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THE ENCYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN CRIME Second Edition Volume I THE ENCYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN CRIME Second Edition Volume I Carl Sifakis The Encyclopedia of American Crime, Second Edition Copyright © 2001, 1982 by Carl Sifakis All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher. For information contact: Facts On File, Inc. 132 West 31st Street New York NY 10001 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Sifakis, Carl. The Encyclopedia of American Crime / by Carl Sifakis.—2nd ed. p. cm. Includes index. ISBN 0-8160-4633-6 (Volume 1) ISBN 0-8160-4634-4 (Volume 2) ISBN 0-8160-4040-0 (set) 1. Crime—United States—Encyclopedias. I. Title. HV6789.S54 2000 364.973'03–dc21 99-058740 Facts On File books are available at special discounts when purchased in bulk quantities for businesses, associations, institutions or sales promotions. Please call our Special Sales Department in New York at (212) 967-8800 or (800) 322-8755. You can find Facts On File on the World Wide Web at http://www.factsonfile.com Text design by Cathy Rincon Cover design by Nora Wertz Printed in the United States of America VB FOF 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 This book is printed on acid-free paper. For Maria Balluff VOLUME I ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ix INTRODUCTION xi ENTRIES A–J 1 VOLUME II ENTRIES K–Z 477 PHOTO CREDITS 971 BIBLIOGRAPHY 972 INDEX 975 Acknowledgments Special thanks concerning this book must be given to Ed Knappman, who thought of the idea and made it work; to Howie Langer, who thought of me; to Joe Reilly; to James Chambers. And of course to my wife, Maria-Luise, whose encouragement, researching, editing and constant checking of facts often passed what should have been the limits of endurance. ix Introduction Contents lined with splendid mansions, where George Washington resided at the corner of Franklin Square after his inauguration as president of the United States and where, a few doors away, John Hancock lived. Together they strolled amid the street’s fragrant cherry trees and spoke of the American Dream. Yet within a few short decades Cherry Street had degenerated into an area jammed with miserable tenements and inhabitants steeped in poverty, vice and criminality. Cherry Street became the domain of the early Irish street gangs, and no honest citizen dared venture where Washington had once casually ambled. Crime soon developed into an “organized” activity, as gangs found allies and protectors among the aspiring politicians of the day. The politicians realized that properly used, the gangs could win and maintain power for them by intimidating voters at election time. The gangs continued to work with political machines for about 100 years until approximately the start of World War I. By that time reform movements had taken root in most big cities, and politicians realized that the great street gangs—such as New York’s 1,500-member primarily Jewish Eastman gang and the equal numbered Italian Five Points Gang under Paul Kelly—had turned into a liability. No longer could the gangs rob and kill (often to order according to detailed price lists) and expect Tammany or its equivalent in other cities to protect them. With their members subject to frequent arrest and imprisonment, the great gangs started to disintegrate. What saved the gangs from a complete collapse was a unique development in American history, Prohibition. The Noble Experiment began shortly after the close of World War I, and suddenly, the disintegrating criminal gangs were revived. The attempt to legislate morality was doomed to failure, and in a sad by-product of this ill-advised attempt, the seeds of organized crime were sown. Where once the criminals had been popular just The history of crime in America is quite simply the history of America. When criminals began arriving in the New World, America, unlike the nations of Europe, had virtually no social structure, customs or institutions of its own. As America grew into a nation, criminals adapted themselves to the emerging institutions, flourished with them, worked within them, corrupted them and, some might even say, were corrupted by them. Criminality started immediately with the arrival of the first white men. If the Viking sagas are given credence, there were eight murders on Day One of the white man’s appearance in North America. New York City became a symbol of urban crime well before the end of the 18th century. Although there are earlier commentaries on crime in the city, an observation by New York printer-journalist John Holt in 1762 is especially illustrative. Holt wrote of “such various attempts to rob, and so many Robberies actually committed, having of late been very frequent within the Circuits of this City, both Day and Night; it is become hazardous for any person to walk in the latter.” Holt’s words sound much like a New York newspaper editorial in the 1980s demanding something be done to solve the crime problem. What becomes apparent to any serious student of crime in America is the myth of “the good old days.” In Philadelphia in the 18th century, newspapers spoke in awe of the most fearful of all criminals, “those nocturnal Sons of Violence.” And even in the good old days, the best of neighborhoods quickly went to hell. This was true of Cherry Street, that wondrous New York thoroughfare xi The Encyclopedia of American Crime with the politicians, they now became accepted by the public as a whole; the bootleggers were the public’s saviors, supplying them with forbidden drink. Al Capone, the bootleg king of Chicago, was cheered at baseball games while Herbert Hoover, the president of the United States, was booed. More important, the revenues of bootlegging provided the gangsters with wealth they never had accumulated before. No longer could the politicians buy them; now they could and would buy the politicians. In Chicago, Capone would boast about how he owned the police. In New York a young Frank Costello would tell his superior, Lucky Luciano, that the mob owned the police commissioner. Society nurtured the new underworld criminals of the 1920s and then bewailed the relatively insignificant “public enemies” of the 1930s, reflecting a total misunderstanding of the era’s crime problem. That misunderstanding continues to the present day. Not only do we fail to see the genuine menace of crime but we panic over illusions, particularly the specter of a rising crime wave in the 1970s and 1980s. We demand that something be done about crime, that dangerous criminals be put away, ignoring the old lesson that prisons do not reform criminals but make them into worse criminals. Undoubtedly, one reason for this change in attitude is racial bias. Today’s prison populations in general have darker skins. Crime is currently personified by a rowdy black youth in sneakers. In our prejudice we see the root problems of crime as an ethnic matter. And in a sense, it is, since crime springs from ghettos and ghettos tend to be inhabited by ethnic minorities. When the Irish were the first people jammed into the ghettos of American cities, they were responsible for the bulk of the crime wave. After the Jews and Italians arrived, they became the nation’s leading gangsters. When in history has not most of the crime in America (except for white-collar crime) sprung from the ghettos? Any crime reporter is familiar with the attitude that has been described as the “Irish cop morality”: “Why are these people like animals? Why don’t they pull themselves out of the slime the way we did?” Certainly the Irish did, but it took them about a century. Many second- and third-generation Jews do not even know of their heritage of criminality in America, making it one of the nation’s best-kept secrets. According to an ethnic self-delusion, spoken not without a measure of pride, among Jews, those among them who became criminals remained in the background, letting others carry out the violence. This myth is clearly contradicted in the persons of such brutal thugs and killers as Monk Eastman, Crazy Butch, Johnny Spanish, Little Kishky, Ike the Blood, Kid Jigger, Kid Dahl, Big Jack Zelig, Gyp the Blood, Lefty Louis, Whitey Lewis, Yoske Nigger, Charley the Cripple, Johnny Levinsky and Dopey Benny; and in a succeeding era by Kid Dropper, Little Augie, Legs Diamond, Dutch Schultz, Waxey Gordon, Meyer Lansky, Bugsy Siegel, Pretty Amberg, Louis Lepke, Gurrah Shapiro, Abe Reles, Pittsburgh Phil Strauss and Buggsy Goldstein. Many drew their first blood as juvenile muggers, preying on citizens alarmed about the crime wave in their time and insisting things were better in the good old days. (The identities of some Jewish gangsters are lost because they adopted Irish-sounding names. Even the celebrated Monk Eastman, born Edward Osterman, often called himself Edward Delaney, and the notorious turn-of-the-century Italian gang leader Paolo Vaccarelli was likewise better know as Paul Kelly. It was part of the prejudice of the day that even these criminals thought that to be gangsters, they had to have good Irish names.) Throughout the 1960s, ’70s and ’80s, the public became aware that crime was increasing enormously. Crime experts thought otherwise, but no matter, the public knew crime had gone up compared to the good old days. Actually this was not accurate, but the perception was firmly rooted and its causes were not difficult to find. One reason is that in the past several decades the public became better informed. The average person today probably watches an hour to an hour and a half of news on television each day, far more than was ever spent reading newspapers in the pre-video period. Crime news is driven home much more forcefully, and in vivid color. This is not to say that the public would be better off uninformed. Television played a similar role during the Vietnam War, subjecting viewers night after night to the horrors of that tragic conflict. As a result, TV was more instrumental in ending the nation’s involvement in Vietnam than were the numerous antiwar demonstrations. Today, television sickens viewers with crime. There is something antiseptic about a three-paragraph news story of a killing. But it is quite different to show a murdered corpse being carried off, with close-ups of bloodstains on a floor or sidewalk. In the good old days, people rarely saw anything like this, so crime now must indeed be worse. This public misconception naturally carries over to the political arena, with politicians seeking to outdo each other by promising to “get tough with criminals.” They talk of taking violent criminals off the streets and locking them up at the same time courts are ordering prison populations reduced because of overcrowding. In the era of a government determined to spend less, various politicians are calling for new prisons. Yet while it costs a minimum of $20,000 a year to house a xii Introduction convict in an existing facility, the per prisoner cost of providing new accommodations is $70,000 to $100,000. The politicians of course realize what they propose will never be done on the scale that would be necessary to take care of the overflow, but the idea represents a “quick fix” for the public’s worry. To focus on the criminal justice system, which has proven incapable of stopping crime in the past, inhibits any serious discussion of the problem. For years, the Federal Drug Enforcement Administration made numerous arrests of major drug dealers in the United States and abroad, and handed out long prison terms. Still, the country is flooded with heroin and cocaine, and their impact on the crime rate is staggering. An addict often requires $200 a day to support his habit. How can he get it except by stealing, and assaulting victims in the process? Researchers at Temple University found recently that 243 heroin users in Baltimore had committed more than half a million crimes over an 11year period, an annual average of 200 per criminal. Sooner or later, rather than emphasizing the “lock ’em up and throw away the key” attitude, it will become necessary to begin a serious dialogue about other solutions, such as heroin maintenance programs for addicts. Until an effective method of dealing with the drug problem is implemented, addicts will go on committing vast numbers of crimes. A genuine effort will have to be made to come up with proper standards of probation, parole and sentencing of criminals. New York district attorney Robert M. Morgenthau notes that the law metes out the harshest sentences to second- and third-time offenders, many of whom are by that time in their late twenties—an age when a criminal’s illegal activity generally starts to diminish. “From the standpoint of fairness, that’s the fairest way to do it,” Morgenthau stresses. “But actually he’s less of a danger to society than the guy who’s 22 or 23 years old, more active and has fewer convictions.” It is not the purpose of this book to attempt to solve the crime problem, but it is important to try to note some of the fallacies of many of the remedies suggested. President Ronald Reagan’s labeling of crime as an “American epidemic” requiring a sweeping overhaul of federal criminal laws to “redress the imbalance between the rights of the accused and the rights of the innocent” particularly missed the point, while raising serious constitutional questions. Reagan proposed new drug-trafficking crackdowns and bail-tightening procedures and endorsed legislative proposals that would permit judges to order convicted criminals to make restitution to their victims. This last point requires serious study, not only from the viewpoint of the victim but from that of the accused, since it offers new oppor- tunities for frame-ups by giving a victim a financial motivation for making a positive identification of a suspect, a matter few proponents have yet addressed. Police claim that their hands are tied because no matter how many arrests they make, the courts continue to put criminals back on the street. But is this not an attempt to draw attention from the fact that the police make an arrest in only one crime out of five? Furthermore, this 20 percent ratio is bloated with arrests for “easy” crimes, those of murder, aggravated assault and rape, in which the identity of the perpetrator is often readily established. In the 1990s a sea change concerning crime occurred as the rate of virtually all types of crimes started to decline, and the public has begun to feel better about the situation. Naturally law enforcement officials throughout the country claim that the decline is due to their work, but the more logical assumption is that it in large measure reflects a previous falling birth rate. Experts on such matters say the situation will change in due course and crime will rise as a growing crop of teenagers, important contributors to the crime rate, comes of age. Still, Americans are satisfied that things are better now, although they remain exercised about the murder rate, which is perceived as more grisly than ever. This more than anything else continues to fuel popularity for capital punishment. Indeed a certain type of murder has come to the fore as one of the major crime problems of the new millennium—that of the serial killer. When the first edition of this book appeared in the early 1980s, the term serial killer had hardly come into vogue, and it was more common to speak of mass murderers. There is no doubt that serial killings have exploded in recent years. Today and for some years now the FBI estimated that of the 5,000 or so killers not apprehended each year, some 3,500 could be the work of serial killers who are not caught. Many crime writers tended to regard such estimates as wildly exaggerated, but as more and more serial killers are apprehended and tied to five, 10, 20 or more slayings, there is much more of a readiness to acknowledge the FBI experts know what they are talking about. In a way, confirmation of this comes in a study of what is occurring in death houses around the country as condemned men are cleared and released. As of August 1999 there have been 566 executions, while 82 others condemned to die, including some only hours or days from that fate, were discovered to be not guilty. Frequently the condemned had been acting as stand-ins for serial killers or rapists. This may speak volumes about the efficiency of the justice system to find the guilty rather than imprisoning the innocent, while the real criminal remains free. xiii The Encyclopedia of American Crime Much of the saving of lives, a growing number of voices now say, cannot be simply ascribed to the position of capital punishment proponents that “this proves the system works” but rather that some of the innocent are freed despite a system that inherently is incapable of being consistently right. In some cases now, in some states, vocal capital punishment proponents have actually joined opponents of the death penalty to propose a moratorium on executions while the matter is studied further. Illinois, where there had been 12 executions and an equal number of wrongful convictions requiring release of condemned men, stands out as a glaring example. What is clear is that these two issues, a more comprehensive study of the problem of serial killers and the use of DNA and other methods to prevent permanent miscarriages of justice, will be hot-button items in coming years. Along with these will come an increased interest in crime. In such a climate the need for a more systematized study of the history of crime in America should be apparent. It is not an easy field for historical study. Facts about crime are more obscure than in most other subject fields, and although I have endeavored to weed out misrepresentation and inaccuracies, I probably have not been completely successful. Some crime myths have become so imbedded in our culture that it is probably too late at this date to separate fact from fiction. It may be a hopeless struggle to try to prove that John Dillinger never used a wooden gun to break out of jail. Some of the most respected reference sources to this day inaccurately report that Al Capone was born in Naples, when in fact his birthplace was Brooklyn, New York City. Criminals not only lie about their deeds but about their lives as well. Efforts to obtain merely birth and death dates of criminals are often frustrating. They give different birthplaces and dates at different times, perhaps in an attempt to assume another identity or to cloud the truth because of deportation concerns. The result is confusion. Deaths are not always reported. Criminals, certainly more so than old soldiers, seem to just fade away. Police have been known to misrepresent facts, and when convenient, the great historians of crime, news reporters, have also stretched the truth, sometimes entertainingly so. The pressure in the newspaper profession for a daily “fresh angle” undoubtedly has led some reporters to embellish their facts. Paul Schoenstein, one of New York’s leading newspaper editors, once said his favorite reporters were those who came back with a news story in which at least addresses didn’t turn out to be in the middle of the Hudson River. Reporters have gained reputations, or at least some journalistic rewards, by knowing how to cater to the public’s appetite for sensationalism. The vehicle for their fame has been the “piped” newspaper crime story, the origin of the term deriving from the location of New York police headquarters near Chinatown, where people could journey to dreamland puffing on an opium pipe. Some of the most fanciful stories have been produced on out-of-town assignments, which provide police reporters with their greatest joy: the chance to escape police headquarters and their city rooms. There is a convenient division of labor on such jobs whereby only one reporter covers the news sources while the rest play cards. At a given moment, all the reporters get the same facts and call their offices at the same time so that no one gets a lead on the rest. Even more important, expense accounts cover lavish living and allow for padding of such imaginary items as hip boots to traipse around with the police in swampy areas. According to a story that is often told at the Columbia University School of Journalism, in the days when New York City had a dozen-odd newspapers, police reporters were sent to New Jersey to cover a particularly important murder. After several weeks, the investigation began petering out, and the city editors started making rumbles about the reporters returning home. Faced with the loss of their journalistic vacation, the reporters came up with a ruse. One of them obtained an old rusted gun that could not be traced, and they buried it in the backyard of a suspect. Naturally, the police were tipped off and there was a new break in the story, which kept the reporters in New Jersey for another week until it was determined that the gun was not linked to the case. It is capers like these that cloud the history of crime and make the serious student’s task all the harder. Crime is sensational enough, bizarre enough, certainly important enough and sometimes even entertaining enough to require no more than, as Sgt. Joe Friday used to say on TV’s long-running Dragnet series, “just the facts, ma’am.” A work attempting to cover the full gamut of crime in America is of necessity highly selective. With a mere 2,000 entries how does one cover just murder, with up to 20,000 known cases a year? Only those killings that in some way have become “classics” can be recorded here. Although more words were written about the Hall-Mills murders than any other criminal case up to that time, it remains, in essence, a singularly common crime: the murder of a married man and his paramour while on a tryst. A sensational trial and a not-guilty verdict have given it a special niche in America’s criminal history. The Snyder-Gray case xiv Introduction also lives in our memories even though it is another rather ordinary murder: a married woman and her lover dispatching the lady’s husband, a crime repeated perhaps hundreds of times a year. Still, we remember Snyder-Gray not for what they were— especially Judd Gray, a particularly weak man with little inclination for killing—but for what we the public made of them. In the 1920s the murder they committed was labeled one of the great crimes of the century, a phrase found with monotonous regularity in tabloid headlines. I’ve also paid particular attention to recording “firsts” in this work. Along with the Vikings’ early depredations is included the case of John Billington, who was convicted of the first murder in the Plymouth colony. Also covered in these volumes are murders of a particularly bizarre nature or those with some important symbolic or historical relevance. Other murder cases are included because they were trail-blazers in such fields as establishment of insanity pleas or, on a slightly more exotic level, set precedents involving murders by sleepwalkers or victims of hypnotists. The mass murderers of America are also here, including such wholesale practitioners of death as H. H. Holmes, Johann Hoch, Albert Fish, Earle Nelson, Howard Unruh, Charles Starkweather, Carl Panzram, Edmund Kemper, Richard Speck, Charles Whitman, Dean Corll, Joseph Gacy, Albert DeSalvo (the Boston Strangler) and many others. In the Old West, it is striking to note how little separated the lawmen from the bandit; indeed many readily and frequently passed from one role to the other. I describe men like Wyatt Earp and Wild Bill Hickok, warts and all, often finding little but warts. Such other folk heroes as the James Brothers and Billy the Kid, examined objectively, lose the redeeming qualities often attributed to them. Any detailed study of the public enemies of the 1930s shows most to be overglamorized, with the possible exception of John Dillinger and one or two others. In the process of deglamorizing them, I inevitably deglamorized those who built the myths around them while they ignored and indeed denied the existence and growth of an organized crime syndicate. Fame in the field of crime is fickle, sticking to some and deserting others. Today, Baron Lamm, a giant among bank robbers, is little remembered, although his influence on Dillinger, who never met him, was enormous. Even among genuine heroes, fame can be short lived. Few Americans today know the name of Ed Morrell, possibly the most tortured and, later, the most respected convict in the nation’s penal history. When he was eventually pardoned, a prison warden wept for joy with him. Excuses are made for Jesse James, and the railroads that he plundered are cast as villains, although James was certainly a cold-blooded murderer. At the same time, the California Outlaws, led by such men as Morrell, Chris Evans and the Sontag brothers, are described in superficial histories as cutthroats while the true villain of the day, the Southern Pacific Railroad, escapes censure. I’ve also included important prosecutors and defense attorneys, not all Darrows perhaps but many colorful, brilliant and, in some cases, devious. In examining these practitioners of the law as well as judges and police officers, the inequities in America’s judicial history become apparent. But moral judgments aside, the events and people— the killers, thieves, madams, whores, crooked and honest lawmen and judges, political bosses, syndicate xv The Encyclopedia of American Crime gangsters and even victims—in the annals of crime are worth studying because they are, perhaps much more than we wish to admit, reflections of ourselves and the society we have created. xvi A Abbandando, Frank “the Dasher” (1910–1942) Murder, Inc. killer Dasher in the fair name of baseball, arguing: “Ballplayers don’t kill people. In all my experience I cannot think of a single baseball player who ever killed anybody—at least so viciously as in this case.” The athletic assassin went to the electric chair on February 19, 1942. See also: MURDER, INC.; ABE RELES. One of Murder, Inc.’s most prolific killers, Frank “the Dasher” Abbandando got his nickname, according to one version, on one of his early hits. He pointed his gun at a huge waterfront character and pulled the trigger, but the weapon didn’t fire. Abbandando then made a mad dash to get away, with his intended victim lumbering after him. According to the story, Abbandando ran around a building so fast that he actually came up behind the man. This time he got him with three slugs in the back. Even if this story is legend, it is matter of fact that during the 1930s, Abbandando did a remarkable job of littering the streets of Brooklyn with corpses. No accurate statistics on his kills were ever kept, but he was known to have been involved in probably 50 or so. When he wasn’t knocking off mob victims, the Dasher spent his free time raping young girls in the Brownsville and Ocean Hill sections of Brooklyn. In one case he “squared up” with a girl’s family by tossing them $25, “or otherwise I buy you all tombstones.” When finally brought to justice as a result of the testimony of informer Abe Reles and several other gang members who turned into stoolies, Abbandando was probably the most unrepentant of the hired killers in court. At one stage in the Dasher’s trial, the judge ordered a court officer to stand between himself and Abbandando on the witness stand after the defendant threatened to kill him right in his own court. Still, the Dasher’s lawyer tried to cast him in the best possible light, pointing out he had indeed been a star at second base for the Elmira team—the Elmira Reformatory team that was. In his summation he pleaded for the Abbott, Burton W. (1928–1957) murderer The defendant in one of California’s most sensational kidnap-murder trials, 29-year-old Burton W. Abbott was the object of an even more sensational execution, which offered grim proof of the finality of the death sentence. On April 28, 1955 14-year-old Stephanie Bryan disappeared in Berkeley, Calif. after walking a classmate home. Thirteen days after the hunt for the girl began, the police found one of Stephanie’s schoolbooks in a field outside of town. On the evening of July 15, Georgia Abbott was rummaging in the basement of her home when she found a purse and identification card bearing the name of the missing girl. She rushed upstairs and blurted out news of her find to her husband, Burton, and a dinner guest. Police were summoned and a careful search of the premises revealed a number of Stephanie’s schoolbooks, her brassiere and her glasses. Neither Burton nor Georgia Abbott could explain the presence of the girl’s possessions, but Abbott pointed out that his garage had served as a polling place in May and that anyone of scores of people might have used the opportunity to hide the items on his property. 1 ABILENE, Kansas attacked the home of Lewis Tappan, a leading antislaver. Tappan escaped but most of the furniture in his house was heaved into the street, doused with oil and set on fire. As the mob ripped pictures from the wall, one rioter suddenly stopped another from throwing a painting on the bonfire. “It’s Washington! For God’s sake, don’t burn Washington!” The mob took up the chant, and the painting was held aloft by a group of thugs who respectfully escorted it to the veranda of a house not under attack, where it was fervently guarded during the rest of the riot. The worst of the year’s violence took place three days later, when the leaders of the anti-abolitionist gangs declared they would destroy any house in the Five Points area that didn’t put a candle in the window in denunciation of abolition. By evening, candles flickered from almost every window, but still a dozen buildings were set ablaze and looted. The rioters attacked St. Phillip’s Negro Church on Center Street and completely gutted it. A house next door to the church and three across the street were also destroyed. As smoke spread throughout the district, the gangsters turned their frenzy on houses of prostitution, and the occupants of five of them were dragged outside and forced to watch their homes and belongings burned. The women were stripped, passed out to the gang and horribly mistreated. Blacks were pulled from their homes or hiding places and tortured, and an Englishman had both eyes gouged out and his ears cut off. When troops arrived on the scene a little after one o’clock in the morning, the mob fled. The following night rioters gutted a church on Spring Street whose pastor had supported the antislavery movement, and then barricaded the streets, vowing to battle the soldiers to the death. But when the troops moved on the barricades, the mob turned and ran. For a time thereafter, the riots against abolitionists ceased, resuming in the 1850s. While the police remained suspicious, they had no other evidence to link Abbott to the girl’s disappearance. The Abbotts owned a weekend cabin in the Trinity Mountains, some 300 miles away, and on a hunch, investigators visited the area. Dogs led them to a shallow grave that contained the badly decomposed body of Stephanie Bryan. She had been bludgeoned to death and her panties tied around her neck. Abbott was arrested and charged with kidnapping and murder. While the case against Abbott was circumstantially strong, the prosecution had difficulty establishing a direct link between the suspect and the victim. However, scientific examination showed that hairs and fibers found in Abbott’s car matched those from the girl’s head and clothing. Still, there were enough doubts in the case to cause the jury to deliberate for seven days before finding Abbott guilty. He was sentenced to die in the gas chamber. Insisting on his innocence, Abbott filed appeal after appeal, but each was turned down. He was, however, granted several stays—some only hours before his scheduled execution—to launch yet another appeal. On March 14, 1957 Abbott’s last appeal failed and he was taken to the gas chamber at San Quentin. At 11:15 A.M. the tiny gas pellets were exploded beneath Abbott’s chair. Just then the telephone “hot line” from Gov. Goodwin Knight’s office buzzed Warden Harry Teets. “Hold the execution,” a governor’s assistant ordered. Warden Teets explained it was too late—the gas had been released. Gov. Knight had ordered a stay for one hour, for a reason never officially explained. It didn’t matter. At 11:25 Abbott was dead. Since then the Abbott case has often been cited by forces opposing capital punishment, not because of the merits of his claim of innocence, but as stark evidence that once the state takes away a person’s life, it cannot restore that life. Abilene, Kansas See SHAME OF ABILENE. abortion as a crime stopper controversial theory As crime continued to drop in the 1990s—and somewhat earlier in some localities—political and law enforcement officials were quick to claim the lion’s share of the credit. However, in 1999 a new theory advanced by two highly regarded academics offered a new explanation that would account for as much as half of the drop. It was a firestorm theory that had the distinction of being attacked by all sides of one of the most divisive issues in late 20th-century America—that of abortion. The thesis advanced by Dr. John J. Donohue 3d of Stanford Law and Dr. Steven D. Levitt of the University of Chicago was that much of the falling crime abolitionist riots Riots against abolitionists were common in the pre–Civil War North, but in New York City such commotions were often engineered by the gangsters of the Bowery and the Five Points in order to provide opportunities for general looting and mischief. Several minor episodes occurred in 1833, followed by numerous bloody riots the subsequent year. On July 7, 1834 anti-abolitionist mobs attacked a chapel on Chatham Street and the Bowery Theater. Finally routed by the police, the rioters stormed down Rose Street, then a fashionable thoroughfare of mansions, and 2 ABRAMS, Big Mike rates of the 1990s could be attributed to the sharp increase in abortions after the Supreme Court’s Roe v. Wade decision of 1973. Unsurprisingly, the two researchers were accused of everything from promoting eugenics to outright recommending abortion as a means to reduce crime. When the findings were first reported in the Chicago Tribune in August 1999 they resulted in fiery tirades in op-ed columns and radio talk shows. The criticisms came from both sides in the abortion debate. Joseph Scheidler, executive director of the Pro-Life Action League, denounced the study as “so fraught with stupidity that I hardly know where to start refuting it,” adding, “Naturally if you kill off a million and a half people a year, a few criminals will be in that number. So will doctors, philosophers, musicians and artists.” From a different source, the same response was offered. Columnist Carl Rowan wrote, “I’ve seen a lot of far-fetched and dangerous ideas passed off as ‘social research,’ but none more shallow and potentially malicious than the claim that the drop in crime in the United States can be attributed to legalized abortions.” Some observers noted that Donohue and Levitt had accomplish the near-impossible of simultaneously infuriating the right and left. Some academics noted that the pair seemed to have discerned an effect but doubted their findings that half the crime reduction came from abortion practices. The debate about the decline was sure to be subjected to academic scrutiny, and the specifics of the pair’s findings closely reviewed. One such finding was that such disparate states as New York, Washington, Alaska and Hawaii were among the first to legalize abortion, and they were the first to experience a decrease in crime. Similarly, the states that legalized abortions in 1969 or 1970 had a cumulative decrease in crime from 1982 to 1997 that was greater than for the rest of the nation. The decline in violent crime was greater by 34.4 percent and in property crime by 35.3 percent. The fall in murders was 16.2 percent greater. In addition, states with the highest abortion rates had larger declines in crime than states with low abortion rates. Donohue and Levitt concluded that abortion has occurred selectively, decreasing the number of individuals most likely to be at risk of committing future crimes. Fitting that category, the researchers said, were the potential offspring of mothers who were teenagers, unmarried or black, all of whom have higher rates of abortion. Children born to mothers in these groups are statistically at higher risk to turn to crime as adults. The researchers estimated the economic benefit of abortion to society in reducing crime at perhaps “on the order of $30 billion annually.” In response to criticism, Dr. Levitt said: “There’s nothing in our paper that either indirectly or directly suggests that we condone denying anyone the right to have children if they want to have children. We’ve been accused of having a eugenic agenda and it just is not an accurate appraisal of what we’re doing at all. If anything, what our paper says is that when you remove a government prohibition against a woman choosing, the woman makes choices that lead to better outcomes for her children.” It was obvious that in future debates neither side on the abortion issue would touch it with, as one observer put it, “a 10-foot pole.” However, should the researchers’ claims win peer support, it was considered possible that in time they would gain sub-rosa support from elements in the political community. Abrams, Big Mike (?–1898) murderer While the Chinese of New York’s Chinatown have fought many savage tong wars among themselves, through the years they have tried to avoid violent conflicts with whites. The opposite was not the case, however. White killers were familiar denizens of the Chinatown alleys, always ready to eliminate any man’s enemy for a shockingly reasonable price. The most notorious of this ilk was Big Mike Abrams, who roamed the area performing beatings and killings for pay. When work was slow, Abrams would take to street muggings, which, besides earning his keep, further enhanced his reputation. Big Mike sometimes operated opium-smoking dens on Pell Street and in Coney Island and in his later years settled for a small percentage from such establishments, while contributing nothing to their operation. The fact that a man was a client of one of these dens, however, did not afford him protection in the event Big Mike was offered cash to slug or kill him. Big Mike’s most celebrated murders were the knife decapitations of three Chinese before the horrified eyes of onlookers on Pell Street. Even the dread hatchet men of the tongs feared Big Mike, but finally one of them, Sassy Sam of the Hip Sing Tong, got drunk on rose wine and rice brandy and attacked the awesome killer. Big Mike happened to be unarmed at the time and fled down Pell Street, with Sassy Sam in hot pursuit waving a long ceremonial sword. Big Mike lost considerable stature after that display of vulnerability. While he did regain a measure of respect by removing the head of Ling Tchen, one of the chiefs of the Hip Sing Tong, the unthinkable—the elimination of Big Mike—began to be considered. Within a month of the death of Ling Tchen, police found Big 3 ABU-JAMAL, Mumia Mike dead in bed, his room filled with gas. The windows and door to his room had been sealed from the outside and a line of thin hose from a gas jet in the hall had been stuffed in the keyhole of Big Mike’s door. The Hip Sings were generally credited with killing Big Mike, but the tong never acknowledged the deed, apparently fearful of retribution from other white gangsters. Abu-Jamal, Mumia torch. Following that treatment he was further dissected, and then pictures were taken of his corpse (he had died, according to the coroner’s report, not of his wounds but of shock) and distributed in mob centers as a warning of what was in store for a thief. Accardo’s personal fairness, by underworld standards, was of the same sort that inspired so much loyalty in many of Capone’s adherents. Noted for his pool playing, Accardo was once victimized in a $1,000 bet by a pool hustler who had wedged up the table and then adjusted his technique accordingly to beat the crime chief. When the hustler was exposed, Accardo blamed only himself. “Let the bum go,” he said. “He cheated me fair and square.” Accardo’s behavior in such matters won him a great amount of affection. But Accardo also proved most resourceful in dealing with the drug problem, which much of the national syndicate and the Mafia had ruled out of bounds. Some families disobeyed the rule but others enforced it rigorously, killing any who disobeyed or cutting them off from legal and support aid if they were caught. Accardo’s solution was to ban all narcotics dealings, but he also ordered that all those involved in dope be given $200 a week out of family funds to help make up their losses. This “taking care of everybody” approach helped to pacify the Chicago mob; by comparison, gangland murders became much more common in New York, with its five greedy Mafia families. This record of peace may well have been shattered by the 1975 murder of Sam Giancana, but a number of underworld sources insist Accardo was not behind the murder. According to them, the Giancana killing was “a CIA operation all the way,” designed to prevent him from speaking about the agency’s use of the underworld in a Castro assassination plot. By the late 1970s Accardo, a multimillionaire, was in semiretirement, living the good life as he traveled from Florida to the West Coast to Chicago looking after his enormous legitimate investments. According to the FBI, the mob’s operational authority in Chicago had shifted to Joe Aiuppa, an Accardo gunman buddy from the old days. After that, Joe Batters returned to approve further new leaderships when Aiuppa went to prison. Accardo died in 1992, never having spent a night in jail. See also: SAM “MOMO” GIANCANA. See CAPITAL PUNISHMENT. Accardo, Anthony Joseph (1906–1992) Chicago mob leader Today, it may be somewhat hard to believe that someone like “Joe Batters,” who, as a young tough, gained his sobriquet for his proficiency with a baseball bat and who served as one of Al Capone’s bodyguards, could become the boss of the Chicago mob and be described by his syndicate supporters as having “more brains before breakfast than Al Capone had all day.” Accardo’s rise in the Chicago underworld was rapid. When Capone first went to jail for a brief stay in 1929 and named Jake Guzik in charge of administration and Frank Nitti in charge of operations, Accardo was installed as the head of “enforcement.” Under him were such brutal characters as Machine Gun Jack McGurn, Tough Tony Capezio, Screwy John Moore, Sam “Golf Bag” Hunt, Red Forsyth and Jimmy Belcastro, the King of the Bombers. Accardo continued to grow in stature in the gang, and when Nitti committed suicide in 1943 rather than go to prison, he became the acknowledged head of the Chicago mob. At various stages in the 1950s and 1960s, Accardo reportedly had his powers wrested away by Sam “Momo” Giancana, but it is unclear how much Accardo gave up under force and how much he relinquished willingly. Accardo was always reputed as a leader who believed in iron-clad obedience in the lower ranks but a sharing of power at the top. Under his rule the level of violence in the Chicago underworld dropped to near zero, especially compared to the old Capone days. However, enforcement against alleged informers and those who tried to steal from the syndicate remained strict and awesome. Such was the fate in 1961 of one William “Action” Jackson, a collector for the mob who had developed “sticky” fingers. Action got particularly brutal treatment, ending up stripped naked and hanging by his chained feet from a meat hook in the basement of a Cicero gambling joint. He was beaten on the lower body and genitals with a baseball bat, carved up with a razor and had his eyes burned out with a blow- accident faking insurance swindle Over the years faking accidents to swindle insurance companies has developed into a thriving business. There is no way to gauge accurately the extent of this crime since insurance industry figures are themselves 4 ADAMS, Albert suspect; many observers claim that the companies have a vested interest in minimizing the extent of fraud to deter other attempts and to defend their rate structures. Some calculations of accident frauds place the figure between $20 million and $100 million a year, with most estimates falling in the upper range. It was estimated that one insurance gang in Birmingham, Ala. cleared several million dollars over a seven-year period. Such insurance rings sometimes buy duplicates of legitimate X rays from doctors and then use them to bolster phony claims of industrial, auto and personal injuries. One of the most incredible operations of this kind worked out of Kirksville, Mo. The swindle involved doctors, lawyers, osteopaths, nurses, insurance agents, a county sheriff, farmers and businessmen. Sixty-six of them were eventually convicted and sentenced. The racket was run by a crooked insurance agent. He favored realism in staging his phony claims; claimants had their wrists broken with crank handles and their fingers smashed with hammers. An osteopath would be called in to compound such injuries by manipulating the bones of the hand and giving injections designed to cause infections. In some cases miscalculations resulted in amputations, but these only increased the size of the award. The men, women and children who willingly pose as the accident victims in such plots are often of limited intelligence, but they are also usually poor and the pool of these volunteer victims increases dramatically during periods of high unemployment. Faked pedestrian accidents have long been a mainstay of the racket. Sometimes both the victim and the driver are in collusion, but most fakers prefer to utilize an honest driver who can stand up to rigorous investigation because he really is innocent. “Floppers” and “divers” are used when the motorist is not a willing partner in the swindle. A flopper is a person who is adept at feigning being hit by a car going around a corner. Perpetrators insist this is not as hard to do as it would appear. The flopper simply stands in the street and starts crossing as the car makes its turn. Under such circumstances the car is moving relatively slowly, and the flopper bounces off the front fender and flips his body backward to the ground. As the crowd starts to gather, the flopper moan and groans. The premium flopper is one who has an old fracture, preferably a skull fracture since the break will show up in an X ray no matter how old it is. The flopper is naturally schooled in the art of faking serious injury. Just before the accident he will bite his lip open and dab some of the blood into his ear. “Divers” are considered finer artists than floppers because their act seems more convincing. They work at night so that witnesses can’t really see what is happening. As a car approaches, the diver runs into the street and in a crouching position slams the car door with his hand as hard as he can. The resulting loud noise quickly attracts onlookers as the diver lies on the ground, doing the same moaning and groaning act as the flopper. One of the most bizarre accident swindles involved a father of identical twins. One child was normal but the other quite retarded. Rather than put the unfortunate child into an institution, the father decided to use him as a prop for a swindle scheme. He would take his normal child into stores and when no one was looking, he’d knock something off a shelf and have the child start screaming as though he had been hit on the head. The father would then create a scene and storm out of the store. Later, he would file suit against the store, charging the accident had permanently damaged his child’s brain. As proof, he would produce the retarded twin. Settlements were hastily arranged since no company dared take such a case to a jury. The racket worked a number of times until an investigator making a routine check visited the family’s home while the parents were out and saw the normal child playing in the backyard. Adams, Albert J. (1844–1907) numbers king A famous and colorful New York City gambler, known as the Policy King, Al Adams was the boss of the most extensive numbers game operation in the city. Dishonesty has been the keynote of policy games from the time they started in England during the 1700s to the present, but Adams gave them a new wrinkle, not only bilking the public but also swindling other numbers operators in order to take over their businesses. Adams came to New York from his native Rhode Island in the early 1870s and first worked as a railroad brakeman, a job he found much too taxing. He soon became a runner in a policy game operated by Zachariah Simmons. Duly impressed by Adams’ penchant for deviousness, the older man took him in as a partner. Adams developed many ways to rig the game to reduce the winners’ payoff. After Simmons died, Adams took over his operation and eventually became the boss of the New York policy racket. At the time, there were scores of independent operators. It was common practice for independent policy men to “lay off” numbers that had been bet too heavily for comfort. They would simply shift part of the action to another operator who had light play on the number, thus spreading the risk. When these operators tried to lay off a heavily played number with Adams, he would note the number and claim he already had too much action on it. He would then lay off the same number around 5 ADLER, Polly the city, even if he actually had little or no action on it. Thus, a number of operators would become vulnerable to that number. Adams’ next move was to fix the results so the heavily played number came out, hitting the owners of many policy shops with devastating losses. To make their payoffs, the operators had to seek loans from Adams, who exacted a partnership as the price of a loan, ultimately kicking the operators out entirely. Some policy operators he simply refused to help, forcing them to make their payoffs (many to Adams’ undercover bettors) by dipping into the cash reserved for bribes to politicians and the police. Losing their protection, they were immediately shut down, and Adams simply moved in. In time, it was estimated that Adams ran between 1,000 and 1,100 policy shops in the city. Over the years his payments to the Tweed Ring totaled in the millions. Even after Tweed fell and reformers came in, Adams was able to operate with the connivance of the police. It was not until 1901 that law enforcement authorities were forced to take action against his nefarious operations, raiding his headquarters. Adams was sent to Sing Sing, where he served more than a year. When he came out, Adams found that he no longer controlled the New York policy game. The battle for control of the business was turning exceedingly violent, and Adams, who had always operated with bribes and trickery, neither needed nor wanted to be involved in wars to the death. He lived out the next few years in luxury in the Ansonia Hotel and amassed a great fortune through land speculation. However, he was estranged from his family, who was ashamed of his past criminality and blamed him for their inability to lead normal, respectable lives. On October 1, 1907 Adams committed suicide in his apartment. See also: NUMBERS RACKET. $20 fee, she was disillusioned. Luciano might stuff an extra $5 in her bra at the conclusion of a session, but that was all. As he later recalled: “I didn’t want to do nothin’ different. What do you think I was gonna do— spoil it for everybody?” Polly almost always used the real names of her clients when introducing them to her girls; the clients did not object, knowing that their secret was safe with Polly. When Dutch Schultz was on the run from the law in 1933 because of an income tax evasion charge drawn by a young federal prosecutor named Thomas E. Dewey, there were 50,000 wanted posters on him. The gang chief nevertheless continued his regular two or three visits a week to Polly’s place and was never betrayed. Despite some memorable police raids, Polly generally operated with little interference out of lavish apartments in Manhattan’s fashionable East 50s and 60s. Long laudatory descriptions of the decor in her opulent “homes” appeared in various publications. One establishment at Madison Avenue and East 55th Street was Adler, Polly (1900–1962) New York madam Often called the last of the great madams, Polly Adler achieved such a measure of esteem that in the 1930s and 1940s she was regarded as one of New York City’s most illustrious “official greeters.” As she said in her memoirs, “I could boast a clientele culled not only from Who’s Who and the Social Register, but from Burke’s Peerage and the Almanach de Gotha.” Her clients, of course, were not limited to high society; they included politicians, police, writers and gangsters. Among the latter were Dutch Schultz, Frank Costello and Lucky Luciano. The first two were regarded by Polly and her girls as lavish spenders. Luciano was not. If a girl sent by Polly to Luciano’s suite in the Waldorf Towers thought she would do much better than the standard The flamboyant Polly Adler managed to appear dowdyish whenever hauled into court on vice charges, a far cry from the way she paraded with her girls through the Broadway nightclubs. 