembered my calls and gave his badge to me while we were checking out at the store that day. Two weeks later, he was killed in a jailbreak.

“Back in Terlingua, I asked the deputy, ‘What do you suggest I do?’ He replied, ‘The sheriff’s wife is real nice. Bet she’ll send you one if you ask.’
“I did, and I received a badge several days later in the mail.”

The Back Door Works Just Fine
“Amarillo is in Potter County,” Nash said. “I called my banker friend there, a member of the famous Ware Family. ‘I can’t get a badge from your sheriff,’ I lamented. ‘In fact, the sheriff had the DA write me a threatening letter about impersonating a peace officer.’
“My banker friend told me about a retired sheriff from Potter County who had moved to the Lubbock area. ‘Why don’t you give him a call?’ he suggested. I did, and when I spoke to the retired sheriff, he agreed that the sitting sheriff was a real difficult person. ‘Give me your address, and I’ll send you my badge. You short any others?’ he asked. ‘Yeah, I’m short Lipscomb, Ochiltree, and Hemphill,’” I said.

“That sheriff made the calls to his fellow officers, and I got their badges shortly thereafter.”

Dropping the Right Name Never Hurts
“I had used all the tricks of the trade, and the sheriff of Tarrant County still refused to give me his badge,” Nash said. “But then, a Texas Ranger from the area told me how I might get a Tarrant County sheriff’s badge. He said, ‘Lon Evans is former sheriff of Tarrant County. He and your uncle were best friends. In fact, they lived in the same old hotel downtown.’ So I called Lon and told him who I was, and he immediately sent me his badge the next day, personally delivered by a deputy. But they weren’t all that easy to obtain,” Nash smiled.

It Depends On Who You Know
“Pittsburgh, Texas, is in Camp County,” Nash continued.“I was there visiting the local banker, and I informed him that his sheriff had refused to send me his badge, and furthermore, he had reportedly thrown my letters away. The banker promptly picked up the phone and called the sheriff. ‘We’re not being robbed, but I was wondering how fast you could get over here without suffering a heart attack—or scaring people.’

“Within minutes, that sheriff was inside the banker’s office. ‘This is Mr. Nash from Dallas,’ the banker advised the sheriff. ‘I hear you two have spoken. Now take your damned badge off and give it to him!’”

The Right Place at the Right Time
“I was at bank president and friend, Bum Bego’s bank in Goliad,” Nash said. “Bum and I decided to make a field trip to the site where General Santa Anna’s Mexican forces had massacred Texan Colonel James Fannin and his men on March 27, 1836.

“We were looking around when the sheriff drove up. ‘I have a note due with the bank tomorrow,’ the sheriff advised the banker. Can I renew it?’ ‘Yes,’ Bum said, ‘but take off your badge and give it to Mr. Nash here. He’s been trying to reach you for years.’”

A Pursuit Borne of Passion
For Nash, whose love of law enforcement is a true passion, collecting all of the state’s sheriffs’ badges represents an odyssey into the annals of Texas history. It provides a rare glimpse of the brave men and women behind that tiny metal badge, the heroes who wore the star during the commission of their official duties.

The Nash Collection symbolizes years of life-and-death Texas struggles, played out by real, flesh-and-blood law enforcement officers—Texas sheriffs—and one banker’s undying efforts to preserve those memories beneath glass. For his efforts, Texans owe Michaux Nash Jr. a debt of gratitude. Next time you’re in his Dallas neighborhood, stop by the bank and ask to see the collection. Nash will be glad you did.

Stephen Stainkamp is a Plano-based outdoor writer and author of Glory Days: Life with the Dallas Cowboys, 1973-1998, from Taylor Trade Publishing.