A wild-tempered desperado known as Edward “Looney” (no one remembered his last name) had the sole ambition in life of terrorizing every Colorado town he passed through in the mid-1800s. Emboldened by drunken bravado, the prizefighter from Ireland was notorious for throwing fists, firing his revolver, and slashing his knife at anyone who got in his way. He outwitted death more times than he should have, until a mysterious avenger settled the score in an Erie saloon.
Looney came to Colorado in 1861 and put down shallow roots in Mountain City, an early mining camp also known as “Gregory Diggings” that was founded around the time of Colorado’s first gold strike. His opening act was a deadly deed committed hours after he arrived in camp on a hay wagon pulled by a team of oxen. Deputy Sheriff Riley was his foe.
Riley had been in Mountain City since the beginning and had earned the reputation of being a loose-cannon law enforcer dedicated to keeping the peace. On the night of the duel that took his life, Riley caught sight of Looney’s wagon parked in front of the Gregory House hotel in a way that blocked the passage of other teams. He moved the wagon to clear the road by shoving it down a steep embankment. Bystanders agreed he got carried away.
Awoken by the commotion outside the hotel, Looney emerged to find his wagon broken apart at the bottom of the ravine. He confronted Riley on the dusty ruts of Main Street. The men exchanged fiery words that escalated into a gunfight when Looney drew his revolver. Riley raised his double-barrel shotgun, but the quick-handed desperado lunged at him and tore the firearm away. Riley seized his revolver but barely got off two shots before Looney took deliberate aim with the shotgun and pulled the trigger.
A mob of Deputy Sheriff Riley’s supporters demanded Looney be hanged for the murder. It was the punishment that fit the crime. But the death-dodging Irishman claimed he fired in self-defense, because Riley fired first. It was technically true, so he was acquitted. It wasn’t until a couple of years later, after witnessing the desperado’s habitual violence, that everyone in Mountain City realized Looney should’ve been found guilty of murder. Justice hadn’t been served. Unable to change the outcome, the citizens ran him out of town.
Unfortunately for the people of nearby Central City, Looney landed there next. It didn’t take long for him to establish his reputation as a fearsome prizefighter with a red-hot temper.
When a boxing match with a hefty prize was organized in Central City in 1869, someone thought it was a good idea to invite Looney to enter the ring. After a swift victory, he raked in winnings worth $2,000, an enormous sum in today’s dollars. But the money only made the man worse, for he now had plenty of funds to fuel his drunken rampages. A vivid description of his liquor-fueled behavior from his time in Central City was described in the newspaper:
“The Central City people remember the man Looney, who took infinite pleasure in indulging in indiscriminate slashing with his knife and an infinite passion for shooting, when they were so unfortunate as to enjoy his companionship as a citizen.” – The Rocky Mountain News (June 1871)
Eventually a band of armed citizens in Central City had enough of Looney’s lawless sprees and forced him to leave town or face dire consequences. Feeling as though things had gotten too hot for his liking, the quick-fisted desperado rode off into the mountains toward Georgetown.
When Looney arrived in Georgetown, he briefly stayed at a boarding house on bustling Argentine Street. Another prizefighter equally willing to throw fists over nothing happened to be staying there too. A group of miners looking to spectate a good fight provoked a collision between the men. It didn’t take much for things to ignite. Hard words and heavy blows were exchanged between the fighters until someone had the good sense to break them up. But the battle wasn’t over.
Around midnight, the brawlers encountered each other again at the boarding house. Both were raring to fight and soon their tempers hit a fever pitch. An infantryman hired by the proprietor of the boarding house to preserve order stepped between them, but Looney drew his knife and delivered a deadly slash before the man could intervene.
Looney was taken into custody for the murder of the infantryman. He used some of his Central City winnings to make bail. Then he vanished over the horizon as a wanted man.
In the beginning of 1871, Looney rode into the coal-mining town of Erie, leaving his Georgetown warrant behind. A band of unsavory outlaws took a liking to the ruffian. Soon they formed a gang. Night after night, the fearsome bunch made their violent presence known in clashes later called the “Wars of Erie.”
On the night of the assault, the gang ambushed the mine boss as he climbed from his wagon and gave him an unmerciful beating. Hearing the man’s pained yells, the town preacher rushed over and brandished the revolver he carried to “enforce his doctrine.” He scooped up the critically wounded boss and shuffled him away.
Looney figured the mine boss wouldn’t survive the beating and set his sights on making sure no one in Erie would stop him from claiming power.
A member of the gang said a local shopkeeper seemed like a threat. With their revolvers loaded and cocked, the thugs surrounded the merchant as he stood in the doorway of his shop. They pushed him backward across the threshold and Looney drew his bowie knife. It appeared he intended to stab the unarmed shopkeeper, but upon finding an audience of customers inside, switched from violence to verbal threats. His drunken outrage was later described in the newspaper:
Discovering the customers were also armed and willing to use force to keep the peace, the cowardly desperadoes backed down.
On the street outside the shop, a frustrated Looney locked eyes with a man of small stature attempting to skirt around the ruckus and grabbed him by his clothes. The little man managed to shake himself free, but his clothes were torn off by Looney in the scuffle. He ran away with stinging humiliation that would give rise to a hunger for revenge.
It seemed the terror inflicted upon Erie by the irrepressible Looney gang would only burn hotter until someone put a stop to it. A collection of armed citizens organized a vigilance committee and patrolled the town every night. The women and children grouped together for safety. After a week, they succeeded in running the marauders out of town.
Someone heard the gang planned to go to Boulder and sent word. A vigilance committee in that town mobilized with loaded shotguns and revolvers. They confronted the ruffians as they exited the circus and made sure Boulder felt too hot to stick around. When the gang turned up back in Erie, drunk and rowdy and threatening revenge, no one was surprised. In fact, they were ready for it. A plan to eliminate Looney’s reign of terror had already been put in motion.
Looney’s last stand unfolded in an Erie saloon in 1871 as nightfall blotted out the sky. Pitifully predictable, the doomed desperado stormed into the first saloon he saw and filled himself with enough whiskey to inflame his false bravado. Armed with his bowie knife and revolver, unaware he’d been marked for death, the brawler approached two men sitting at a table and announced his intention to use deadly force to seize control of Erie and all its citizens.
As Looney reached to his sheath to draw his knife, a rifle ball passed through the saloon doors, entered his right side, exited his left arm, and lodged itself in the wall. He collapsed to the floor. That was the end of him.
The man who fired the kill shot had been positioned just outside the saloon doors. No one was able to identify him because no one saw anything. That was the official story. Just about everyone in Erie knew the honor of pulling the trigger had gone to the small man who’d been stripped of his dignity when Looney tore his clothes off during their brief scuffle.
The newspapers gleefully spread the news of the infamous prizefighter’s death far and wide:
Looney was buried somewhere outside of Erie. The following year, a sure shot desperado named John Porter arrived in town to take his place. A champion pigeon shooter with a blistering temper, Porter got himself shot after firing his revolver at another man during a ruckus at a pigeon-shooting match. During his convalescence, he racked up substantial debt with the local butcher and a merchant. Then he fled to Denver.
Porter encountered a member of the old Looney gang while hiding out in Denver. With great interest, he learned the butcher and the merchant back in Erie had helped plan Looney’s killing. Porter hatched a plan to have his debts forgiven. He returned to Erie and threatened to take the men before a grand jury and have them brought up on murder charges if they tried to collect. That plan didn’t work so well. The vigilance committee responsible for eliminating Looney roared back to life and instructed Porter to get out of town or he’d be eliminated too. When Porter refused, they shot him. He survived, but never set foot in Erie again.