6 ADORNO, George described as having a living room done up in “Louis XVI,” a taproom in a military motif colored in red, white and blue, and a dining room that suggested the interior of a seashell. All the baths and “workrooms” were finished in peach and apple green. Free food was always offered and the bar did a thriving business. Many men dropped in just for refreshments and a stimulating chat with the loquacious madam. Polly became a celebrity in her own right. Interviewed by the press, she commented on various past and present events. Her opinion on Prohibition: “They might as well have been trying to dry up the Atlantic with a post-office blotter.” Offer the people what they want, she said, and they will buy it. It was a philosophy that served her as well in her field as it did the bootleggers in their area. Madam Adler routinely made the gossip columns and was a regular at nightclub openings, where she would create a sensation marching in with a bevy of her most beautiful girls. She later recalled: “The clubs were a display window for the girls. I’d make a newspaper column or two, the latest Polly Adler gag would start the rounds and, no matter where we happened to go, some of the club patrons would follow after us and end the evening at the house.” Polly Adler retired from the business in 1944. Encouraged by a number of writer friends, including Robert Benchley, she pursued a writing career after taking a number of college courses, and by the time of her death in 1962, she had become something of a literary light. In her later years Adler, an acknowledged expert on matters sexual, was a dinner companion of Dr. Alfred Kinsey. the hierarchy of organized crime because he was loyal and never overambitious. He became a trusted member of the board of the national syndicate, settling disputes between various criminal factions and issuing murder contracts, among other duties. Abe Reles, the informer in the Murder, Inc. case, once told authorities, “Cross Joey Adonis and you cross the national combination.” When Luciano went to prison, he left Adonis in nominal charge of the combination’s affairs, but he added, “Cooperate with Meyer.” Meyer was Meyer Lansky, who became the chief officer in the combination. Adonis proved smart enough to know how to take orders. Following the end of Prohibition, Adonis extended his domain to include not only the waterfront and gambling rackets in Manhattan but those in Brooklyn and New Jersey as well. He also masterminded a number of jewel thefts, an avocation that amused his big-time confederates. It seemed like a dangerous enterprise but it made Adonis happy. Despite a long career in crime, he did not go to jail until 1951, when, after the Kefauver Committee hearings, he pleaded guilty in New Jersey to violation of the state’s gambling laws and received a two-year sentence. In 1956, Adonis, facing federal perjury charges, accepted a deportation order, after his true birthplace had been discovered. Thereafter, he lived out his days lavishly in Milan, Italy, still maintaining ties with the underworld in America and occasionally meeting with Luciano, who resided—also in exile—in Naples. See also: BROADWAY MOB, MEYER LANSKY, LUCKY LUCIANO. Adorno, George (1959– ) youthful murderer The case history of George Adorno is frequently cited as an example of the breakdown of the criminal justice system in the prosecution of juvenile crime. Adorno first ran afoul of the legal system at the age of four, when he set his sister on fire. After 16 subsequent arrests for theft, Adorno—age 15—was charged with triple murder, which he confessed to before a New York City district attorney in the presence of his sister. The sister had been summoned because Adorno’s mother, an immigrant from Puerto Rico, did not speak any English. A juvenile court judge threw out the confession, however, because the mother had not been present. With the murder charge dropped, the judge found Adorno guilty of a lesser offense of robbery, ordered his confinement for three years and, as required by law, had his complete criminal record, including the three murder charges, sealed. After serving half his sentence, Adorno was released. Nineteen days later, he shot to death Steven Robinson, a black law student who drove a cab to finance his edu- Adonis, Joe (1902–1972) syndicate gangster A member of the governing board of the national crime syndicate from its inception in the early 1930s, Joe Adonis, or simply Joey A., remained a power until he was deported in 1956. While Adonis always insisted that he was born in this country, he was, in fact, born in Montemarano, Italy, on November 22, 1902. Joseph Doto entered the country illegally and adopted the name Adonis to pay tribute to what he regarded to be his handsome looks. After joining a New York street gang, Adonis formed a teenage friendship with the future big names in American crime—Albert Anastasia, Vito Genovese and Lucky Luciano. By the mid-1920s Adonis was the head of the Broadway Mob, which controlled the flow of bootleg liquor in mid-Manhattan, the richest market in the country. While he was the operating head of the mob, he may not have been the real brains, since his partners included Luciano and Frank Costello. However, Adonis continued to rise in 7 ADULTERY point out in Modern Criminal Justice, “Society is not often plagued by daring, rebellious old people.” Some of the statistics are shocking indeed. Children under the age of 15 commit more total crimes than do adults over 25. About one-third of all violent crimes are the work of the under-18 group. The under-25 group commits about four out of five robberies, burglaries, larceny thefts and car thefts; three out of every five forcible rapes; and about half of all murders, non-negligent manslaughters and aggravated assaults. Thus, it is fair to speak of what one observer has called a “tidal wave of young criminality.” It is impossible to judge whether this represents a break with the past or just reflects age-old patterns, since there are no reliable statistics for the 19th century—much less earlier times—to match with those of the present-day Uniform Crime Reports. But it might be pointed out that while organized crime today is largely an over-25 activity, in the 19th century this violent business was largely controlled by the young. The Daybreak Boys, a brutal New York gang, were composed of mostly 20-year-old and younger criminals. Certainly today’s school violence must go far to equal that of the Walsh School feud in Chicago from 1881 to 1905. Much of the “crime wave” that supposedly enveloped the United States from the 1960s onward was little more than a logical development of the age-crime relationship. Irresponsible statements by politicians and law enforcement officials tended to confirm public fear of a new crime wave. The simple fact is that as a result of the postwar baby boom, the under-25 age group grew far faster than the rest of the population and, as always, the increasing number of youngsters committed an increasing number of crimes. Recent crime statistics have shown a decline in crime rates. Further complicating the use of age-crime statistics are other factors that strongly affect them. For instance, the high crime rate produced by under-15 and under-25 black youths is in part influenced by urbanization. All studies show that the violent crime rate for young blacks who have moved from the South to large urban cities in the North and Midwest is far higher than that for young blacks on a nationwide basis. Clearly, a study of the relationship between age and crime is necessary as a method for understanding the problem but it hardly provides an answer to it. See also: DAYBREAK BOYS, JUVENILE DELINQUENCY, WALSH SCHOOL FEUD. cation. When Justice Burton Roberts sentenced him to 15 years to life for the Robinson murder, he commented: “Nothing ever happened to Adorno. He plays the courts like a concert player plays the piano. Is there ever a time when a red light goes on and you say, ‘We have to control this person’? So, at age sixteen, he finally gets a three-year sentence and he is out in eighteen months.” Under Justice Roberts’ sentence, the maximum permitted by the youth’s plea of guilty, Adorno became eligible for parole after eight and a half years. See also: JUVENILE DELINQUENCY. adultery One of the most unenforced laws in the country is that concerning the crime of adultery, which, with certain variations in state laws, may be described as sexual intercourse by a married person with someone other than his wife or her husband. In some states adultery is committed only when the married person is the woman. New York penal law defines the crime as “the sexual intercourse of two persons, either of whom is married to a third person. The offense is deemed a misdemeanor and is punishable by imprisonment in a penitentiary or county jail, for not more than six months or by a fine of not more than two hundred and fifty dollars, or by both.” A few states, among them South Dakota, Oklahoma and Vermont, allow for a five-year prison term; in several others, small fines (as low as $10 in Maryland) are the limit of punishment. Such penalties caused Judge Morris Ploscowe to wonder “why legislatures have bothered to include adultery in their penal system if the enjoyment of extramarital intercourse may at most result in a small fine.” The law is, of course, generally incapable of controlling voluntary sexual behavior. According to Dr. Alfred Kinsey, strict enforcement of sex statutes would result in the jailing of 95 percent of the population. age and crime Crime, especially violent crime, is for the young in body, not just the young in heart. Perhaps as many as three out of every four street crimes are committed by persons under the age of 25. This phenomenon is hardly a new one; the average western outlaw was shockingly young. Billy the Kid, who was reputed to have killed several men by the time of his 21st birthday, was more the rule than the exception. A criminal act does require a good amount of daring, vigor and rebelliousness, and as Peter W. Lewis and Jack Wright, Jr. Ah Hoon (?–1909) murder victim The tong wars of New York’s Chinatown were fought with more than guns, hatchets and snickersnee. They were also fought with insult, loss of face and wit. In the 8 AIELLO, Joseph MURDER OFFENDERS BY AGE AND SEX, 1998 1 2 Male Sex Female Age Total Unknown Total Percent distribution1 16,019 100.0 10,505 65.6 1,241 7.7 4,273 26.7 Under 182 Under 222 18 and over2 1,169 3,965 9,545 1,069 3,675 8,438 100 289 1,105 — 1 2 Infant (under 1) 1 to 4 5 to 8 9 to 12 13 to 16 17 to 19 20 to 24 25 to 29 30 to 34 35 to 39 40 to 44 45 to 49 50 to 54 55 to 59 60 to 64 65 to 69 70 to 74 75 and over Unknown — 1 4 17 594 2,009 2,685 1,627 1,101 890 678 423 260 165 90 58 38 74 5,305 — 1 2 14 530 1,872 2,477 1,425 946 736 561 351 222 137 79 51 35 68 998 — — 2 3 64 137 207 202 155 154 117 72 37 28 11 7 3 6 36 — — — — — — 1 — — — — — 1 — — — — — 4,271 Because of rounding, percentages may not add to total. Does not include unknown ages. Source: Federal Bureau of Investigation The On Leongs started celebrating this new loss of face by the Hip Sings, who sulked as the On Leongs paraded through Chinatown. When Ah Hoon’s door was unlocked the next morning, his shocked guards found him dead, shot through the head. Subsequent investigation revealed a member of the Hip Sings had been lowered on a chair by a rope from the roof and had shot the comic using a gun equipped with a silencer. Now, the Hip Sings paraded through Chinatown. Ah Hoon’s killer was never found. See also: BLOODY ANGLE, BOW KUM, MOCK DUCK, TONG WARS. 1909–10 war between the Hip Sings and the On Leongs, some of the most telling blows were struck by the celebrated comic Ah Hoon, who was a member of the On Leongs. Ah Hoon used his performances at the venerable old Chinese Theater on Doyers Street to savage the Hip Sings. Finally, the Hip Sings could take no more insults to their honor and passed the death sentence on the comic. They announced publicly that Ah Hoon would be assassinated on December 30. The On Leongs vowed he would not be. And even the white man got into the act. A police sergeant and two patrolmen appeared on stage with Ah Hoon on December 30. The performance went off without a hitch, and immediately after, Ah Hoon was escorted back to his boarding house on Chatham Square. He was locked in his room and several On Leongs took up guard duty outside the door. Ah Hoon was safe. The only window in his room faced a blank wall across a court. Aiello, Joseph (1891–1930) Chicago mobster Joseph Aiello and his brothers, Dominick, Antonio and Andrew, were enemies of Al Capone in the struggle for control of organized crime in Chicago. Aiello tried to have Capone killed in somewhat novel ways, e.g., 9 ALCATRAZ of the Rockies attempting to bribe a restaurant chef $10,000 to put prussic acid in Capone’s soup and, on another occasion, offering a reward of $50,000 for Big Al’s head. These efforts called for extraordinary vengeance on Capone’s part, and he ordered his enemy killed “real good.” On October 23, 1930 Aiello was gunned down on North Kolmar Avenue, struck by 59 bullets, weighing altogether well over a pound. See also: LOUIS “LITTLE NEW YORK” CAMPAGNA. Alcatraz of the Rockies Kaczynski, and World Trade bombing mastermind Ramzi Ahmed Yousef. They are held at Super Max not for behavior problems but because authorities say they would very likely face violence in less secure prisons. Another consideration is that Super Max offers far less opportunities for escape. Primarily, however, Super Max was set up to house the “worst of the worst” among the 100,000 inmates in the federal prison system. Among the Super Max inmates about 35 percent have committed murder in prison, 85 percent have committed assaults in prison and 41 percent have made attempts to escape. After three years some prisoners who are not transferred out are offered the opportunity of spending more time out of their cells. Among them, there is said to be a strong hatred of Super Max. As one inmate told a New York Times reporter: “Prolonged isolation is the worst punishment you can put on a human being. The common denominator among prisoners is rage, pent-up rage, frustration.” It was reported that many prisoners stay in their cells and refuse to come out for recreation. They turn jumpy and become enraged when having to deal with people. There is an occasional prisoner who can be described as adapting to Super Max—or, in prisoner parlance, “beating the system.” One would be Charles Harrelson, the father of actor Woody Harrelson, who is serving two consecutive life sentences for murdering a federal judge in the 1970s. His son is trying to obtain a new trial for him. The elder Harrelson finds Super Max somewhat attuned to his interests. He notes that his previous prison did not have a shower in the room but did have a lot of noise. “Peace and quiet here is paramount for people like me who like to write. But for people who can’t read and write it must be pure hell. He told the New York Times, “They designed this place for sensory deprivation. It’s an Orwellian experience.” The Super Max administration claims that the prison has found “no evidence to show that people are deteriorating.” Lawyers of inmates see it differently. Lawrence Feitell, who represents Luis Felipe, the leader of the Latin Kings gang in New York, says his client “has retreated into himself, that is where the destruction of his personality is taking place. He has deteriorated to the extent where he prefers to stay in his cell. He takes no recreation.” The real test of how much psychological damage is caused to prisoners probably has to be judged over a longer span of time. It has been noted that by the time Alcatraz was closed in 1963 it was estimated by some that as many as 60 percent of the prisoners were “stir crazy,” or insane. And despite its fearful reputation, Alcatraz had eliminated many of its truly restrictive measures, so that today Super Max can be regarded as top maximum-security prison It is the prison confinement convicts fear most—the maximum-security institution called the Alcatraz of the Rockies and, by federal prisoners themselves, “Super Max.” That last sobriquet is not complimentary but rather born of something between fear and terror. Imprisoned Mafia chief John Gotti was confined to Marion Penitentiary, in Illinois, for a life sentence in 1992 because Super Max was not yet completed. At the time, Marion held the top spot as the most feared prison in the country and indeed was cited as being inhumane by Amnesty International. Marion—like Super Max—operates under a quota system calling for the transfer out of lifers to less harsh institutions after they have served 30 months and demonstrate the ability to be subject to discipline. Under that regulation Gotti was eligible for transfer in 1995, but he was kept in Marion. It was well known that his lawyers did not press the issue of his long confinement for fear it would prolong the situation or possibly cause his transfer to what was now the still harsher Super Max. Located in Florence, Colo., it holds fewer than 400 prisoners and has almost one prison employee per inmate. The plan of the Federal Bureau of Prisons is to modify the behavior of violent prisoners by what can only be described as entombing them in isolation cells for up to 23 hours a day. Unlike other prisons, Super Max is silent. There is an empty fluorescent-lit hallway. There are no shouts and screams across cellblocks, or convicts banging on bars, or even the sound of a radio. Movements in the prison are restricted by 1,400 electronically controlled gates and viewed by 168 television monitors. It costs about $50,000 a year to incarcerate a prisoner in Super Max—about two and one-half times the $20,000 average cost elsewhere. And Super Max boasts a hefty pricetag at $60 million. The prisoners in Super Max fall into two basic groups. The smaller one is the so-called bomber wing, in which some of the nation’s most notorious offenders, i.e., bomber terrorists, are kept under “multiple locks and keys.” Included in this group are Oklahoma City bomber Timothy J. McVeigh, Unabomber Theodore J. 10 ALCATRAZ prison far more fearful than Alcatraz. While authorities downplay the possibility of personality deterioration under the Super Max regimen, the concept of release to a less restrictive prison (leaving aside the matter of how complete the practice is) is itself a recognition that the prison is not exactly conducive to prisoner well-being. Prison authorities may be said to be marching to an entirely different drummer, basing the worth of the system on the claim that by concentrating highly violent prisoners in Super Max, there has been a resultant drop in prison violence across the federal prison system. See also: MARION PENITENTIARY. either in the cell house or the mess hall. A single whispered word could bring a guard’s gas stick down on a prisoner. But the punishment could be worse; he might instead be marched off to “the hole” to be kept on a diet of bread and water for however long it pleased the warden and the guards. A convict was locked up in his Alcatraz cell 14 hours a day, every day without exception. Lockup was at 5:30, lights out was at 9:30 and morning inspection at 6:30. There was no trustee system, and thus no way a convict could win special privileges. While good behavior won no favors, bad behavior was punished with water hosing, gas stick beatings, special handcuffs that tightened with every movement, a strait jacket that left a man numb with cramps for hours, the hole, a breadand-water diet and, worst of all, the loss of “good time,” by which all federal prisoners could have 10 days deducted from their sentence for every 30 days with no infractions. But this harsh treatment proved too much for the prisoners and too difficult for the guards to enforce, even with an incredible ratio of one guard for every three prisoners. Within four years the rule of silence started to be modified, and some other regulations were eased. Incredibly, despite the prison’s security and physical isolation, there were numerous attempts to escape from Alcatraz, but none was successful. In 1937 two convicts, Ralph Roe and Teddy Cole, got out of the workshop area during a heavy fog, climbed a Cyclone fence 10 feet high and then jumped from a bluff 30 feet into the water. They were never seen again, but there is little doubt they were washed to sea. The tide ran very fast that day, and the nearest land was a mile and a quarter away through 40° water. The fact that the two men, habitual criminals, were never arrested again makes it almost certain that they died. Probably the closest anyone came to a successful escape occurred during a 1946 rebellion plotted by a bank robber named Bernie Coy. During the 48 hours of the rebellion, five men died and 15 more were wounded, many seriously, before battletrained marines stormed ashore and put an end to the affair. Escape attempts proved particularly vicious on Alcatraz because convicts with so little hope of release or quarter were much more likely to kill guards during a break. Many more prisoners sought to escape the prison by suicide, and several succeeded. Those who failed faced long stays in the hole after being released from the prison hospital. Others escaped the reality of Alcatraz by going insane. According to some estimates, at least 60 percent of the inmates were insane. It remains a moot point whether Al Capone, who arrived there in 1934 from the Atlanta Penitentiary, where he had been serving an 11-year sentence for tax evasion, won parole Alcatraz prison In 1868 the U.S. War Department established a prison for hostiles and deserters on a stark little island in San Francisco harbor. The Indians called it “Alka-taz”—the lonely “Island of the Pelicans.” By the 1930s Alcatraz had outlived its usefulness to the War Department, but it filled a new need for the Department of Justice, which wanted a “superprison to hold supercriminals,” because there just seemed no way to contain them securely in the rest of the nation’s federal penitentiaries. The new federal prison on Alcatraz opened on January 1, 1934 under the wardenship of James A. Johnston. Although the warden had previously earned a reputation as a “penal reformer,” he would rule “the Rock” with an iron hand. Hardened criminals were shipped in large batches from other prisons, the schedules of the trains carrying them kept top secret. The first batch, the so-called Atlanta Boys Convoy, excited the public’s imagination, conjuring up wild stories of huge gangster armies plotting to attack the convoy with guns, bombs, flamethrowers and even airplanes in order to free scores of deadly criminals. But the first mass prisoner transfer and those following it went off without a single hitch; by the end of the year, the prison, now called America’s Devil’s Island, housed more than 250 of the most dangerous federal prisoners in the country. The city of San Francisco, which had fought the establishment of a superprison on Alcatraz, now found it had a prime tourist attraction; picture postcards of Alcatraz by the millions—invariably inscribed, “Having wonderful time—wish you were here”—were mailed from the city. The prisoners, however, wished they were almost anywhere else. Johnston followed the principle of “maximum security and minimum privileges.” There were rules, rules, rules, which made Alcatraz into a living but silent hell. A rule of silence, which had to be abandoned after a few years as unworkable, meant the prisoners were not allowed to speak to one another 11 ALCATRAZ prison rebellion U.S. Coast Guard aerial photo of Alcatraz furthers its “superprison” image. In truth, it proved to be a crumbling, inefficient institution. a place to confine prisoners deemed to be deserving of harsher treatment. By the time “the Rock” was finally phased out as a federal prison in 1963, it was a crumbling mess and prisoners could easily dig away at its walls with a dull spoon. See also: ALCATRAZ PRISON REBELLION, ALCATRAZ PUSH-UPS, ATLANTA BOYS CONVOY, RUFUS “WHITEY” FRANKLIN, JAMES A. JOHNSTON, JAMES LUCAS, RULE OF SILENCE, ROBERT STROUD. in 1939 because of the advanced state of his syphilitic condition or because he too had gone stir crazy like so many others. Alcatraz in the 1930s housed not only the truly notorious and dangerous prisoners but also many put there for vindictive reasons, such as Robert Stroud, the Birdman of Alcatraz, who, along with Rufus “Whitey” Franklin, was one of the most ill-treated prisoners in the federal penal system. The inmate roster included the tough gangsters who truly belonged, like Doc Barker, and those who did not, like Machine Gun Kelly, who had never even fired his weapon at anyone. There were also such nontroublesome convicts as former public enemy Alvin “Creepy” Karpis. Over the years there were many calls for the closing of Alcatraz. Some did so in the name of economy, since it cost twice as much to house a prisoner on Alcatraz than in any other federal prison. Sen. William Langer even charged the government could board inmates “in the Waldorf Astoria cheaper.” By the 1950s Alcatraz had lost its reputation as an escape-proof prison and had become known simply as Alcatraz Prison Rebellion The 1946 Alcatraz Prison Rebellion was a misnomer. It was nothing more or less than a cunning prison escape plot by six men based on the release of the other prisoners in order to confuse and distract the authorities. The attempted breakout, which was foiled after 48 hours, was bloody: five men died and 15 others were wounded, many seriously. To quell the so-called rebellion, trained sharpshooters were flown in from other prisons and battle-trained U.S. marines stormed ashore under the command of Gen. Joseph “Vinegar Joe” Stil12 ALCATRAZ prison rebellion well and Frank Merill, of the famous World War II Marauders. The mastermind of the plot was one of the least likely of convicts, 46-year-old Bernie Coy, who still had another 16 years to serve for bank robbery. The warden and guards regarded Coy as little more than a Kentucky hillbilly bandit. Coy, however, had spotted a critical weakness in the Alcatraz security system; as a cellhouse orderly, he saw that he could overpower the tier guard, release a few confederates and work his way up to a gun gallery, a floor-to-ceiling cage of bars behind which was housed the one man with weapons in the entire building. The only time this armed guard stepped out of the cage was to inspect D Block, the dreaded isolation section. On May 2, according to a detailed plan, Coy was waiting for the guard when he left the cage and overcame him in a fierce hand-to-hand battle. Inside the gun gallery there was an ample supply of weapons and ammunition. From here on, Coy’s plan was simple. He and his confederates captured all nine guards in the building and placed them in two cells. They then released most of the other convicts but barred the doors so that they could not follow them. Under cover of the resulting confusion, the escapers intended to use hostages to get across the prison yard, seize the prison launch and speed across the bay before an alarm could be sounded. On the mainland, cars would be waiting for them, thanks to the connections of Joseph Paul “Dutch” Cretzer, one of Coy’s accomplices. Besides Cretzer, a bank robber, murderer and former Public Enemy No. 4, Coy’s accomplices included Sam Shockley, a mental defective and close friend of Cretzer; Marvin Hubbard, a gangling Alabama gunman and close friend of Coy; Miran Edgar “Buddy” Thompson, a robber, murderer and jailbreak artist who previously had escaped from eight prisons; and Clarence Carnes, a 19-year-old Choctaw Indian serving 99 years for kidnapping a farmer across a state line after escaping from a prison where he was doing time for murder. The plot failed because a prison guard—against orders—had failed to return one corridor key to its place on a keyboard. The escapers then jammed the lock trying to force it open with other keys. Soon, the convicts’ timetable ran out and the prison launch left. Coy, accompanied by Hubbard, left Cretzer in charge of the hostages, ordering that none of them be killed, and went off to communicate with Warden James A. Johnston over the prison phone system. Coy had come up with a desperate alternative plan to use the guard hostages to get into the staff living compound, where the guards’ families, including 30 young girls, lived. With these hostages, Coy was sure the authorities would have to let him and his confederates off the island. Back with the hostages, Cretzer knew better. He realized that as soon as the convicts headed in the direction of the family area, the guards on the walls would cut loose, killing the escapers and the guard hostages as well. There was no way the guards would let their families be taken. Besides, Cretzer wanted to kill all the guards. He had not told Coy that he had already killed a guard in a gunfight and that the prison authorities had the body. Cretzer had nothing to lose. Moreover, the deranged Shockley and the cunning Thompson kept goading Cretzer to kill all the guards. Thompson realized that if all nine were dead, there would be nobody alive who could name him as one of the escapers. Only Carnes, obedient to Coy and Hubbard, was opposed. Suddenly, Cretzer exploded in a murderous fury. He fired shot after shot into the two cells holding the guards. All went down. Then he ordered Carnes to go inside to make sure all were dead. Carnes went in at gunpoint and saw most of the guards were alive, but he reported that all were dead. Actually, only one was dead; of the remaining eight, five were gravely wounded and three had escaped injury completely, though they feigned death. When Coy returned from talking with Warden Johnston, who had stalled for time, he discovered Cretzer’s mass shooting. Without the guard hostages, Coy knew there could be no escape. Furious over how their carefully laid plans had been destroyed, Coy and Hubbard stalked Cretzer, who in turn hunted them. Meanwhile, news of the mass break attempt and wild rumors spread throughout San Francisco. Thousands lined the waterfront to watch as 80 marines stormed ashore in full battle dress and guard sharpshooters slipped into the prison. They found the hostages, including one already dead, and brought them out. The seriously wounded five had compresses pressed over their wounds. Some unknown convict had treated them, undoubtedly saving the lives of at least three or four, and then slipped away, never to be identified. More guard sharpshooters were sent in. Holes were cut in the roof of the building and grenades heaved inside, forcing most prisoners back to their own cell blocks, among them Thompson, Carnes and Shockley. But the remaining trio, Cretzer, Coy and Hubbard, evaded the grenade blasts by moving into the darkened utility corridors, concrete trenches below the cell blocks where plumbing and electric wires were buried. Even gas grenades dropped through the ventilator shafts could not dislodge them or stop them from firing at the guards stalking them. The trio of convicts did not find one another until almost the end. By then Cretzer had been wounded by 13 ALCATRAZ push-ups was gone, he could get all the loose tobacco he wanted from free dispensers to roll his own. Thus, in Alcatraz cigarettes lost the currency value and bribing power they enjoyed in other institutions. As a result, the curious practice of paying debts, such as those incurred in gambling games, with so many push-ups developed. This allowed the prisoners to have some action and offered something of an antidote for their overfeeding. See also: ALCATRAZ PRISON. bomb shrapnel and Coy by gunfire. According to Clark Howard’s Six Against the Rock (1977), the most definitive study of the escape, it was Cretzer—not the guards—who killed Coy, jumping out of the shadows and shooting him in the neck, shoulders and face. Cretzer tried to kill Hubbard as well but raced off as guards closed in. Hubbard dragged Coy off into a dark tunnel and remained with him until he died. In the meantime Cretzer was cornered by guards, who finally killed him with grenades and gunfire, 41 hours after the great escape attempt had started. Several hours later, four guards caught up with Hubbard. He died in a barrage of fire, taking one rifle slug in the left eye and another in the left temple. The investigation that followed the great escape attempt focused on the brutal conditions in the prison. It was found that one prisoner, Whitey Franklin, who had attempted an escape back in 1938 with two others and had received an added life sentence for killing a guard, had spent every day since his conviction, more than seven years, in the hole. It was almost an anticlimax when the three survivors of the ill-fated plot were brought to trial. Carnes got life to go along with his 99 years, and on December 3, 1948 Thompson and the obviously insane Shockley became the first two men to die in San Quentin’s new gas chamber. See also: BERNARD COY, JOSEPH PAUL “DUTCH” CRETZER, RUFUS “WHITEY” FRANKLIN, JAMES A. JOHNSTON, SAM RICHARD SHOCKLEY, MIRAN EDGAR “BUDDY” THOMPSON. Alcatraz push-ups alcohol Drinking, drunkenness and alcoholism are significant factors contributing to crime in the United States. Each year there are about 3 million arrests for drunkenness and drunk driving and for vagrancy, disorderly conduct and other activities that usually involve drunkenness. These so-called direct alcoholism arrests may well account for 30 to 40 percent of all arrests made. Many far more serious crimes are also committed “under the influence,” ranging from personal assault to armed robbery and murder. There are no reliable statistics measuring the exact correlation between drinking and homicide, but any veteran police officer knows that a great many domestic quarrels and “in the home murders,” the leading category of homicides, are preceded by heavy drinking by one or more of the participants. A 1974 study divided 3,510 men between the ages of 20 and 30 into drinking and nondrinking categories. The men were asked if they had committed a number of crimes, including car theft, breaking and entering, shoplifting, face-to-face stealing and armed robbery. Among the nondrinkers 16 percent had engaged in shoplifting and 5 percent admitted to breaking and entering. The incidence of all the other types of crime was statistically nonexistent. Among the drinkers in the study, the number of law breakers increased as the survey moved from light or moderate drinkers to heavy users of alcohol. In the heaviest drinkers category, 18 percent reported engaging in breaking and entering, 56 percent in shoplifting, 9 percent in car theft, 5 percent in stealing and 2 percent in armed robbery. In a 1974 nationwide study of 191,400 inmates at state correctional facilities, 43 percent said they had been drinking at the time they committed the crime of which they were convicted. About half of these described their drinking as heavy. Criminologists have long debated whether these and other studies demonstrate whether a person who is under the influence of alcohol will violate laws that he would not violate if he were not intoxicated. No definite conclusions are possible, but there is considerable prison “currency” While Alcatraz had the deserved reputation of being America’s toughest federal prison, there were a couple of seemingly odd exceptions to the rugged regimen that produced one of the strangest and most unique practices in American penology. Alcatraz became known as the best prison for “eats and smokes.” Federal regulations called for a minimum of 2,000 calories per prisoner per day, but on Alcatraz the average was kept between 3,100 and 3,600 daily calories. When Mrs. Homer Cummings, the wife of the attorney general, visited “the Rock” in the mid-1930s, she was served the standard convict dinner—soup, beefaroni, beans, cabbage, onions, chili pods, hot biscuits, ice cream, iced tea and coffee—and exclaimed: “Why, this is more than we eat at home!” It was estimated that the average convict gained 15 to 20 pounds during his stay in the prison, and some put on 40 pounds or more. Along with this rather lavish menu, Alcatraz had a bountiful smoking program. Each prisoner was issued three packs of cigarettes a week, and when that supply 14 ALDERMEN’S Wars met no serious challenge until 1916, when Anthony D’Andrea mounted a bid against James Bowler, junior alderman from the 19th and a Powers henchman. D’Andrea was less than a pillar of civic virtue himself, although he was a prominent leader in many Italian fraternal societies and a labor union official. The Chicago Tribune reported: “Anthony Andrea is the same Antonio D’Andrea, unfrocked priest, linguist, and former power in the old ‘red light’ district, who in 1903 was released from the penitentiary after serving 13 months on a counterfeit charge. D’Andrea’s name has also been connected with a gang of Italian forgers and bank thieves who operated at one time all over the country.” The killings commenced in February 1916. Frank Lombardi, a Powers ward heeler, was shot dead in a saloon. D’Andrea lost his election battle that year, as well as another one in 1919 and a final one in 1921, a direct race against Powers. During all that time, corpses of supporters on both sides filled the streets, and a number of bombings took place, including one set off on the front porch of Powers’ home. The Powers forces retaliated with the bombing of a D’Andrea rally, severely injuring five persons. There were subsequent bombings of D’Andrea’s headquarters and the home of one of his lieutenants. One day in March 1921, Paul Labriola, a Powers man who was a court bailiff, walked to work with some apprehension because his name had been listed on the Dead Man’s Tree, a poplar on Loomis Street on which both factions had taken to posting the names of slated victims, a grim form of psychological warfare. At Halsted and Congress, Labriola passed four D’Andrea gunmen; as he started across the intersection, he was cut down by a volley of shots. One of the four gunmen walked over to their victim, straddled his body and pumped three more revolver shots into him. Later that day the same four gunmen killed cigar store owner Harry Raimondi, a former D’Andrea man who had switched sides. While the killings and bombings continued, Alderman Bowler declared: evidence indicating that a drinker will behave in a “class” manner. Thus, among the middle class and advancing up the socioeconomic ladder, there is generally little economic basis for the commission of crime, especially violent crime, and the tendency is for drunkenness to result in such behavior as singing, telling dirty stories and crying. On the other hand, in the ghettos and among the lower socioeconomic classes, the economic basis for crime increases, and there is a far greater tendency to turn from “happy drunkenness” to the starting of fights and the violation of criminal laws. Further reading: Fundamentals of Criminal Investigation by Charles O’Hara. Alderisio, Felix “Milwaukee Phil” (1922–1971) hit man Regarded by many as the top hit man of the Chicago mob, Felix “Milwaukee Phil” Alderisio was popularly given credit for designing the “hitmobile,” a car especially geared for committing murder with the least possible interference. Among what may be called its optional features were switches that would turn out the car’s front or rear lights to confuse police tails. Another innovation was a secret compartment in a backrest that not only held murder weapons but contained clamps to anchor down handguns, shotguns or rifles for more steady shooting while the vehicle was in motion. Although the Chicago police insisted that Milwaukee Phil was the executioner in well over a dozen gangland hits, no murder charge against him was ever proven. He was, however, finally convicted of extortion and died in prison in 1971. Aldermen’s Wars Chicago political killings Even for Chicago, a city noted for its gangland killings and battles, the so-called Aldermen’s Wars, between 1916 and 1921, stand out for sheer savagery. In all, 30 men died in the continuous five-year battle fought for control of the 19th, or “Bloody,” Ward, which encompassed the city’s Little Italy. The political forces that controlled the 19th were entitled to the huge payoffs coming out of Little Italy for various criminal enterprises. With the coming of Prohibition, the production of moonshine alcohol became the area’s “cottage industry” and an important source of illicit alcohol for the entire city. The 19th had been controlled by Johnny “de Pow” Powers, an incorrigible saloonkeeper, protector of criminals and graft-taking alderman from the 1890s on. Despite the transition of much of the area from Irish to Italian, Powers was able to maintain his control and Conditions in the 19th Ward are terrible. Gunmen are patrolling the streets. I have received threats that I was to be “bumped off” or kidnapped. Alderman Powers’ house is guarded day and night. Our men have been met, threatened and slugged. Gunmen and cutthroats have been imported from New York and Buffalo for this campaign of intimidation. Owners of halls have been threatened with death or the destruction of their buildings if they rent their places to us. It is worse than the Middle Ages. The killings continued after D’Andrea’s third election defeat, despite his announcement that he was 15 ALLEN, Bill inevitable. Chief Doyle mounted the wagon and assured the crowd that the Negro was really dead. They hooted and yelled, shouting that the police were concealing the man and encouraging each other to break in the windows of the station.” The police chief then came up with a way of placating the mob. Allen’s body was stripped, laid out on a mattress and put on view through a barred window where it could be seen at the side of the station. A line was formed, and “the crowd passed in eager procession, and were satisfied by a simple glance at the dull, cold face. All afternoon that line moved steadily along, and the officers were busily occupied in keeping it in order. The crowd increased rather than diminished, and until darkness settled down, they were still gazing at the dead murderer. After dark a flaring gas jet at the head of the body brought it out in strong relief, and all night long the line of curious people filed by for a glimpse of the dead.” It was 48 hours before Allen’s body could be taken off display. through with 19th Ward politics. In April 1921 a man named Abraham Wolfson who lived in the apartment across the hall from D’Andrea got a threatening letter that read in part: “You are to move in 15 days. We are going to blow up the building and kill the whole D’Andrea family. He killed others and we are going to do the same thing. We mean business. You better move and save many lives.” Wolfson showed the note to D’Andrea and then moved out. This gave D’Andrea’s enemies what they wanted, an empty apartment from which to watch him. On May 11, just after his bodyguard had driven off, D’Andrea was gunned down as he was about to enter his building. D’Andrea was the wars’ 28th victim. There were to be two more, Andrew Orlando and Joseph Sinacola, D’Andrea’s Sicilian “blood brother,” both of whom had sworn to avenge their boss’ death. Orlando was killed in July and Sinacola in August. There was only one prosecution for any of the 30 murders committed during the Aldermen’s Wars, that of Bloody Angelo Genna for the street corner slaying of Paul Labriola. But nothing much came of it. The numerous witnesses to the murder belatedly realized they hadn’t seen a thing. See also: DEAD MAN’S TREE. Allen, Bill (?