Ken Rex McElroy: The Town Bully Who Was Shot Dead in Broad Daylight — and Nobody Saw a Thing

Jul 11, 2023
8 min read

Updated: Apr 23

Collage with Ken McElroy, a newspaper headline about a murder, and a truck with a broken window. Tone is mysterious and tense.

The story of a man who terrorised an entire Missouri community for two decades, beat every criminal charge thrown at him, and was ultimately gunned down in front of dozens of witnesses who all swore blind they hadn't seen a thing.

Who Was Ken Rex McElroy?

In the small farming town of Skidmore, Missouri (population around 440 in 1981) one name was enough to empty the streets. When Ken Rex McElroy pulled his pickup truck into town, residents reportedly called each other with a simple message: go home and lock your doors.

McElroy was born on June 16, 1934, the 15th of 16 children born to Tony and Mabel McElroy, poor migrant tenant-farmers who drifted between Kansas and the Ozarks before eventually settling outside Skidmore. It wasn't a promising start, and things didn't improve. He dropped out of school at 15, still in the eighth grade, and quickly built a reputation as a cattle rustler, petty thief, and bully. He was about a foot taller than his classmates, according to true crime author Harry MacLean, mostly because he'd been held back so many times. MacLean, who later wrote the definitive book on the case, wasn't even sure McElroy could read.

Standing 6 foot 2 and weighing around 270 pounds, McElroy was physically intimidating even before he opened his mouth. With his slicked-back hair and cold, flat eyes, veteran journalist Phil Conger described him as "a big brute of a guy with slicked-back hair like Elvis." But it wasn't his looks that kept Skidmore in a permanent state of dread — it was what he was willing to do, and how consistently he got away with it.

Close-up portrait of a man with dark hair, light eyes.

A Criminal Record as Long as the County Road

Over the course of his adult life, McElroy was accused of an extraordinary range of offences: theft, burglary, livestock rustling, arson, assault, animal cruelty, statutory rape, and child molestation. He was indicted 21 times and walked free 20 of those times. His attorney, Richard Gene McFadin of Gallatin, Missouri, reportedly handled three or four felony cases for McElroy every single year.

How did he keep escaping conviction? Largely through witness intimidation. His method was simple and devastatingly effective: he'd park his truck outside the home of anyone who'd agreed to testify against him and just sit there, staring at the house, for hours at a time. One farmer, Romaine Henry, said McElroy had parked outside his property at least 100 times after he'd filed charges. People got the message. Witnesses recanted. Juries acquitted. Cases evaporated.

He had no bank account and no Social Security number. MacLean, who spent three years living in Skidmore to research his book, later wondered aloud:

"He didn't have a bank account, didn't have a Social Security number, he didn't read. How did this uneducated person — how is he able to outwit the criminal justice system for 20 years?"

Part of the answer was McFadin's legal skill. Part of it was sheer brazenness. And part of it was that in a small, tight-knit farming community, the fear of retaliation was simply more powerful than the fear of injustice.

The Abuse of Trena McCloud

Perhaps the most disturbing chapter of McElroy's life involved his relationship with Trena McCloud, who became his final wife. McElroy met Trena when she was just 12 years old and he was 35. He began raping her repeatedly. Her parents initially refused to accept the relationship — so McElroy burned their house down and shot their dog to force their compliance.

Two women with serious expressions in a black and white outdoor photograph. — Trena McCloud, on the left

Trena became pregnant at 14, dropped out of school in the ninth grade, and moved in with McElroy and his then-wife Alice Wood. To avoid a statutory rape charge (with Trena as the sole witness), McElroy divorced Alice and married Trena instead. Sixteen days after Trena gave birth, she and Alice fled to Trena's parents' home. McElroy tracked them down, brought them back — and when Trena's parents were next away from home, he burned their house down again and shot their new dog.

Based on Trena's account, McElroy was indicted in June 1973 for arson, assault, and statutory rape. He was released on $2,500 bail. Trena and her baby were placed in foster care in Maryville, Missouri. McElroy then sat outside the foster family's home for hours at a stretch, staring at it. He told the foster family he'd trade "girl for girl" to get his child back — making clear he knew exactly which school their biological daughter attended and which bus route she took. The charges eventually faded. They almost always did.

McElroy fathered at least 17 children by multiple women and girls across his lifetime.

The Shooting of Bo Bowenkamp

The beginning of the end for Ken McElroy started with a piece of candy. In 1980, one of McElroy's children got into a dispute with a clerk at a local grocery store owned by 70-year-old Ernest "Bo" Bowenkamp and his wife Lois, after the child was accused of trying to steal some Jawbreaker sweets. That was all the provocation McElroy needed. He began stalking the Bowenkamp family, leering at them from his truck parked outside their house, and occasionally firing his shotgun into the air nearby. He confronted Bo at the loading dock behind the store, shotgun in hand, and shot the 70-year-old man in the throat.

Bowenkamp survived. McElroy was arrested and charged with first degree assault, which carried a possible life sentence. In June 1981, a jury finally delivered what the town had been waiting years for: a conviction. McElroy was found guilty of second-degree assault and handed a two-year sentence.

It lasted about five minutes. He was released on bail pending his appeal, and immediately went to the D&G Tavern — the town's local bar — carrying an M1 Garand rifle with a bayonet attached. There, he made graphic, detailed threats about what he intended to do to Bo Bowenkamp. Bowenkamp's daughter Cheryl later told the New York Times: "We were so bitter and so angry at the law letting us down that it came to somebody taking matters in their own hands. No one has any idea what a nightmare we lived."

