Biographies: David F. Dunn, 1932, Winn Parish, LA.
Submitted by Greggory E. Davies, 120 Ted Price Lane, Winnfield, LA 71483
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From: April 8, 1932 Winn Parish Enterprise or Winnfield News-American

Passing In Review This Week We Have David F. Dunn

by R. W. Oglesby

Uncle Dave as was affectionately called by all of his acquaintances was one of
the landmarks of Winnfield.  All of his mature life was taken up in some kind
of official position.  In the old days he and his good wife kept the old log
hotel which stood on the lot marked by the stately cedar trees in front of
Mrs. S. A. Wright's home.  This hotel was one of the show places of the then
hamlet of Winnfield.  It was a two story double pen log house covered with
clap boards.  It is said that you could sleep in the upper room and count the
stars through the cracks in the boards, but during the hardest rain did not
leak a drop.  It was a haven for out of town attorneys and court officials on
their periodical visits to the court.  There were no spying town officials to
intrude upon the famous poker games that sometimes lasted all night when the
lawyers came to hold court.

In addition to being the hotel keeper, Uncle Dave was the post master,
constable, and no telling how many other positions of trust he held, as well
as farming operations carried on in Milling bottom.  The hotel was built many
years before the Civil War, if I mistake not, by Rev. Daniel Wade, the
grandfather of Dr. D. W. Kelly and the Bolton boys of Alexandria.  Col. George
W. Bolton who passed away last year at the ripe old age was married in this
hotel to Miss Tennie Wade who passed away a few months before.  They lived
happily together for more than sixty years.  It was torn away since I came to
Winnfield to make room for the growing town, and I fear no one kept a picture
of the same.  If there is one in existence, it should be framed and kept in
the City Hall.

In 1903 Uncle Dave was deputy marshal under Frank Shaw and one of his duties
was to collect "street taxes" when there were no streets to keep up, just
sandy roads where they are now paved streets and whiteways.  I hadn't been in
town more than three days and didn't know for sure whether I was going to
remain, as the prospects were not very flattering, when I was approached by
Uncle Dave for "street tax."  I asked him what his name was and he said
"Dunn."  I told him that his name was very appropriate for the job he had, and
my recollection is that I talked him out of paying for a short time only.  He
was eternally on the job.  I think his salary as well as that of the marshal
depended upon his diligence in collecting the "street taxes."

He was a constable of ward one under uncle Bob Jones, the justice of the
peace.  It was a rare treat, one never to be forgotten, to see the court
functioning under those two old patriarchs.  He also served as deputy sheriff
and one of his duties was to wait on the court while in session to attend the
jury when one was empaneled to try criminal cases.  The law is that once the
jury is empaneled on a case, the members of the same can not separate.  Uncle
Dave was rigid in the enforcement of that rule for to break it might mean a
mistrial.  They did not have the dormitory conveniences then that they have
now, and it was very annoying to the other eleven members to have to crawl out
on a cold winter night to accompany one member who had to be "excused."

He was diligent in executing the orders of the court.  All he wanted was the
"authority."  On one occasion he was executing a writ of provisional seizure
for the non-payment of rent.  When he got to the house where he was to seize
the furniture, there was no one at home.  Uncle Dave made himself at home and
was busily engaged in taking inventory of the contents, when in walked the
lady of the house.  She said, "what are you doing rummaging through my things?
Get out."  Uncle Dave, not in the least confused, turned and said, "keep 
quiet madam, I am acting by the authority of the law."

Once he went to execute a writ of a farmer's cotton.  Knowing that it would be
hauled away as soon as it was picked, he went and hid himself in the woods
nearby and watched them pick and at night when they gathered at the pen to
weigh the same, Uncle Dave walked out and said, "I'll take this cotton."  The
farmer came in the next morning and paid up.  You could not get by Uncle Dave.

After the courthouse burned in 1917, for several years we used the City Hall
for a courtroom.  A dry civil case was being tried on a lazy summer's
afternoon, with no one present except the court officials and the two lawyers
engaged in the trial.  Uncle Dave, as usual, was waiting on the court.  He
dozed off to sleep, this being a common habit, and right in the midst of the
trial, he jumped up and in a loud and vociferous voice said, "O yes, O yes,
the Honorable, the 5th District Court, in and for the Parish of Winn, is now
open pursuant to adjournment."  This was a delightful experience to all of
those present as it broke the monotony and provoked a hearty laugh even from
Judge Cas Moss who was usually very solemn and dignified.

We all loved Uncle Dave, and a few years ago when he laid down the burdens of
life and his many official duties, there was created a vacancy that can never
be filled, for there are no more uncle Daves.  God rest his noble spirit.