–1882) Allen, John (c. 1830–?) “Wickedest Man in New York” One of the most notorious dives in New York City during the 1850s and 1860s—on a par with such later infamous resorts as the Haymarket, Paresis Hall and McGuirk’s Suicide Hall—was John Allen’s Dance House at 304 Water Street. Allen himself became widely known as “the Wickedest Man in New York,” a sobriquet pinned on him first by Oliver Dyer in Packard’s Monthly. What brought down the wrath of Dyer and other crusading journalists was not simply the vulgarity and depravity of Allen’s establishment but his personal background. Allen came from a pious upper New York State family; three of his brothers were ministers, two Presbyterian preachers and the other a Baptist. He himself had initially pursued a similar ministerial career but soon deserted the Union Theological Seminary for the pleasures and profits of the flesh. With his new wife, John Allen opened a dance hall–brothel on Water Street, stocking it with 20 prostitutes famed for wearing bells on their ankles and little else. In 10 years of operation, the Allens banked more than $100,000, placing them among the richest vice operators in the city. Despite his desertion of the cloth, Allen never entirely shed his religious training. While he was a drunk, procurer and thief and was suspected of having committed more than one murder, Allen insisted on providing his lurid establishment with an aura of holiness. All the cubicles in which his ladies entertained customers were furnished with a Bible and other religious tracts. Regular clients were often rewarded with murderer A Chicago black man named Bill Allen had the distinction of being hunted by the largest “posse” in American history. On November 30, 1882 Allen killed one black and wounded another, and later that evening he murdered Patrolman Clarence E. Wright, who tried to arrest him. Three days after the incident Allen was located in the basement of a house by Patrolman Patrick Mulvihill, but the fugitive shot Mulvihill through a window and fled. Soon, 200 policemen were scouring the black district of Chicago for Allen. By mid-afternoon, according to a contemporary account, “Upwards of 10,000 people armed with all sorts of weapons from pocket pistols and pitchforks to rifles, were assisting the police in the hunt.” At 3:30 that afternoon, Sgt. John Wheeler found Allen in the backyard of a house on West Kinzie Street and killed him in a gunfight. Allen’s body was taken in a patrol wagon to the Desplaines police station, and somehow the rumor started that he had been arrested rather than killed. A lynch mob of thousands quickly formed, and when a few officers tried to break up the crowd, they were threatened. “The crowd,” one report of the event said, “became frenzied and threatened to tear down the station. Threats and promises were all in vain, and a serious riot seemed 16 ALLEN massacre tion and even taking up the cloth, but another placed “the Wickedest Man in New York” practicing his tawdry business in a different city under an assumed name. None of these stories has ever been confirmed. gifts of the New Testament. Before the dance hall opened for business at 1 P.M., Allen would gather his flock of musicians, harlots, bouncers and barkeeps and read passages out of the Scriptures. Hymn singing was a ritual; the favorite of Allen’s hookers was “There Is Rest for the Weary,” apparently because it held out a more serene existence for the ladies in the life hereafter. Allen, Lizzie (1840–1896) Chicago madam Next to the fabulous Carrie Watson, Lizzie Allen was Chicago’s most successful madam during the 19th century. A native of Milwaukee, she came to Chicago in 1858, at the age of 18, with the clear intention of becoming a madam. She went to work at Mother Herrick’s Prairie Queen and, unlike most of the other girls, did not squander her earnings on men. After a stint at another leading brothel, the Senate, Allen opened a house on Wells Street staffed by three prostitutes. Despite the modest nature of the enterprise, she prospered there. Like most other brothel owners, Lizzie was burned out in the Great Chicago Fire of 1871, but she is credited with being the first back in business. She recruited a large staff of unemployed harlots and put them to work in a new house on Congress Street while the carpenters were still working to complete it. With that jump on the competition, Allen accumulated a large fortune and soon became one of the most important madams in the city. In 1878 she formed a relationship with a “solid man,” the colorful Christopher Columbus Crabb, and with him as her lover and financial adviser, she flourished still more. In fact, Lizzie Allen was regarded by one local tabloid as “the finest looking woman in Chicago.” In 1888 Allen and Crabb built a 24-room mansion on Lake View Avenue to use as a plush brothel, but police interference doomed the enterprise. They then built an imposing double house at 2131 South Dearborn, which they named the House of Mirrors. Costing $125,000, it was one of the most impressive brothels of its day. (The house was destined to even greater fame under the Everleigh sisters, who took it over in 1900 and made it the most celebrated bawdy house in America.) Lizzie Allen operated the mansion until 1896, when, in poor health, she retired, leasing the property to Effie Hankins. She signed over all her real estate to Crabb and named him the sole beneficiary in her will. The estate was estimated to be worth between $300,000 and $1 million. When Lizzie Allen died on September 2, 1896, she was buried in Rosehill Cemetery. Her tombstone was inscribed, “Perpetual Ease.” See also: CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS CRABB, EVERLEIGH SISTERS, PRAIRIE QUEEN. There is rest for the weary, There is rest for you. On the other side of Jordan, In the sweet fields of Eden, Where the Tree of Life is blooming, There is rest for you. Eventually, when a group of uptown clergymen took over Allen’s resort for prayer meetings, it looked as if the religious aspect of the dance hall had gotten out of hand. Allen had apparently embraced religion entirely, and a lot of uptown devout began attending these meetings to bear witness to the reformation of sinners—especially John Allen. Alas, exposés in several newspapers turned up the sad intelligence that Allen, rather than undergoing a religious rebirth, had actually leased out his establishment to the ministers for $350 a month and seemingly provided some newly reformed sinners for 25¢ or 50¢ a head. In time, the revivalist movement faded and Allen attempted to return his resort to its former infamy, only to find the criminal element no longer had faith in him, figuring anyone so religiously inclined might be untrustworthy. The last public record of Allen was his arrest, along with his wife and some of his prostitutes, for robbing a seaman. Shortly thereafter, the dance hall closed. Allen’s fate is obscured by contradictory legends. One had him finally undergoing a complete reforma- John Allen rented out his dance hall–bordello for prayer meetings and obligingly provided sinners at 25¢ or 50¢ a head. Allen massacre courtroom shoot-out The bloodiest confrontation ever to take place in an 17 ALLISON, Clay thick, it was impossible to aim, and therefore, if anyone was killed, it was purely an accident. After serving 13 years, Sidna Allen received a pardon in 1926 from Gov. (later Sen.) Harry F. Byrd. In his memoirs, Sidna insisted the shootings had all been unpremeditated and were originally intended as a bluff to free Floyd Allen. He also claimed the clan had been the object of political persecution in the country for some time. After Sidna’s release the Allen clan argued that his pardon indicated the state had admitted they had been framed. American courtroom occurred on March 14, 1912 at the Carroll Country Courthouse in Hillsville, Va. The Allen clan of the Blue Ridge Mountain area believed in its own code of behavior built around making moonshine, shooting revenuers and—certainly— paying no taxes. One day in 1911 a peace officer arrested a member of the clan for moonshining. Floyd Allen, the uncle of the accused, knocked the officer down and helped his nephew to escape. Uncle Floyd subsequently was charged with assault. It was an unheard-of event—nobody had every dared arrest Floyd Allen before. The Allen clan immediately began informing citizens throughout the county that Floyd Allen was innocent and had better be found so. It soon became evident that no one in the county was about to find Allen guilty of anything, and the state came up with the legally questionable ploy of importing jurors from elsewhere in Virginia. Floyd Allen was readily found guilty by the imported jurors. At 9 A.M. on March 14, the court convened for sentencing. As Judge Thornton L. Massie started speaking, some 17 Allen men entered the courtroom and stationed themselves at strategic positions. The judge finished his speech and sentenced Floyd Allen to one year. Floyd then addressed the court. “Gentlemen,” he said, “I ain’t goin’.” With that statement, Floyd Allen pulled out two guns and started shooting: where and at whom varies with each account. Most say that Floyd shot and killed Judge Massie. But some credit his brother Sidna with that killing. In any event, 17 Allens started shooting; some only shot at the ceiling or into the floor and most of the shooting was done by Floyd, Sidna and Floyd’s son Claude. In less than 60 seconds at least 75 shots were fired and six people killed—the judge, the sheriff, the commonwealth attorney, a spectator, a juror and a woman witness, ironically for the defense. Eight others were wounded. Among the Allens only Floyd was wounded and he was able to hobble off to a nearby hotel, where he was later taken into custody. This too must have surprised the Allens, who obviously thought their show of force would be enough to allow Floyd to walk from the courtroom. Sidna Allen was so nonchalant about the entire matter that when he ran out of ammunition, he went across the street to buy more in a hardware store. It was closed because the owner was in court. Virginia authorities moved in rapidly to suppress the Allens once and for all. Floyd and his son Claude were sentenced to death for murder and electrocuted on March 28, 1913. Sidna got 15 years. All the other Allens got lesser sentences; some had insisted they had fired in the air or at the floor, trying deliberately not to kill anyone but merely create panic. A few came up with a novel defense: because the gunsmoke was so Allison, Clay (1840–1887) gunfighter One of the most notorious of the western gunfighters, Clay Allison was not an outlaw in the ordinary sense of the word. He called himself a “shootist,” apparently in an attempt to indicate he was a professional, like an artist or a dentist. Allison lived on the fringe of the law and according to a personal code governed more by his own belief in honor than by the strictures of the law. Invariably, this meant he killed men “that deserved killin’.” In a morbid sense, he may have contributed some of the most entertaining—to observers rather than to victims—shootings in western lore. One of his more famous duels was with a gunman named Chunk Colbert in 1874. The pair sat eyeball to eyeball in a New Mexico Territory eatery, staring each other down and stirring their coffee with the muzzles of their six-guns. Soon each reholstered his piece and continued to eat. Colbert made the first move to draw but Allison shot him dead just above the right eye. On another occasion Allison led a lynching party against a man named Kennedy who was suspected of killing his own young daughter. Some bones were found on the Kennedy ranch, but there was no definite determination that the bones were human. The matter was still in dispute after the lynching, but that didn’t stop Allison from cutting off the dead man’s head, impaling it on a pike and riding 29 miles to Cimarron, Kan. to his favorite watering hole, Henry Lambert’s saloon. Allison could best be described as a part-time maniac, since between his vicious killings he was generally a well-mannered rancher. There might have been some excuse for his behavior, however. He had joined the Confederate Army in his native Tennessee but was discharged after sustaining a blow on his skull, which was said to have made him intermittently epileptic and at other times maniacal. After the Civil War, he punched cattle and finally set up the first of his several ranches. What troubled other men about Allison was his unpredictability. In 1875, although a rancher, he sided 18 ALLISON, Dorothy Contemporary drawing depicts Clay Allison’s famous shoot-out with another notorious gunman, Chunk Colbert. Pecos, Tex. to bring back to his ranch. When a sack of grain fell from the moving wagon, he tried to grab it and toppled to the ground. A wagon wheel rolled over his neck, breaking it and killing him. It was a bizarre ending to a violent life for a man credited, by various counts, with the deaths of 15 to 21 men. A Kansas newspaper had a difficult time trying to evaluate the life of Clay Allison and whether he was “in truth a villain or a gentleman.” That was “a question that many never settled to their own satisfaction. Certain it is that many of his stern deeds were for the right as he understood that right to be.” See also: CHUNK COLBERT. with the homesteaders in their battles, clearly out of a sense of fair play, an attitude that enraged other ranchers and stock associations. At the same time Allison was a bitter racist, and in New Mexico he killed a number of Mexican “outlaws.” Few, however, even considered challenging him for any of his deeds. Allison continued to devise duels that bordered on lunacy. He once indulged in a fast-draw contest with a gunman named Mace Bowman. After Bowman continually outdrew him, Allison suggested they pull off their boots, strip down to their underwear and take turns shooting at each other’s bare feet to see who danced best under fire. Remarkably, the confrontation ended without bloodshed after several hours, each man giving in to exhaustion. When he got into yet another dispute, Allison arranged to do battle naked in a grave in which each adversary would be armed with a Bowie knife. Both agreed to purchase a tombstone and the winner would see to it that the stone of the loser was suitably engraved. While waiting for the delivery of the tombstone, Allison picked up a wagonload of supplies from Allison, Dorothy (1925–1999) crime-solving psychic Among the various psychics who have made the popular press in recent years, one American psychic, a housewife from Nutley, N.J., ranked above all others as having some apparent crime-solving ability. Dorothy Allison’s visions of peaceful landscapes containing 19 ALLMAN, John unfound bodies have turned out to be, as Newsweek labeled them, “close approximations of grisly reality.” In the past dozen years or so, Mrs. Allison had been consulted by police in well over 100 cases and, by her own count, had helped solve 13 killings and find more than 50 missing persons. Many police departments expressed wholehearted, if befuddled, gratitude. “Seeing is believing,” said Anthony Tortora, head of the missing persons division of the Bergen County, N.J. sheriff’s office. “Dorothy Allison took us to within 50 yards of where the body was found. She’s quite a gal.” Some of Mrs. Allison’s “finds” have been accident victims and others have been the victims of foul play. In September 1977 two of her finds turned up in different states just one day apart. She pinpointed a swamp area in New Jersey where 17-year-old Ronald Stica would be found and was able to tell police prior to the discovery of the body that he had been stabbed to death. The day before, the body of 14-year-old Susan Jacobson, missing two years, had turned up inside an oil drum in an abandoned boat yard in Staten Island, N.Y. Mrs. Allison had described the corpse site—although she had never been to Staten Island—as a swampy area, with “twin church steeples and two bridges—but one not for cars” nearby. She said she also saw the letters M A R standing alone. All the elements were there, including the letters M A R painted in red on a nearby large rock. Perhaps Mrs. Allison’s most amazing case was one that began at about 6:30 P.M. on Thursday, July 22, 1976, when Deborah Sue Kline left her job as a hospital aide, got in her car and started for her home in Waynesboro, Pa. She never got there. Months of police investigations proved fruitless. Jane Kline, the girl’s mother, finally contacted Mrs. Allison, who agreed to come to Pennsylvania. Quite naturally, the first thing the mother asked was if her daughter was still alive. By the end of the day, Mrs. Allison told her the answer: Debbie was dead. Mrs. Allison put on Debbie’s graduation ring “to help me feel her presence.” She toured the area with police, reporters and a friend of the Klines. After a while, she was able to reconstruct the crime. She saw Debbie driving home from the hospital and two cars, a yellow one and a black one, forcing her off the road. According to a local newspaper account: “She was taken from her car in one of the other cars to a place where she was molested. She was taken to another place where she was killed with a knife wound. I saw [at the death site] yellow signs, a dump, burnt houses and a swimming pool. I could see her skeleton. It was not underground. The word ‘line’ or ‘lion’ came to me.” On January 26, 1977, three days after Dorothy Allison had returned home, police located the body of Debbie Kline. It was not buried and was in an area where junk was dumped. There were no “burnt houses” but the spot was just off the Fannettsburg–Burnt Cabins Road. In the area were yellow traffic signs warning motorists of steep grades on the road. Near the body was a discarded plastic swimming pool. There was no “lion” but there was a “line”—150 feet away was the line between Huntington and Franklin Counties. And Debbie had been stabbed to death. Then the police confronted a suspect, in jail at the time on another rape charge. His name was Richard Lee Dodson. Dodson broke down and led them to where the body had been found. He and another man, Ronald Henninger, were charged with the crime. Ken Peiffer, a reporter for the Record Herald, said: “She told me, among other clues later proven accurate, the first names of the two men involved, Richard and Ronald. She even told me that one of the men had a middle name of Lee or Leroy.” The police of Washington Township, who were in charge of the case, made Dorothy Allison an honorary member of the police department. The citation given to her reads in part, “Dorothy Allison, through psychic powers, provided clues which contributed to the solving of the crime.” Of course, not all of Dorothy Allison’s efforts had been triumphs. She was the first psychic called in by Randolph Hearst after daughter Patty disappeared in Berkeley, Calif. Mrs. Allison turned up little of value while on the West Coast. Still, Hearst did not scoff. “Dorothy couldn’t locate Patty,” he said, “but she is honest and reputable. I wouldn’t laugh at it.” Allison died December 1, 1999. Allman, John (?–1877) the cavalryman killer The prototypical western cavalryman bad guy, according to a Hollywood historian, “Bad John Allman did as much to make John Ford a great movie director as did John Wayne.” The point may have been stretched, but John Allman was just about the worst killer the U.S. Army contributed to the West. A native of Tennessee, Allman was a violent character throughout his army career. There is some speculation that Allman was not his original name, that he had served elsewhere in uniform under another identity or two until it became wise to change it. There is no record of exactly how many men Allman killed—“not countin’ injuns,” as they said in the cavalry. In any case, his last spree substantially reduced the population of the Arizona Territory. In the summer of 1877 Allman got into an argument during a poker game in the cavalry barracks at Prescott, Ariz. When the pistol smoke cleared, Allman and the pot were gone and two army sergeants were dead. A posse soon 20 ALTA, Utah started out after Bad John and got close to him, close enough for two of its members, Billy Epps and Dave Groat, to be killed by him. Still on the run, Allman was recognized, or at least thought he had been recognized, by two woodcutters, and he promptly shot them dead. Late in August, about two weeks after he had killed the woodcutters, Allman, tired, hungry and broke, rode into Yuma. When he rode out, a bartender named Vince Dundee was dead, and Allman had the contents of the till and as many bottles of whiskey as a man could tote. In Williams, Ariz. Deputy Sheriff Ed Roberts spotted Allman in a saloon, but Bad John’s gun was quicker; on his way out, the cavalryman killer stepped right over the dying lawman. Sheriff Ullman of Coconino County turned over the job of apprehending Allman to a bizarre group of bounty hunters referred to by the press as Outlaw Exterminators, Inc. The Exterminators consisted of five bounty hunters who specialized in going after “dead or alive” quarries and bringing them in dead rather than alive. However, Allman was a hard man to run to ground. Low on bullets, he killed a sheepherder named Tom Dowling for his gun and ammunition. Next he kidnapped a 13-year-old white girl named Ida Phengle and a 12-year-old Hopi girl and raped them both. Allman eventually freed his two young captives but soon found himself pursued by various lawmen, the Exterminators and a Hopi war party. In the end, it was Clay Calhoun, one of the Exterminators, who located Allman among some deserted Indian cliff dwellings on October 11, 1877. According to Calhoun, whose version of what happened was the only one reported, he brought down Allman in a stirring gun fight. This dramatic scenario is hard to credit since Allman had been shot four times, in the mouth, chest, stomach and groin, all in a nice neat line. Any of those shots would have grounded Allman, making the alignment of wounds most unusual for a shoot-out. Some speculated that Allman had more likely been shot while asleep. But speculation aside, the important thing was that Bad John Allman’s bloody reign of terror was over, and the particulars of how it happened didn’t trouble many people in Arizona. See also: OUTLAW EXTERMINATORS, INC. Almodovar, Louisa When Louisa’s body was found on November 2, 1942, the police were certain the murder had been committed either by a park marauder or by the woman’s husband. Terry Almodovar insisted that at the time of the murder, fixed at between 9 and 10 o’clock the night before, he was at a dance hall several blocks away. No less than 22 girls backed him up, saying he was there the whole time. The truth was that he had slipped away long enough to kill his wife, whom he had secretly offered to meet in the park. Her death was desirable because he had been offered marriage by a very wealthy widow. Almodovar didn’t realize the trouble he was in when the police took his suit and gave it to Dr. Alexander O. Gettler of the Medical Examiner’s Office. Dr. Gettler made a spectrogram of the dirt from Terry’s trousers and another of the dirt from where the body was found. The elements of both were exactly the same. Still, Almodovar insisted he hadn’t been in Central Park the night of the murder or at any time within the previous two years. But Dr. Gettler also found some grass spikelets in the suspect’s cuffs; these were identified as Panicum dicoth milleflorium, and they matched perfectly with similar grass spikelets found at the murder scene. Almodovar insisted they must have been picked up somewhere else—perhaps in Tremont Park in the Bronx, where he’d been recently. At this point Joseph J. Copeland, a professor of botany at City College of New York, took over. This particular kind of grass, Panicum dicoth, was extremely rare in the New York area. It grew in three areas in Westchester County, two in Long Island—but only one in New York City: a small section of a hill in Central Park, and not even on the other side of the same hill where the murder had been committed. Confronted with the evidence, Almodovar suddenly remembered he’d gone through Central Park just a couple of months before, in September. Copeland, however, knew that Panicum dicoth is a late bloomer. Most of the spikelets found in Almodovar’s cuffs couldn’t have gotten there before October 10 and probably not before October 15. But they most certainly could have got there on November 1. The science of botany sent Terry Almodovar to the electric chair on March 9, 1943. (1919–1942) murder victim Alta, Utah Terry Almodovar had the misfortune of strangling his estranged wife to death on a certain hill in Central Park in New York City, thereby achieving unlikely fame in botany texts. If he had done it almost anywhere else in the park, in fact on the other side of the same hill, he might not have gone to the electric chair. lawless mining town For a time, Alta, Utah Territory sported a sign that read, “WELCOME TO THE MEANEST LITTLE TOWN IN THE WEST.” The small silver-mining town in the foothills of Utah’s Rustler Mountains lived up to its motto. In its heyday during the 1870s, Alta had 26 21 ALTERIE, Louis “Two Gun” saloons and a cemetery touted as the largest in any town of that size. While avalanches claimed the lives of many miners, the largest contingent of corpses buried in the Alta cemetery were the more than 100 victims of gun battles. In 1873 a stranger dressed in black came to town and announced he had the power to resurrect all of the town’s dead gunmen. The miners, a superstitious lot, speculated that such a development would only lead to a lot of bullets flying about in vengeance shoot-outs and opted for the status quo. They raised $2,500 in a community collection as a gift for the “resurrection man” contingent on his leaving Alta permanently. By the early 1900s Alta was a ghost town, its ore mined out, but today it thrives in a new reincarnation as a popular ski resort. Earl “Little Hymie” Weiss, successor to O’Banion as head of the mob, ordered Alterie to cool off, stating that because of his rantings political and police pressure was being put on the gang’s operations on the North Side. Alterie nodded grandly with a big wink and stayed quiet for about a week. Then he swaggered into a Loop nightclub frequented by reporters and gangsters and, brandishing his two pistols, boasted loudly: “All 12 bullets in these rods have Capone’s initials carved on their noses. And if I don’t get him, Bugs, Hymie or Schemer will.” For Weiss, who was trying to keep peace with Capone until the right time to strike, Alterie’s blustering was just too much. He ordered Bugs Moran to “move” Alterie. Moran went to the cowboy gangster and growled: “You’re getting us in bad. You run off at the mouth too much.” Alterie recognized an invitation to leave town when he heard one and returned to his ranch in Colorado, ending his participation in the Chicago gang wars. When he finally came back to Chicago on a visit in 1935, the O’Banion gang had been wiped out except for Moran, and he was no longer a power. Apparently, just for old time’s sake, somebody shot Alterie to death. See also: ANIMAL LYNCHING, GEORGE “BUGS” MORAN, SAMUEL J. “NAILS” MORTON, CHARLES DION “DEANIE” O’BANION. Alterie, Louis “Two Gun” (1892–1935) gangster The Dion O’Banion gang that dominated Chicago’s North Side during the early years of Prohibition was particularly noted for its zaniness (it once “rubbed out” a horse for killing one of its members in a riding mishap), but even for this bunch, Louis “Two Gun” Alterie was wacky. Alterie, whose real name was Leland Verain, owned a ranch in Colorado but came east to join up with O’Banion’s gambling and bootlegging operations. He wore two pistols, one on each hip, Wild West–style, and always boasted of his perfect marksmanship with either his left or right hand, often shooting out the lights in saloons to prove his point. It was Alterie, it was said, who insisted that revenge was required after a leading member of the gang, Nails Morton, had been thrown by a horse in Lincoln Park and kicked to death. He led the gang to the riding stable, and there they kidnapped the horse, took it to the scene of Morton’s demise and shot it to death. Alterie was so incensed by the “murder” of his comrade that he first punched the hapless horse in the snout before turning his gun on it. When Dion O’Banion was assassinated by Capone gunmen, Two Gun Alterie went wild. In a tearful performance at the funeral, Alterie raged to reporters: “I have no idea who killed Deanie, but I would die smiling if only I had a chance to meet the guys who did, any time, any place they mention and I would get at least two or three of them before they got me. If I knew who killed Deanie, I’d shoot it out with the gang of killers before the sun rose in the morning.” Asked where the duel should be fought, he suggested Chicago’s busiest corner, Madison and State Streets, at noon. Mayor William E. Dever was enraged when he heard of Alterie’s words. “Are we still abiding by the code of the Dark Ages?” he demanded. Altgeld, John P. (1847–1902) Illinois governor John P. Altgeld, elected governor of Illinois in 1892, was the main player in the final act of the 1886 Haymarket affair, in which a dynamite bomb killed seven policemen and two civilians and wounded 130 others. Altgeld, a wealthy owner of business property, announced he would hear arguments for pardoning three anarchists who had been sentenced to long prison terms for their alleged part in the affair; but no one expected him to free them because it would be an act of political suicide. Four other anarchists had already been hung as a result of Haymarket, and another had committed suicide in his cell. In June 1893 Altgeld issued a long analysis of the Haymarket trial, attacking the trial judge, Joseph E. Gary, for ruling the prosecution did not have to identify the bomb-thrower or even prove that the actual murderer had been influenced by the anarchist beliefs of the defendants. “In all the centuries during which government has been maintained among men and crime has been punished, no judge in a civilized country has ever laid down such a rule before.” Altgeld also referred to the judge’s obvious bias in constantly attacking the defendants before the jury. He then issued full pardons 22 AMATUNA, Samuzzo “Samoots” for Samuel Fielden, Michael Schwab and Oscar Neebe, declaring them and the five dead men innocent. While Altgeld was hailed by labor spokesmen, most newspapers condemned him bitterly. The New York World caricatured him as an acolyte worshiping the bomb-wielding, black-robed figure of an anarchist. The Chicago Tribune denounced Altgeld, who was German, as “not merely an alien by birth, but an alien by temperament and sympathies. He has apparently not a drop of pure American blood in his veins. He does not reason like an American, nor feel like one.” The governor was also hanged in effigy. Altgeld ignored such criticisms, being content he was “merely doing right,” but his act turned out to be political suicide. In 1896 he ran for the U.S. Senate but was defeated. Clarence Darrow later tried to set him up in practice as an associate, but Altgeld, no longer rich, was a tired man, and he died in obscurity six years later. His memory was neglected until Vachel Lindsay placed a poem, “The Eagle That Is Forgotten,” on his grave; it read in part: number of train robberies and other holdups. The entire Alvord-Stiles gang was captured after a train robbery near Cochise in September 1899, but they escaped from jail and went back in business. Alvord and Stiles were caught again in 1903 but once more broke free. After that, Alvord tried to fake their deaths, even sending coffins allegedly carrying their remains to Tombstone. The trick failed, and the law kept hunting for the two outlaw chiefs. Finally, the Arizona Rangers swept into Mexico in 1904 and cornered Alvord at Nigger Head Gap. Alvord was wounded and brought back to Arizona. This time he spent two years in prison. Thereafter, Alvord’s record becomes murky. He was spotted, according to various stories, all over Latin America and even in Jamaica. When a canal worker in Panama died in 1910, he was said to be Alvord, but the identification was not conclusive. See also: BILLIE STILES. Where is that boy, that Heaven-born Bryan, That Homer Bryan, who sang from the West? Gone to join the shadows with Altgeld the eagle, Where the kings and the slaves and the troubadours rest. . . . One of Chicago’s most colorful and brutal gangsters during the 1920s, Samuzzo “Samoots” Amatuna for a time held a power base from which he challenged Al Capone’s control of crime in the city. In the end, however, Samoots was more remembered for the changes his death brought about in the practices of Chicagoarea barber shops. A professional fiddler and a fop, Samoots was one of the first to conceal a weapon in an instrument case, using this technique with three confederates in the attempted murder of a musicians’ union business agent. The proud possessor of 200 monogrammed silk shirts, he once took off in pursuit of the driver of a Chinese laundry delivery wagon after one of his shirts was returned scorched. Samoots pulled his gun to shoot the frightened driver, but at the last moment he was overcome by a spark of humanity and shot the driver’s horse instead. Samoots became the chief bodyguard for the notorious Terrible Gennas, who controlled much of the city’s homemade bootleg racket. As they were wiped out or scattered one by one, Samoots moved up in power and in 1925 he seized control of the Unione Siciliana. This group had been a lawful fraternal organization up to the turn of the century, but from then on, it became more and more a front for the criminal operations of Mafia forces. Chicago had the largest number of branches of the Unione, whose 40,000 members represented a potent force as well as an organization to be looted through various rackets, such as manipulation of pension funds. For years the Unione was under the control of Mike Merlo, who knew how to keep peace Amatuna, Samuzzo “Samoots” (1898–1925) Chicago gangster and murderer See also: CLARENCE DARROW, HAYMARKET AFFAIR. Alvord, Burt (1866–1910?) lawman and outlaw A notorious law officer turned bad, Burt Alvord seems to have enjoyed long simultaneous careers as a lawman and bandit. The son of a roving justice of the peace, Alvord was a youth in Tombstone during the time of the vaunted gunfight at the O.K. Corral. Although only 15, he was astute enough to spot one of the underlying motives for the battle—control of the county sheriff’s office, with the special duty of collecting taxes, which might or might not be turned over to the treasury. When the celebrated lawman John Slaughter was elected sheriff of Cochise County in 1886, Alvord, who was 20 at the time, became his chief deputy and began building a solid reputation as an enforcer of the law, tracking down numerous rustlers and other thieves. There is little doubt, however, that during the same period he was also an outlaw. In time, Slaughter, an honest man, became disenchanted with his deputy. Yet when the sheriff retired from his post in 1890, no crimes had been pinned on Alvord. In the mid-1890s Alvord switched from wearing a badge to rustling cattle in Mexico. But by 1899 he was a constable in Willcox, Arizona Territory despite some murders under his belt. Here Alvord teamed up with Billie Stiles to pull off a 23 AMBERG, Louis “Pretty” way that they strangled themselves, was immortalized by Damon Runyon in several stories in which Pretty Amberg was featured in a thinly fictionalized form. Pretty, so named because of his ugliness, was brought to America from Russia by his fruit peddler parents. By the age of 10 he was terrorizing his home territory of Brownsville in Brooklyn, New York City, an area that bowed only to genuine toughness and meanness. Young Pretty developed a unique fruitselling technique: he would kick on a door until the resident opened up and then shove handfuls of fruit and vegetables forward and snarl, “Buy.” People bought. By the time he was 20, Pretty was the terror of Brownsville. He was now so ugly that a representative from Ringling Brothers offered him a job with the circus as the missing link. It is the mark of Pretty’s intellect or sense of humor that he often bragged about the offer. However, Pretty didn’t accept the job because of his involvement in the loansharking business with his brother. Unlike the banks of Brownsville, the Ambergs turned no one down for a loan, but at 20 percent interest a week. Pretty would watch his brother count out the amount of the loan and growl, “I will kill you if you don’t pay us back on time.” The Amberg brothers soon became so successful in loansharking that they shifted their operations to around Borough Hall in downtown Brooklyn. The brothers did not desert Brownsville, however. Pretty stalked Pitkin Avenue; for amusement he would walk into a cafeteria and spit in someone’s soup. If the diner protested, Pretty would spill the whole bowl in his lap. Even Buggsy Goldstein, shortly to become a prize killer in the fledgling Murder, Inc., once took the soup treatment in silence. Famous Murder, Inc. informer Abe Reles later said, “The word was that Pretty was nutty.” Pretty Amberg’s continuing ties with Brownsville were not based solely on sentiment. He took control of all bootlegging in the area, and speakeasies took Pretty’s booze or none at all, a business practice Pretty established with a few bombings and frequent use of a lead pipe. Soon, Pretty was wallowing in money, and he became a lavish-spending, if rather grotesque, figure in New York’s night life. Waiters fawned over him because he never tipped less than $100. He was a regular at the Central Park Casino, where in time he became a nodding acquaintance of the city’s playboy mayor, James J. Walker. It was Runyon who reported that when the mayor first saw Pretty, he vowed to stay off booze. Pretty expanded his rackets to include laundry services for Brooklyn businesses. His rates were rather high, but his sales approach was particularly forceful. It was at this time that laundry bags stuffed with corpses among the various criminal combines, but after his death in 1924 the Unione presidency became a hot seat. Bloody Angelo Genna took over as president, only to be murdered in May 1925. Al Capone, who was not a Sicilian and thus not eligible for membership, wanted to place his consigliere, Tony Lombardo, in the office but decided to wait for an election. In the meantime Samoots walked into the Unione’s offices with two armed confederates, Abe “Bummy” Goldstein and Eddie Zion, and declared himself elected. Capone was furious at the effrontery, but he soon had more reason to hate Samoots as the latter moved to open a chink in Capone’s booze and other operations. However, Samoots had other enemies such as the O’Banion Irish gang, which was still in power on the North Side even after the death of its leader. On November 13, 1925 Samoots, planning to go to the opera with his fiancée, Rose Pecorara, dropped into a Cicero barbershop for a shave. He was reclining in a barber’s chair with a towel over his face when two assassins, believed to be Jim Doherty and Schemer Drucci of the O’Banions, marched in. One of the gunmen fired four shots but, remarkably, missed Samoots with every shot. The frightened target bolted from the barber’s chair and tried to dodge four bullets from the second gunman. Each of these shots hit home, and the assassins strode out, leaving their victim near death. Rushed to a hospital, Samoots asked to marry his fiancée from his hospital bed but died before the ceremony started. Within a few weeks Samoots’ aides, Goldstein and Zion, were also killed, and the way was open for Capone’s man, Lombardo, to take over the Unione. After Samoots’ death, which was the second recent Chicago barbershop assassination, it became common practice for barbers dealing with a gangster clientele never to cover their faces with a towel and to position the chair so that it always faced the entrance. This local custom did not spread to New York, where some two decades later Albert Anastasia was gunned down under similar circumstances. Amberg, Louis “Pretty” (1898–1935) racketeer and murderer From the late 1920s until his own violent demise in 1935, Louis “Pretty” Amberg was New York’s bestknown killer, having dispatched more than 100 victims. Thanks to cunning and dumb luck, however, he was never so much as saddled with a stiff fine for any of his or his brother Joe’s murders, although his achievements were common knowledge. His technique of stuffing victims into laundry bags, alive but trussed up in such a 24 AMERICAN Protective League started littering Brooklyn streets. One victim was identified as a loanshark debtor of the Ambergs who owed a grand total of $80. Pretty was arrested for that one, but he just laughed: “I tip more than that. Why’d I kill a bum for a lousy 80 bucks?” In fact, it was Pretty’s philosophy to kill men who were indebted to him for small amounts so that their loss of life would not cause him to have to write off a major capital investment. It also made an excellent object lesson for more substantial debtors. And while the police knew the particulars, they could not prove them in court and Pretty went free. By the early 1930s Pretty was considered among the most successful racketeers in the city, one who could withstand any inroads by other kingpins, such as Dutch Schultz and Legs Diamond. Once, Schultz told him, “Pretty, I think I’m going to come in as your partner in Brooklyn.” “Arthur,” Pretty was quoted as replying, “why don’t you put a gun in your mouth and see how many times you can pull the trigger.” Pretty was famous for such pithy comments. Another big racketeer, Owney Madden, mentioned to Pretty one day that he’d never visited Brownsville in his life and thought he would come out some time and “let you show me the sights.” Pretty was carving up a steak at the moment. “Tell you what, Owney,” he said matterof-factly while continuing his meal, “if I ever see you in Brownsville. I’ll cut your heart out on the spot.” He was even more direct with Legs Diamond, whom he buddied around with. “We’ll be pals, Jack,” Pretty told Diamond, “but if you ever set foot in Brownsville, I’ll kill you and your girlfriend and your missus and your whole damn family.” With the end of Prohibition, however, such threats proved insufficient. Dutch Schultz, without his former bootleg rackets, was down to only a multimillion dollar numbers racket centered in Harlem, and he kept casting greedy glances over at Brooklyn and the Amberg loanshark operations around Borough Hall. Pretty had by now firmly established himself in the laundry business, but loansharking remained his principal source of funds. He was therefore hardly overjoyed in 1935 when Schultz ensconced his top lieutenants, Frank Dolak and Benny Holinsky, in a new loan office just a block away from the Amberg enterprise. When Pretty stormed into the place, the pair glared back at him defiantly. “We ain’t afraid of you,” Holinsky said, and Dolak echoed, “That’s right, we ain’t afraid of you.” The statements qualified as famous last words because 24 hours later their bodies, riddled with bullets, were found on a Brooklyn street. The Ambergs and the Schultz forces faced off for total war. The first to go was Joey Amberg, who was ambushed by Schultz’s gunmen. In October 1935 both Amberg and Schultz died. Some historians have insisted that each man was responsible for the other’s death. According to this theory Amberg had paid professional killers $25,000 down to kill Schultz and promised them $25,000 more upon completion of the job. In the meantime, however, the fire department, responding to an alarm, found a blazing automobile on a Brooklyn street. In the back seat of the car was the body of a man roasted beyond all recognition, with wire wrapped around his neck, arms and legs. It took a few days for a positive identification: it was Pretty Amberg. But by the time the identification was made, a couple of killers had gunned down Dutch Schultz in a Newark chop house. Despite the war, it is not certain that Amberg was killed by Schultz. A more convincing theory attributed Pretty’s passing to a gang of armed robbers he had joined and offended by insisting on taking virtually all the loot for himself. Another view held that both Amberg and Schultz were “put to sleep” by the increasingly dominant national crime syndicate bossed by Lucky Luciano and Meyer Lansky. But whoever was to blame, Pretty Amberg was dead, and as a Brooklyn Eagle reporter observed, “There was joy in Brownsville.” Ameer Ben Ali See “OLD SHAKESPEARE.” American Protective League vigilantes With the possible exception of the Sons of Liberty, formed during the American Revolution, the World War I American Protective League (APL) was probably this country’s most abusive and lawless patriotic vigilante groups. The league was the brainchild of A. M. Briggs, a Chicago advertising executive, who in March 1917 wrote Bureau of Investigation chief A. Bruce Bielaski to suggest the formation of a volunteer group of patriotic Americans who would aid the bureau in its national defense duties. Not the most perceptive of officials, Bielaski enthusiastically approved the idea, and divisions of the APL were established in every large city in the country, soon achieving a membership of 250,000. APL members paid their own expenses and sported badges that read, “American Protective League, Secret Service Division.” The words secret service were removed following the protest of the secretary of the treasury, but Attorney General Thomas W. Gregory defended the league and its patriotic purpose despite the fact that the organization exhibited the worst 25 AMERICAN Tragedy, An attributes of a vigilante movement, had a callous disregard of civil rights and even committed lynchings. In 1917 in Butte, Mont., armed masked men, generally believed to have been league members, invaded the boardinghouse room of Frank Little, a member of the general executive board of the Industrial Workers of the World (IWW), dragged him out into the night and hanged him from a railroad trestle for what was regarded as his unpatriotic beliefs and actions. The Little hanging did not receive particularly bad press. While the New York Times called the lynching “deplorable and detestable,” it also noted that “IWW agitators are in effect, and perhaps in fact, agents of Germany. The Federal government should make short work of these treasonable conspirators against the United States.” A western newspaper declared Butte had “disgraced itself like a gentleman.” And on the floor of the House of Representatives, a congressman wondered if those who gave no allegiance to this nation “have any right to ‘squeal’ when citizens of this country hang one of them occasionally?” President Woodrow Wilson felt it necessary to warn of “the great danger of citizens taking the law into their own hands,” but he did nothing to force Gregory and Bielaski to repudiate the APL. The league continued to make illegal arrests and searches, and its members continually gave the impression they were federal officers. Labor leaders attacked the APL, citing instances of it being used by employers to intimidate strikers. When veteran members of the Bureau of Investigation scoffed at these “voluntary detectives,” they were warned that such “slurs” could result in their dismissal. In August and September of 1918 the league, cooperating with the Bureau of Investigation, the army and local draft boards, launched a great war against “slackers” and deserters, men who failed to answer the call to service after registering for the draft. Small roundup experiments using local police and APL members proved successful in Pittsburgh, Boston and Chicago. Early in September a three-day roundup was staged in New York City. Newspapers ran notices reminding all men between 21 and 31 that they were required to carry their draft cards on their person and that all others should carry proof of their age. No warning, however, was given of an impending roundup. At 7 A.M. on September 3, 1918, a task force of 1,350 soldiers, 1,000 sailors, several hundred policemen and 2,000 APL members struck. During the next three days 50,000 men were hustled out of theaters and restaurants, plucked off street corners and from trolley cars and seized in railway stations and poolhalls. Workers were stopped by bayonet-wielding soldiers as they left work. All were jammed into bull pens for interrogation, left for hours without food and refused the right to make telephone calls to establish their innocence. Frightened wives of out-of-town visitors reported their husbands as kidnapped. The seizures in general and those by the APL in particular were sharply criticized. The New York World condemned “this monstrous invasion of human rights.” In the Senate, Sen. Hiram Johnson of California said that “to humiliate 40,000 citizens, to shove them with bayonets, to subject them to prison and summary military force, merely because they are ‘suspects,’ is a spectacle never before presented in the Republic.” The weight of public opinion turned against the APL following the roundups, which resulted in the estimated induction of 1,500 men into the service. President Wilson demanded a report from Attorney General Gregory, who informed the president that he took full and complete responsibility for the raids and that they would continue, although he did deplore the use of extralegal methods. Wilson seemed incapable of moving against Gregory and the APL, but in November 1918 the war ended, eliminating the need for confrontation. The American Protective League formally dissolved on February 1, 1919. American Tragedy, An See CHESTER GILLETTE. Anastasia, Albert (1903–1957) syndicate gang leader and murderer The Lord High Executioner of Murder, Inc., Albert Anastasia rose to the top levels of the national crime syndicate and remained there until he himself was murdered in a hit as efficient as any of the countless ones he carried out or planned. Immediately upon his arrival in the United States in 1920, Anastasia and his brother, Tough Tony Anastasio, became active on the crime-ridden Brooklyn docks and gained a position of power in the longshoremen’s union. He demonstrated a penchant for murder at the snap of a finger, an attitude that was not altered even after he spent 18 months in the Sing Sing death house during the early 1920s for killing another longshoreman. He was freed when, at a new trial, the four most important witnesses against him could not be located, a situation that proved permanent. For Anastasia the solution to any problem was homicide. So it was hardly surprising that he and Louis “Lepke” Buchalter were installed as the executive heads of the enforcement arm of Murder, Inc. The victim toll of Murder, Inc. has been estimated as low as 63 and as high as 400 or 500. Unlike Lepke and 26 ANASTASIA,Albert Albert Anastasia, Lord High Executioner of Murder, Inc., was