The Morning of July 10, 1981

On the morning of July 10, 1981, a group of Skidmore residents gathered at the Legion Hall in the centre of town to meet with Nodaway County Sheriff Dan Estes. The agenda was simple: what on earth could they legally do about Ken McElroy?

Sheriff Estes's advice was to consider forming a neighbourhood watch and to avoid any direct confrontation. Then he drove out of town in his police cruiser. Shortly after, word reached the Legion Hall that McElroy and Trena had arrived at the D&G Tavern for morning drinks. The assembled crowd walked down to the bar. It filled completely.

Del Clement, who co-owned the D&G with his brother, had never liked McElroy and liked him even less for driving away paying customers every time he showed up. Nobody said much. McElroy finished his drinks, bought a six-pack of beer to go, and walked out to his red pickup truck with Trena. A crowd (estimated at somewhere between 30 and 46 people) followed them outside and gathered around the vehicle.

Open door of pickup truck, interior visible, 'DIGI' sign in background. — McElroy's blood stained truck after his body had been removed

McElroy never moved. According to MacLean's detailed reconstruction of events, Trena looked behind her and reportedly said: "Ken, they're going to shoot ya." He was lighting a cigarette. He didn't flinch.

Shots rang out. McElroy was struck twice — once by a centerfire rifle and once by a .22 rimfire. The force of the bullets caused his foot to stamp the accelerator, sending the engine into a high-pitched whine. His blood ran down the windshield. Someone pulled Trena from the passenger seat. She was unharmed.

Nobody called an ambulance.

The Silence That Defeated the FBI

What followed was one of the most remarkable collective silences in American legal history. With up to 46 witnesses standing in the street, not one person came forward to identify a shooter. Every single witness told investigators they'd heard the shots and ducked — but hadn't seen who fired.

Trena McElroy repeatedly named a local rancher, Del Clement, as one of the gunmen. She told local police, a grand jury, and federal investigators the same thing. Clement denied it and was never formally charged.

The DA declined to press charges. The FBI launched an extensive investigation and came away with nothing. Local authorities, state investigators, and federal agents couldn't crack a single person. As MacLean later put it: "They get mobsters to turn on each other, but they couldn't get one of those farmers to turn."

Missouri Highway Patrol trooper Richard Stratton, reflecting on the case years later, was blunt about what had happened: "Those were fathers and grandfathers on the street in Skidmore that day. Ordinary, hardworking people. They did what they did because we didn't do our job. Then they went home and kept their mouths shut."

McElroy's own former attorney summed it up with equal candour: "I know why they didn't talk — they were all glad he was dead. That town got away with murder."

As of 2026, no one has ever been charged in connection with Ken Rex McElroy's death.

What Happened Afterwards

McElroy was buried at Memorial Park Cemetery in St. Joseph, Missouri. On July 9, 1984, Trena filed a $5 million wrongful death lawsuit against the Town of Skidmore, Nodaway County, Sheriff Danny Estes, Mayor Steve Peters, and Del Clement. The case was settled out of court for a total of $17,600, with no party admitting fault — the settlement agreed primarily to avoid the cost of going to trial.

Del Clement died in 2009 without ever confessing. MacLean has said it was an open secret that Clement fired one of the rounds, though he's less certain about who fired the second. He's said he believes he knows, but has never publicly named that person.

Trena McElroy remarried, moved to Lebanon, Missouri, and had more children. She died of cancer on January 24, 2012 — her 55th birthday.

The Cultural Legacy

The story gripped the American public. Major newspapers ran with it. Rolling Stone, Playboy, A&E, and 60 Minutes all covered it. The case raised uncomfortable questions about vigilante justice, the failure of rural law enforcement, and the unspoken moral calculus of a community pushed past its limit.

In 1988, Harry MacLean published In Broad Daylight, his Edgar Award-winning true crime account of the McElroy case. It became a bestseller and remains the definitive account. MacLean spent three years in Skidmore reporting the book — and had a shotgun pulled on him while doing so.

In 1991, the book was adapted into a made-for-TV movie of the same name. Brian Dennehy played a fictionalised version of McElroy (renamed Len Rowan to avoid legal complications), with Marcia Gay Harden, Chris Cooper, and Cloris Leachman also starring. Dennehy's portrayal was widely praised as one of his finest performances.

In January 1983, British hard rock band UFO released "Diesel in the Dust" on their album Making Contact — a track loosely based on the Skidmore events, with McElroy thinly fictionalised as Ted McKinley.

In 2019, the Sundance TV documentary series No One Saw a Thing examined the killing and its long shadow over the community in six episodes. BuzzFeed Unsolved also produced a 24-minute episode on the case. A one-man stage play, Kenrex, written by Jack Holden and Ed Stambollouian, has since brought the story to theatre audiences.

Years after McElroy's death, Jeffrey Dalsing — a college graduate who had grown up not knowing his origins — discovered that Ken McElroy was his biological father. He attended the 30th anniversary memorial in Skidmore in 2011. The resemblance to his father, by all accounts, was striking.

Was It Justice?

That question has never been cleanly answered, and perhaps it can't be. McElroy was a man who raped children, terrorised families, burned homes, shot animals, and evaded the law for over two decades through fear and legal wriggle room. The system that was supposed to stop him failed catastrophically, repeatedly, and at enormous cost to ordinary people.

And yet a crowd of civilians took the law into their own hands and shot a man dead in broad daylight. That's not a verdict any court handed down.

What Skidmore chose — unanimously, it seems — was silence. And in that silence, they preserved both their safety and their secret. Whether that constitutes justice probably depends on where you're standing.

Missouri-based journalist Steve Booher captured the attitude of many townspeople in three words: