They gunned him down in a cornfield… October 22, 1934. Public Enemy No. 1. Thirty years old. Bleeding out between the stalks as the FBI closed in. Charles Arthur Floyd — the man they called “Pretty Boy” — hated that name. What he didn’t hate was robbing banks in broad daylight and, according to the people who protected him, burning the mortgage papers so struggling families could keep their land. The Depression turned him into a legend. Oklahoma called him the Robin Hood of the Cookson Hills. The FBI called him a killer. Both were right. When they finally caught him near East Liverpool, Ohio, he tried to run one last time. They shot him twice. His last words: “I’m done for.” Twenty thousand people showed up to his funeral. Was he a folk hero… or just another outlaw the hard times created? And tell me — who do you think was the real Robin Hood of the Depression? (Disclaimer: This is a historical account of a real criminal from the 1930s. It is not intended to glorify crime or violence. Floyd was responsible for multiple robberies and killings. Context of the Great Depression does not excuse his actions.)