gunned down in a Manhattan hotel barbershop with all the efficiency he himself exhibited in numerous killings. many other members of the operation, Anastasia escaped punishment. In a “perfect case” against him, the main prosecution witness—again—vanished. This disappearance of witnesses was a regular occurrence in the Anastasia story, as were killings to advance his career. When in 1951 Anastasia aspired to higher things, he took over the Mangano family, one of New York’s five crime families, by murdering Phil Mangano and making Vincent Mangano a permanent missing person. Anastasia became known as the Mad Hatter because his killings were so promiscuous. He had always been a devoted follower of others, mainly Lucky Luciano and Frank Costello. His devotion to Luciano was legendary. In 1930, when Luciano decided to take over crime in America by destroying the two old-line Mafia factions headed by Giuseppe “Joe the Boss” Masseria and Sal- vatore Maranzano, he outlined his plan to Anastasia because he knew the Mad Hatter would kill for him. Anastasia promptly grabbed Luciano in a bear hug and kissed him on both cheeks. He said: “Charlie, I been waiting for this day for at least eight years. You’re gonna be on top if I have to kill everybody for you. With you there, that’s the only way we can have any peace and make the real money.” Anastasia’s killer instincts could be contained as long as Luciano and Costello were around to control him, but Luciano was deported in 1946 and a few years later Costello became bogged down by continuous harassment from the authorities. Now in charge of his own crime family, Anastasia really turned kill-crazy. In 1952 he even had a young Brooklyn salesman named Arnold Schuster killed after watching Schuster bragging on television about how he had recognized bank robber 27 ANASTASIA, Anthony “Tough Tony” Willie Sutton and brought about his capture. “I can’t stand squealers!” Anastasia screamed and then ordered his men, “Hit that guy!” The Schuster killing violated a principal rule of the underworld: we only kill each other. Outsiders—prosecutors, reporters, the general public—were not to be killed unless the very life of the organization was threatened. That clearly was not the case in the Schuster murder. The rest of the underworld, even Anastasia’s friends Luciano (now in Italy) and Costello, were horrified, but they dared not move on him because they needed him as a buffer against a new force within the crime structure. Vito Genovese, long number two under Luciano, was making a grab for greater power. Between him and that goal stood Anastasia, a man who had hated him for years. Secretly, Genovese brought to his banner Anastasia’s underboss, Carlo Gambino, a fraillooking mobster with unbridled ambition of his own, who in turn recruited Joe Profaci and his Brooklyn crime family. Before Genovese could move against Anastasia, he needed more support, and he could not move without the tacit agreement of Meyer Lansky, the highestranking Jewish member of the national syndicate. Normally, Lansky would not have supported Genovese under any circumstances; their ethnic bitterness was one of the underworld’s longest-standing feuds. But Anastasia had recently given Lansky reason to hate him even more. In 1957 Lansky was in full control of gambling in Cuba through his close personal and financial arrangements with that country’s dictator, Fulgencio Batista. As was his style of always enhancing his own base within the underworld, Lansky gave a piece of the action to Miami crime boss Santo Trafficante and a number of other ItalianAmerican mobsters. When Anastasia learned of Lansky’s largesse, he started to put pressure on him for a huge cut. Under these circumstances Lansky, who previously had preferred to let Genovese and Anastasia bleed each other to death, okayed the elimination of the latter. Early on the morning of October 25, 1957 Anastasia entered the barbershop of the Park Sheraton Hotel in New York City and sat down for a quick haircut, shutting his eyes. Anastasia’s bodyguard took his car to an underground garage and then conveniently went off for a little stroll. Moments after Anastasia sat down in the barber’s chair, two men entered the shop with scarves over their faces. Arthur Grasso, the shop owner, was standing at the entrance by the cash register. He was told, “Keep your mouth shut if you don’t want your head blown off.” The two men moved to Anastasia’s chair and shoved the barber aside. If Anastasia’s eye had been open, he would have seen them in the mirror. Suddenly, both guns roared. Anastasia leaped out of the chair with the first volley and weaved on his feet. Then he saw his attackers and lunged at them—in the mirror. He took several more shots, one in the back of the head, and collapsed dead on the floor. Officially, the Anastasia killing remains unsolved, although it is known that Joe Profaci gave the contract for the killing to the three homicidal Gallo brothers from Brooklyn. The double-dealing continued after the Anastasia murder, with Gambino breaking off from Genovese and making his peace with Luciano, Costello and Lansky. A desperate Genovese called an underworld summit meeting at Apalachin, N.Y. to justify the elimination of Anastasia, who, he said, had become so murder-crazed that he had imperiled the entire organization. That meeting ended in disaster following a state police raid, and six months after that, Genovese was arrested on a narcotics rap, one which much of the underworld regarded as a setup. The inside word was that the setup was arranged by Gambino, Luciano, Costello and Lansky. At any rate, Genovese was effectively removed from the scene. See also: ANTHONY “TOUGH TONY” ANASTASIO; APALACHIN CONFERENCE; FRANK COSTELLO; THOMAS E. DEWEY; CARLO GAMBINO; VITO GENOVESE; CHARLES “LUCKY” LUCIANO; MURDER, INC.; S.S. NORMANDIE; FRANK SCALICE; ARNOLD SCHUSTER; FREDERICK J. TENUTO. Anastasio, Anthony “Tough Tony” (1906–1963) waterfront racketeer From the 1930s until his death from natural causes in 1963, Tough Tony Anastasio ruled the New York waterfront with an iron hand as a vice president of the International Longshoremen’s Association and head of Local 1814. Much of his real authority derived from the power and reputation of his murderous brother, Albert Anastasia. While Tony kept the original spelling of his last name, he never hesitated to point out he was Albert’s brother in order to enhance his own position. Ever loyal to Albert, Tony once cornered a reporter from the New York World–Telegram and Sun and asked: “How come you keep writing all those bad things about my brother Albert? He ain’t killed nobody in your family . . . yet.” Because would-be rivals knew Tough Tony had the full weight of the mob behind him, they never seriously challenged him. As a result, Tony’s word was law. During World War II he could order, with Lucky Luciano’s approval, the sabotaging of the French luxury liner SS Normandie to panic federal authorities 28 ANDREWS Committee Sporting Gazette among others, made up the Andrews publication list. into seeking underworld assistance to help protect the New York waterfront. It was apparently in return for this “good work” that Luciano was transferred from Dannemora to a far less restrictive prison and, after the war, was pardoned by Gov. Thomas E. Dewey. Following Luciano’s release Tony had an army of longshoremen on a Brooklyn pier to keep away reporters and others while the top gangland figures gathered to bid Luciano farewell on the day he was being deported to Italy. See also: CHARLES “LUCKY” LUCIANO, SS S. Lottie Maynard should not be so fresh with other girls’ lovers, or she will hear something to her disadvantage. Ada Huntley is now happy—she has a new lover—Miss Fresh from Pittsburgh. Lizzie Allen has put on her fall coat of veneer and varnish, and she is now the finest looking woman in Chicago. Eva Hawkins is on one of her drunks again. anatomy and crime The idea that criminals differ from noncriminals in certain anatomical traits was first expounded by an Italian named Cesare Lombroso, often considered to be the father of criminology. According to Lombroso, such differences turned up in various parts of the body, with criminals typically possessing such features as a long lower jaw, a flattened nose, a scanty beard and an asymmetrical cranium. He did not claim that these stigmata or anomalies themselves caused crime, but rather that they pointed to personalities predisposed to criminal patterns of behavior. Above all, Lombroso insisted that deviations in the shape of the cranium were the most critical. Over the years Lombroso’s views fell into disrepute, but in the 1930s an American anthropologist, E. A. Hooton, attempted to resurrect the Lombrosian theory. He measured thousands of prisoners and a few nonprisoners and found what he considered to be deviations between the two groups. From these studies he concluded, in his Crime and the Man (1939), that “the primary cause of crime is biological inferiority.” However, other studies failed to find significant differences in physical traits between criminals and noncriminals and the Lombrosian revival gained little support. Further reading: “Physical Factors in Criminal Behavior” by W. Norwood East in the Journal of Clinical Psychopathy 8 (1946): 7–36. The true identity of gutter journalist Shang Andrews was never definitely established. Andrews, Shang (c. late 19th century) publisher Andrews Committee Miss Kit Thompson of 483 South Clark had better let up on taking other girls’ men in her room and buying booze for them. Lulu Lee, the little streetwalker, has gone into a house to endeavor and reform herself, but we think it will prove a failure. Lizzie Moss has got sober. What has become of Bad Millie? May Willard, why don’t you take a rumble to yourself and not be trying to put on so much style around the St. Marks Hotel, for very near all of the boys are on to you; and when you register, please leave the word “New York” out, for we know it’s from the Bridewell you are. We are happy to inform the public that the old-timer, Frankie Warner, has left the city. Mary McCarthy has gone to the insane asylum. During the 1870s and 1880s a sporting character named Shang Andrews launched a series of publications that chronicled the doings of Chicago’s prostitutes. The Walter Winchell–style tidbits were read as avidly by ladies of the evening as the Chicago Tribune’s social pages were by matrons of prominence. Portraying the ravages of the profession, they are, no doubt, of sociological value today. The following quotations are taken from the Chicago Street Gazette, which like Sporting Life, Chicago Life and Chicago police corruption inquiry During the 1890s a spate of investigations around the country revealed that most large cities—Atlanta, Kansas City, Baltimore, Chicago, Los Angeles, San Francisco and Philadelphia—had just as much police corruption as had been found in New York City by the Lexow Committee. Of all the panels set up to hold investigations, the Andrews Committee, which examined the Philadelphia police, had one real distinction: it proved that a city consistently under Republican Party rule could have just as corrupt a police force as any 29 ANIMAL criminals winged larceny. The woman, taking a nap after lunch, was awakened by a low noise. She saw a bird flying around the room as though looking for something. It swooped down and picked up a diamond ring lying on a table. When the bird flew out the window, the woman jumped up and got to the window in time to see the bird flying into a neighboring flat. She told her story to the police, and although dubious, they raided the apartment. Their doubts were allayed when they found a fortune in jewelry. The lady bird-lover tearfully admitted all. She had spent arduous years training her bird because magpies, although notorious thieves, can seldom be taught to bring what they steal to a specific spot. Usually they drop their loot in any place that strikes their fancy. Then there was the case of the chimp cat-burglar. For months in 1952 householders in a New York City neighborhood were being plagued by a series of odd burglaries. In some instances the victims lived in apartments 15 stories up and there seemed to be no means of entry other than a window. One day the son of a city detective happened to see a small figure round a rooftop corner. At first he thought it was a child, but when he looked around the corner, he saw an ape. The boy watched the animal climb through the open skylight of a shop. When it emerged within a matter of seconds, it was carrying a sack; around its neck, packed nearly full. The boy followed the chimp and saw it disappear into a run-down house on another street. He ran home and told his father. Shortly thereafter, the owner of the long-armed, light-fingered animal stood before a judge and told a strange story. While abroad he had bought a chimpanzee for his children. Chimps are probably the brightest of animals next to humans and his was one of the smartest, he said. He named the chimp Socrates. But then his fortunes took a sudden dive, and it became difficult to provide for his family’s needs. One day Socrates went foraging by himself. When he returned, he was munching on a piece of bread and carrying a bagful of pastries. Realizing what had happened, the owner decided to exploit the chimp’s latent talents. Socrates was a quick learner, and his master designed a special sack he could use to carry the swag in. Before long, Socrates had the family back in the chips again. The upshot of the case was jail for the chimp owner and a zoo for Socrates. See also: ANIMAL LYNCHING. Further reading: The Criminal Prosecution and Capital Punishment of Animals by E. R. Evans. under Democratic Party rule, including that of Tammany Hall. At the urging of the Citizens’ Municipal Association of Philadelphia, a bipartisan reform group, the committee was set up in 1895 by the Pennsylvania Senate with Sen. William H. Andrews of Crawford County as its chairman. In a devastating report issued in May 1897, the committee accused the police of being no more than political agents of various Republican Party factions. Police officers labored hard to see to it that the voters voted right, or not at all. Ballots containing the “wrong” votes were discarded by the hundreds. In some cases policemen got into the booths with voters to make sure they cast their ballots “according to the rules.” In exchange for these and other services rendered to politicians, well-connected officers were exempt from even the threat of departmental discipline and therefore could freely engage in brutality and harassment of citizens as well as offer protection to gambling and prostitution interests. The Andrews Committee’s findings were never seriously challenged, but very little came of them. The city’s public safety director, while admitting the police force’s entanglement with city politics, promised only to deal with the problem in the future. It proved to be an unkept promise. General Smedley D. Butler, appointed public safety director in 1923, found that many, if not most, of Philadelphia’s patrolmen were pocketing $150 to $200 a month in payoffs. See also: LEXOW COMMITTEE. animal criminals The history of crime and justice in America is replete with examples of dumb animals being charged and often punished for alleged illegal acts. Perhaps the most famous episode occurred in Erwin, Tenn. in 1916, when a circus elephant named Mary was charged with murder after running amok and killing a man. The dumb beast was hanged from a railroad derrick before a cheering crowd of 5,000 persons. Whether Mary deserved capital punishment might be legally debated on the grounds that she did not know right from wrong, but there are numerous cases of animals being trained to follow a life of crime. In Chicago in 1953, a resourceful bird fancier trained her pet magpie to enter rooms in a nearby hotel and bring back any bright object it found. The heavy jewelry losses were driving the house detectives crazy, but they were unable to turn up any leads. If it were not for the fact that one day the magpie entered the room of a woman guest who was a particularly light sleeper, the bird fancier and her pet might still be at their animal lynching The lynching of animals—cats, dogs, horses, cows, bulls etc.—has a long and brutal history in the United States, 30 ANSELMI and Scalise country. Moe first worked in the circulation department of the Chicago Tribune and later switched his allegiance to Hearst’s new papers in town, the American and the Examiner, serving as circulation manager of the latter from 1904 to 1906. The roster of Moe’s sluggers read like a future public enemies list. A typical Annenberg hireling was Frank McErlane. Former Chicago newspaperman George Murray later wrote of the Annenberg-McErlane alliance: “McErlane went on to become the most vicious killer of his time. Moe Annenberg went on to become father of the ambassador to the Court of St. James.” Moving up in the Hearst organization, Annenberg became one of the highest-paid circulation men in the country. His arrangement with Hearst gave him the right to engage in private business dealings on the side, which included his incursion into the racing information field, on both a legal and an illegal basis. In 1922 he bought the Daily Racing Form, and by 1926 his various enterprises had become so vast that he quit Hearst and struck out on his own. In a matter of a few years, he had gathered in his domain the New York Morning Telegraph, Radio Guide, Screen Guide and the NationWide News Service. He also took over the century-old Philadelphia Inquirer and through it became a power in Republican Party politics. According to Annenberg, because these activities occurred during a Democratic era, they got him in trouble with the law. Others said that Nation-Wide News Service gave him his great legal problems, as well as huge profits. The service received its information from telegraph and telephone wires hooked into 29 race tracks and from those tracks into 223 cities in 39 states, where thousands of poolrooms and bookie joints operated in violation of local laws. Annenberg became the fifth largest customer of American Telephone and Telegraph, exceeded only by the three press associations and RCA. The flow of money simply gushed in, becoming so large that, as the New York Times reported, “it apparently did not seem worth while to give the government its share.” In 1939 Moe and his only son, Walter, were indicted. Walter pleaded not guilty and Moe attacked the charges against him as politically motivated. But finally, in what some observers called great paternal devotion, Moe declared: “It’s the best gamble. I’ll take the rap.” Moe was in his sixties, and his lawyers were hopeful that his guilty plea would lead to the dropping of charges against his son. The gamble paid off. Moe Annenberg drew a three-year prison term and made a $9.5 million settlement with the government. Nation-Wide News folded up and Moe Annenberg was succeeded as the country’s racing information czar by James M. Ragen, who founded Continental Press Service. Walter Annenberg remained a great publishing but on September 13, 1916 an all-time low in man’s inhumanity to beast was reached when Mary, a circus elephant that had killed three men, was hanged from a railroad derrick in Erwin, Tenn. The first attempt to lynch the animal ended after two hours when the derrick’s steel cable broke and Mary came crashing down to earth. The second try was successful, and much to the satisfaction of 5,000 spectators, the dumb beast paid the human price demanded for its crimes. It was not uncommon in the West to kill horses or cattle deemed to have been responsible for the loss of human life. And even the Chicago underworld got into the act. When the celebrated Nails Morton was thrown by a riding horse and killed in Lincoln Park in 1924, his buddies in Dion O’Banion’s gang abducted the animal from its stable at gunpoint and took it to the spot where Nails had been killed. There the poor creature was executed, as each of the gangsters solemnly shot it in the head. During the last century more restraint was shown toward a steer over which an argument regarding its ownership had arisen. Shooting broke out and when the smoke cleared, six men were dead or dying. Because the incident was such a tragedy, it was felt that something other than death was required. The animal was branded with the word MURDER and allowed to live on as grim reminder of the awful occurrence. See also: LOUIS “TWO GUN” ALTERIE, SAMUEL J. “NAILS” MORTON. Annenberg, Moses L. (1878–1942) gambling information czar Moe Annenberg rose from Chicago’s South Side slums to become, for a time, the possessor of the largest individual income of any person in the nation. Using methods not everyone considered legal, he was able to capitalize on two American traits, the desire to read newspapers and the eagerness to bet. However, like Al Capone, he ended up in prison for income tax evasion. For the year 1932 the government said Annenberg owed $313,000; he had paid $308. For 1936 Annenberg owed an estimated $1,692,000; he had paid $475,000. Together with interest and penalties his unpaid taxes totaled $9.5 million. And just as was true with Capone, Annenberg’s income tax problems were merely a logical consequence of his other activities. Annenberg, who had cut his teeth in the early Chicago circulation wars, was, in the words of William Randolph Hearst, a “circulation genius.” That “genius” meant selling newspapers with an army of sluggers, overturning the competition’s delivery trucks, burning their newspapers and roughing up dealers who sold papers under the impression that it was a free 31 ANSELMI and Scalise Anselmi and Scalise were definitely two of three killers involved in the 1924 assassination of Dion O’Banion, the leading Irish gangster of the era, in which the usually careful gang leader was caught off guard in a handshake just before the funeral of a leading Italian underworld figure. Some of their other killings were legendary. One victim held his hands in prayer and begged to be spared. They shot off his hands before putting a bullet in his brain. Anselmi and Scalise probably sprayed more pedestrian-mobbed streets than any other pair of killhappy gunners. They gunned down gangland rivals and police officers with equal ferocity. Once, in the company of several other killers, they noticed that their bullet-filled victim lying on a street managed to raise his head. Chagrined that he was not dead, the two rushed back across the street and, before dozens of witnesses, finished the job. The only time Anselmi and Scalise wavered in obeying the orders of the Gennas was when they were told to kill Al Capone, for they realized their ultimate reward for such an act would be their own deaths. Instead, they informed Capone of the Gennas’ plan and became Capone men while ostensibly still working for the Gennas. When it finally came time for Capone to erase the Gennas, Anselmi and Scalise “set up” one of the brothers and took an active part in killing another. Capone now welcomed the pair openly into his organization, making them two of his most important bodyguards and gunners. When the mob boss offered to make peace with Hymie Weiss and the rest of the O’Banion gang, his terms proved entirely acceptable. Weiss made only one stipulation: Anselmi and Scalise had to be turned over to the gang for killing Dion O’Banion. Capone rejected the deal, declaring, “I wouldn’t do that to a yellow dog.” Several legal attempts were made to get Anselmi and Scalise. They were once charged with the killing of two police detectives, but after three trials, involving a great number of threats against witnesses and jurors, they went free, remarkably, on the ground that they had merely been resisting unwarranted police aggression. In 1929 they were arrested for taking part in the infamous St. Valentine’s Day Massacre, but by the time their trial date arrived, they too had been murdered. How they died is no secret. Capone staged a party in honor of the pair and Joseph “Hop Toad” Giunta, whom he had recently installed as president of Unione Siciliana. At the height of the banquet, Capone stopped the festivities, accused the trio of plotting to murder him and, after having them tied up, beat all three to death with a heavy Indian club. They may well have power and society figure and went on to become ambassador to England under President Richard Nixon. See also: JAMES M. RAGEN. Further reading: My Last Million Readers by Emile Gauvreau. Anselmi and Scalise gangsters It is impossible to record the criminal activities of Albert Anselmi without also discussing those of John Scalise, the worst pair of killers during the bloody 1920s. Anselmi and Scalise grew up together, played together, worked together, killed together and, fittingly, were slaughtered together. The two resembled that other inseparable pair Mutt and Jeff; Anselmi was short and bulky, Scalise tall and thin. It was this duo who brought to the Chicago underworld the old Sicilian custom of rubbing bullets with garlic; if the shots failed to kill, the resulting gangrene allegedly would. Anselmi and Scalise’s medical knowledge was somewhat faulty, although the same could not be said about their homicidal prowess, which was proficient even by Chicago standards. While in their twenties, Anselmi and Scalise were forced to flee their native Marsala because of a murder charge. The pair turned up in Chicago during the early 1920s and went to work for the Terrible Gennas, a family of killers who had established themselves as the leading bootleggers in the Midwest. Since the Gennas also hailed from Marsala, they welcomed the two to their bosom, having a constant need for reliable torpedoes. Anselmi and Scalise were single-minded of purpose: they planned to make a million dollars each, which they felt would give them enough to fix the case against them in Sicily and allow them to return as rich men. Their killing services came high, but they were extremely efficient. For one killing the Gennas rewarded each of the pair with $10,000 and a $3,000 diamond ring. Scalise, the more romantic of the two, sent his ring to his sweetheart in Sicily. Anselmi reportedly sold his to a jeweler at the point of a gun for $4,000. Anselmi and Scalise introduced a degree of doubledealing unknown even in the Chicago underworld. True innovators, they introduced the “handshake hit,” whereby the short, fat Anselmi would shake hands with the unsuspecting victim and lock his right hand in a tight grip. With the victim’s gun hand incapacitated, the taller Scalise would quickly step forward and shoot him in the head. The shorter Anselmi always did the holding because he had a grip of iron and Scalise did the shooting because his height enabled him to get in a head shot regardless of how tall the victim was. 32 APACHE Kid that period spoke fearsomely of traveling in “Apache Gang” country. The “Apache dancers,” depicting the ways of the brutal French underworld, also derived their name from popular 19th-century misconceptions of the generally peaceful Apache. been conspiring against Capone, but it is just as possible that Capone decided to kill the trio because he feared they were getting too important. Anselmi and Scalise had been appointed as bodyguards for Giunta in his new rule, but Scalise had quickly relegated Giunta to the background and had taken direct charge of the organization’s affairs. He was heard to brag, “I am the most powerful man in Chicago.” And Anselmi chimed in, “We the big shot now.” It was a fitting collective singular. Anselmi and Scalise, who had so often killed together, died together. See also: ALPHONSE “SCARFACE AL” CAPONE, GENNA BROTHERS, ANTONIO “THE SCOURGE” LOMBARDO, CHARLES DION “DEANIE” O’BANION, ST. VALENTINE’S DAY MASSACRE. Apache Indian job Anti-Horse Thief Association A vigilante organization, the Anti-Horse Thief Association was formed at Fort Scott during 1859 to battle the marauders plaguing the border states. After the Civil War these outlaw elements, using sprawling, poorly policed Indian Territory as their base, swept into Kansas and other states to run off herds of horses and cattle. Because of the strength of the outlaws, few lawmen would pursue them further than Marion County in Kansas, and the work fell to the Anti-Horse Thief Associations that proliferated in Kansas and other states. They generally dispensed instant justice on the trail when they caught the rustlers. As the West was tamed and the incidence of horse thievery dropped, the organization stayed on as a social group. Well into the 20th century it was common for a chapter to announce somberly at an annual meeting that no horse thieves had been apprehended during the previous 12 months, a record worthy of a great celebration. See also: HORSE STEALING. Apache gangs gangland bombing Using bombs as a “convincer” has long been a practice of the underworld. Today, organized crime makes great use of firebombs, particularly for what is known in the underworld as an Apache Indian job: when a building is so thoroughly burned that little remains standing other than a chimney and a few smoking timbers, as in the case of Indian burnings of settlers’ cabins. Such firebombings have been common in recent years in New York City to convince, for example, restaurateurs to pay tribute to the little-known but lucrative parsley racket. Restaurants that don’t serve parsley with every meal, and indeed with a number of mixed drinks, can look forward to an Apache raid. Apache Indian jobs have reappeared in the West recently. In 1980 the Montana State Crime Control Commission reported that a New York “parsley king” was involved in restaurant firebombings in that state. See also: PARSLEY RACKET. Apache Kid (1867–?) rapist, robber, murderer The Apache Kid conducted the worst one-man reign of terror the Arizona Territory and perhaps the entire West ever saw. Until age 20 the Apache Kid adapted well to the white man’s world, becoming a sergeant of scouts at the San Carlos Agency under Al Sieber, Arizona’s famed Indian fighter. When his father was murdered, tribal law required the young Indian to avenge the crime, and under that law, it would be a legal execution. Although Sieber warned him that such revenge would be illegal under the white man’s law, the Apache Kid slipped away with a few followers, located his quarry near a creek and stabbed him to death. The young Indian then surrendered to Sieber, but becoming fearful of his treatment in a hostile white court, he escaped with his followers. After two years on the run, the Apache Kid returned to face a court-martial. He was convicted but won a pardon from President Grover Cleveland. Incensed by this action, the local Indian haters promptly indicted the Kid and several of his band on charges of having killed a whiskey drummer who was trying to sell “fire water” to their people. The Apache Kid was found guilty and given seven years in prison, a remarkably short sentence that indi- mythical Indian outlaw bands Without doubt one of the most fertile subjects for foreigners’ misconceptions of conditions in America has always been crime. This has been true not merely because of purple reporting by several popular writers but also because of the inaccurate opinions of many experts. Typical was the work of Dr. Edmond Locord, one of the great criminologists of France in the early part of this century. Writing in the preface of a book on crime in 1925, Locard discussed crime in various parts of the world; of America he said: “In Texas and California even today one meets roving bands of redskins who live by extortion, pillage, and rapine. They are the Apaches.” Thus, foreigners visiting the United States in 33 APALACHIN Conference Originally a sergeant of scouts, the Apache Kid (center) later went on an orgy of robbery, rape, kidnapping and murder, becoming the most-hunted Indian outlaw in the Arizona Territory. two young Indians trying to steal his horse. Clark shot the woman and badly wounded the man, who fled. Clark, whose partner, Billy Diehl, had been killed by the Apache Kid five years earlier, was sure he recognized him. He was equally positive that he had gotten in a killing shot and that the Apache Kid had crawled in some hole to die. Clark’s story was plausible, but it was more likely that the Apache Kid realized the tale of his fate gave him the perfect opportunity to fade away. There seems little doubt that he took an Indian woman, went into the Sierra Madre in Mexico and raised a family. He was recognized and spoken to by a number of reliable witnesses well into the 20th century. Further reading: Lone War Trail of Apache Kid by Earle F. Forrest and Edwin B. Hill. cated the case against him was either weak or that the crime itself was considered by many to be justified. On November 1, 1889 the Apache Kid was being escorted to the prison at Yuma when he overwhelmed his two guards, Sheriff Glen Reynolds and Deputy Bill Holmes, killed them and made his escape. From then on, the Apache Kid became the scourge of the state, leaving a bloody trail of robbery, rape and murder. He struck blindly, victimizing Indians as well as whites. He took many Indian women, and when he tired of them, he cut their throats. Prospectors were robbed and murdered in their mountain cabins; lonely ranches were attacked and their inhabitants killed. It was impossible to get an accurate count of the number of white girls he kidnapped, raped and killed because he was blamed whenever a lone Indian committed a crime, but there was no doubt that most such victims were his. Even a $5,000 bounty on his head failed to stop him, although several whites and Indians alike tried and died in the effort. The terror ended abruptly in 1894. One night Ed Clark, a prospector and former chief of Wallapai Scouts, awakened at his camp north of Tucson to see Apalachin Conference underworld convention A much-publicized fiasco, the great underworld conference held at Apalachin, N.Y. on November 14, 1957 was in its own way as important for its impact on crime in America as the famous Atlantic City crime meeting 34 ARBUCKLE, Roscoe “Fatty” In short, Apalachin seemed likely to produce fireworks and perhaps even open warfare. All of that, however, could be avoided if the meeting were boycotted or sabotaged. The first alternative was partially accomplished, the second completely. Unless one holds to the theory that the crime leaders from Chicago, Detroit and San Francisco had escaped during the raid or were still “on the way,” their absence was noteworthy. Lucky Luciano, from his exile in Italy, lobbied strongly against the meeting with some of these people (his voice was still powerful in those very cities), and he coached others on their behavior at the conference, especially Carlo Gambino. Frank Costello also begged off on the grounds that he was constantly being tailed by the authorities. As treasurer for the syndicate, Meyer Lansky was supposed to show but developed, he said, a sore throat that kept him in Florida. All these absences pointed up the lack of unanimity facing Genovese. And then came the fiasco of the raid—nothing so degrading had ever happened in the underworld’s history. Vito Genovese, it was concluded, had led the crime bosses to disaster. The extent of the fury against Genovese was pointed up in a tapped telephone conversation later between Sam Giancana, then head of the Chicago syndicate, and Steve Magaddino, his Buffalo, N.Y. counterpart: in 1929. However, while Atlantic City was famous for what it did, Apalachin’s chief significance was what it did not do, namely propel Vito Genovese into the number one spot in the syndicate hierarchy. More accurately, the Apalachin meeting destroyed Genovese, and in hindsight, it is impossible not to regard the events as brilliantly stage-managed. The bare-bones history of the conference is rather clear cut. It came three weeks after the barbershop assassination of Albert Anastasia, which was arranged by Genovese as part of his plan to become “boss of bosses” both in New York and the nation. Genovese called the conference among other reasons, to justify Anastasia’s death and relieve the heat he was getting for the attempt on Frank Costello’s life a few months earlier. Most of all, he wanted his position as the syndicate’s top man affirmed. But that was against the wishes of other powerful forces. As it happened, the meeting at the 58-acre estate of mobster Joseph Barbara, Sr. never got off the ground. Before real discussions started, a raid by state police sent the participants scurrying. It was a ludicrous scene: immaculately tailored crime bosses, mostly in their fifties or older and no longer fleet of foot, climbed out windows or bolted through back doors and went racing through woods, burrs and undergrowth in a frantic attempt to escape. How many did is not known, but 58 were caught. The arrest roster bore the names of men whom various law enforcement agencies had tried to corner for years: Genovese, Trafficante, Profaci, Magliocco, Bonanno, Scalish, DeSimone, Riela, Magaddino, Gambino, Miranda, Catena, Ida, Zito, Civello, Colletti, Ormento, Galante. Of the 58, 50 had been arrested some time in their lives; 35 had convictions and 23 had served prison sentences. Eighteen had been involved in murder case investigations; 15 had been arrested for narcotics violations, 30 for gambling, 23 for illegal use of firearms. Newspapers wondered if anyone still thought the Mafia didn’t exist. The public assumption was that the Apalachin meeting was intended as the forum for presenting Genovese with his crown, and much was made of the fact that a total of $300,000 was found on the arrested crime bosses. This, the theory went, was “envelope money” to be given to Genovese. There was considerable reason to dispute that view, however. Few of the participants ever went about with anything less than a fat “roll,” and it was known that Carlo Gambino was ready to announce he brought no money for Genovese. Gambino had cooperated with Genovese in the Anastasia assassination in order to take over the latter’s crime family, but he had no intention of gaining Genovese as an overboss. Magaddino: “It never would’ve happened in your place.” Giancana: “You’re fuckin’ right it wouldn’t. This is the safest territory in the world for a big meet. . . . We got three towns just outside of Chicago with the police chiefs in our pocket. We got this territory locked up tight.” Magaddino’s comments were less than gracious considering it was he who had suggested to Genovese that the meeting be held at Apalachin. Host Barbara was a lieutenant in Magaddino’s crime family. If Genovese had the feeling he had been set up, there was considerable justification. How much so he did not realize until he and a number of his aides were indicted for narcotics conspiracy six months later. The chief testimony against Genovese was provided by a two-bit heroin pusher named Nelson Cantellops. That an unimportant Puerto Rican street operator could have the goods on a big man like Genovese did not seem logical, but the government gleefully used his testimony to convict the crime boss. Shortly before he died, Lucky Luciano revealed the secret behind the Cantellops testimony. He said Cantellops had in the past worked for Chicago’s Sam Giancana and for Meyer Lansky, both of whom had missed 35 ARGOS Lectionary the Apalachin conclave. The pusher had received a $100,000 payoff from Luciano, Gambion, Lansky and Costello. For his $25,000, Costello had insisted that among those convicted had to be Vincente “the Chin” Gigante, the triggerman in the Genovese-inspired attempt on his life. Apalachin had indeed been the first nail in Genovese’s coffin. The coup de grace followed in 1959, when he was sentenced to prison for 15 years. He would die there in 1969. See also: JOSEPH BARBARA, SR.; VITO GENOVESE. For 20 minutes no sound was heard from the bedroom and the others in the party simply passed knowing glances. Suddenly, there were hysterical screams and Virginia cried, “I’m dying, he’s killing me, I’m dying!” Arbuckle then walked out of the room wearing Virginia’s hat and giggling. “Go in and get her dressed and take her back to her hotel. She makes too much noise.” When the others looked into the bedroom, they saw Virginia’s nude, bloody body lying among her ripped clothes. “He hurt me. Roscoe hurt me,” she cried. “I’m dying, I’m dying. Roscoe did it.” Arbuckle was unimpressed by Virginia’s ravings. “She’s acting it up,” he said. “She’s always been a lousy actress.” He warned those present he would throw her out the 12th-story window unless she stopped moaning. Several other women carried Virginia down the hall to another room. Three days later she died. The three trials of Fatty Arbuckle for felony rape and murder were legal curiosities. At first, courtroom descriptions of what Arbuckle had done were considered so shocking that they were passed back and forth in writing. The official version that Virginia’s bladder had been ruptured when the fat man had forced intercourse on her was hardly the complete story. Finally, a witness testified that after the incident Arbuckle had laughingly told others at the party that he had jammed a large jagged piece of ice into her vagina. Later, there was talk about a champagne bottle as well. The first two trials ended in hung juries, voting 10 to two for acquittal and then 10 to two for conviction. The third trial resulted in a not-guilty verdict, after the jury had deliberated only six minutes. In addition to setting the comedian free, the panel added: “Acquittal is not enough for Roscoe Arbuckle. We feel a great injustice has been done him and there was not the slightest proof to connect him in any way with the commission of any crime.” The jurors then stuck around to have their pictures taken with the grateful comic. While the air was filled with charges that witnesses and jury members had been bribed, the studios set up plans to relaunch Arbuckle’s film career. However, it soon became apparent that although a California court had cleared him, the rest of the country did not feel the same way. Theater owners reported that the comedian’s unreleased movies would play to empty houses, and his films were junked. Arbuckle spent the next 10 years knocking around in vaudeville and playing second-rate cabarets. He was allowed to direct some minor films under the name of William Goodrich, while he implored the studios to give him another chance. Arbuckle, Roscoe “Fatty” (1887–1933) accused murderer Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle was at the peak of his career as a comedian, regarded second only to Chaplin, when he was arrested in 1921 for the rape-killing of a delicate young actress named Virginia Rappe, which came to be regarded as Hollywood’s worst scandal. The three trials that followed laid bare facts about Arbuckle’s private life. What had been amusing on screen for an almost 300-pound buffoon assumed sinister aspects off screen. Somehow the knowledge that Arbuckle had the back seat of his $25,000 Rolls Royce equipped with a built-in toilet came across as more animalistic than humorous when associated with an alleged rapist-murderer. The facts in the death of 25-year-old Virginia Rappe have never been entirely clear, the picture having been muddled by Hollywood movie studios anxious to protect their investment in a hot comic property. Bribes were paid and witnesses disappeared or changed their stories. But what is clear is that Arbuckle, straight from working on three films without a day off, headed for a session of relaxation in San Francisco with a party of friends, among them Virginia Rappe, who had recently moved up to starring roles on the basis of her delicate beauty rather than any acting ability. Her pretty face at the moment graced the sheet music of “Let Me Call You Sweetheart.” According to some accounts, Virginia thoroughly disliked Arbuckle but kept his company because she felt the fat comedian could aid her career, a common enough belief among aspiring starlets. The young actress was present at a wild party—some later described it as an orgy—that took place in Fatty’s St. Francis Hotel suite on September 5, 1921. During the revelry Fatty seized Virginia and hustled her into the bedroom, with the actress showing some or no resistance, according to the conflicting testimony of the witnesses. But what happened next was not disputed. 36 ARLINGTON, Josie Finally, in 1933 Warner Brothers signed him to do some two-reelers. He finished the first one in New York on June 29. “This is the happiest day of my life,” he said. The next morning he was found dead in his hotel room bed of a heart attack. Argos Lectionary rare manuscript One of the most-valued Greek manuscripts possessed by an American university is the University of Chicago’s Argos Lectionary, a book of parchment leaves containing excerpts from the Bible arranged for church services. The book was purchased by the school in 1930 from the manager of an underworld-controlled nightclub, who had phoned and offered to sell “a Bible with an odd history.” The nightclub manager, however, had something else in mind when he referred to its “odd history.” Prohibitionera gunmen had placed their hands on the Bible when they swore their oath of allegiance to Al Capone. The university’s experts recognized it as a ninth or 10thcentury work—and a masterpiece of singular scholarly import. Arizona Rangers Formed much later than the Texas Rangers, the Arizona Rangers were organized in 1901 to assist local officials in maintaining law and order. Headed by Capt. Burton C. Mossman, the 12- to 14-man force achieved a noteworthy record. While aimed at stopping outlaws and rustlers in general, the Arizona Rangers probably would not have been formed had it not been for the depredations of a vicious outlaw and murderer named Augustine Chacon, a 30-notch gunman. The Rangers got their man and many more before being disbanded in 1910, probably in recognition of the fact that the use of such a force was justified only in an era of widespread lawlessness. By doing so, the Arizona Rangers avoided the later criticism of the Texas Rangers as an organization that had outlived its usefulness. Such early groups as the Arizona Rangers and the New Mexico Rangers set the precedent for the present state police organizations. See also: BURT ALVORD, BURTON C. MOSSMAN. Arkansas Tom One of Madam Arlington’s ads in the Blue Book, Book, a turn-ofthe-century guide to whoring in New Orleans, heralds the ultimate in brothel furnishings and decor. rifles, but as in the Hatfield-McCoy feud, many of the killings were done with a stiletto-type dagger known as an Arkansas toothpick, the hillbillies’ favorite for a “silent job.” Arlington, Josie (1864–1919) See ROY DAUGHERTY. Arkansas toothpick madam Mary Deubler, better known professionally as Josie Arlington, was perhaps New Orleans’ most famous madam. She was certainly regarded as the classiest and her house, the Arlington, gained a reputation as the gaudiest and grandest of bordellos. Her achievement was somewhat remarkable, however, considering her early years in the trade. For nine years, starting at the age of 17, she worked in various brothels on Customhouse Street and Basin Street under the name of Josie Alton. She never stayed long in one place because of her proclivity for brawling with the murder weapon The popular concept of backwoods feuding and killing is of mountain boys blasting away at each other with their trusty shotguns. True, they all carried shotguns or 37 ARNOLD, Keith other girls. In 1886 she engaged in a fierce fight with another prostitute, Beulah Ripley. Josie lost much of her hair, while Beulah staggered from the battle minus her lower lip and half an ear. In 1888 Josie opened her own place at No. 172 Customhouse Street, a house known for having the most quarrelsome residents on the street. The profits enabled Josie to support her lover, Philip Lobrano, who lived in the house, and several members of her family. Lobrano was quite outspoken about relatives living off the income of his women like “a flock of vultures.” In 1890, during a fierce brawl in the house involving Josie and all her girls, Lobrano shot and killed Josie’s brother, Peter Deubler. New Orleans being New Orleans, Lobrano was acquitted by the courts. Changing her name to Lobrano d’Arlington, Josie turned over a new leaf. She kicked out her lover, dismissed all her battling prostitutes and announced that henceforth she would fill her establishment with the most gracious of foreign ladies who would entertain only gentlemen of refinement and impeccable taste. The Mascot, a tabloid that reported the doings of the red-light district, trumpeted: “Society is graced by the presence of a bona-fide baroness, direct from the Court at St. Petersburg. The baroness is at present residing incog. at the Chateau Lobrano d’Arlington, and is known as La Belle Stewart.” The baroness was soon exposed as being a hoochy-koochy dancer and circus specialist who had graced the Midway at the Chicago World’s Fair. Many of Josie Arlington’s other imports also proved to be imposters. Despite this, her lavish brothel thrived and when Storyville, a quasi-legal redlight district, was established, Josie opened the Arlington, which was just about the most discriminating in Storyville. Over the next decade Josie Arlington amassed a considerable fortune, which allowed her to buy a mansion in the most fashionable part of New Orleans. Josie also started to get religion, sending a niece to be educated in a convent. While still in her early forties, she bought a plot in Metarie Cemetery and erected an $8,000 tomb of red marble, with two large flambeaux on top and a crosscut in the back. There was a copper door and carved on it, in bas-relief, was the figure of a kneeling woman, her arms filled with flowers. Josie leased out the Arlington in 1909 and retired from the business. She died in 1914, at the age of 50, by then Storyville’s most-storied madam. Even in death, Josie entertained, in a fashion, the citizenry of New Orleans. The city installed a red traffic light on the street by Metairie Cemetery, and during the night its red glow cast on the two flambeaux gave the illusion of a red light shining over the renowned madam’s tomb. Crowds gathered each night to enjoy the spectacle, and nightly sightseeing tours all paused at the cemetery for the show. The city eventually replaced the red light with a white one, making the traffic light one of the most confusing ever installed. In 1924 Josie’s niece had the madam’s bones transferred to a receiving vault and the gaudy tomb was sold. See also: STORYVILLE. Arnold, Keith See GERALD CRAFT. Arnold, Stephen (c. 1770–?) murderer Men and women suffering from varying degrees of lunacy have committed murders, and depending on the prevailing mores of their societies, they have received varying punishments. Stephen Arnold, in an event marked by high drama, was one of the first in America to win leniency due to insanity. As a thirtyish schoolteacher in Cooperstown, N.Y., he was a perfectionist who would fly into a mad rage whenever a pupil made a spelling error. When in 1805 his six-year-old niece, Betsy Van Amburgh, misspelled gig, Arnold lost all control of himself, seized a club and beat her to death. Then comprehending what he had done, he fled Cooperstown for Pittsburgh, Pa., where he took up a new identity. Caught later that year, he was returned to Cooperstown to be tried for murder. Since his lawyer could not dispute the obvious facts of the crime, Arnold was convicted in short order and sentenced to be hanged. Arnold’s execution day was a banner event in Cooperstown, with thousands from the surrounding area converging on the town for the big show. According to a contemporary account, marching bands, a company of artillery and a full battalion of infantry led Arnold to the gallows. Flowers and bunting decorated the caissons and even the gallows. While Arnold stood with the noose around his neck, a minister launched into an hour-long sermon on the sins of men letting their tempers race unchecked. Much of the admonishments were quotations from Arnold himself. Now, with the obligatory matters taken care of, the hangman stepped forward—the crowd tensed . . . suddenly the sheriff moved to the condemned man and ceremoniously flung the noose from Arnold’s neck. Before the stunned onlookers, the sheriff then read a reprieve for Arnold that he had received from the governor earlier in the morning. The sheriff had let the execution charade continue for three reasons: to show his disagreement with the chief executive’s act; to force Arnold to experience the terror of execution for his murderous sin; and not to disappoint entirely the thousands gathered for the event. The crowd’s disappointment was great nonethe38 ARSON Regulations in the average jail permit an arrested person to send local telephone messages to his or her relatives, friends, employer and a lawyer. “Messages” is indeed the right word, since in most places the police make the calls for you. If the arrested person is well behaved, the police wink at the rules and let him or her personally use the phone and even make as many calls as desired. If the arrestee gets nasty, the police will make the call, or at least they say they will. Unfortunately, they sometimes will inform the arrestee the line is busy. The Constitution provides no guarantee that a telephone can’t be busy. If charged with a felony or a misdemeanor, the arrestee is fingerprinted and “mugged.” A person can refuse to be fingerprinted, but in most places one can’t get bail without going through the procedure. Four sets of fingerprints are made: two for the local police files, one for the state capital and another for the FBI. Four photographs—“mug shots”—are taken, two front view and one left and one right profile. If the arrested person is later found innocent or the charges are dropped, he or she has the right to demand the return of the prints. Some officers make a point of not doing this, instead offering a phony set of prints. In some states a court order is needed to get back such prints. It’s often wise to have a lawyer get a court order even where it is not required; few officers will play games when a court order is involved. After the arrested person has been booked, printed and mugged, he or she is brought into court for arraignment. Usually, the police are required to bring an arrested person before a judge within 24 hours, but in some areas the rule isn’t rigidly enforced. Over a weekend an arrestee can often spend three nights locked up, and there are numerous cases of persons being held two or three weeks before arraignment. At times, court arraignment is used only in felony cases. In any case, the formal charge is made at arraignment, and at the same time, or possibly at a later hearing, the arrested person pleads either guilty or innocent. A magistrate then hears the police case and decides whether it’s strong enough to hold the arrested person for the grand jury. If not, the magistrate will dismiss the charge. The grand jury hearing a case does not necessarily call the defendant before it. It may simply hear the police side and decide that a crime has been committed and that the defendant could have committed it. The grand jury is a body of 12 to 23 citizens, with the average number around 19. For a verdict, 12 jury members must agree. If the grand jury decides there is enough evidence to bring a defendant to trial, it issues a “true bill,” or indictment. After that, the defendant is permitted to alter his or her plea, and the judge will set new less, and there was some speculation that the sheriff had acted as he did only so that the local merchants and tavern keepers could still profit from what would prove to be a nonevent. Amidst all the bickering on that point, the concept of temporary insanity and the pros and cons of it were lost on most of the crowd. Arnold was later pardoned for the same reason. arrest, citizen’s A private citizen has just as much right to arrest a lawbreaker as does a police officer, but these so-called citizen’s arrests are actually rife with legal danger to the person making them. A private citizen can arrest another for a crime that is committed or attempted in his or her presence. In addition, a private citizen can arrest a person who has committed a felony even though it was not perpetrated in the arresting citizen’s presence. The arresting citizen must inform the person of the arrest and, without undue delay, take him or her before a magistrate or hand him or her over to a police officer. Everything will then have been handled properly—provided the person arrested is later found guilty. If he or she is acquitted or the charges are dropped, the citizen making the arrest can be sued for false arrest, not an uncommon occurrence. As a result, most legal authorities strongly counsel against a citizen’s arrest except under the most certain of circumstances. arrest procedures Arrest is the taking or detainment of a person by legal authority, preferably by an officer of the law acting with a warrant, a written order signed by a magistrate stating the reason for the arrest. An officer can also make an arrest without a warrant if the crime is a misdemeanor, or lesser offense, committed in his presence or a felony, or major offense, that he may not have witnessed but has reasonable cause to believe the person being arrested has committed. As soon as the arrested person arrives at the station house, he or she is booked. Booking is the entry of the charge into what is called the “arrest book,” more popularly known as the police blotter. At this point, the defendant officially learns the exact charge against him, but in practice, the average person often is so frightened he doesn’t grasp the exact words or the desk officer mumbles in such a manner that the accused can’t make out the officer’s words. Next comes an “order for admittance and property receipt.” The arrested person empties his pockets; everything is itemized and put in an envelope. As a rule, wristwatches may be kept. 39 ASHBY, James bail, either larger or smaller, depending on what is deemed appropriate. For a misdemeanor the arrestee or may not be arraigned in court the next day. In many cities, at the time of booking, the desk officer will order the arrested person to be in court on a given date, possibly two or three weeks later. By agreement with the courts, the police are empowered to collect bail in misdemeanor cases according to fixed rates and allow the defendant’s release. Bail is solely for the purpose of guaranteeing that the accused will appear at his or her trial. If the defendant can’t raise bail, for either a felony or a misdemeanor charge, it’s back to jail, possibly for a long stay until the case comes to court. See also: BAIL. to set a fire,” she declared when caught, “nothing I can do stops me.” Few arsonists start fires with any desire to kill people. They know it will happen sooner or later, but the thought doesn’t stop them from committing their crimes. Recent history’s worst proven case of arson was the Ringling Brothers Barnum and Bailey Circus fire in 1944 in Hartford, Conn., in which 168 men, women and children perished. Eventually, a 15-year-old circus roustabout was found to have set the fire. He was caught some six years later after he set another big blaze in East St. Louis. The pyromaniac couldn’t really explain why he had started the circus fire; all that could be established was that he had felt picked on by his bosses and that he had had a lifelong preoccupation with fire. By and large, pyromaniacs can be said to share one or more of four common characteristics: (1) a resentment of authority; (2) the urge for destruction; (3) an inability to show resentment directly; and (4) extremely poor sexual adjustment. One of the leading authorities on the subject, Dr. Nolan D. C. Lewis, has observed: “The pyromaniac can give no rational motive for his incendiary acts. Even though he is aware that he may cause property damage worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, perhaps even be responsible for the deaths of innocent women and children, he feels he must set fires. I know of cases where such people have rushed into police stations shouting, ‘Stop me before I set another fire!’” There is considerable evidence to indicate that compulsive arsonists can be cured. In their landmark study, Pathological Firesetting, Drs. Nolan Lewis and Helen Yarnell traced 1,071 convicted pyromaniacs. Only 138 of the pyromaniacs had received psychiatric treatment specifically designed to solve their problem. Of these, Lewis and Yarnell concluded, not one was still setting fires. arson If any crime in America can be described as out of control, it is arson. At the end of the 1990s, arson was responsible for killing 700 persons and injuring thousands more each year. The cost to insurance companies was more than $2 billion. From 1970 to 1996 the number of fires due to arson jumped from 120,000 to 500,000. A Senate investigations subcommittee warned, “Long thought by the public to be a sporadic act of greed, arson has evolved into a way of life in many metropolitan areas.” The committee said landlords and other building owners who saw property values dropping often overinsured their properties and then arranged to have them burned down by professional firebugs or ghetto gangs in order to obtain quick insurance windfalls. Pyromania, the act of a compulsive fire-setter, may not have increased as fast as arson for money, but it too is growing. In fact, insurance arsonists are at times the inspiration for pyromaniacs. Pyromania is a difficult illness to diagnose and one that shows few social patterns. Ashby, James (c. 1830) riverboat gambler While the Mississippi was noted for many colorful riverboat gamblers, none was more amazing than old James Ashby, a grizzled sharper skilled at suckering others who superficially seemed much more polished. Ashby would work with a young confederate, pretending to be father and son returning home after selling off some stock at market. The bumpkin-appearing “son” looked like a perfect victim, easily inveigled into trying his luck at cards, and Ashby pretended to be a fiddle-playing old man teetering on the brink of senility. While the son was gambling, Ashby guzzled white lightning and played snatches of tunes on his fiddle, bemoaning that he no longer remembered how the complete version went. His son proved less dimwitted • The Chicago area had a rash of fires set in 27 different buildings. It turned out to be the work of one of the community’s most respected physicians, a dedicated doctor who still made house calls. • When a large building on the campus of the University of Michigan was set afire, a respected faculty member was apprehended for the crime. • A Georgia orphanage burned to the ground, and the arsonist turned out to be a society matron who had worked hard to raise money for its construction in the first place. “When I get the urge 40 ASHLEY, John than he looked, winning hand after hand in defiance of all the odds. “Not for a long time,” one historian of the river wrote, “did the gamblers learn that the tunes were signals.” Whereupon Ashby retired from Mississippi activities, having grown wealthy by outsharping the sharpers. were just too lazy to do any advance planning. When Ashley robbed a bank, often the extent of his casing the job was to check the bank’s hours to make sure it would be open when he got there. Once when the Ashley mob hit a bank in Stuart, Fla. without bothering to bring along a getaway car, they had an excellent reason: no member of the gang at the time knew how to drive! Ashley figured there’d be someone in the bank who had a car parked outside. Which was exactly how things worked out. Ashley did get caught a couple of times: following one bank robbery, a member of his own gang accidentally shot him in the eye while firing at pursuers. Ashley was captured as he staggered around on the edge of a swamp, clutching his eye and half-crazed with pain. After that, he wore a glass eye. Instead of being tried for the bank robbery, Ashley was shipped to Miami to stand trial for the murder of a Seminole Indian subchief. There was no hard evidence against Ashley, and he was almost certainly innocent of the murder. The crackers of the swamp knew what was behind it all: the land sellers wanted someone convicted of the killing because they didn’t want any Indian trouble scaring away buyers. So why not pin it on John Ashley? The Ashley gang was incensed and determined to free its leader. Ashley’s brother Bob actually made his way into the jailhouse and killed a guard, but he was forced to flee before reaching his brother’s cell and was killed shortly thereafter in a fight with police. The frustrated gang then sent an “ultimatum” to the city of Miami that brought the Ashleys nationwide fame. Addressed to the local sheriff, its exact words were Ashley, John (1895–1924) Everglades gangster Still regarded as a folk hero in the Florida Everglades, John Ashley headed an unlikely band of criminals who, from 1915 to 1924, robbed a total of 40 banks and stole close to a million dollars. Small-town bankers lived in dread of the sight of the Ashley gang bouncing into town in a Model T and out again with the loot, often waving a gin bottle at the citizens as they went. They were also expert hijackers. Rumrunners, not a spineless sort, blanched when Ashley and his crew mounted one of their transports. A state official called Ashley the worst menace to Florida since the war with the Seminoles. The newspapers likened him to Jesse James, and there was indeed a resemblance save that James never flaunted the law quite as openly as John Ashley. Once the Ashley gang pulled a job, they would separate and head for the Everglades, where no man alive could track John Ashley, a “cracker” who could move through the swamps with the assurance of an urban pedestrian on well-marked city streets. The story was often told of the time a posse of 12 men went after Ashley when he was alone in the swamp. They failed to catch him but ended up racing out of the swamp panicstricken, two of them wounded. They suddenly had realized that Ashley was tracking them instead of the other way around. It was exploits of this sort that made Ashley a hero to a great many crackers who inhabited the pine and palmetto backwoods of Florida. He became a symbol of their resentment toward an encroaching civilization, and a popular belief was that Ashley killed only when he was forced to, lived a life of crime only because he was forced into it. And besides, he sure stuck it to all those the crackers detested—the townies, the revenuers, the police, even them big-city rumrunners importing that foreign stuff and taking away white lightnin’ markets. In that last endeavor, the Ashley gang did what the U.S. Coast Guard had failed to do. They virtually halted rumrunning between Bimini, a little spit of sand in the Bahamas, and much of Florida’s east coast. The smugglers lost so much liquor to the Ashley gang that they transferred their activities elsewhere. Perhaps what made the gang so engaging was the fact they did their work so haphazardly; in fact, they Dear Sir, We were in your city at the time one of gang Bob Ashley was brutely shot to death by your officers and now your town can expect to feel the results of it any hor, and if John Ashley is not fairly delt with and given a fair trial and turned loose simply for the life of a Goddamn Seminole Indian we expect to shoot up the hole God-damn town regardless to what the results might be. we expect to make our appearance at a early date. The Ashley Gang It is doubtful the course of Miami justice bent because of this threat, but among the crackers there was a knowing nod of the heads when the murder charge against Ashley was nol-prossed. However, Ashley was convicted of bank robbery and sentenced to 17 years in prison. In a short time, he escaped and returned to take command of his gang. 41 ASSASSINATION In 1924 Ashley, tired of bank jobs and the like, pulled one of the most fabulous crimes of the century, though it is little remembered today because the loot turned out to be disappointingly small. During this period of Prohibition most of the rumrunners drew their supplies from the West End Settlement in the Bimini Islands. Ashley decided that instead of going through all the trouble involved in waylaying the rumrunners, it would be a lot less tiring to go to West End and rob whatever money the rumrunners brought there. John and his crew hit the island late one afternoon and within two hours cleaned out all the money the liquor suppliers had on hand. It was the first time in more than 100 years that an American pirate had raided a British crown colony, but Ashley wasn’t particularly interested in the distinction. What bothered him was that his master coup had netted a mere $8,000. Just hours before the gang hit the island, an express boat carrying $250,000 in cash had left for Nassau. Ashley went back to bank robbing, but the end was near. The police now had a stoolpigeon within the gang. His identity has never been established with certainty, but it is widely believed to have been Clarence Middleton, a drug addict member of the gang. The police got a tip in February 1924 that Ashley’s father, who’d recently jumped bail on a moonshining charge, was holed up not far from the Ashley home, and that John Ashley was going to visit him. The hideout was attacked, and Old Man Ashley was killed and a few others wounded. John Ashley, however, escaped. The same source then informed the police that the gang was heading for Jacksonville. A roadblock with a chain and some lanterns was set up at the Sebastian Bridge. It was dark when the Ashley gang’s car pulled up. All four men in it—Ashley, Hanford Mobley, Ray Lynn and Clarence Middleton—got out to inspect what they thought was a construction job. A score of gun muzzles were leveled on them. They started to raise their hands. What happened next is a mystery. The official version is that Ashley made a move for his gun. Twenty law officers fired, and four of the most-wanted men in Florida died. According to another version, told by the crackers, Ashley and the others were handcuffed and then shot to death. This story claims that when their bodies were brought to the funeral parlor, all the dead men’s wrists bore the marks of handcuffs. of-work painter, stepped out from behind a pillar and fired two pistols at Jackson, both of which misfired. Lawrence was judged deranged and committed to an insane asylum, although Jackson remained convinced the would-be assassin’s act had been part of a Whig conspiracy to kill him. The next attack on a U.S. president was the assassination of Abraham Lincoln by John Wilkes Booth in 1865. Besides Booth, who was killed by pursuing troops, four others—Lewis Paine, George Atzerodt, David Herold and Mrs. Mary Surratt—were hanged and several others sent to prison. What followed can best be summarized by a phrase from James McKinley’s Assassination in America, “After Lincoln, the deluge.” While Andrew Johnson was president, 13 political officeholders were shot at and 12 of them killed. During Ulysses S. Grant’s two terms, from 1869 to 1877, there were 20 attacks, resulting in 11 deaths. FPO FIG. #9 TO BE PICKED-UP FROM PREVIOUS ED. In what many experts regard as the greatest crime photo ever taken, New York mayor William J. Gaynor is shown seconds after he was shot by a disgruntled city employee in 1910 aboard an ocean liner as he prepared to sail for Europe. Gaynor survived. When Charles Chapin, city editor of the Evening World World,, saw the picture he exclaimed, “Look, what a wonderful thing! Blood all over him—and exclusive too!” assassination Political assassination came late upon the American scene. The first assassination attempt against a U.S. president occurred in 1835 as Andrew Jackson was strolling out of the Capitol. Richard Lawrence, an out42 ASTOR Place Riots 1968: Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., was gunned down in Memphis, Tenn. on April 4 by James Earl Ray, who was convicted of the shooting and sentenced to 99 years in prison. 1968: Sen. Robert F. Kennedy was fatally shot in Los Angeles on June 5 by Sirhan Sirhan, who was subsequently convicted of the murder and sentenced to life imprisonment. 1972: Gov. George Wallace of Alabama was shot and permanently paralyzed in Laurel, Md. on May 15 by Arthur H. Bremer. Bremer was sentenced to 53 years in prison. 1975: An adherent of Charles Manson, Lynette Alice “Squeaky” Fromme, pointed a gun at President Gerald Ford in Sacramento, Calif. on September 5, but she was immediately seized by a Secret Service agent. Fromme received a sentence of life imprisonment. 1975: In the second attempt on President Ford’s life in 17 days, Sara Jane Moore fired a revolver at him in San Francisco, Calif. on September 22, but an onlooker shoved the gun off target. Moore was sentenced to life in prison. 1981: President Ronald Reagan was shot in the left lung on March 30 by 25-year-old John W. Hinckley, Jr., who fired a total of six shots at the president as he left a Washington, D.C. hotel. Reagan’s press secretary, a Secret Service guard and a city policeman were also severely wounded. Reagan recovered. Assassinations became a part of American political life from the late 19th century on. Some important assassinations and attempts included the following: 1881: President James A. Garfield was shot in Washington, D.C. on March 13 by a disappointed office seeker, Charles Julius Gaiteau. Garfield died on September 29 and Gaiteau was hanged in June 1882. 1901: President William McKinley was shot in Buffalo, N.Y. on September 6 by Leon Czolgosz. McKinley died on September 14 and Czolgosz was executed the following month. 1910: New York mayor William J. Gaynor was shot and badly wounded by James J. Gallagher, a disgruntled city employee, but the mayor recovered. 1912: Former President Theodore Roosevelt was shot in Milwaukee by a demented man named John N. Shrank, but Roosevelt was saved when the passage of the bullet was slowed by a folded 50-page speech and the spectacle case in his pocket. The bullet nevertheless, penetrated the former president’s chest in too dangerous a position ever to be removed. Shrank was confined in mental institutions until his death in 1943. 1933: President-elect Franklin D. Roosevelt was shot at in Miami, Fla. on February 15 by Joseph Zangara. The shot missed Roosevelt and instead hit and fatally wounded Chicago mayor Anton J. Cermak. Some historians insist Zangara never intended to shoot Roosevelt (despite his own claims to that effect) but had been hired by elements of the Capone mob to get rid of Cermak. The mayor himself clung to that belief on his deathbed. Zangara died in the electric chair in March 1933. 1935: Sen. Huey P. Long of Louisiana was shot and killed by Dr. Carl Austin Weiss, who in turn was cut down by Long’s bodyguards. 1950: On November 1 two Puerto Rican nationalists, Oscar Collazo and Griselio Torresola, attempted to storm Blair House to assassinate President Harry S Truman. They never reached Truman but killed a guard, Leslie Coffelt. Torresola was also killed and Collazo wounded. Collazo was sentenced to life imprisonment. In 1979 President Carter granted him clemency and he returned to Puerto Rico. 1963: President John F. Kennedy was shot to death in Dallas, Tex. by Lee Harvey Oswald. Oswald was later assassinated by Jack Ruby while in police custody. 1965: Malcolm X was shotgunned to death in New York City on February 21 by three assassins as he addressed his Organization of Afro-American Unity. Thomas “15X” Johnson and Norman “3X” Butler, both reputed Black Muslim enforcers, and Talmadge Hayer were all convicted of murder and given life imprisonment. assault and battery Assault and battery are two distinct crimes and the distinction is most valuable in the prosecution of criminals. Assault involves the threat or the attempt to use force or violence on another, but its commission does not require the actual use of force. Battery constitutes the actual use of force. Legally, the distinction is most important, for without it, a holdup man who does not actually manhandle or touch his victim would not be guilty of any crime other than, say, robbery or attempted robbery. Thus, the mere waving of a fist in a person’s face constitutes assault, and the employment of that fist raises the crime to assault and battery. Astor Place Riots One of the worst riots in New York City’s history started on May 10, 1849, ostensibly as an outgrowth of a rather silly theatrical feud between the English tragedian William Charles Macready and the American actor Edwin Forrest. Actually, the riots were fomented by a notorious political rogue, Capt. Isaiah Rynders, who capitalized on the poor’s general class hatred and 43 ATLANTA Boys Convoy anti-British feeling to regain a measure of public power following the unexpected defeat of his Democratic Party in 1848. Macready had been chosen instead of Forrest to perform in Macbeth at the Astor Place Opera House. When the English actor appeared on stage, he was met by a mob who had gathered in response to a fiery tirade by Capt. Rynders and one of his chief lieutenants, Edward Z. C. Judson, better known as Ned Buntline. Rynders’ thugs broke up the performance by hurling rotten eggs, pennies and even chairs onto the stage. Others threw pieces of paper filled with gunpowder in the chandeliers. Macready was driven from the stage but no one was injured. The noted actor was induced by the righteous element, led by Washington Irving and other prominent citizens to try once more on May 10, but Rynders was again prepared. Offering free drinks, passes and rabble-rousing handbills, Rynders produced a crowd of 10,000 to 15,000. Twenty of Rynders’ thugs entered the theater with orders to kidnap the hated foreigner right off the stage. However, the police foiled the plot and locked them all up in the basement, where they unsuccessfully tried to burn down the building. Meanwhile, the mob outside was running wild. They bombarded the barricaded windows of the theater with cobblestones gathered from a nearby sewer excavation and ripped down street lamps to use as clubs, plunging the area into darkness. The police managed to evacuate the building and got Macready out wearing a disguise, but they couldn’t contain the rioting. When Edward Judson was arrested, the mob turned even more violent. Officers were stoned to their knees, and the Seventh Regiment was called into action. Even the cavalrymen were knocked off their horses, and the infantry fell back on the sidewalk on the east side of the opera house. When the crowd tried to seize their muskets, the soldiers were ordered to fire, and several volleys tore into the rioters, who fell by the dozens. Twenty-three persons were killed, and the injury list on both sides totaled more than 120. The mobs returned the following night determined to wreck and burn the opera house, but they were driven off by reinforced troops and artillery, which had been set up to sweep Broadway and the Bowery. For several days thereafter, crowds gathered in front of the New York Hotel, where Macready had been staying, calling on him to come out and be hanged. However, the actor had rushed to New Rochelle on May 10 and gone on by train to Boston, where he sailed for England, never to return to America. For his part in fomenting the trouble, Edward Judson was fined $250 and sentenced to a year in the penitentiary. Rynders also was tried for inciting to riot. At the farcical trial, prosecution witnesses retraced the genesis of the plot back to Rynder’s Empire Club, where the original plotting had been done, but they could not recall anything involving him directly. The jury acquitted Rynders in two hours and 10 minutes. See also: EDWARD Z. C. JUDSON. Atlanta Boys Convoy mass shipment of convicts On January 1, 1934 the former military prison on Alcatraz island in San Francisco Bay officially became a federal penitentiary. In the months that followed, this “super cage to hold super criminals” began drawing the worst inmates from other federal prisons, the troublemakers and those most likely to attempt an escape. It was decided to ship these dangerous convicts en masse in convoy form from each prison. The first of these, called the Atlanta Boys Convoy, caused an immense amount of excitement throughout the country. On August 14, 1934, 53 tough convicts were taken from their cells in Atlanta Penitentiary, chained hand and foot and loaded into a train composed of special steel coaches with barred windows and wire-meshed doors. This came in a year when the hysteria over gangsters had reached its zenith. Once the plan to move “the Atlanta boys” became public, there were wild rumors of huge underworld armies mobilizing armored cars, flamethrowers, machine guns and even aircraft to free the convicts. The government took measures that were appropriate for a military operation in hostile territory. The prisoners were chained to their chairs and refused toilet privileges other than on a carefully planned schedule. While the train’s route was unannounced, the mysterious closings of certain stations along the way led to public speculation. At Alcatraz, Warden James A. Johnston was kept constantly informed of the train’s progress. He had stayed up the entire night of the 13th tracking the projected route on a large map. When the train neared Oakland, it was shifted away from the city’s busy terminal and switched to a little-used railway yard at Tiburon. The cars were run straight onto a ferry barge and escorted to the Rock by the Coast Guard. The prisoners were in terrible shape, having been chained in close quarters where they could hardly move and certainly couldn’t sleep. All were caked in grime and sweat, and most suffered swollen feet from the irons and could hardly walk. Their bitter journey was over, but their ordeal in the most restrictive federal prison in history was just beginning. When all were finally locked in their cells. Warden Johnston wired Attorney General Homer 44 ATLANTA children murders Emphasizing the FBI’s belief that they had their man, agents made a very public search of the two-bedroom apartment Jewell shared with his mother, taking out box after box of material they found there, including scores of videotapes. Despite this busy-bee activity, the FBI did not charge Jewell with any crime, but he was left twisting in the wind by the agency, which did not dismiss him as a suspect. Eventually Jewell’s mother wrote in protest to President Bill Clinton, pointing out her son “is a prisoner in my home.” Attorneys hired by Jewell now went on the offensive, demanding that the government either charge the security guard or that he be given an apology. The most picturesque quote came from one of Jewell’s lawyers who raged, “These jerks need to get up off their butts and tell the truth.” It took another two months, until October 26, before the Department of Justice officially declared that Jewell was no longer a suspect in the case. It could not be regarded as one of the FBI’s most shining hours. In early 1997 a suburban Atlanta abortion clinic was bombed, and the following month a gay and lesbian bar was similarly hit, so similarly in fact that investigators believed it was the work of the same terrorist. And they had indications that the suspect in the first two cases and probably the Centennial Park bombing was Eric Robert Rudolph. Rudolph was a suspect in other cases as well, but, an adept survivalist, he vanished somewhere in the wilds of the southeastern states. At present the Centennial Park bombing remains in the unsolved files. Cummings, “FIFTY THREE CRATES OF FURNITURE FROM ATLANTA RECEIVED IN GOOD CONDITION—INSTALLED—NO BREAKAGE.” See also: ALCATRAZ PRISON. Atlanta Centennial Park bombing wrong suspect case of the Early in the morning hours of July 27, 1996, television cameras swayed during Olympic Games interviews, and a loud report sounded. It was an explosion. It was a deafening blast that flooded out the rock music in the park. Shrapnel and debris rained down on dancers and onlookers. Bodies were riddled as more than 100 persons were hit. Luckily, only one person, Alice Hawthorne, a 43-year-old African-American businesswoman, was fatally wounded. Another 111 persons were treated at local hospitals or at the scene but all recovered. A second death claimed as a result of the explosion was that of Turkish TV cameraman Melih Uzanyol, who suffered a fatal heart attack while attempting to videotape the bombing scene. The death toll would have been much higher had not a private security firm guard, Richard Jewell, spotted a suspicious looking knapsack and, with other guards, hustled numerous people from the area before the pipebomb in the knapsack exploded. Jewell’s alert action was credited with probably saving scores of lives. Television interviewers flocked to the hero guard who said, “I just happened to be at the right place at the right time, and doing the job I was trained to do.” Jewell’s day in the sun did not last long. Investigators soon zeroed in on a chief suspect—Richard Jewell. The president of Piedmont College in Demorest, Ga., informed authorities that Jewell had previously been employed there as a campus security guard but had been fired for “infractions,” such as once on his own flagging down motorists to give them sobriety tests. Before that Jewell had been a deputy for the Habersham County sheriff’s department where following a reprimand for his behavior, he was reduced in rank to jail guard. Since that time he had worked in security guard positions at Piedmont and for other security companies, including the Olympic post he held at the time of the explosion. It soon became clear that the FBI was determined to nail Jewell for the terrorist bombing (although FBI agents apparently made it appear to Jewell they considered him an ally in the hunt for the culprit). The open speculation fostered by the authorities’ actions was that Jewell had himself planted the bomb, then spotted it so that he could then be credited with saving many innocent lives. Atlanta children murders Over a period of 24 months, from mid-1979 to mid1981, a total of 29 young blacks, most of whom were considerably under the age of 20, disappeared in Atlanta, Ga. Twenty-eight of them were found dead. The string of murders terrified the city and galvanized the rest of the country into outpourings of support and sympathy. The main national effort came in the form of green ribbons, “symbolizing life,” which appeared on millions of lapels everywhere, worn by blacks and whites. Even shopping bag ladies in New York City were seen wearing the ribbons as well as green-lettered buttons proclaiming “SAVE THE CHILDREN.” Vice President George Bush journeyed to Atlanta to demonstrate an extraordinary degree of national concern. President Ronald Reagan announced the authorization of a $1.5 million grant to aid the investigation, and huge rewards were offered for information leading to the capture of the killer or killers. Celebrities, such as Frank Sinatra and Sammy Davis, Jr., contributed 45 ATLANTIC City Conference loud splash in the water. According to the police, when asked if he had thrown anything into the river, Williams said he had dumped some garbage. However, he subsequently insisted, “I told them I had dropped nothing in the river.” Two days later, the body of 27-year-old Nathaniel Cater floated to shore about a mile downstream from the bridge, within 500 yards of where the body of 21-year-old Jimmy Ray Payne had been found the month before. On June 21 Williams was arrested and charged with murdering Cater. An Atlanta grand jury indicted him on July 17 for both the Payne and Cater slayings. Clearly, the authorities acted as though several of the killings had been solved. In August, Williams pleaded not guilty to the charges. By September, when the new school year started, there had been no further unaccountable murders of young blacks. Teachers reported that unlike the previous year there was hardly any talk among the pupils about the unsolved murders. A 12-year-old boy, Owen Malone, was quoted as saying: “It seems like it’s over. Last year we talked a lot about the case; we got safety tips. The students were afraid of getting snatched.” But this year, he observed, “It was all right.” On February 27, 1982 Williams was convicted of the two murders and sentenced to life imprisonment. money to pay for investigations and aid to the families of the victims, and thousands of letters containing checks, dollar bills and even coins streamed into Atlanta. The official manhunt was marked by bickering between local and federal investigators. FBI director William H. Webster riled local feelings when he announced that four of the cases, apparently unrelated to the others, had been solved. The next day a bureau agent in Macon, Ga. said the four children had been killed by their parents. This brought an angry outcry from the public, demanding to know why no arrest had been made. None was made, Atlanta mayor Maynard Jackson said, because there was not enough evidence to justify an arrest. He complained the FBI head had undermined the public’s confidence in the investigation. A large proportion of the deaths were so similar they indicated the likelihood that many of the victims had died by the same hand or hands. Nineteen of the 28 were believed to have died from strangulation or other forms of asphyxiation. Nine were found in rivers, nude or almost nude. More than a dozen had traces of similar fibers, from a blanket or carpet, on their bodies. Evidence of dog hairs was found on a number of the bodies. Numerous suspects, some found thousands of miles from Atlanta, were quizzed, but without success. Finally, on June 3, 1981 23-year-old Wayne B. Williams was standing in an Atlanta phone booth when FBI agents appeared and “insisted,” according to Williams, that he come downtown for questioning. Word of his interrogation spread quickly through Atlanta, and for the first time many felt the hunt for the mass killer might be over. However, after being held for 12 hours, Williams, who had worked as a TV cameraman and part-time talent scout and booking agent, was released. Publicly, officials said there was insufficient evidence to hold him, but privately they implied he was still a definite suspect. It appears that Williams was picked up because investigators feared he might destroy suspected criminal evidence. During his interrogation Williams submitted to three lie detector tests, which, he later said he was told, indicated “all my answers were deceptive.” The findings, Williams explained to the press, might have been caused by his nervousness. Following his release, authorities obtained a warrant to search Williams’ home and confiscated a yellow blanket and a purple robe and collected samples of dog hairs and fibers from a bedspread and carpet. Williams had first come to police attention on May 22. Around 3 A.M. officers staking out a bridge across the Chattahoochee River stopped his car after hearing a Atlantic City Conference underworld convention Perhaps the most important criminal conference of the American underworld was held during three days in May 1929 in Atlantic City, N.J. Its deliberations were certainly more important than even the famous conference called in Havana by the deported Lucky Luciano in 1946 or those scheduled for the ill-fated conference in Apalachin, N.Y. in 1957. The meeting was hosted by the boss of Atlantic City, Nucky Johnson, who was able to guarantee no police interference. For three days the overlords of American crime discussed their future plans in the Hotel President’s conference rooms and various hospitality suites, which Johnson kept stocked with whiskey, food and hostesses. Chicago’s Al Capone and his “brain,” Greasy Thumb Guzik, attended the conference. Other delegates included King Solomon of Boston, Nig Rosen and Boo-Boo Hoff of Philadelphia, Moe Dalitz and Chuck Polizzi of Cleveland, Abe Bernstein of Detroit’s Purple Gang, John Lazia (representing Tom Pendergast) of Kansas City and Longy Zwillman of New Jersey. The biggest contingent represented New York and included Johnny Torrio, Luciano, Frank Costello, Joe Adonis, Louis Lepke, Dutch Schultz, gambler Frank Erickson, Meyer Lansky, Vince Mangano, Frank Scalise and Albert Anastasia. Notably absent and uninvited were 46 ATTICA prison riot the two New York Mafia leaders then engaged in a bloody battle to decide who would be the so-called boss of bosses—Giuseppe “Joe the Boss” Masseria and Salvatore Maranzano. Both were what Luciano and others among the new crop of Italian gangsters referred to contemptuously as “Mustache Petes,” men who failed to understand the need to work with non-Italian crime leaders. At the convention, plans were laid for criminal activity following the end of Prohibition, and it was decided that the gangs would emphasize getting into the legitimate end of the bootlegging business by acquiring distilleries, breweries and import franchises. “After all,” Luciano said, “who knew more about the liquor business than us?” It was also determined that gambling would become a major enterprise. The country was sliced up into exclusive franchises for both purposes. Groundwork for deals with Moses Annenberg, who controlled the dissemination of horse racing news, was laid. Labor and protection rackets were also plotted. One thing everyone agreed upon was that all these activities would be apportioned peacefully. The earlier success of the Seven Group on peacefully resolving the bootlegging wars was held up as a model for the future. It was further agreed that gang violence had to be cooled down. Capone was lectured on the pointless folly of incidents such as the bloody St. Valentine’s Day Massacre, which produced far too much publicity and heat for comfort. Under pressure from the other gang leaders, Capone even agreed to submit to arrest and a short jail term for some minor offense in order to reduce the heat. All the participants concurred that the next logical step would be the establishment of a national crime syndicate; in fact, the meeting ended on this harmonious note. The call for reduced violence was meant seriously, but all understood that the LucianoLansky group would have to use considerable force to wrest control from the old Mafia dons. At this task they did not fail. While the Atlantic City Conference was earthshaking in its effect on the development of American crime syndicates, historians have always been impressed or amused by how casual some of the deliberations were. Many took place on the beach, with the top mobsters in America walking barefoot through the water, their pants legs rolled up, somberly dividing an empire and deciding who was to live and who was to die. See also: SEVEN GROUP. Facility, 40 miles east of Buffalo, N.Y., in September 1971 was certainly one of the most tragic and most controversial. The riot was finally smashed by a massive assault of 1,500 heavily armed sheriff’s deputies, state troopers and prison guards during which 28 prisoners and nine guards being held hostage were killed. State officials claimed that the guards had had their throats cut by the convicts and that one of them had been emasculated. The riot began on September 9, when about 1,000 prisoners among the inmate population of 2,254 seized a portion of the prison compound, in the process taking more than 30 guards and civilian workers captive. The convicts presented a series of demands, including higher wages and greater political and religious freedom. In addition, they demanded total amnesty and no reprisals for the riot. Negotiations took place between the inmates and Russell G. Oswald, the state commissioner of corrections. Most of the deliberations were handled through the liaison of an “observers committee,” consisting of representatives of government, several newspapers, the radical Young Lords and Black Muslims, and other social and professional groups. Oswald accepted most of the prisoners’ demands but refused to fire Attica superintendent Vincent Mancusi and rejected total amnesty. Gov. Nelson Rockefeller also refused the amnesty demand and rejected the requests of the observers committee that he come to Attica and personally join in the negotiations. Early on the morning of September 13, Oswald read an ultimatum that listed his concessions and demanded the release of the hostages. The prisoners answered by displaying a number of the hostages with knives held to their throats. The bloody but successful assault followed. During the 24 hours after the assault, state officials made much of the convicts’ violence and the sadistic murders of the hostages during the attack. Then came the official autopsies, which showed that none of the dead hostages had had their throats cut and none had been mutilated. All had been shot. In further contradiction of the state version, it was found that the prisoners had been in possession of no guns. All the hostages apparently had been killed in the crossfire of the police attackers. Angered state officials summoned other medical examiners to check the findings of the Monroe County medical examiner, Dr. John F. Edland, who reported state troopers had stood over him while he performed the autopsies, evidently to guard against any cover-up of the supposed throat-slashing evidence. Commissioner Oswald, who previously had told reporters that “atrocities were committed on the hostages,” could not believe Dr. Edland’s findings. According to one newspa- Attica prison riot If not the most violent prison riot in American penal history, the uprising at the Attica State Correctional 47 ATTICA prison riot Photo shows police and correction officers attempting to reestablish security at Attica, while dead and wounded inmates lie on the catwalks. Some of the wounded did not receive medical treatment for four hours. per, “He suggested that some sinister force—conceivably—motivated Dr. Edland to heap blame and shame on the authorities who decided to storm the prison.” The other medical examiners called in were also subjected to close observation but concurred in Dr. Edland’s findings. After long public hearings a congressional subcommittee issued a report in June 1973 that criticized the methods used by prison officials and the police and condemned the brutality and inadequate medical treatment given wounded convicts after the attack. Previously, a nine-member citizens fact-finding committee, chaired by Robert B. McKay, dean of New York University Law School, had filed a final report that condemned Rockefeller’s failure to go to Attica as well as the chaotic nature of the attack. The committee declared the riot was a spontaneous uprising stemming from legitimate grievances. The autopsies’ findings, as well as the later reports, stunned the small village where the prison stood and most of the guards lived. Hatred toward the prisoners shifted to angry disbelief and in many cases to vitriolic accusations that the authorities had recklessly risked lives by ordering the retaking of the prison. Several indictments followed, and on December 30, 1976 Gov. Hugh L. Carey pardoned seven former Attica inmates and commuted the sentence of an eighth in a move to “close the book” on the bloody uprising. He also declared that no disciplinary action would be taken against 20 law officers who had participated in the attack. The closing of the book was not complete, however. In 1977 the first of a series of lawsuits was filed on behalf of a number of guards who were taken hostage and relatives of hostages who were killed. They contended law enforcement officials used excessive force in retaking the prison and asked $20 million in damages. The trial was delayed a full year after appellate courts ruled the state had to produce the “debriefing” statements the guards and troopers made shortly after the riot. Another delay, possibly for a year or more, was indicated when appeals were filed 48 AVERILL, James auto theft on behalf of 19 guards and troopers who had been cited for contempt by the trial judge after they took the Fifth Amendment on questions concerning the retaking of the prison. Eventually these claims were settled, but dragging on were the claims of inmates that they had been horribly abused not only in the retaking of the prison but in the aftermath. The inmates contended that what followed was an orgy of reprisals carried out by prison guards and law enforcement officers, many of the charges later being substantiated. Prisoners were forced to crawl naked over broken glass, and one inmate had a screwdriver shoved repeatedly into his rectum. Possibly the worst abused inmate was Frank B. Smith, who was assaulted, burned and subjected to threats of castration and death. In 2000, Smith, then 66 and working in Queens, N.Y. as a paralegal dedicated to prisoners’ rights cases, proclaimed victory in the fight to win a settlement for suffering endured by the prisoners. While the offered settlement figure of $8 million for the prisoners and $4 million for their lawyers was well below what the ex-prisoners had sought, it seemed certain to win approval by the prisoners who otherwise would see the case dragged out for many more years. By 2000 an estimated 400 of the inmates were already dead, but about 400 others were to share in the awards to be determined on an individual basis by a federal judge. While the awards were expected to vary widely, they would average out to $20,000 per individual. Most of the prisoners were believed to feel that more important than the money award was the fact that the settlement held the government accountable for its actions. While the settlement proposal was subject to appeals in some cases, it remained obvious that the name Attica and the attending stain would last in the public’s conscience for years to come. Aurora, Nevada The cost of the stolen car racket in America is now put at more than $4 billion a year, and that figure only includes direct monetary loss, excluding the higher insurance premiums all automobile owners must pay. A motor vehicle is stolen every 25 seconds, and the annual total is now over 1 million, double the total in 1967. Generally, cars are stolen for the salvage value of their parts rather than for direct resale. An automobile that could resell for $10,000 can be taken apart and its component parts sold for almost twice that amount. While it is true that most auto thefts are perpetrated by teenage joyriders and the large majority of stolen cars are recovered—although often with considerable damage done to them—the recovery rate for professionally stolen cars is close to zero. It is not unusual for a ring of auto thieves to steal and dispose of as many as 2,000 vehicles a year. Some cars are stolen to order; e.g., a ring furnishes autos on specific order from a dealer for immediate delivery to customers. At no time does any of the hot cars have to grace the dealer’s lot. Most professional car theft rings have sufficient artistry to alter motor numbers in a manner that will deceive every test but fluoroscope analysis. Probably the most prolific auto thief was Gabriel “Bla Bla” Vigorito, who masterminded a highly efficient organization in the 1930s, ’40s and ’50s. Bla Bla —so named because of his incessant boasting about his family—did a land office business in hot cars, shipping more than $250,000 worth to Norway alone in the 1930s. He also transported altered stolen vehicles to Russia and Persia and shipped a special order to a warlord general in Sinkiang Province, China. Standard operating procedure for car thieves is the salvage racket. Auto graveyards and body shops are searched for wrecks of late-model cars already written off by insurance companies. The thieves buy the wrecks for a pittance, but more important, they buy a good and legal title. Then they steal duplicate models of each wreck, install the salvaged serial plate, restamp the motors to coincide with the salvage documents and attach salvaged license plates. The stolen car now has a complete new identity. While the resale of stolen cars can be profitable, the “chop shop” racket has really come of age, as criminals have learned that on a nationwide black market the sale of parts from completely dismantled stolen cars can be even more lucrative. Once a stolen car has been reduced to its parts, no identification is possible. Just as important is the fact that the gang’s operations can undergo a much greater division of labor, so that various members of the outfit do not even know each other. For instance, a spotter merely locates a likely candidate lawless mining town As far as gold-mining towns went, Aurora, Nev. may not have been much more violent than others, but because accurate records were kept in Aurora, statistics offer considerable evidence on how wild the West really was. Founded in 1860, Aurora’s heyday lasted only four years and then the gold seams ran out, but in that time, it managed to bury exactly 65 persons in its graveyard. Half were described as the victims of gunshot, and the rest expired of such afflictions as knife wounds, mining mishaps and “accidents.” Aurora lasted another 90 years as a ghost town; the last of its buildings were vandalized in the 1950s. 49 AVERILL, James for a theft and then disappears from the scene. The actual heister then shows up to drive the car away to a drop, and another driver sees that the vehicle reaches the chop house. The choppers do their job without ever coming into contact with the sellers, who move the parts back into commerce. If identification numbers were put on all body components, a responsibility auto manufacturers have resisted, chop shop operators would find life much more difficult. Cynical car thieves claim that automakers have a vested interest in the stolen car racket’s continued existence since it puts hundreds of thousands of motorists back in the market well ahead of schedule. See also: DYER ACT. Averill, James (?–1889) lynch victim Jim Averill, whose lynching along with Cattle Kate Watson helped foment Wyoming’s Johnson County 50 B War of the 1890s, may or may not have had a shady past when he took advantage of the Homestead Act and settled on the banks of the Sweetwater. There are conflicting reports about his background, but in that respect, he differed little from many of the homesteaders seeking a new start in life. There was even a report that he had attended or been a graduate of Cornell University, or some similar institution of learning. But it was evident that Averill was an articulate man, and he soon became the spokesman of the homesteaders in the Sweetwater Valley. He wrote blistering letters to the Casper Daily Mail in which he condemned the power of the cattle barons. When Averill became a leader in a futile fight to stop passage of the Maverick Bill, under which all unbranded cattle were made the property of the Stockmen’s Association, it was clear the big cattlemen had to silence him. They did so by lynching Averill and an enterprising prostitute friend of his, Cattle Kate, who had set up a one-girl brothel in a cabin near his. The story the stockmen planted was that Cattle Kate was a big-time bandit queen and Averill her top aide and that the two of them were running a massive rustling operation. The twin lynching proved to be only the opening move in an effort to clear the range of homesteaders, or “rustlers,” and led to the Johnson County War. See also: CATTLE KATE, JOHNSON COUNTY WAR. a town in western New Mexico, was constantly being terrorized by cowboys from the Slaughter spread. Among other things the cowhands castrated a Mexican for a prank and then used another man for target practice when he tried to intervene. These stories were told to Baca by his brother-in-law, who was deputy sheriff of Frisco. Enraged, Baca put on his brother-in-law’s badge and on November 30, 1884 headed for Frisco. He found the town living in terror and being constantly shot up by cowboys. When one of them shot Baca’s hat off, the self-appointed deputy promptly arrested him. The next day 80 cowboys descended on Frisco to get the “dirty little Mex.” Baca placed all the women and children in the church and prepared to meet his attackers in an ancient adobe hut. The gunplay started at 9 A.M. and continued for 36 hours, during which time an estimated 4,000 bullets were poured into the shack. The plucky Baca killed four of his assailants, wounded eight others and came through the battle unscathed. When two regular lawmen appeared, the remaining cowboys retreated and Baca was placed under arrest. Baca was tried twice in connection with the great shoot-out, but even in the Anglo courts, he was found innocent. A hero to his people, Baca was later elected sheriff of Socorro County and enjoyed a political career of 50 years. badger game sex swindle The badger game is an ancient con, worked in many variations in every land. The standard modus operandi is simple: man picks up woman; woman takes him to a room; woman’s “husband” comes in suddenly, confronts lovers and demands satisfaction. He gets it in the form of the frightened lover’s money. Baca, Elfego (1865–1945) gunfighter and lawman In his native New Mexico Territory, Baca, at 19, was the chief participant and main target of one of the truly memorable gun battles of the frontier West. At the time, Frisco, 51 BADMAN from Bodie Badman from Bodie Perhaps the greatest organizer of the badger game was a notorious 19th-century New York City gangster named Shang Draper, who was also an accomplished bank robber. In the 1870s Draper operated a saloon on Sixth Avenue at 29th Street. From it he directed the activities of 30 women and girls in a combined badger and panel game operation headquartered at a house in the vicinity of Prince and Wooster Streets. In the panel game, a thief would sneak into the room while the woman and her male friend were occupied in bed and steal the man’s money and valuables from his discarded clothing. The sneak thief would gain entry to the room through a hidden panel in the wall out of sight from the bed. However, if the man appeared really prosperous, Draper preferred working the badger game, because the stakes were potentially much higher. Draper added a new wrinkle to the game by using young girls, from age nine to about 14. Instead of an angry husband breaking into the room, the young girl’s irate “parents” would burst in. The “mother” would immediately seize the child and smash her face, usually her blows would be hard enough to make the child bleed from the nose or mouth. While this convincing act was taking place, the equally angry “father” would shove his fist under the man’s nose and say, “I’m going to put you in prison for a hundred years!” Men victimized by this technique often could be induced to pay thousands in hush money. Draper himself loved to tell about how he stood in a telegraph office with a quivering out-of-towner waiting for his bank to wire him $9,000 so he could pay off a badger game. It was estimated that Draper’s badger game conned 100 or more men each month. The police finally broke up Draper’s racket in the early 1880s, but the hardy badger game easily survived the demise of his operation. Another colorful practitioner was a Philadelphian known as “Raymond the Cleric,” who found the pose of a betrayed minister-husband to be more lucrative. While he prayed in a corner for divine forgiveness for his errant spouse and her sinful lover, a couple of “members of his congregation” would appear a bit more threatening, and the sinner usually demonstrated his repentance with a hefty contribution. To this day, the badger game, in its pure form and in dozens of variations, is one of the country’s most widely practiced confidence games, although given the compromising position of the victim, one that rarely comes to the attention of the police. See also: PANEL HOUSES. western bogeyman During the last three decades of the 19th century, western mothers would scare their mischievous children into line by invoking the specter of the “Badman from Bodie,” who had to have a victim every day. Unlike the more traditional bogeyman, the Badman from Bodie was rooted in reality. Bodie, Calif. was one of the West’s most lawless towns reportedly averaging at least one killing a day for 20 years. Even if that estimation was somewhat off, threatening nasty children with the Badman from Bodie was apparently an effective instrument of parental control. See also: BODIE, CALIFORNIA. bagman payoff man Originally, the word bagman was applied to commercial travelers, or salesmen, in England during the 18th century. At first, it was used with the same connotation in America, but the term was gradually applied more to underworld figures who carried large cases or bags in which they toted off stolen goods. These fences often had to pay off the police to operate and carried the bribe money in their bags. Bagman was soon used to describe either the man paying a bribe or the one accepting and subsequently dividing it among all the parties involved. For years during the heyday of the Capone mob, one of the chores of Jake “Greasy Thumb” Guzik was to sit nightly in Chicago’s St. Hubert’s Old English Grill and Chop House and hand over money to district police captains or the sergeants who collected the graft for them, as well as the bagmen for various mayors and their aides. Another famous bagman was Joe Cooney, better known as Joe the Coon. He dispensed money within New York City police headquarters for the emerging Lucky Luciano–Frank Costello–Meyer Lansky–Joe Adonis crime empire. It was one thing to distribute payoffs to lower-ranking police officers and politicians but quite another to bring payoffs directly into the office of the police commissioner, as Lucky Luciano was later to reveal. Cooney was chosen for the job because, as a red-haired freckle-faced Irishman, it was easy for him to enter the commissioner’s office each week in a maintenance man’s uniform to hand over the sum of $10,000 in small bills (later said to have increased to $20,000 a week during the tenures of Joseph A. Warren and Grover A. Whalen). Joe the Coon carried the money in a plain brown bag as though it were his lunch. To make him even more inconspicuous, Luciano instructed Joe to change a lightbulb occasionally. 52 BAILEY, F. Lee During the Kefauver Committee crime hearings in 1950–51, Frank Bals, named seventh deputy police commissioner during the reign of Mayor Bill O’Dwyer, admitted (and subsequently retracted) to the committee that while his duties and those of his staff of 12 were to gather intelligence about gambling and corruption in the police department, he and his men played a far different role. Bals stated that they were actually bagmen for the New York Police Department, collecting payoffs from gamblers and doling out the funds throughout police headquarters. The most famous bag woman in criminal history was Virginia Hill, that bedmate of gangsters, who promptly carried off much of their money to secret bank accounts in Switzerland. in almost every station house tipped off bondsmen whenever there was a bailable arrest, and some even passed out bondsmen’s business cards. Sometimes, thanks to a cooperative arresting officer, a bondsman could get to the station before the officer brought in the prisoner for booking. In most jurisdictions today, a bondsman must wait until somebody comes and asks him to put up a bond. Of course, many bondsmen have their methods of circumventing the legal obstacles to soliciting business. They often hire runners to hang around the courthouse and whisper to relatives of prisoners, “I can see that you get a bond fast.” If the person bites, the runner guides him to the bondsman. Trying to prove a bondsman hired a runner is, as authorities have found, practically impossible. When a bondsman posts a bond, he gets all the security he can from the defendant. He will take possession of such things as automobile ownership papers and bankbooks, requiring the accused to sign an agreement that no money may be withdrawn from the account without the bondsman’s signature as well. Call girls must often put up their jewelry and furs. Bondsmen have also taken such items as manufacturing dies, bulletproof vests, guns, war souvenirs, pornographic collections, rare comic books, out-of-print books and toupees. One legendary New York bondsman was said to specialize in exceptionally hot items including packets of heroin, police pistols and badges, blackmail material, phony draft cards, stolen license plates and bogus ration books. The tale is often told that he made a fortune renting out counterfeiting plates he was holding against a client’s $25,000 bail. Organized crime has never had any trouble raising bail; a gang will often use one or more bondsmen to handle its bail business. Stitch McCarthy, who for years held the title of Bail Baron of New York, was a close friend of Jack “Legs” Diamond and did most of the bail bonding for Diamond and his men. Once, Mad Dog Coll went gunning for Diamond when Legs was out on bail, and McCarthy became frightened that Diamond might skip out to avoid a fatal battle. Magnanimously, McCarthy insisted Diamond hide out in his home. Large bonds are meaningless for top crime figures. On one occasion Johnny Torrio’s devoted mother paraded into federal district court and calmly peeled off 97 $1,000 bills, four $500 bills and 10 $100 bills to make a cool $100,000 bail for her mobster son. Torrio kissed mom on the cheek and they walked out. A major criticism of the bail system is that the poor are generally victimized since they usually are unable to provide enough security to satisfy a bondsman. One answer to this—although a judge who resorts to it risks being labeled a low bail jurist—is to limit the bail to the fee that would normally be paid to a bail Bail is a method whereby a person awaiting trial on a criminal charge is allowed to go free upon the posting of security sufficient to ensure his or her appearance in court. Most state constitutions specifically provide for the right to bail in all cases except capital crimes. Since the majority of persons arrested cannot come up with sufficient cash to cover a bail bond, they must patronize a surety company or professional bondsmen to obtain bail. The legal cost for such a bond may be 5 or 10 percent of the bail, but many bondsmen demand and get more. These bondsmen justify their exorbitant fees by claiming that because their business involves such a high risk, they would go broke if they had a half-dozen “skips”—persons who fail to make an appearance at the appropriate time— in quick succession. Exposés of the bail bond racket are common. Criminologists H. E. Barnes and N. K. Teeters state: “Professional bondsmen are usually parties to a questionable, if not downright corrupt, political system and usually have no appreciable assets with which to go to bail for those who must later appear for another hearing. They offer what is called a straw bond, that is, they present evidence that collateral exists which is nonexistent or is insufficient for the purpose.” In one instance a bondsman in New York City offered as security a piece of property that, according to its street address, would have been in the middle of the Hudson River. Bondsmen have also been found to use the same property as security for 15 to 20 defendants concurrently. In cases where a defendant skipped, a small bribe generally could get the record of the bond removed and the security returned to the bondsman. In the old days bondsmen were legally permitted to solicit business openly and aggressively; in the process, they put the storied ambulance chaser to shame. Cops 53 BAKER, Cullen M. bondsman. For the poor the incentive of getting back the equivalent of the bondsman’s fee is sufficient to guarantee reappearance. While critics of low bail protest the system simply returns criminals to the streets, they seldom concern themselves about the abuses of high bail. A 43-year-old truck driver in New York who was held on $75,000 bail for two charges of murder remained in jail for 14 months. He was then proved totally innocent. Had he been from a higher-income group, he would not have been falsely imprisoned for more than a year. The worst abuse of high bail is its use by prosecutors to set a climate for plea bargaining. Legal experts agree that a defendant kept in jail suffers from depression about his fate and becomes less resistant to the prosecution’s offer of a lighter sentence, especially when time served is credited against the term involved. See also: ARREST PROCEDURES. angry. No smiling man can properly ask for another man’s death.” Bailey is accomplished at what has been long recognized as a defense lawyer’s most important function: picking the right jurors. In the first Coppolino trial, one of his notable successes, he asked prospective jurors if they would be prejudiced because the defendant “may have stepped out of line” during his marriage. One man replied, “I step out of line myself occasionally.” When the courtroom laughter subsided, the man added, “You look like you might have played around a little yourself.” “Right there and then,” Bailey later said, “I knew he was my man, and I grabbed him. For some reason, the prosecution didn’t challenge. And when the jury went out, my man dragged his chair to the window and said, ‘I vote not guilty. Call me when the rest of you are ready to agree with me.’” However, Bailey does not rely on such lucky happenstance. At many of his trials he posts beside him a hypnotist aide who advises him on juror selection and who allegedly is able to tell Bailey how a potential female juror will react to a lawyer based on the way she crosses her legs when answering questions. Some observers say that in recent years the glow has rubbed off Bailey. He reputedly was chosen to defend Patty Hearst only because the family’s first choice, Racehorse Haynes, had asked for double the fee Bailey wanted. But Bailey’s detractors are no doubt motivated, in large part, by jealousy. His reputation with the public is probably best typified by one prospective juror’s comment under questioning: “I think the man’s guilty already. He wouldn’t have the most important lawyer in the U.S. otherwise.” See also: ANTHONY H. DESALVO, PATRICIA HEARST. Bailey, F. Lee (1933– ) defense attorney Not quite as flamboyant as some other present-day criminal defense lawyers, such as Richard “Racehorse” Haynes and Percy Foreman, F. Lee Bailey is nonetheless recognized as one of the best in the business. Virtually a specialist on homicide, he has, at least until recent years, flown from case to case, around the country in his own private jet, causing courtroom foes and some of the more staid members of the bar to nickname him “the Flying Mouth.” Bailey has proven to be a miracle worker in court: he freed Dr. Sam Sheppard after he had been convicted of murdering his wife when represented by other well-regarded attorneys; he won acquittal for army captain Ernest L. Medina on charges of killing South Vietnamese civilians at My Lai; and perhaps most remarkably of all, he prevailed upon the state of Massachusetts to try Albert DeSalvo, the notorious Boston Strangler, on noncapital charges. Of course, Bailey has had some notable failures— because, his supporters say, he refuses to run away from the really tough cases. Thus, he lost the Patricia Hearst case and one out of two murder cases against Dr. Carl Coppolino. In his courtroom oratory Bailey lacks the bombast typical of some of today’s leading defense lawyers. He is not given to cheap moralizing and has been described by Newsweek magazine “as unsentimental as a cat, and equally predatory.” Bailey is also cunning. In pre-1972 murder cases—before the Supreme Court temporarily halted the death penalty— he went out of his way to get prosecutors to smile amiably during the trial. “To ask for the death penalty successfully,” he explained, “a prosecutor must be like an Old Testament figure—deeply serious, righteously Baker, Cullen M. (1838–1868) outlaw and murderer A sallow-faced killer, Cullen Baker did most of his “Civil War fighting” as the head of a Texas gang of outlaws who called themselves Confederate Irregulars in the years immediately after Appomattox. The band was really little more than a group of farm looters, but they pacified their fellow Texans by occasionally killing some Yankee soldiers or upstart “nigger police.” Baker hadn’t been much of a patriot during the war. He had been drafted into the Confederate Army in Cass County, where he had lived since the age of four. Actually, being drafted had its advantages: since he had killed a man in Arkansas two years earlier, the army provided a good hiding place for Baker. He soon deserted, however. After killing two Union soldiers in Spanish Bluffs, Tex., Baker figured a good place to hide would be in Lincoln’s army, so he joined the Union 54 BAKKER, Rev. Jim pirates Baker, Berrouse and LaCroix were hanged in Philadelphia. cause. Not long after, he deserted again and joined a group of Confederate irregulars. After the war Baker saw no reason to stop his activities. He and his gang of vicious gunmen terrorized much of Texas, preying mostly on local farmers. They were still regarded in some circles as local heroes because they were pursued by Northern troops and black police, several of whom they killed in various fights. Late in 1867, Bill Longley, a young gunfighter on the run from the law, joined the irregulars. He was to become the infamous Wild Bill Longley. Young Longley stayed with Baker about a year, leaving just before Baker’s death. During that period Baker had developed a strong liking for a girl named Belle Foster, who did not return his attention but instead focused her affection on a crippled schoolteacher named Thomas Orr. In December 1868 Baker kidnapped Orr at gunpoint and hung him from a tree. Fortunately for Orr, he was found before he strangled to death. This act set local opinion against Baker. Trying to hang Orr hardly qualified as an anti-Yankee act. Orr and a posse of local citizens took off after Baker, and when they cornered him, Orr was given the privilege of shooting him full of holes, permanently dissolving Baker’s Confederate Irregulars. See also: WILLIAM P. LONGLEY. Baker, Rosetta (1866–1930) murder victim Few murder trial verdicts were ever based so much on racial stereotypes as that in the Rosetta Baker case, although this was one of the few times the decision went in favor of a member of a minority. A wealthy San Francisco widow in her sixties, the woman was found dead by her Chinese houseboy, Liu Fook. In the course of their investigation, detectives zeroed in on Liu Fook, who was about the same age as the victim, as the only logical suspect. Witnesses revealed that Liu Fook and his “boss missy” had quarreled often, and on the day of the murder, he had scratches on his face and an injured finger—as though it had been bitten. In addition to that, a broken heel and a shirt button found on the floor beside the body belonged to the houseboy. In spite of this and still more incriminating evidence, the jury at Liu Fook’s trial in 1931 acquitted him. Some of the jurors said they had simply been swayed by the defense lawyer’s repeated insistence that Liu Fook could not have been guilty because no Chinese employed in this country had ever murdered his employer. Immediately after the trial, Liu Fook took a fast boat for Hong Kong. Baker, Joseph (?–1800) pirate and murderer Pirates who plied their murderous trade along the American coast around 1800 had one modus operandi that was particularly insidious as well as effective. Used by the freelance pirate Joseph Baker, it called for a sailor to sign aboard a small vessel, subvert a few of the crew, kill the honest sailors in a mutiny and sail for pirate waters, where the craft and cargo could be disposed of at a handsome profit. Little is known of Baker’s early career except that he was a Canadian whose real name apparently was Boulanger. For Baker, piracy was definitely profitable until he tried it on Capt. William Wheland of the schooner Eliza. Having joined the small crew, Baker, with the aid of two other sailors named Berrouse and LaCroix, killed the first mate and wounded Capt. Wheland. Wheland was allowed to live after promising that he would sail the ship into pirate waters, since Baker’s seamanship did not extend to the art of navigation. A cunning captive, Wheland awaited the proper moment and then managed to lock Baker’s confederates below deck. Seizing an ax, the captain drove Baker high into the rigging of the ship and forced him to remain there for 16 days in a deadly game of cat and mouse. By that time Wheland was able to bring his vessel into port. On May 9, 1800 Baker Estate great swindle One of the most lucrative and enduring swindles in American history began just after the Civil War with the establishment of the first of numerous Baker Estate associations. These associations were joined and supported by victims conned into believing they were the rightful heirs to a $300 million fortune in Philadelphia. The fortune was entirely imaginary, but one association after another roped in suckers with claims that the estate was just about settled. Exactly how much money victims lost to the criminal operators of the fraud is difficult to calculate; the best estimate is that some 40 different Baker Estate associations took at least a half-million persons for a minimum of $25 million in “legal expenses” during the peak years of the fraud, from 1866 to 1936. During that period the estate swindle had very little interference from the law, but finally in 1936 the federal government launched a vigorous effort to stamp it out through many arrests and a massive publicity campaign. Since then similar con games have appeared from time to time, but none has ever been as successful as the Baker Estate swindle was during its early years. 55 BALL, Joe Baker’s Confederate Irregulars priests. I just feel like there was massive fraud here, and it’s going to have to be punished.” Once again, Tammy Faye promised to stand by her man, but she later filed for divorce and planned to marry a businessman who likewise divorced his wife. In the meantime, Hahn had appeared on the cover of Playboy magazine and was paid an estimated $750,000 for a photo display and an interview in which she informed readers that “I’m not a bimbo.” She later devoted her talents to hosting a late-night show advising viewers via special 800 numbers how to find “love.” After Jim Bakker was freed, he remarried and devoted himself to activities helping the unfortunate, an undertaking that won him considerable accolades from the media. See CULLEN M. BAKER. Bakker, Rev. Jim (1940– ) “Praise the Lord for Suckers” On a par with the bank and Wall Street scoundrels of the 1980s, some in televangelist circles were also grabbing headlines as scamsters. At the top of the list was the Reverend Jim Bakker and his hectic sexual and Ponzi-like shenanigans. Bakker had built up a television network, the PTL (for “Praise the Lord,” or “People That Love”), that reached more than 13 million American households. It was a sexual dalliance that precipitated Bakker’s downfall. In December 1980, the youthful-looking Bakker had met a 21-year-old comely brunet named Jessica Hahn, a secretary at a Pentecostal church in Massapequa, N.Y., during a visit to Clearwater, Fla. At the time, Bakker’s 19-year marriage to his wife, Tammy Faye, who cohosted his religious television show, was rough going. Bakker and Hahn had sex, and to hear Hahn tell it, she suffered great emotional distress as a result of the encounter. In any event, her pain and suffering were so great that $265,000 was to be paid her as compensation for her silence. Bakker’s secret remained safe for a time; the story was eventually broken in the Charlotte (N.C.) Observer, a newspaper near the headquarters of the PTL ministry. In addition to the television show featuring Jim and Tammy Faye, the PTL empire included Heritage USA, a Christian resort complex and amusement park in Fort Mill, S.C. In the PTL’s peak year, the ministry took in $129 million, and in the recent few years, it had garnered $158 million by offering promises of lifetime vocations—which Bakker could not provide. Instead, huge sums were diverted to the couple, which allowed the Bakkers to live in opulence. In March 1987, Bakker was forced to resign his ministry and later was charged with fraud and conspiracy. At his trial (with Tammy Faye—by now regarded as something of an American original— vowing to stand by her man), a former reservation supervisor at Heritage USA said that in the last year of Bakker’s regime at PTL, between 1,300 and 3,700 lifetime contributors had been turned away every month from lodgings that had been promised but did not exist. Bakker was convicted on all 24 counts against him and sentenced to 45 years in prison and fined $500,000. He would not be eligible for parole for 10 years. In passing sentence, U.S. district judge Robert Porter said, “Those of us who do have religion are sick of being saps for money-grubbing preachers and Ball, Joe (1892–1938) mass murderer When it came to ghoulishness, an ex-bootlegger and tavern owner named Joe Ball, of Elmendorf, Tex., was exceptional even for a mass murderer. In the 1930s Ball ran the Sociable Inn, a watering hole famous for two tourist attractions: the most beautiful waitresses for miles around and the pet alligators Ball kept in a pond in back of the establishment. The high point of the day was feeding time for the alligators, which Ball turned into a regular show, often feeding a live stray dog or cat to the slithering reptiles. It was a performance that could drive even the strongest men to drink, which made the gators as good for business as the pretty waitresses. Ball’s waitresses seemed to be a fickle lot, disappearing without a word to any of the customers. Naturally, they told Ball. Some were getting married, others had sick mothers, still others left for new jobs. Ball was never very enlightening. He merely shrugged and said philosophically, “They come, they go.” Exactly how many really went was never fully established. Later, police were able to find some of the waitresses alive, but 12 or 14 were never found. Most or all of the missing women were murdered by Ball so he would not be hampered in his constant search for a new romance. Some of them had become pregnant and demanded that Ball “do the right thing.” His concept of the right thing was to ax them to death. Then, as later evidence would show, he often chopped up the body and fed the incriminating pieces to the alligators. In 1937 the family of Minnie Mae Gotthardt wrote the local police complaining they had not heard from her for a long time. Some officers dropped in to see Ball. He set up drinks for them and explained that Minnie Mae had left to take another job. A short while later, the police came around again, wondering what 56 BANANA War happened to another waitress named Julia Turner. She left for the same reason, Ball said. That didn’t wash too well because Julia had not packed any of her belongings. However, when Ball explained Julia had had a fight with her roommate and left without packing because he had given her $500 to help out, the law was placated. Then two more waitresses were listed among the missing and the Texas Rangers entered the case. They began compiling a list of Ball’s former waitresses and found quite a few who could not be accounted for; their relatives had no idea of where they were. The investigators were clearly suspicious of Ball but failed to break him down. However, an old black handyman and cook who had worked for Ball for years proved less resistant to the lawmen’s questions and confessed helping his boss kill some of the women and dispose of their bodies. He said he did so because he was fearful that Ball would kill him if he refused. When the lawmen showed up at the inn on September 24, 1938 seeking the barrel in which Ball said he kept meat for feeding the alligators, the tavern owner realized the game was up. Before the officers could stop him, Ball rang up a “no sale” on the cash register, pulled out a revolver and shot himself in the head, dying instantly. The handyman got two years for being an accessory after the fact, and the alligators were carted off to the San Antonio Zoo. seize control of the major portion of organized crime. The attack was led by the aging Joseph C. Bonanno, Sr., the head of the small but efficient crime family known by his nickname as the Bananas family. Joe Bananas’ crime interests extended from New York to Canada, Arizona and California; however, as he watched many of the older dons fade away, he decided to strike out for greater glory and illegal revenues. He launched plans to eliminate in one swoop such old-time powers as New York’s Tommy Lucchese and Carlo Gambino, Buffalo’s Steve Magaddino and even Los Angeles’ Frank DeSimone. Bananas involved in the plot an old ally, Giuseppe Magliocco, who agreed despite misgivings and ill health. His loyalty to Bananas was unquestioned. Unfortunately for Bananas, Magliocco passed the hit assignment to an ambitious younger underboss named Joe Colombo, who readily accepted but immediately reported to the other side, seeking a reward. Colombo was rewarded with the leadership of the late Joe Profaci’s Brooklyn crime family. But the dons and board members of the Mafia were still faced with the Joe Bananas problem. At a moment’s notice he could put 100 gunmen on the streets of Brooklyn and Manhattan. There might be a bloodbath of a magnitude unseen since the days of Capone in the 1920s and the Genovese move for power in the 1950s. Bananas and Magliocco were summoned to a peace meeting by the underworld commission. Bananas contemptuously didn’t show. Magliocco did and begged for mercy. The syndicate leaders decided to let him live, swayed by the fact that he obviously lacked the guts to continue a war and was so ill he would not live long in any case. He was fined $50,000 and stripped of his power, which went to Colombo. A few months later, he died of a heart attack. Bananas took off for his strongholds out West and in Canada, ignoring a second order to appear before the commission. In October 1964 he returned to Manhattan under a grand jury summons. On the night of October 21, he had dinner with his lawyers. Afterwards as he stepped from a car on Park Avenue, he was seized by two gunmen, shoved into another car and taken away. The newspapers assumed Bananas had been executed. However, the commission was treating Bananas, an important don, carefully, apparently realizing his death would provoke a full-scale war. If Bananas was frightened, he did not show it. He realized he was in a tight spot and offered a deal. He would retire from the rackets, give up control of his family and move to Arizona. He proposed that his son, Salvatore “Bill” Bonanno, take over, but the proposal was rejected out of hand. The commission members decided Bananas should ballooning prison drug-smuggling method Drugs, especially heroin, are valued commodities in prisons and are brought in usually by a method called “ballooning.” The drugs are carried into the prison, usually on visiting days, by “mules,” the wives, other relatives or girlfriends of prisoners. The balloon involved is nothing more than the type used at children’s parties. A few grains of heroin or other substances are put in a balloon and a female visitor then hides it, positioned as a tampon would be, in her vagina. Admitted to the prison visiting room, she enters the women’s bathroom, removes the balloon and puts it in her mouth. Since visitors are permitted to kiss prisoners at the start of a visit, the inmate takes the balloon into his own mouth and regurgitates it back in his cell or simply waits until the balloon has passed through his system. The only way to prevent such balloon smuggling would be to bar any physical contact of any sort between an inmate and a visitor. Banana War battle for control of organized crime The Banana War of 1964–69 was the most recent significant effort by the head of a leading Mafia family to 57 BANCO banco retire and so should his son. They would pick his successor. Bananas could do little but agree. When Joe Bananas reappeared in May 1966—19 months after his disappearance—the newspapers treated it as a sort of a second coming, but more important, Bananas, instead of retiring, began expanding his family activities into Haiti, working tightly with the Duvalier regime. Meanwhile, the national commission appointed Gaspar DiGregorio to take over Bananas’ family, a move that split the group. Many loyalists insisted on sticking with Joe Bananas, and if they could not have him, then his son, Bill. With a war threatening, DiGregorio called for a peace meeting with Bill Bonanno. It was set for a house on Troutman Street in Brooklyn. When Bill arrived, several riflemen and shotgunners opened up on him and his men. The Bananas gang fired back, but in the dark, everyone’s aim was off and there were no casualties. DiGregorio’s failure enraged the national commission and he was removed from power and replaced by a tougher leader, Paul Sciacca. Sciacca couldn’t prevent the Bananas forces from striking, and several of his men were wounded in various attacks, with three being machine-gunned to death in a Queens restaurant. Eventually, five others on either side died. A heart attack in 1968 finally slowed Joe Bananas, and he flew off to his home in Tucson, Ariz. He sent word to his foes that he had decided to retire. But the commission viewed the message as an old and unbelievable story and they continued the war. On several occasions bombs were planted at the Joe Bananas’ home as well as the homes of his allies in Arizona. Finally, however, peace was achieved. The Bananas family kept control of its western interests, but Sciacca, and later Natale Evola, was accepted as the East Coast boss. The war was over. In 1980 Joe Bananas, at the age of 75, was convicted of conspiracy to interfere with a federal grand jury’s investigation of his two sons’ business operations. By that time Bill Bonanno was in prison for a parole violation. Joe Bananas’ dream of power had ended. It may be that the other Mafia chiefs learned something from the conflict. When another tough mafioso named Carmine Galante started a violent push for power in the late 1970s, he was summarily executed, without ever receiving the opportunity to appear before the board to explain himself. See also: JOSEPH COLOMBO, SR. swindle A swindle whose name careless writers often misspelled as bunco, which was later applied to all types of confidence games. Banco was based on the old English gambling pastime of eight-dice cloth. Sharpsters who introduced it in America usually converted it into a card game, which could be manipulated more easily than dice. It was very prevalent in the western gold fields during the 1850s until California vigilantes drove out the gamblers using it to swindle miners. About 1860 banco was introduced in New York City, where the two greatest practitioners of the art—George P. Miller, the King of the Banco Men, and Hungry Joe Lewis—amassed fortunes. In its card game variation, banco was played on a layout of 43 spaces—42 were numbered and 13 of those contained stars. The remaining space was blank. The 29 unstarred numbers were winning ones, being worth from $2 up to $5,000, depending on the size of the bank. Each player received eight cards numbered from one to six, with the total number in his hand representing the prize. However, if a number with a star came up, he got no prize but could draw again by putting up a certain amount of money. The sucker would generally be allowed to win at first—with no money actually changing hands—until he was ahead a few hundred to a few thousand dollars. Then he would be dealt number 27 which was the so-called conditional prize, meaning he had to stake a sum equal to the amount owed him and draw again or lose all his “winnings.” Naturally, he would be dealt a blank or starred card and thereby lose everything. The pattern of play just described was automatic since the entire banco game was a phony, being played in a “skinning dive” in which all but one of the players were actually confidence operators. The only person not in on the scheme was the sucker who had been steered there. Miller and Hungry Joe specialized in victimizing bankers, businessmen and other prominent personages. Not only did these victims have plenty of money to lose, they also were likely to be too embarrassed to go to the police. In 1882, Hungry Joe wormed his way into an acquaintanceship with Oscar Wilde, then on a lecture tour of the country. Over several dinners he boasted of the money he had won at banco and then steered the writer to a game. The confidence man later bragged that he had taken Wilde for close to $7,000. Wilde himself, perhaps in a face-saving exercise, later insisted he had lost only $1,500 in cash and had taken care of the rest with a check on which he had stopped payment once he discovered the play was dishonest. Banco died out not because of a dearth of potential victims but rather because con men found they could 58 BANK robberies and even President Benjamin Harrison, whom he accused of being in sympathy with the stockmen. He charged that many important men—naming names and supplying details—were guilty of a long list of crimes from bribery to genocide. The book itself had a most violent life from the time it appeared in the winter of 1893. It was ruthlessly suppressed and its plates were destroyed. Copies of the book were burned and even the one in the Library of Congress disappeared. At one point, Mercer was jailed for a time for sending “obscene matter” through the mails. Somehow a few copies survived over the years, and in 1954 the University of Oklahoma Press reprinted the book. Thanks to that printing, it can be found today in many libraries. The motion picture Shane has been described as being “straight out of The Banditti of the Plains.” As for Mercer, he wrote other books and pamphlets but nothing as potent as Banditti. He died in relative obscurity in 1917. See also: JOHNSON COUNTY WAR. bank robberies The first bank robbery—actually a burglary, since it did not involve the use of threats or violence—in America was pulled by an Englishman named Edward Smith (alias Edward Jones, alias James Smith, alias James Honeyman). Using duplicate keys obtained by a method never fully explained, he entered two doors of the City Bank on Wall Street in New York City on March 19, 1831 and stole $245,000. Because of his free spending and tips from informers, Smith was apprehended quickly and $185,000 of the loot was recovered. On May 11, 1831 he was sentenced to five years at hard labor in Sing Sing, which was a rather light sentence considering the terms handed out later to other bank thieves. It appears Smith was treated somewhat leniently because his crime was unique and the authorities were not prepared to deal with it. In the ensuing years bank robberies became commonplace. Daylight robberies were the mode of the West, with the first jobs being pulled by the Reno gang, the Jesse James gang, the Youngers and others. In the East the more common practice was nighttime burglaries, including safecrackings, of which the leading practitioners were the notorious George Leonidas Leslie, George Miles Bliss and Mark Shinburn. Bliss and Shinburn led the Bliss Bank Ring, which was especially noted for bribing the police in New York City with a percentage of the loot from each job. In the famous $1.75 million robbery of the Ocean Bank in 1869, the Bliss gang paid a total of $132,300 in bribes to guarantee a nonsolution to the case. Title page of The Banditti of the Plains Plains,, which charged some of Wyoming’s greatest cattlemen with mass murder. The book was ruthlessly suppressed and even the copy at the Library of Congress vanished. attract more suckers to fixed horse races or stock market swindles. Banditti of the Plains,The book Probably the most explosive book ever to come out of the West, The Banditti of the Plains by Asa C. Mercer was a hard-hitting account of the brutal Johnson County War in 1892 between cattlemen and homesteaders. Mercer, born in 1839, was a longtime editor, author and lawmaker on the frontier. In Banditti he placed the blame for the war on some of the richest and most powerful cattlemen of Wyoming, various state officials 59 BANK robberies and almost always lead to the capture of the culprit. A random sample of recent robberies supports that conclusion. In the 20th century the daylight robberies of the Wild West migrated to the East. The first really great practitioner of the craft, one who stressed meticulous planning, was Herman K. “Baron” Lamm, an exPrussian army officer who brought discipline and precision to the field. Lamm never robbed a bank without first drawing up a detailed floor plan of the institution and running his men through a series of full rehearsals, sometimes using a complete mock-up of the bank’s interior. His men were drilled in their assignments on a minute-by-minute basis, and they were required to leave a job at a scheduled moment, regardless of the amount of loot scooped up by then. Getaways were staged with equal preciseness. A skilled driver, often a veteran of the car-racing circuit, followed a chart pasted on the dashboard showing the escape route marked block by block, with speedometer readings and alternate turns. Lamm tested each route in various weather conditions. After 13 years of successful bank robberies without a hitch, Lamm was killed in a 1930 robbery that went wrong for freak reasons. In prison, two survivors of his gang were permitted to join a mass escape engineered by what would become the Dillinger mob on the understanding that they would teach Dillinger the details of Baron Lamm’s methods. In the 1930s the bank-robbery business was taken over by the public enemies, led by the likes of Dillinger, Creepy Karpis, the Barker brothers and Baby Face Nelson. The FBI’s success in running down these bankrobbing and kidnapping gangs did much to enhance the public image of that previously unimpressive organization. Since then, probably the only great bank robber has been Slick Willie Sutton, famous for his alleged quote on why he robbed banks: “Because that’s where the money is.” Looking at crime statistics, one would conclude that bank robbery is a much more serious problem today than in the 1930s. The dollar take, now totaling between $30 and $40 million annually, far exceeds that of the 1930s and the number of robberies is up many times. However, considering inflation, population expansion, the hugh growth of bank branches in the suburbs—just off main highways—we can see why the crime has apparently increased. The professionals, in fact, have more or less dropped out of the field, leaving it to amateurs, crackpots and persons seized by little more than a sudden impulse to raise money. And where is the money? Still in banks. Some experts feel that only persons of limited intelligence try to rob banks today because the sophisticated antirobbery devices and other security measures now in use limit the take to a measly average of $1,500 • In Queens, New York City an unemployed shoe salesman walked into a bank and handed a teller a note demanding “all your tens, twenties and thirties.” When he left, he was followed by a bank officer as he went by foot to a motel a block away from the scene of the crime. He was arrested by police within 15 minutes. • In Salt Lake City a would-be robber walked up to a teller and asked her to hand over all the money. As she was gathering it up, he fainted. A 19th-century bank burglar’s kit included a gag and slung shot to use on watchmen, but the more common procedure was to bribe them. 60 BANKRUPTCY fraud • In Los Angeles two shotgun-armed robbers made everyone lie down on the floor of the bank. When there was nobody left to gather up the money, the pair hesitated a moment and then fled in panic. of malodorous liquid hidden in the money wrapper. As they drove away, a foul odor infested the car, and in desperation, they abandoned it and ran, still holding the money. But the money will never be spent—it smells too bad. By the 1990s it became apparent that bank robbery was becoming more and more a juvenile crime, especially considering the huge number of bank robberies masterminded by two young men, Robert S. Brown, 23, and an accomplice, Donzell L. Thompson. The FBI linked the two young men, Los Angeles gang members, to some 175 bank robberies over a four-year period up to 1992. The pair employed teenage boys and trained them to carry out the heists. Brown and Thompson pleaded guilty to a number of counts and were handed federal prison sentences of 30 and 25 years, respectively. Prosecutors said the total number of bank robberies carried out by Brown was the most in the nation’s history. See also: BANK ROBBERIES—BOUNTIES, BLISS BANK RING, JOHN DILLINGER, EDWARD GREEN, JUG MARKERS, HERMAN “BARON” LAMM, GEORGE LEONIDAS LESLIE, LITTLE JOKER, SAFECRACKING, MARK SHINBURN. The typical bank robber, according to New York City police and the FBI, is an unemployed man in his early to mid-twenties, often in need of money for debts or drugs. In many cases, especially in Manhattan, the bandit does not show a gun and, indeed, sometimes does not even have one. He simply passes over a note demanding the teller’s money or makes a verbal threat. Most banks instruct tellers to hand over the cash in such instances, rather than risk a shooting situation. However, tellers, being human, react in different ways. One teller became so unnerved that she plopped a wastebasket over her head as a form of protection. The shocked bandit charged out of the bank. In another case a teller by force of habit counted and recounted the money before handling it over to the patient robber. An FBI official in Los Angeles has called modern bank robbers “young and dumb. By dumb I mean not wise in the ways of the professional holdup man. We’ve had guys write holdup notes on the back of their own utility bills. Or run out of a bank so excited they can’t find their getaway car.” Another FBI man observed: “Twenty years ago the bank robber was looked up to by the other inmates in prison. He was a big shot, and bank robbery was viewed as the class robbery. Not any more.” Because of the changing nature of bank robbers, the FBI in recent years has been reducing its involvement in such cases. Under criticism that such crimes are trivial, easy to solve and do little other than add to the agency’s solved total, the agency has been moving more into the field of organized crime and white-collar crime. Embezzlers steal three to five times as much as bank robbers. Bank officials have objected to the FBI’s withdrawal from the field, however, not so much because the agency is needed that often but because they fear general knowledge of this will simply encourage more attempts. But the fact is that with new antirobbery devices the banks can pretty much take care of themselves. One innovation is a money wrapper that dispenses tear gas. The teller simply activates the device before handing the money over. In an Atlanta, Ga. bank a 19-year-old happily stuffed $5,000 in his waistband and raced out the door. The next moment he collapsed in a coughing, crying fit, ripping at his clothes as he rolled around in the parking lot. By the time he was captured, the young robber had torn off every stitch of clothing. Consider also the sad plight of two robbers who took money that a teller had secretly doused with a vial bank robberies—bounties In 1928 a strange invitation to murder was unwittingly issued by a group dedicated to the prevention of crime. At the time, Texas was being plagued by a rash of bank robberies that law enforcement officials were unable to solve. Finally, the state’s desperate bankers came up with what was thought to be the perfect deterrent. The Texas Bankers Association had printed and posted in every bank in the state a notice that read: REWARD $5,000 for Dead Bank Robbers Not One Cent For Live Ones In short order, several bank robbers turned up very dead and rewards were paid out to the local lawmen who brought in the bodies in what was very much a throwback to the bounty system of the Old West. The bankers were happy, and the lawmen were happy. But a Texas Ranger named Frank Hamer, who was to win fame later as the stalker and killer of outlaws Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow, was unhappy. Hamer wondered why all the bank robbers had been killed late at night. He also wondered why local lawmen were making all the kills rather than Texas Rangers or U.S. marshals, both of whom had a fairly good record of bringing bank robbers to justice. Hamer dug into the background of a number of cases and found the “bank robbers” were types such as 61 BANNACK, Montana Territory then pulled out, blithely ordering the cowed management to go into bankruptcy. loners, town bums, drifters passing through or young men who had been drunk earlier in the evening of their demise. The ranger unearthed evidence that these socalled bank robbers had been framed and murdered by crooked lawmen who then collected the rewards. It soon became apparent that there were “murder rings” at work collecting the rewards. When Hamer went to law enforcement officials with his findings, he met with stubborn disbelief. He tried appealing to the Texas Bankers Association for a withdrawal of the reward system. Again, he was rebuffed. Hamer took his findings to the leading newspapers of the state, including an accusation that the bankers were “bringing about the execution of men by illegal means and for money.” The ensuing headlines broke the scandal wide open and led to a grand jury investigation that handed down indictments against two men accused of being the leaders of one of the several murder rings. Hamer arrested them and they subsequently confessed. Only then did the bankers admit their scheme had caused the death of innocent men; the terms of the reward offer were changed to require positive proof that a bank robbery had taken place. Bannack, Montana Territory gold rush town The site of the Montana Territory’s first big gold strike, Bannack was such a violent town in the 1860s that it became “the town nobody wanted.” Because territorial borders at the time were imprecise, for a while Bannack was part of Oregon and then Idaho. In 1864 it finally became part of Montana and was even the territorial capital for a period. Murder and thievery were common in Bannack since the time the prospectors panned gold from Grasshopper Creek in 1862. The greatest crook of them all was Henry Plummer, who served both as the local sheriff and the head of a huge gang called the Innocents, which committed almost all the crimes in the area. Plummer planned the gang’s jobs and then, as sheriff, proved singularly ineffective at solving any of the crimes. It took the dreaded rope of the Montana Vigilantes to clear up wrongdoing in the area, and they did so by hanging Plummer—from a scaffold he had built himself for executing lawbreakers—and a large number of his Innocents. After a long spell of noose justice, tranquility prevailed in Bannack. As the gold ran out, the town began to decay. Today, it is a ghost town with just a few wellpreserved relics, such as the jail Plummer built. See also: JOHN X. BEIDLER, HENRY PLUMMER, VIGILANTES OF MONTANA. bankruptcy fraud In recent years bankruptcy scams have become one of the most lucrative activities of organized crime. According to U.S. Justice Department sources, crime syndicates pull off at least 250 such capers every year, each one involving at least $250,000 in goods and materials. As the racket is generally worked by the New York Mafia crime families, a new company is set up with a “front man” who has no criminal record. “Nut money” of at least $30,000 is deposited in a bank to establish credit, and the company starts ordering supplies that are quickly paid for in full. However, as the orders are increased, the payments slow down a bit until finally a huge order is placed. As soon as these supplies arrive, they are either sold off at extremely low rates or transferred to other business outlets. The nut money is then pulled out of the bank and the operators simply disappear. All the creditors can find is a bankrupt shell of a company. Perhaps the classic bankruptcy scam was pulled by members of the Vito Genovese crime family, who once took control of a large New York meat wholesale business by advancing the company cash and then insisting on putting in their own president to safeguard the loan. After becoming established, the Mafia operators needed only 10 days to work a $1.3 million swindle. They bought up huge amounts of poultry and meat on credit and sold them off at lowered prices. The mob Barbara, Joseph, Sr. (1905–1959) Apalachin Conference host Almost as shadowy as the complete story of the infamous underworld conference at Apalachin, N.Y. in 1957 is the personal history of its host, Joseph Barbara, Sr., at whose rambling estate the meeting took place. Barbara, who was to rise to the rank of lieutenant in the Magaddino crime family in Buffalo, N.Y., came to the United States from Sicily at the age of 16, and his first job was apparently that of an underworld enforcer. He was arrested in a number of murder cases, once being caught in possession of a submachine gun that had been used in a gang murder in New York. He was also arrested for a number of murders in Pennsylvania. A typical victim was racketeer Sam Wichner, who was lured to Barbara’s home in 1933 to confer with Barbara, Santo Volpe and Angelo Valente, Wichner’s silent partners in a bootlegging operation. Police said, but couldn’t prove, that Barbara strangled Wichner. During his entire career Barbara was only convicted of one 62 BARKER, Arizona Clark “Kate” or “Ma” a section of the corpse’s chest because he had a scar in his own chest. He pulled out two teeth from the upper jaw to match his own dental characteristics. He punctured the eyeballs to solve the problem of different color eyes. But all these he regarded as extra precautions, since he planned to blow up his laboratory in order to really make the corpse unidentifiable. In fact, he believed the entire building would be destroyed in the explosion. He soaked the laboratory with several gallons of benzol which, when detonated, would take care of the building and the evidence. Schwartz set up a timing device and left. He couldn’t afford to be seen at the site of the explosion. But he stayed close enough to hear the clanging fire trucks approaching as he stepped into a taxi. Hiding out in Oakland, Schwartz was shocked to discover he was wanted for murder. The body, hardly singed, had been identified. Even three religious pamphlets bearing Barbe’s name had survived the blaze. An incompetent chemist, Schwartz didn’t realize that benzol fumes rise very slowly. Several more minutes would have been needed to set off the fire properly. A flop as a chemist, an anatomist and a murderer, Schwartz did better in his final endeavor: suicide. See also: INSURANCE FRAUDS. crime: the illegal acquisition of 300,000 pounds of sugar in 1946. After that, Barbara was ostensibly nothing more than a beer and soft drink distributor. He himself insisted he was in poor health and could do nothing more. In fact, virtually all of the 60-odd participants in the 1957 underworld meeting claimed they had gone to Barbara’s home to pay a call because he was a cardiac patient. It “just happened,” they insisted, that they all picked the same day for their visit. Investigators were thwarted in their efforts to question Barbara after the Apalachin raid because of his insistence that he was too ill to testify. Finally, the State Investigation Commission sent its own heart specialist to examine Barbara, and in May 1959 a state supreme court justice ordered him to appear before the commission. The following month, however, Barbara died of a heart attack. At the time he was living in a new home in Endicott. His 58-acre estate in Apalachin had been sold for use as a tourist attraction. See also: APALACHIN CONFERENCE. Barbe, Warren Gilbert (?–1925) murder victim To his neighbors in Berkeley, Calif., Charles Henry Schwartz was a remarkable individual. He was a master chemist and during World War I he’d been a spy in Germany for the Allies. After the war he’d taken an important post in a German chemical plant, where he had discovered a process for the manufacture of artificial silk. He smuggled the process into the United States and set up a hush-hush experimental laboratory, in which he often worked into the night. It sounded impressive, but it was all hogwash. Least of all was he a master chemist. But Schwartz found plenty of people willing to give him money in exchange for a piece of the process. When he produced no silk, however, some of his backers started to grumble and talk of fraud. In 1925 Schwartz began to take an avid interest in a different science—human anatomy. He cultivated a friendship with a traveling evangelist named Warren Gilbert Barbe. Although the facial features of the two men were very dissimilar, they were of the same overall size. Late in July, Barbe disappeared from his usual haunts, but no one gave it a thought. He most likely got the “call” and had “gone into the wilderness” to preach. Meanwhile, Schwartz was very busy in his laboratory. He said he was almost finished with his process and he worried that some international cartel might try to stop his work. He took out a $200,000 insurance policy on his life and allowed no one to enter the laboratory. In the lab he was very busy altering the dead evangelist into a stand-in corpse for himself. He burned away Barker, Arizona Clark “Kate” or “Ma” (1871?–1935) outlaw or mother of outlaws Kate, or Ma, Barker remains one of the enigmas of the underworld. Was she the brains, indeed the queen mother, of one of the most violent gangs of the 1930s, or was she just a dumpy little old lady whom many of the gangsters of the era considered just plain “Mom”? One version, which belongs to Hollywood and the FBI, presents us with an iron mistress who was feared by her murderous sons as well as numerous other members of the Barker-Karpis gang and who died, tommy gun in hand, in a fabled shoot-out with federal agents. A different viewpoint, held by other members of the underworld, portrays a doting, worried—although at times ill-tempered—mother whose sole concern was always the safety of her brood. Whatever the truth was, the fact is that Ma Barker was never on any official list of public enemies and indeed was never charged with a crime during her lifetime. Born to Scotch-Irish parents about 1871 in the Ozark Mountain area near Springfield, Mo.—the area that nurtured Jesse and Frank James—she was saddled with the unlikely name of Arizona, which friends soon shortened to “Arrie” and she herself later switched to Kate. One of her greatest experiences in childhood was seeing Jesse James ride by one 63 BARKER brothers day, and she cried with youthful anguish when “that dirty coward” Bob Ford killed Jesse in 1882. The year 1892 was doubly bad for Kate: the Dalton gang was cut down at Coffeyville, Kan., and Kate married an itinerant farm laborer named George Barker. It was not a happy marriage. Kate realized that a penniless sharecropper could never be much of an inspiration for the four boys—Herman, Lloyd, Arthur and Fred—who were born of the union. As the boys grew up in a series of tar paper shacks, Kate made it clear to Barker that she would run the family and she would guide the boys’ upbringing. George Barker merely shrugged. Brought up in this impoverished environment, the boys soon started turning up regularly on police blotters. Ma Barker frequently managed to get her sons released, sometimes weeping hysterically and at other times screaming. As late as 1915, Ma was able to get her eldest, Herman, freed from a highway robbery charge. In the following years the Barkers turned to bank robbery. According to later FBI accounts, Ma planned all the jobs, and the boys and their buddies executed them. Ma supposedly ran things with iron discipline, making the boys memorize a “getaway chart.” She herself was said to drive around all the surrounding roads, checking the times needed on them under all weather conditions. During the actual commission of a crime, Ma would once more become the doting mother, weeping for fear that her sons might be hurt. Ma was also said to dominate the gang’s personal lives, refusing to allow the presence of any girlfriends. This, to be sure, was nonsense. All of the gang’s hideouts were always awash with whores, and Ma did nothing about it. Things hardly could have been otherwise, given the character of her sons and the other top gangsters she sheltered, such as Al Spencer, Ray Terrill, Earl Thayer, Frank Nash, Francis Keating, Tommy Holden and Alvin “Creepy” Karpis. Karpis probably best presented the underworld version of the real Ma Barker. He wrote in his memoirs: Ma Barker was either “a veritable beast of prey,” as J. Edgar Hoover claimed, or just a dumpy little old mom to a bunch of gangsters, as the latter said. In 1927 son Herman was stopped by police near Wichita, Kan. after a robbery. When one officer leaned down to look in Herman’s car window, Herman grabbed the policeman around the neck and fired a pistol into his head. A cop on the other side of the car cut loose at Barker, so filling him with bullets that the gangster turned his weapon on himself and finished the job. This development, according to J. Edgar Hoover in a bit of colorful prose, caused Ma to change “from an animal mother of the she-wolf type to a veritable beast of prey.” Thereafter, according to the FBI version of events, Ma planed a near-endless string of bank robberies, the kidnappings of millionaires William A. Hamm, Jr. and Edward George Bremer and the murder of her “loving man,” Arthur Dunlop. The best evidence indicates that Dunlop was murdered by Ma’s sons and other members of the gang, with total disregard for Ma’s feelings, because they suspected him of being a “squealer.” The FBI claim that Ma was the brain behind the Hamm kidnapping is somewhat tar- Ma was always somebody in our lives. Love didn’t enter into it really. She was somebody we looked after and took with us when we moved from city to city, hideout to hideout. It’s no insult to Ma’s memory that she just didn’t have the brains or know-how to direct us on a robbery. It wouldn’t have occurred to her to get involved in our business, and we always made a point of only discussing our scores when Ma wasn’t around. We’d leave her at home when we were arranging a job, or we’d send her to a movie. Ma saw a lot of movies. 64 BARNES, Leroy “Nicky” nished by the fact that the agency first arrested and caused the wrongful prosecution of Roger Touhy and his “Terribles” for the offense before discovering its mistake and correctly pinning the charge on the Barker-Karpis gang. By 1935 the gang was being intensively pursued by the FBI and other law inforcement agencies. On January 16, Ma and her youngest and favorite son, Freddie, were traced to a cottage hideout at Lake Weir, Fla. A four-hour gun battle ensued, and both Freddie and Ma were shot to death. The official version had Ma manning a submachine gun in the battle, but this is debatable. Freddie was found with 14 bullets in him, indicating he was obviously in the line of fire. There is a discrepancy on how many bullets were in Ma, however. Some accounts said three and others only one—and that one self-inflicted. Cynics have charged that the FBI, having killed a dumpy, insignificant middle-aged woman, quickly promoted her into “Bloody Mama.” See also: BARKER BROTHERS, ALVIN “CREEPY” KARPIS, SHOTGUN GEORGE ZIEGLER. After several brushes with the law on minor—by Barker family standards—charges, Doc was sentenced to life imprisonment at the Oklahoma State Penitentiary for the murder of a night watchman during a robbery in 1920. In 1927 Herman Barker took his own life after being severely wounded in a shoot-out with police following a robbery. The next severe blow to the Barker family came when Lloyd Barker was arrested for a 1932 mail robbery and sentenced to 25 years in Leavenworth. This left only Freddie free. Next to Doc, Freddie was the deadliest of the Barkers. He had a rather loose attitude toward killing. Once in Monett, Mo., he and another gangster, Bill Weaver, broke into a garage to steal a car for use in a job. Freddie got behind the wheel, and Weaver slid the garage door open to find himself facing a policeman with gun drawn. Freddie leaned out of the window and promptly shot the officer dead. He later moralized, “That’s what comes from stealing these goddamn cars all the time.” Freddie did a considerable amount of time for that killing, but he was eventually freed after Ma Barker haunted the parole board, wardens and governors and reputedly spent a significant amount of money. When Freddie rejoined his mother following his release, he brought with him Alvin “Creepy” Karpis, who proved to be the most important leader of the gang. Each had a mutual respect for the other and they worked well as a team. Ma Barker was equally taken with Karpis and treated him almost as another son, perhaps because she now only had Freddie on the loose. In the meantime, however, Ma also worked on freeing Doc. Remarkably, Doc won a banishment pardon from the governor, which meant he could go free provided he left the state of Oklahoma. J. Edgar Hoover raged over the pardon and even more over the treatment afforded Doc’s partner-in-crime, Volney Davis, who was granted an unbelievable “two-year leave of absence.” The Barker-Karpis gang, headed by Creepy, Doc and Freddie, was now ready for full operation. They pulled off an unparalleled number of bank robberies and the like and then moved into the lucrative new field of kidnapping. Their two major jobs were the abductions of William A. Hamm, Jr. and Edward George Bremer, which netted the gang a total of $300,000 in ransoms. Many have claimed Ma Barker was the master planner of both crimes, but none of the facts support this conclusion. Hoover credited the plan to a member of the Barker-Karpis gang named Jack Peifer, while according to Karpis, the Bremer job was the brainchild of Harry Sawyer, a flamboyant character who ran much of the crime in St. Paul, Minn. In all, there were about 25 or 26 members of Barker brothers public enemies Easily the worst collection of criminal brothers in 20thcentury America were the Barkers, or the “Bloody Barkers,” as the newspapers not inappropriately called them. Indeed J. Edgar Hoover called the BarkerKarpis gang “the toughest mob we ever cracked.” This characterization was close to the truth, whether or not Ma Barker herself, the so-called Bloody Mama, was included. There is considerable controversy over whether Ma Barker was really much of a criminal, but there is no doubt that her brood of four boys—Herman, born 1894; Lloyd, born 1896; Arthur—or “Doc” or “Dock”—born 1899; and Fred, born 1902—were a bloodthirsty lot. Of the four, Doc Barker was probably the leader, the one who commanded the respect of other prominent gangsters of the day. Doc was both fearless and cold blooded and often killed without provocation or warning. Once when his brother Freddie and a few others of the gang wanted another gang member, William J. Harrison, rubbed out, Doc jumped at the assignment. He took Harrison at gunpoint to an abandoned barn near Ontarioville, Ill., shot him to death and after saturating him and the surrounding area of the barn with gasoline, set fire to the whole thing. He then wrote a note to several of the gang members hiding out in Florida: “I took care of that business for you boys. It was done just as good as if you had did it yourself. I am just like Standard Oil— always at your service. Ha, Ha!” 65 BARON of Arizona This idolatry of Barnes was, in a sense, a celebration because he was one of the first blacks to come out on top in the underworld as organized criminal activity shifted—and is still shifting—from Italians to other minority groups. Barnes’ rise to power was in large part due to his alliance with Crazy Joey Gallo, a maverick of the Mafia who taught Barnes how to organize a drug empire. Barnes and Gallo met in New York State’s Greenhaven Prison, where the former was doing time for narcotics violations and the latter for extortion. Gallo fed Barnes inside information about the drug world of Harlem, how it was supplied and how one man could take control of it. When Gallo was released, it was agreed that the two would work together. In exchange, Barnes would supply the Brooklyn gangster with black “troops” when he needed them. When Barnes was released, he began importing, with Gallo’s help, large amounts of heroin directly from Italian sources. Barnes then set up his own network of “millworkers,” who cut the heroin, and deliverers. This gave him control of heroin distribution over large areas in upstate New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania and even into Canada. Barnes also moved to take over actual street operation in Harlem. Italians were replaced by blacks without bloodshed, also apparently due to Gallo muscle. In the process Nicky Barnes became not just rich but flamboyantly so, walking around with incredible bankrolls. During one of his arrests, $130,000 cash was found in the trunk of his automobile, of which he had many. Among his possessions were a Mercedes Benz and a Citroen Maserati, and police department files were admittedly incomplete in recording his Cadillacs, Lincoln Continentals and Thunderbirds. Barnes had several apartments in Manhattan, another in the fashionable Riverdale area of the Bronx and at least two in New Jersey. These residences were, of course, in addition to the working apartments Barnes maintained for his drug operation. The Times reported that the operations of a typical Barnes heroin plant involved more than a dozen young women and two men. “The . . . women . . . are lined up along the sides of a huge sheet of plate glass that, propped up on pieces of furniture, has become a table. The women are naked, to insure that they will not be tempted to conceal any of the powder they are working over. The lieutenants, trusted, dressed, do not even look at the women. Their eyes, like the eyes of the women, are on the small pyramids of white powder heaped on the plate glass.” It would take some 16 hours to cut the heroin. “In those 16 hours, 10 kilos of pure heroin brought from a wholesaler by a trusted representative of one of New York City’s major drug dealers for the Barker-Karpis gang, and Doc and Freddie Barker were only slightly more equal than the rest. None regarded Ma Barker as their leader but did feel she was valuable for renting hideouts and handling payoffs to corrupt officials. The Hamm and Bremer kidnappings were to prove the downfall of the Barkers and the rest of the gang, triggering one of the most persistent manhunts in history, during which the members were picked off one by one. On January 8, 1935 Doc Barker was captured by FBI agents led by the legendary Melvin Purvis, the man who got Dillinger. The authorities located Doc by shadowing women he was known to have been in contact with. Eight days later, Freddie Barker was traced to a cottage at Lake Weir in northern Florida, where he was hiding with Ma Barker. Both were killed in a four-hour shoot-out, although there are some reports that Ma Barker actually shot herself when she saw her favorite son riddled with bullets. In January 1939, Doc Barker, long a troublemaker at Alcatraz, attempted an escape from what was known as America’s Devil’s Island. He made it into the water before his skull was smashed and his left leg broken by guards’ bullets. In the prison hospital he murmured: “I was a fool to try it. I’m all shot to hell.” He died the following day, January 14, and was buried in a potter’s field on the California mainland. That left Lloyd Barker the last living brother. He remained in prison until 1947. Two years later, after returning home from his job at a filling station–snack shop, he was shot to death by his wife, with whom he had been feuding. See also: ARIZONA CLARK “KATE” OR “MA” BARKER, ALVIN “CREEPY” KARPIS, DR. JOSEPH PATRICK MORAN, SHOTGUN GEORGE ZIEGLER. Barnes, Leroy “Nicky” (1933– ) Harlem narcotics king Born in Harlem of a poor family, Barnes rose rags-toriches fashion to criminal stardom and what could well be called the position of the first King of the Black Mafia. He was definitely the King of Harlem. As the New York Times Magazine reported: “Checking in at Shalimar, the Gold Lounge, or Small’s . . . he will be bowed to, nodded to, but not touched.” The juke always got a steady play of “Baaad, Baaad Leroy Brown,” which, say Barnes’ fans, was written for him. “It’s like the Godfather movie,” according to a New York police detective who also described Barnes wading through mobs of admirers “being treated like the goddamn Pope.” 66 BARROWS, Sydney Biddle of a fierce pack of brothers, half brothers and brothersin-law from Corleone, Sicily, the Morellos. Over the next three decades more than 100 barrel murders were traced to the Morellos, who finally abandoned the technique because all such murders merely advertised their criminal activities. Even worse, freelance non-Italian murderers were using the barrel method to divert suspicion from themselves to Italian gangsters. See also: MORELLO FAMILY. $150,000 has become worth about $630,000. For the dealer, the night’s expenses have run about $170,000, including the cash fees to the women and their apartment guardians. Thus the dealer has cleared about $460,000 in profits—all in cash—in an operation that he financed, sanctioned, and arranged, but in which he had no physical part.” While Barnes openly led a lavish life, proving anything against him was not easy. He paid taxes on a quarter of a million dollars in annual “miscellaneous income.” Although the IRS insisted he owed much more, substantiating it would not be easy. Barnes had always been good at avoiding conviction; he had a record of 13 arrests but only one had led to a sentence (an abbreviated one) behind bars. This ability to avoid the law’s retribution made Barnes something of a cult figure in Harlem and beyond. “Sure, that’s the reason the kids loved the guy and wanted to be like him,” a newsweekly quoted a federal narcotics agent as saying. “Mr. Untouchable—that’s what they called him—was rich, but he was smart too, and sassy about it. The bastard loved to make us cops look like idiots.” Unlike his worshipers, Barnes probably was smart enough to know he’d eventually fall, and in 1978 he did, thanks to a federal narcotics strike force. When brought up for sentencing that year, Barnes rose, squared his shoulders and smiled faintly when he was given life imprisonment plus a $125,000 fine. Barnes appeared to take his fare well, as though, to some observers, he was taking pride in the pivotal role he had played in shifting underworld power from Italians to blacks. The severity of the sentence was fitting. It was as though his importance was being certified by the courts and, according to one reporter, “making him a sort of Muhammed Ali of crime or, even better, the black man’s Al Capone.” See also: CRAZY JOE GALLO. Baron of Arizona barrel murders Barrie, Peter Christian “Paddy” (1888–1935) horse race fixer Without doubt the most successful horse race fixer in the United States was Paddy Barrie, a skilled “dyer” who applied his handiwork to swindle bettors out of some $6 million from 1926 to 1934. Barrie’s system was perhaps the simplest ever used to fix races. He would buy two horses, one with a very good record and the other a “dog.” Then he would “repaint” the fast horse to look like the slow one and enter it in a race under the latter’s name. Based on the past performance record of the slow horse, the ringer would generally command odds of 50 to one or even more; because it really outclassed its opponents, the horse would usually win the race easily. Using stencils, bleaches, special dyes and dental instruments, Barrie changed the identity of a champion horse, Aknahton, and ran it under three less-distinguished names at four tracks—Havre de Grace, Agua Caliente, Bowie and Hialeah. The horse made five killings for a gambling syndicate Barrie was working with. It was a feat that led the gamblers to call him “Rembrandt.” The Pinkerton Detective Agency finally unmasked Barrie following an investigation that was started after a leader in the betting syndicate, Nate Raymond, made a drunken spectacle of himself in Broadway clubs and was heard bragging about a “bagged race” worked by an “artist” from England named Paddy. The Pinkertons queried Scotland Yard and learned that a master dyer named Paddy Barrie had disappeared from the British Isles some years previous. An alert went out for Barrie, but he managed to elude capture for another two years by doing the same thing to himself that he did to horses, adopting disguises and changing his name frequently. One day a Pinkerton operative recognized him at Saratoga race track in New York, and he was bundled off to jail. Oddly, the laws on horse race gambling and fixing were rather lax and Barrie appeared to have broken no law other than having entered the United States illegally. He was deported back to his native Scotland, See JAMES ADDISON REAVIS. early Mafia execution style The “barrel murders” started turning up in America around 1870. The modus operandi of these killings, which occurred in several large cities, was always the same. A victim, invariably an Italian, would be killed— either shot, strangled or stabbed—and then stuffed into a barrel, which was then either deposited on a street corner or empty lot or else shipped by rail to a nonexistent address in another city. It was the barrel murders that first alerted authorities to the existence of the Mafia. The murder technique started by coincidence with the arrival 67 BARTER, Rattlesnake Dick tabloids were thrilled by the appearance of Sydney Biddle Barrows—the “Mayflower Madam.” For the scandal-minded press, the story harkened back to the glorious old days of high-paid sex, “little black books” and erudite madams. Intellectually, the swooning press declared, Barrows could have held her own with Polly Adler, the “Madam Elite” of the 1930s and 1940s. Sydney Barrows, a descendant of two Mayflower Pilgrims, also added a new dimension in class: Social Register charm and grace. Thirty-two-year-old Barrows was indicted in December 1984 in New York City for promoting prostitution in the guise of a temporary-employment agency, through which she ran three escort services that actually were expensive call-girl operations. The press was much impressed that the call girls she trained garnered as much as $2,000 a night, in her 20-woman, $1 milliona-year business. When the tabloids uncovered her connection with the Mayflower (which linked her with Elder William Brewster, the minister who had played a leading role in the 1620 Plymouth Rock landing), they quickly dubbed her the “Mayflower Madam.” Barrows pleaded guilty in July 1985 to a lesser charge of fourth-degree promotion of prostitution and paid a $5,000 fine. The press saw this as a plea-bargain deal to suppress those eternal little black books. In fact, under the agreement, the prosecution returned seized documents that bore information about her clients, said to include “scores of prominent businessmen.” Now famous, Barrows appeared on the Donahue television show unrepentant and complaining that nobody had gone to jail in the state in the last 100 years for what she had done. She earned the attention of the press by writing about her call-girl business: “As I saw it, this was a sector of the economy that was crying out for the application of good management skills—not to mention a little common sense and decency.” She expressed the opinion that all women are prostitutes since they withhold favors from their husband when they are angry. But she assured the eager public that, in her own life, “I am monogamous and rather old-fashioned.” Barrows did qualify as a trailblazer in the world’s oldest profession by employing only well-informed, articulate women and letting her ladies choose the nights they wished to work. She even allowed clients to pay for services after they were rendered, truly a revolutionary practice in the field. Barrows was a graduate of New York’s Fashion Institute of Technology and had studied business management and merchandising. After a stint as a fashion buyer, she got a job through a friend answering the phone for an escort service. She decided she could do it where he died less than six month later of a “broken heart,” according to a sensational British tabloid, due to constant surveillance aimed at guaranteeing he would never be able to ring another horse. Because of Barrie’s depredations, American tracks adopted such precautions as lip tattoos and other methods of identification to make the ringing in of other horses almost impossible. However, since foreign horses have not been so identified they have been used as ringers in recent years. The disclosure of such fixes has led to close checks on the identification of foreign horses. Barrow, Clyde See BONNIE AND CLYDE. Barrows, Sydney Biddle (1952– ) the “Mayflower Madam” The 1980s infatuation with the sins of the rich and famous extended even to the world of prostitution, a field that was withering not so much due to a rise in morals but because, as one practitioner put it, “the sexual revolution is killing us. There are just too many women willing to just give it away.” Thus, the nation’s Sydney Biddle Barrows, the “Mayflower Madam” who ran a plush Manhattan bordello, celebrates after getting off with just a $5,000 fine. 68 BASS, Sam the mountains and thus make pursuit too easy. Rattlesnake Dick’s plan called for him and George Skinner’s brother, Cyrus, to meet the robbers on the mountain trail with fresh mules. Clever though the plan was, it left the execution of this phase to Rattlesnake Dick. When George Skinner and his gunmen reached the rendezvous point, there was not a fresh mule in sight. It developed that Rattlesnake Dick and Cy Skinner were already in jail. They had been caught, drunk, trying to steal some mules. Under the circumstances all George Skinner could think to do was bury most of the stolen gold nuggets and then head off with his crew for some high living over at Folsom. That’s where Wells Fargo agents caught up with them. George Skinner was shot dead while in bed with a screaming prostitute and the rest of the gang was similarly liquidated. But with them died the secret of where the stolen gold was buried. Shortly thereafter, Rattlesnake Dick and Cy Skinner broke jail by walking out an open door and went looking for the buried loot. Following an unsuccessful search for it, the pair returned to the stagecoach-robbing business. After some of their hold-ups netted the pair less than better with her own service, one with very special wrinkles. Barrows would not even concede that her Mayflower ancestors necessarily would have censured her activities. “Had they lived in a more enlightened era,” she opined, “they would have understood that the private behavior of consenting adults is not the business of the state.” When TV host Phil Donahue wondered what Barrows’ grandmother—who died after her granddaughter’s arrest and conviction—had thought about it all, Barrows answered, “She was not amused.” Her post-business activities proved most rewarding for Barrows. Her book soared to the best-seller lists and was condensed in a top women’s magazine, and she remained much sought after for lucrative television appearances. Barter, Rattlesnake Dick (1834–1859) stagecoach robber Few criminal reputations in the Old West were more enhanced by the Eastern writers whose flowery prose graced the pages of such 19th-century publications as New York Weekly, Harper’s Monthly and the torrent of dime novels and paperbacks than Rattlesnake Dick’s. The real-life Rattlesnake Dick Barter was more wooly than wild and, alas, hardly an archbadman of the West. Barter was, on the whole, quite incompetent. According to the legend-makers, he was named Rattlesnake Dick because he was so dangerous and devious. No doubt the fact that he was an Englishman operating outside the American law was enough to give him a certain romantic aura. However, Rattlesnake Dick was downright prosaic in comparison with many native American badmen of the period. The real story behind his name was that he had prospected for a short time at Rattlesnake Bar in the Northern Mines area of California. Rattlesnake Dick soon decided, however, that it was easier to steal gold than to dig for it. Here the legend-makers were right, although they failed to note that Rattlesnake Dick had never made a dime at his digs. In 1856, after some small-time stage holdups, Barter hit on what was to prove the most brilliant and, at the same time, most comic criminal scheme of his career. To give him credit due, he masterminded the $80,000 robbery of the Yreka Mine’s mule train and managed to organize a gang for that purpose. Rattlesnake Dick did not take part in the actual robbery, which was left to George Skinner and some others, possibly explaining why that part of the scheme worked so well. The Yreka Mine mule train had been regarded as immune from robbers because the mules would always tire out halfway down FPO PICKUP FROM LAST PRINTING Photograph shows outlaw Sam Bass (center), although its authenticity has been disputed. 69 BASSITY, Jerome $20, Cy Skinner decided he had had enough of the criminal genius of Rattlesnake Dick and went his separate way. Barter continued his bush-league hold-ups until he was shot and killed by a pursuing posse in July 1859. But the legend of Rattlesnake Dick as California’s worst bandit between the eras of Murieta and Vasquez lives on, enhanced by the fact that today treasure hunters still scour the California hills for Dick’s buried gold. outlaw named Seaborn Barnes and shot Sam Bass off his horse. Another outlaw, Frank Jackson, rode back through a fusillade of fire to rescue Bass and carry him out of town. Bass was found by pursuers the next day; he was lying under a tree, near death. While he clung to life, Texas Rangers questioned him about his accomplices and the location of the loot he was believed to have buried. Bass would not respond, saying only: “Let me go. The world is bobbing around.” He died on his 27th birthday. Some treasure hunters still search for the Bass loot, although it is more than likely that the dying Bass told Jackson where to find it. The “Ballad of Sam Bass” is still a Texas favorite, and the outlaw’s grave at Round Rock remains an attraction. See also: FRANK JACKSON, JIM MURPHY. Bass, Sam (1851–1878) outlaw Sam Bass was born in Indiana, it was his native home; At the age of seventeen young Sam began to roam. Sam first came out to Texas, a cowboy for to be— A kinder-hearted fellow you seldom ever see. From “The Ballad of Sam Bass” Bassity, Jerome (1870?–1929) whoremaster Kinder-hearted or not, Sam Bass was an outlaw. While he “came out to Texas, a cowboy for to be,” young Bass found life dull and soon opted for crime. He and two other characters, Joel Collins and Jack Davies, went in for some “easy rustling,” taking on 500 cattle on consignment, driving them to market in Kansas in 1876 and then neglecting to settle up with the Texas ranchers who had hired them. With their loot as capital, the trio became pimps and opened a whorehouse in Deadwood, Dakota Territory, a place described as “the most degraded den of infamy that ever cursed the Earth.” With that sort or recommendation, the brothel did a thriving business. Nonetheless, Bass, Collins and Davies drank and gambled away their income faster than their prostitutes could make it, so the trio and three of their best bordello customers, Bill Heffridge, Jim Berry and Tom Nixon, formed an outlaw gang and held up a number of stagecoaches. On September 19, 1877 the gang made a big score, robbing a Union Pacific train of $60,000. With a $10,000 stake, Bass returned to Denton County, Tex. and started a new gang, becoming a folk hero in the process. While he was not exactly a Robin Hood, Bass was loose with the money he stole and if there was one way for a gunman to become popular in Texas, it was for him to be a free spender. For a time, Bass proved to be a real will-o’-the-wisp, impossible for the law to corner and remarkably skillful at extracting hospitality from Texans who looked upon him with affection. As the reward money mounted, however, Bass became a marked man. Finally, one of his own band, Jim Murphy, whose family often gave Bass refuge on their ranch, betrayed him by informing the law that the gang planned a bank robbery in Round Rock. While Murphy ducked for shelter, ambushers killed an During the long history of prostitution in San Francisco’s Barbary Coast, Jerome Bassity stands out as perhaps the owner of more brothels than any other single person in that city. Although he was described by the press as being a “study in depravity” with an intelligence only slightly higher than that of a chimpanzee, Bassity was the veritable lord of the red-light district. In the heyday of the corrupt Ruef machine, especially during the three terms of Mayor Eugene Schmitz from 1901 to 1907, Bassity, whose real name was said to be Jere McGlane, was far and away the most potent figure in the San Francisco underworld. The newspaper singled him out for special condemnation. The San Francisco Bulletin invited its readers to “look at the low, cunning lights in the small, rapacious, vulture-like eyes; look at that low, dull-comprehending brow; the small sensual mouth; the soft puffy fingers with the weak thumb, indicating how he seeks ever his own comfort before others, how his will works only in fits and starts.” Despite such publicity, Bassity operated with little or no restraint, from about the turn of the century until 1916, save for two years—1907 to 1909—during a reform administration. In 1909 Mayor P. H. McCarthy took office on a platform designed to “make San Francisco the Paris of America.” Bassity aided that cause by operating a 100cubicle brothel called the Parisian Mansion. While McCarthy was in office it was openly acknowledged that the city was really ruled by a triumvirate: the mayor, police commissioner and bar owner Harry P. Flannery, and Bassity. In addition to his brothels, Bassity owned dance halls and other dives, including a notorious Market Street deadfall called the Haymarket that even the streetwalkers refused to enter. Bassity had an interest in 70 BAYONNE-Abriel gang the income of at least 200 prostitutes and his own income was estimated to be around $10,000 a month, no trifling sum for the period. A dandy dresser and “diamond ring stud,” Bassity reportedly went to bed with a diamond ring on each of his big toes. In his own brothels he claimed and exercised his seigniorial rights whenever a young girl or virgin arrived, but by and large, Bassity patronized his competitors’ establishments. His patronage practically amounted to sabotage since he was generally drunk, always armed and frequently concluded a night of debauchery by shooting out the lights or seeing how close he could fire shots to the harlots’ toes. Bassity bragged that he squandered most of his income on clothes, jewelry and debauchery, but he predicted the flow of money would never end. In 1916, foreseeing the success of reform efforts to shut down the Barbary Coast, Bassity retired from the sex racket and headed for Mexico, where he unsuccessfully attempted a takeover of the Tijuana race track. He was later charged but not prosecuted for a swindle in California. When he died in 1929, after what was described as “California’s most sinful life,” he left an estate of less than $10,000. See also: ABRAHAM RUEF. Bath, Michigan The explosion brought the townspeople running, while Andy Kehoe sat and watched the whole horrible scene from his parked car. Among the rescuers was the head of the school board, heroically risking his life to bring injured children out of the tottering wreckage. He kept at it until Kehoe beckoned him over to his car. Andy Kehoe still had one more murder card to play. As the school official placed his foot on the running board of the car, Kehoe turned a switch and a violent explosion killed the last two victims of the mad bomber of Bath. bats prostitutes “Batting” remains one of the most common forms of streetwalking. A bat is a prostitute who works the streets only at night in sections that are respectable by day. In Chicago during the 1870s, for example, a respectable woman could readily traverse such downtown streets as Randolph, Dearborn and East Monroe during the day and fear no untoward incident. At night, however, she could well be accosted by men in search of a harlot. The hookers operated out of “marble front” business buildings, residing there but remaining undercover until after dark and then venturing forth to entice still available businessmen. Bats prefer working respectable streets because the fees earned are much better than along more vice-ridden streets. Bats too are generally far nicer looking than their competitors in the business. Typical bat streets in the early 1980s to the present in New York are Lexington Avenue and Madison Avenue from the low 40s to about 48th Street, the so-called prime meat market row. school bombing One of the most hideous crimes ever committed in America was the slaying of 37 schoolchildren in 1927 by Andrew Kehoe, the mad bomber of Bath, Mich. The background to the case was pieced together by the police after the fact, because Kehoe himself did not survive the crime. Kehoe was a farmer, but not a very successful one, barely scraping by even in boom years. When the community of Bath decided to build a new schoolhouse, property owners were assessed a special levy. Kehoe’s tax bite came to $300. After he paid up, he no longer could meet his mortgage and faced imminent loss of his house. “It’s that school tax,” he would tell anyone who would listen. “If it hadn’t been for the $300 I had to pay, I’d have the money. That school never should have been built.” Kehoe feuded with school board officials, accusing them of squandering the taxpayers’ money. He started telling people he’d have his revenge for that. Night after night Kehoe would be seen near the school. It turned out that he was sneaking in the building and spending hours planting dynamite in safe hiding places. At 9:43 A.M. on May 18, 1927, the whole building shook. The second floor of the north wing rose in the air and came down, crushing the first floor in an avalanche of battered wreckage. In all, 37 schoolchildren and one teacher died, and some 43 others were very seriously injured. Battaglia, Sam “Teets” (1908–1973) syndicate gangster Perhaps the craziest and certainly the deadliest of the four notorious Battaglia brothers who were members of the Chicago mobs, Sam Battaglia was a graduate of the notorious juvenile 42 Gang. A burglar from the age of 16 and later a muscleman for the mob, he was arrested 25 times, beginning in 1924, on various armed robbery charges and at least seven homicide charges. A huge barrel of a youth, nicknamed Teets because of his muscular chest, Battaglia gained his first major notoriety when he was arrested in the fall of 1930 on a charge of robbing at gunpoint $15,500 worth of jewelry from the wife of the mayor of Chicago, Mrs. William Hale Thompson. Adding insult to injury, Teets appropriated the gun and badge of her policeman chauffeur. However, a positive identification could not be made, and Teets went free when he insisted he was watching a movie at the time of the rob- 71 BEACHY, Hill bery and a half-dozen witnesses insisted they were watching him watching the movie. The robbery occurred on November 17, and, between then and the end of the year, Teets was involved in one fatal killing and one attempted killing. In ensuing years he became one of the mob’s most reliable machine gunners and, despite a reputation for being a bit zany, moved steadily up the syndicate ladder. By the 1950s he was the virtual king of the mob’s “juice,” or loansharking, rackets and supervised a number of gambling joints and prostitution rings. Sam Battaglia, a tough out of Chicago’s Patch district who was always considered stronger on brawn than brains, became a millionaire and the owner of a luxury horse-breeding farm and country estate in Kane County, Ill. In 1967 Battaglia was finally sent away for 15 years on extortion charges, yet he was considered, pending his release, the likely head of the Chicago mob. See also: FORTY-TWO GANG. Bayonne-Abriel gang Isadore Boyd. Boyd’s testimony was instrumental in getting the pair convicted and on May 14, 1871, hanged. Beachy, Hill See LLOYD MAGRUDER. Beadle, William (?–1782) murderer As a murderer, Wethersfield, Conn.’s William Beadle achieved lasting local notoriety not only because of the horrendous nature of his crime but also because of the way he kept coming back to remind local residents of what he’d done. It appeared later that William had planned to wipe out his family—his wife and five children, aged six to 11—for some time. Finally, one night as they slept, he crept upstairs, struck each in the head with an ax and then cut their throats. After this bloodletting, Beadle returned to the kitchen downstairs and sat in a chair at the table. He picked up two pistols, placed one in each ear and pulled both triggers at the same time. The victims were all buried in the town cemetery, but the townspeople had to decide what to do with Beadle. They determined he should be buried secretly and a grave was dug in the frozen December ground down by the river. However, an overflow the following spring disinterred the body. Beadle was again buried secretly, but this time a dog dug up the corpse. Finally, on the third try, the murderer’s body stayed buried. New Orleans waterfront killers A small band of burglars, wharf rats and professional murderers that terrorized New Orleans in the 1860s, the Bayonne-Abriel gang made up in viciousness what they lacked in numbers. According to one story, the gang once stole a row boat and, after discovering the boat was missing an oar, went out and killed another sailor just for his oars. While they occasionally functioned as shanghaiers, their main operation was a lucrative racket supplying seamen with everything from women and drugs to murder services. It was such a murder-for-hire service that eventually eliminated both leaders, Vincent Bayonne and Pedro Abriel, and led to the gang’s dissolution. Early in June 1869 the mate of a Spanish bark offered Bayonne and Abriel the kingly sum of $6 to kill a sailor who had earned his enmity. With such a prize at stake, Bayonne and Abriel decided to handle the job themselves rather than share it with any of their followers. The pair lured the sailor into a dive for a few drinks and then all three headed down to the levee “for some fun.” Fun for the sailor turned out to be getting batted over the head with a club wielded by Bayonne. When Bayonne raised his arm to strike the unconscious man again, Abriel stopped him and said, “Let me finish him.” Bayonne refused, and Abriel struck him in assertion of his rights. The pair struggled fiercely for several minutes until Abriel knocked Bayonne out. By that time the sailor was stirring. Abriel then stabbed him 17 times and heaved the body into the river. Abriel and Bayonne reconciled afterwards but made the mistake of revealing the details of their vicious crime to a man named Bean, Roy (c. 1825–1902) saloonkeeper and judge Billing himself as the “law west of the Pecos,” Roy Bean of Texas was without question the most unusual and colorful jurist ever to hold court in America. Bean dispensed justice between poker hands in his salooncourtroom. He would open a proceeding by declaring: “Hear Ye! Hear Ye! This honorable court’s now in session and if any galoot wants a snort before we start, let him step up and name his pizen.” A native of Kentucky, Bean had been a trader, bartender and Confederate guerrilla during the Civil War. (He organized the Free Rovers in the New Mexico Territory, which local residents soon began calling the Forty Thieves, an indication of how much of the booty went to the Confederate cause.) In his late fifties, fat, bewhiskered and whiskey sodden, Bean ambled into the tent town of Vinegaroon in 1882 and got himself appointed justice of the peace, perhaps because he had a copy of the 1879 Revised Statutes of Texas. When the road gangs moved on from Vinegaroon, Bean went to Langtry, a stopover point on the Southern Pacific. Here Bean, first by 72 BEAUCHAMP, Jereboam O. Judge Roy Bean dispensed his special brand of Texas justice seated on a beer keg outside his saloon. grass and heaps of sweet-smellin’ flowers on every hill and in every dale. Then sultry Summer, with her shimmerin’ heat-waves on the baked horizon. And Fall, with her yeller harvest moon and the hills growin’ brown and golden under a sinkin’ sun. And finally Winter, with its bitin’, whinin’ wind, and all the land will be mantled with snow. But you won’t be here to see any of ’em; not by a damn sight, because it’s the order of this court that you be took to the nearest tree and hanged by the neck till you’re dead, dead, dead, you olivecolored son of a billy goat. appointment and then by elections held in his saloon, was to dispense his bizarre justice for 20 years. Judge Bean had all sorts of profitable lines. He got $5 a head officiating at inquests, $2 performing marriages and $5 granting divorces. When higher-ups informed him he did not have the authority to divorce people, he was unimpressed. “Well, I married ’em, so I guess I got a right to unmarry ’em if it don’t take.” When a railroad man with a good record, meaning he was a regular paying customer at Bean’s saloon, was hauled in for killing a Chinese laborer, the judge leafed through his dog-eared legal guide and then released the prisoner, ruling, “There ain’t a damn line here nowheres that makes it illegal to kill a Chinaman.” And when another friend of the judge was charged with shooting a Mexican, Bean’s finding was that “it served the deceased right for getting in front of a gun.” Having himself appeared in other courts on occasion, Bean knew that judges from time to time made very flowery speeches, and he endeavored to do the same, adding a flourish or two of his own. Passing sentence on a cattle rustler once, he intoned: In 1896 a lamentable oversight occurred in Bean’s reelection campaign. He ended up with more votes than there were eligible voters, and as a result, the authorities awarded the office to his hated opponent, Jesus P. Torres. Bean was undaunted by this development and continued to handle cases that originated on his side of town. He died in 1902, a victim of his own rum as much as old age. See also: BENEDICT’S SENTENCE. Beauchamp, Jereboam O. (1803–1826) murderer You have been tried by 12 good men and true, not of your peers but as high above you as heaven is of hell, and they have said you are guilty. Time will pass and seasons will come and go. Spring with its wavin’ green Few murderers shocked, and yet typified, the genteel antebellum South more than Jereboam O. Beauchamp. A brilliant young lawyer from a leading Kentucky fam73 BECK, Dave ily, Beauchamp created quite a stir in society when he married Ann Cooke, a somewhat withered belle of 38; Beauchamp was but 21. Beside the disparity in age, there were other complications, such as Ann’s wellknown affair with a leading political figure, Col. Solomon P. Sharp. In 1826 Sharp, a former state attorney general, ran for reelection to the Kentucky House of Representatives. During the campaign Sharp’s foes dredged up his old affair with Ann, fully publicizing her charges at the time that he had seduced and impregnated her. It was stale gossip, but even at this late date, Beauchamp decided Ann’s honor had to be avenged. He challenged Sharp, who had maintained a strict silence on the matter, to a duel. Sharp refused, and Beauchamp considered this breach of behavior almost as heinous as his sexual escapade with a woman who was then unmarried. One day early in 1826, Beauchamp donned a red hood and appeared at the colonel’s door. When Sharp appeared, Beauchamp stabbed him to death and fled. However, he had been readily recognized by his garments and was quickly cast into jail in Frankfort. Ann visited him daily and proclaimed her eternal gratitude for the avenging of her honor. After Beauchamp was sentenced to hang in July, the couple decided to commit suicide together. Ann smuggled in some poison to the cell, but they succeeded only in getting themselves a bit sick. Jereboam’s execution was scheduled for July 7, and the two were permitted to breakfast together. When they were alone, they took turns plunging a knife into each other’s stomach. Beauchamp held Ann in his arms as she died, but he did not die. Bleeding profusely, he was dragged from the cell by embarrassed guards, still clinging to his dead wife. It was decided that his execution would go on even though it was not certain if the bleeding prisoner would be able to stand on the scaffold. Thousands of spectators lined the way to the gallows, fully expecting to see the condemned man sitting on his own coffin in an open cart, as was the custom of the day. Instead, Beauchamp was bundled in a blanket, still clutching his wife’s body, and transported in a closed carriage. Once the crowd was appraised of his condition and the circumstances surrounding it, it was appeased. This was truly something different. Hushed whispers of satisfaction swept through the crowd when Beauchamp managed to climb the steps of the gallows. He weaved precariously, while a band played a favorite selection of the period, “Bonaparte’s Retreat from Moscow,” as Beauchamp’s last request. His final words were “Farewell, child of sorrow! For you I have lived; for you I die!” Husband and wife were buried in a common grave. Chiseled in the stone slab was a poem Ann had composed in the death cell: He heard her tale of matchless woe, And burning for revenge he rose, And laid her base seducer low, And struck dismay to virtue’s foe. Daughter of virtue! Moist thy tear. This tomb of love and honor claim; For thy defense the husband here, Laid down in youth his life and fame. Beck, Dave (1894–1993) labor union leader In the early 1950s David D. Beck was one of the most powerful and respected labor union leaders in the United States. He was president of the country’s largest single union, the 1.4 million member International Brotherhood of Teamsters. He was a rich man whose friendship was sought by business executives and statesmen. He boasted that management almost unanimously hailed him as a cooperative labor leader sympathetic to its problems. He was also greedy on a monumental scale. In his younger years Beck was noted as an aggressive labor leader and an effective bargainer. Founder of the western Conference of Teamsters, he negotiated contracts that became standards for labor settlements throughout the rest of the country. When he became president of the union in 1952, he had seemingly achieved the pinnacle of success, although he had to share his union powers in several areas with tough James R. Hoffa, chairman of the Teamsters Central States Conference. In fact, Hoffa once boasted: “Dave Beck? Hell, I was running it while he was playing big shot. He never knew the score.” Beck knew the score, however, when it came to milking union funds to become a millionaire. He took loans from the union treasury, which he never repaid. With the aid of money from the union, he built for himself an elegant house in the suburbs of Seattle, featuring an artificial waterfall in the backyard and a basement movie theater. He sold it to the Teamsters at twice what it cost to build and then got it back from the union rent-free for his lifetime use. He put the bite on large companies for personal “loans” and gained the reputation of being able to walk off with anything not nailed down. Beck’s downfall came in a confrontation with the Senate Select Committee on Improper Activities in the Labor or Management Field, chaired by Sen. John McClellan of Arkansas with a young Robert F. Kennedy as chief counsel. The McClellan Committee did much to expose the greed of a number of union officials who had 74 BECKER, Charles often allied themselves with underworld figures and had looted union treasuries for personal gain. Many union officials squirmed under the inquiry, but none more so than the Teamster leadership. Beck, like others, was to infer that the committee and especially the chief counsel were “antilabor,” but he came before the investigation declaring: “I have nothing to fear. My record is an open book.” He then proceeded to invoke the Fifth Amendment more than 200 times. In summing up, the committee declared: Both Fernandez and Beck were social misfits who joined several lonely hearts clubs seeking companionship. In addition to companionship, Fernandez sought money from women he became acquainted with. When Fernandez and Beck met through the auspices of a club, they teamed up to make a business of swindling women. While Fernandez wooed the women, Martha played the role of his sister. They mulcted scores of women and simply killed those who proved uncooperative or troublesome. The murders that tripped the pair up were those of Mrs. Janet Fay, a 60-year-old Albany, N.Y. widow, and Mrs. Delphine Downing, an attractive 41-year-old widow from Grand Rapids, Mich., and her 20-month-old child. Mrs. Fay traveled as fast as she could to Valley Stream, Long Island to meet her husband-to-be (Fernandez) and his sister (Beck) after selling her home in Albany. Once the pair was sure they had all the woman’s money, they beat her to death with a hammer and buried her in the cellar of a rented house. The killers then traveled to Grand Rapids and similarly stripped Mrs. Downing of much of her wealth. After feeding her sleeping pills, Fernandez then shot her to death. A few days later Martha Beck drowned the woman’s child in the bathtub. The murderous pair then buried both corpses under cement in the cellar. That chore completed the couple went off to a movie. When they returned, they found the police inside the Downing home. Suspicious neighbors had not seen the woman around for a few days and notified the authorities. Since the cement in the cellar had not yet dried, the bodies were quickly found. The police also discovered traces of the late Mrs. Fay’s belongings in the couples’ possession and soon obtained a confession to the New York murder as well. Since New York had a death penalty and Michigan did not, the two were tried for the Fay killing. After a 44day trial, in which the sexual aberrations of Fernandez and Beck provided a field day for the sensational press, they were sentenced to death. On March 8, 1951— their final day of life—Fernandez received a message from Beck that she still loved him, news he exclaimed, that made him “want to burst with joy.” Martha Beck was granted her last request. Before she was executed in Sing Sing’s electric chair, she had her hair meticulously curled. The lonely hearts murders led to the tightening of restrictions on the operations of lonely hearts clubs, but most lawmakers conceded little safeguards could be established to protect foolish and romantic people from being swindled and even killed for love’s sake. The fall of Dave Beck from a position of eminence in the labor-union movement is not without sadness. When named to head this rich and powerful union, he was given an opportunity to do much good for a great segment of American working men and women. But when temptation faced Dave Beck, he could not turn his back. His thievery in the final analysis became so petty that the committee must wonder at the penuriousness of the man. What would cause a man in such circumstances to succumb to the temptation of using union funds to pay for six pairs of knee drawers for $27.54, or a bow tie for $3.50? In Beck’s case, the committee must conclude that he was motivated by an uncontrollable greed. Exposure of Beck’s greed caused him to leave the hearings a broken man. He would soon be imprisoned, although he tried to fend off this fate by refunding huge sums of money to the Teamsters’ treasury. By May 1, 1957 he had returned some $370,000, but the next day, with only a few days remaining before the statute of limitations expired, he was indicted on charges of income tax evasion. Jimmy Hoffa replaced him as president on February 20, 1958, and Beck drew a long prison term. When he came out, he was still worth a considerable amount of money and had intact his $50,000 lifetime pension from the union. Beck still owed the government $1.3 million in back taxes, and the Treasury Department had the right to seize any and all of his assets to satisfy the claim. However, in 1971 John B. Connolly, secretary of the treasury under President Richard Nixon, approved a plan for a moratorium on the payment of the debt. The Teamsters became Nixon’s strongest booster in the labor movement. Beck, Martha (1920–1951) Lonely Hearts Killer Together with Raymond Martinez Fernandez, 280pound Martha Beck became infamous in the 1940s as one of the Lonely Hearts Killers. Although the pair was charged with only three murders, they were suspected of committing 17 others. Becker, Charles (1869–1915) corrupt policeman and 75 BECKER, Jennie murderer investigators, seized him in a scuffle in the station house. Eventually, the killers were caught and, in hope of saving their own necks, talked, implicating Zelig. Zelig, in turn, realized his best chance to avoid execution also lay in talking, and he informed on Becker. Allowed free on bail, Zelig was shot and killed by another gangster. However, Whitman, who saw the Rosenthal case as a way of purging police graft and perhaps promoting himself into the governorship, still presented enough evidence to have the four killers convicted and sentenced to death and convicted Becker of being the instigator of the killing. Becker was granted a new trial amid clear indications that Whitman had promised rewards to various prosecution witnesses in return for their aid in convicting a police officer. Nonetheless, he was found guilty once again and was sentenced to death. As Becker’s execution date drew near, his only hope was to obtain clemency from the governor, but unfortunately for him, Whitman had since been elected to that office. He ignored a plea from Becker’s wife, who remained faithful to her husband to the end. Becker’s friends insisted that he had been “jobbed” and, whatever his sins, had not masterminded the Rosenthal murder. After Becker was electrocuted on July 7, 1915, in what was probably Sing Sing’s clumsiest execution, his wife had attached to the top of his coffin a silver plate with the following inscription: In the 1890s novelist Stephen Crane witnessed a tall, brawny policeman walk up to a prostitute and start beating her to a pulp when she refused to share the proceeds of her last business transaction. Crane would write about this brutish patrolman in his novel titled Maggie: A Girl of the Streets, but the real-life officer, Charles Becker, would go on to commit far worse offenses. Becker was known as “the crookedest cop who ever stood behind a shield,” no mean accomplishment in the sordid history of New York City police corruption. He rose to the rank of lieutenant, became personal assistant to dapper police commissioner Rhinelander Waldo, perhaps the most inept holder of that office before or since, and was in charge of the department’s special crime squad. In addition to his police function, Becker was also the protégé of Tammany Hall leader Tim Sullivan and aspired to succeed him. Becker used his position to handle all payoffs to the police and politicians from gamblers, prostitutes and other vice operators. His special squad as well as outside gangsters were employed to enforce the payoff rules, providing protection to those who paid and retribution to those who refused. One gambler who attempted to stand up to Becker was Herman Rosenthal, who ran a betting joint on West 45th Street. Fearful that Rosenthal would set a bad example for other gamblers, Becker kept intensive pressure on him, but the tactic boomeranged. Rosenthal started telling his troubles to reporter Herbert Bayard Swope of the New York World and to Charles S. Whitman, Republican district attorney of Manhattan. Soon, Becker realized his position was threatened. He turned to his top underworld henchman, Big Jack Zelig, to take care of Rosenthal before he did any more talking. At the moment, Zelig was in jail, but Becker used his influence to free him. Zelig then arranged for four gunmen—Gyp the Blood, Lefty Louie, Dago Frank and Whitey Lewis—to handle the hit. The four botched a few attempts, and the frightened Rosenthal sent word to Becker and Zelig that he was finished talking and would leave New York. However, Rosenthal had already talked too much, and on July 16, 1912 the four killers brought him down in a fusillade of bullets outside the Hotel Metropole on West 43rd Street. An investigation was ordered, and Commissioner Waldo put Becker in charge. With amazing nerve, Becker instructed the police to “lose” the license number of the murderers’ car and even attempted to hide an eyewitness to the crime in a police station jail cell. Through a tipster, District Attorney Whitman learned of the witness and, with the help of his own CHARLES BECKER MURDERED JULY 7, 1915 BY GOVERNOR WHITMAN The plate was finally removed when the police convinced Mrs. Becker that she could be prosecuted for criminal libel. See also: STEPHEN CRANE. Becker, Jennie (1881–1922) murder victim Abe Becker was certain he had committed the perfect crime when he bashed in his wife’s skull, buried her in a pit and poured corrosive alkali over her body. Instead, it became a criminal-medical text classic. On the night of the murder in April 1922, Becker had taken his wife, Jennie, to a party at a friend’s house in New York City and played the role of a loving spouse, stuffing her with canapés, grapes, figs and almonds. On the way home, he lured Jennie out of the car by pretending to have motor trouble. He then struck her over the head with a wrench and carried her dead body to a prepared grave, where he doused it with alkali. In 76 BEGGING White eventually reunited the pair with their parents and, unlike the fate of most “ruined girls,” the Beckett sisters became famous heroines of the day. See also: SAM PURDY. the ensuing months Becker explained his wife’s disappearance by saying she’d run off with another man. He was not even too concerned when the police found Jennie’s body, or what they thought was her body, five months later. Proving it would be another matter. The alkali had rendered the body unrecognizable. In desperation, the police turned the corpse over to the medical examiner’s office. Experts found that the alkali had not totally destroyed the stomach. They found the woman had eaten grapes, figs, almonds and some meat-spread sandwiches—the very things Becker had lovingly fed his wife at the party. Becker was undoubtedly frightened now, but he kept insisting the body was not his wife’s. Figs are figs, grapes are grapes and almonds are almonds— some other woman had simply eaten the same type of food, he contended. Denials proved worthless, however. Laboratory examination of the meat spread found it matched exactly with the meat spread prepared by the party hostess—according to a private family recipe. Becker died in the electric chair in April 1924. Beckett sisters Beckwourth, Jim (1800–1866 or 1867) mountaineer and thief Trader, scout and all-around frontiersman, Jim Beckwourth was easily the most famous of the black adventurers of the West. Beckwourth was born in Virginia, the son of Sir Jennings Beckwith (who was descended from minor Irish aristocrats) and a mulatto slave woman. In 1822 Beckwourth (the spelling he adopted) appeared in Missouri as a free black man. Two years later, he joined Gen. William Ashley’s expedition to the Rocky Mountains. It is difficult to measure Beckwourth’s accomplishments because his own accounts make him easily the greatest Indian fighter and lover of Indian women of all time; yet his reputation grew quickly, and migrants coming West in wagon trains bid high for his services as a guide through the Sierras. Beckwourth also did a thriving business supplying these migrants with horses. To that end, he formed the biggest gang of horse thieves in California’s history, together with famed mountain men Old Bill Williams and Pegleg Smith. The gang’s greatest raid occurred in 1840, when, with a large band of Indians, they slipped undetected over Cajon Pass. On May 14 Juan Perez, the administrator at San Gabriel Mission, reported to the authorities that every ranch in the valley from San Gabriel to San Bernardino had been stripped of its horse stock. Although posses occasionally caught up to the horse thieves, they were beaten off. Finally, a posse of 75 men under Gov. Jose Antonio Carillo cornered the gang at Resting Springs. In the ensuing gun battle, Beckwourth justified the tales of his prowess with a gun, killing or wounding several members of the posse. Scores of horses were killed and others so badly wounded they had to be destroyed, but Beckwourth and company still got away with more than 1,200 head. Eventually, Beckwourth turned to ranching, managing to build up his stock with stolen horses until 1855, when he barely got out of the state ahead of vigilantes out to hang him. He moved to the Colorado Territory, scouted again for the army and later took up city life in Denver as a storekeeper. This activity bored him, and in 1864 he went back to the wilderness, acting as a guide for John M. Chivington in the infamous Sand Creek Massacre. Perhaps unwisely, Beckwourth then started trading with the Indians again, and in 1866 he was allegedly poisoned by the Crows while visiting white slave kidnap victims During the early 1800s, no kidnapping of young girls by the infamous Mississippi River procurers excited the American public as much as that of two teenage sisters, Rose and Mary Beckett of St. Louis, who were abducted by the notorious Sam Purdy gang. It was the custom of these river procurers to buy up young girls from their impoverished parents and transport them down the Mississippi by flatboat to Natchez, where they were sold at auction to whoremasters from various Southern cities. Only when they could not find enough willing girls available to be “sold down the river”—hence the origin of the phrase—did the procurers go in for actual kidnapping. Such was the fate of the Beckett girls, who wound up at Natchez in early 1805 and were sold off after spirited bidding by various bordello keepers and “floating hog pen” operators. The girls were sold as a set for $400 to the proprietor of a notorious New Orleans establishment called The Swamp. Here the girls were incarcerated, and here they would have remained had it not been for a reformer named Carlos White, who had tracked the Purdy gang from St. Louis and scoured the New Orleans fleshpots for the Beckett sisters. A man of action, White used force to rescue the two sisters from The Swamp, shooting one of their guards to death and pistol-whipping another while the girls climbed out a window and escaped. 77 BEHAN, John their village. Other reports have him dying in 1867 near Denver. See also: THOMAS L. “PEGLEG” SMITH, WILLIAM S. “OLD BILL” WILLIAMS. then, a stage-struck little autograph hunter. Almost immediately, she developed a knack for making a pest of herself, and people gave her whatever she asked for just to get rid of her. Soon, she was asking for money. Her technique worked so well that after a while, she would accept folding money only. Celebrities quailed at Rose’s glance. Jack Dempsey once fled his own restaurant when she walked in to put the touch on his customers. In time, Broadway Rose prospered to the extent that she could refuse donations from nobodies with the admonition, “Go get yourself a reputation, jerk, before I’ll take your scratch.” Probably the most profitable approach used today is a beggar in a business suit who embarrassedly tells victims he has lost his wallet and needs commuter fare home. Since home is a far way off, a minimum bite is $5. While such a routine can be most remunerative, it probably will never earn the profits attained by a New York beggar who used to pose as a leper. He was a tall, gaunt, olive-skinned man who’d haunt shadowy alleys and emerge only when he saw a prospective sucker coming along. “Mister . . . I’m a leper. . . . Will you drop some money on the sidewalk for me? . . . Will you, please? . . . For a poor leper?” All this time, the “leper” would keep moving toward his quarry, his arms outstretched—and many a poor soul was known to have reacted by dropping his entire wallet and then racing out of harm’s way. begging The practice, or perhaps more correctly the profession, of begging doubtlessly goes back to prehistoric times. It appeared in America almost with the first settlers and continues to the present day. In New York one resourceful entrepreneur, after years of successful panhandling, opened a school in 1979 to teach the art of begging. (Lesson One: On the subway, pick out one target, stand before him and whine loudly, “Please!” If that doesn’t work, get on one knee and continue to plead until he does give.) There have been many legendary beggars in American history. One of the most successful during the 1920s was New York City’s “Breadline Charlie,” who eschewed use of a harness or other equipment to make him appear crippled or helpless. Instead, he carried in his pocket small chunks of stale bread, and when in a crowd, he would drop a piece on the sidewalk. Then he would “discover” it, let out a scream of ecstasy and gobble it down as though he hadn’t eaten in days. This pitiful scene always touched the hearts and purses of passersby. An earlier faker, George Gray, had earned, by his own confession, at least $10,000 a year for many years around the turn of the century thanks to his incredible ability to feign an epileptic fit or a heart attack, usually in front of the residence of a well-to-do Manhattanite. After one of his many arrests, Gray was taken by police to Presbyterian Hospital, where doctors pronounced him “a curiosity of nature in that he possesses the power of accelerating or retarding his heart action at will.” A businessman named Jesse L. Strauss gave police a considerable argument when they tried to roust Gray as he lay writhing on the sidewalk. Strauss had his money in hand and was ready to give it to the unfortunate man so that he could seek medical attention. Gray was wanted as the era’s most professional “fit-thrower” by police in a dozen Eastern cities. Robert I. Ingles was an energetic beggar who toured the country for years on a regular begging beat until his death in a charity ward in New York during the 1950s. On his person was found a pass book showing he had $2,500 in a Manhattan bank. In due course, it was found he had 42 other savings accounts with a total value of well over $100,000. Rose Dym (born Anna Dym), a nightmarishly homely daughter of a retired Brooklyn pushcart peddler, hit the bright-light district in 1929. She was 17 Behan, John (c. 1840–?) lawman and Wyatt Earp foe John Behan was sheriff of Cochise County, Ariz. for only a year from 1881 to 1882, but since that was the period of the Earp-Clanton feud and such events as the gunfight at the O.K. Corral, he is accorded much more attention in western lore than the average crooked sheriff of the day. Behan was a firm enemy of Wyatt Earp, the bone of contention between them being the sheriff’s office, which Behan had and Earp wanted. Most sheriffs devoted the bulk of their time to collecting county taxes, leaving the gunfighting to their deputies. Remuneration for the job was largely a percentage of the tax collection, which, combined with a reasonable amount of graft from road-building and other contracts that a sheriff often controlled, could make such a lawman wealthy. At the time, the sheriff’s job in Cochise County was worth $30,000 a year and Behan made $40,000. In his fight to retain control of the office, Behan represented the cowboy and rustler element, or Democratic Party, while Earp represented the saloonkeeper/ gambler-townie interests, or generally the Republican forces. It is against this background that events such as the O.K. Corral shoot-out must be seen. To win the support of the out-county elements, Behan allied him78 BENDER family become good citizens now that “they have the opportunity to learn to read.” A few years later, in the Alder Gulch–Bannack area of lawless Montana, Beidler came to the fore as the hanging vigilante. His victims included all the important badmen in the area. Beidler’s style was casual in most cases: a handy tree limb or corral gate, the noose tightened and a box kicked out from under the victim’s feet. With the coming of more organized law and order, the need for Beidler’s long rope ended, and he became a businessman and saloon keeper, later serving as collector of customs for Idaho and Montana. He held that post until his death on January 22, 1890 in Helena. See also: BANNACK, MONTANA TERRITORY; VIGILANTES OF MONTANA. self with the Clanton forces and hired some of their gunmen to help in the collection of taxes. Elimination of the Clantons would weaken Behan’s hold on his office. Behan tried to stop the shoot-out at the O.K. but was contemptuously ignored by the Earps and Doc Holliday. He could do nothing to prevent the magnificent duel, or callous slaughter, depending on one’s viewpoint, that followed. Despite the killing of one Clanton and two McLowery brothers, the Earps failed to wipe out their enemies, and in the end, they were driven out of Tombstone by a combination of legal charges and public opinion. Behan’s triumph was short lived, however. In 1882 he faced charges of financial irregularities and stepped down. After leaving office, he was indicted for continuing to collect taxes after his term. Behan disappeared before the indictment could be served and nothing was heard about him for a few years. In 1887 he surfaced as a turnkey at the Yuma Penitentiary, where he became something of a hero by helping to quell a prison riot, although in the uproar he locked the warden in with a bunch of knife-brandishing convicts. No effort was made to return him to Cochise County for prosecution. Two years later, Behan came under another cloud when he was suspected of helping some convicts escape. For the second time in his life, Behan found it prudent to fade from the scene. See also: WYATT EARP, O.K. CORRAL. Bell, Tom (1825–1856) outlaw doctor Known as the Outlaw Doc, Tom Bell, whose real name was Thomas J. Hodges, is believed to have been the only physician to ride the western bandit trail. On a criminal job he would carry as many implements as a doctor would carry on a house visit, in one case totaling up to six revolvers and a like number of knives and, presumably because of his superior medical knowledge, a chest protector fashioned from sheet iron. Born in Rome, Tenn., Bell took part in the Mexican War. During that period he was trained as a doctor and emerged as a fully qualified practitioner. Bell followed the ’49ers to California in search of gold but came up empty. He supported himself by gambling at cards, now and then taking time out to treat a gunshot victim. Exactly how or why he turned to crime is not known, but in 1855 he was doing time for theft in Angel Island Prison. There he befriended a vicious criminal named Bill Gristy, and within a matter of weeks the pair engineered an escape. The two then organized their own outlaw gang with five other hard cases and began pulling stage holdups. On August 12, 1856 Bell and his confederates attempted to hold up the Camptonville-Marysville stage, which had $100,000 in gold bullion aboard. They killed a woman passenger and wounded two men but were beaten back by the stage’s shotgun guards who killed two of them. The murder of the woman passenger sparked a huge manhunt for the bandits. There were legal posses under assorted lawmen and illegal posses of vigilantes who vowed to reach the killers first and mete out fast western justice. By the end of September, Gristy had been arrested and, under threat of being handed over to a lynch mob, had turned stoolpigeon in his jail cell, identifying Doc Bell as the main culprit. The official and unofficial posses were quickly back on the trail in a race to locate Bell first. The sheriff of Beidler, John X. (1831–1890) Montana vigilante hangman In the 1860s John Beidler’s “long rope” became the terror of Montana’s badmen, and Beidler became known as the most zealous vigilante that ever looped a noose. In one six-week period 26 outlaws were hanged, and Beidler’s rope did the job in every case. Beidler, a plump, walrus-faced man, was born in Montjoy, Pa. of German stock. Even to his friends in the West, he was known as a rather joyless person. Some biographers are unsure how much of Beidler’s appetite for hanging sprang from a respect for law and order and how much from a morbid pleasure in hanging people. But whatever else was said about Beidler, he was certainly brave enough in taking credit for his acts. He never wore a mask, as did so many other vigilantes. If some of the “boys” ever wanted to get even with him, they knew where to find him. Beidler’s first vigilante act took place in Kansas, where, as the head of a posse, he disabled a gang of lawbreakers by firing a howitzer loaded with printer’s type at them. In contradiction to the general description of his somberness, Beidler said, as the victims painfully dug the type slugs out of their bodies, that he saw no need for a necktie party, pointing out they could 79 BENEDICT’S Sentence Stockton came in a close second. He found Doc on October 4, 1856 dangling from a tree on the Nevada City road. Bender family Cherryvale to see if he could pick up his brother’s trail. Then John came in with a jug of cider and suggested the lawyer have a swig before leaving. York refused the offer and said he wanted to cover some ground before night fell. If he failed to pick up his brother’s trail, he announced, he would be coming back. The next day a neighbor rode past the Bender place and noted the door was open and the family wagon nowhere in sight. He went inside and discovered the Benders had gone, belongings and all. When Col.York returned to Cherryvale, the trail gone cold, he was informed of the facts. A group of men went out to the Bender place. They looked in the cellar and found some loose dirt there. They dug and discovered the body of Dr. York. They started digging around the cabin and found 10 other bodies, all with their skulls crushed. The Benders had something like a two-day start, but if they were in their wagon, they still might be caught. A posse of seven men headed by Col. York started out to scour the surrounding area in the hopes of finding the fugitive family. When they came back some weeks later, they said they had failed to find the Benders. But the posse members were downright uncommunicative about where they had been; they didn’t seem to want to talk about it. Col. York lost interest in hunting for the murderous family and took his brother’s body with him for reburial. The news of the Hell Benders spread from coast to coast. Souvenir hunters descended on Cherryvale and soon leveled the Bender place to the ground. Nails and boards said to be from the Benders’ house sold for high prices in New York and San Francisco. Months passed, then years, but none of the four Benders turned up. Of course, there was a rash of false identifications. In 1889 Leroy Dick of Cherryvale traveled to Michigan and identified Mrs. Almira Griffith and her daughter, Mrs. Sarah Eliza Davis, as Ma Bender and Kate. They were returned to Kansas, and out of 13 persons, seven agreed with Dick’s identification. Proof was then produced that one of the women had been married in Michigan in 1872, and the case against the two women was dropped. There were a number of other false identifications, all of which proved unreliable. In 1909 George Downer lay dying in a Chicago suburb. He called for his lawyer, and in his last hour, Downer told the lawyer and his wife that he had been a member of the posse that had killed the Benders. After catching up with them, the posse had butchered the family so badly they felt they could not reveal the facts; they therefore buried the Benders in a 20-foot well and covered them over with dirt. In 1910 a man named Harker, dying in a New Mexico cow camp, mass murderers The Hell Benders, as they came to be called, were the most murderous family America ever produced. They robbed as a family, killed as a family and may well have been slaughtered together as a family. When the Benders moved into Cherryvale in southeastern Kansas during the early 1870s, no one thought ill of them, and in fact, most of the young blades around were much impressed by the beauty of young Kate Bender, whose age was around 18 or 20. The family consisted of Old Man William John, aged about 60, Ma Bender (no Christian name has ever been ascribed to her), young Kate and her brother, John, who, while older in years, was certainly less mature mentally than his sister. He was actually a moron whose main activity in life appeared to be cackling insanely. The family maintained a log cabin outside of town consisting of one large room divided by a canvas curtain. They served drink and meals to travelers on one side of the curtain and slept on the other side. At night, they set up some beds on the public side to put up travelers wishing to stay the night. If they served meals to someone they knew, the Benders were most hospitable and sent them cheerfully on their way. However, if the patron was a lone traveler and looked like he had money, he never left the Bender cabin alive. Kate would sit him down on a bench against the canvas curtain and presumably flirt with him until he was smitten—in the most literal sense of the word. Either Old Man Bender or moronic John would be on the other side of the canvas, and when they made out the outline of the man’s head, they would bash it in with a sledgehammer. The dead man would be taken down to the cellar through a trap door and stripped of all money and valuables. Later, the victim would be buried on the grounds around the house, and Ma Bender would plant flowers over the spot. The Benders’ last victim was a Dr. William H. York of Fort Scott, Kan. Passing through Cherryvale in March 1873, he asked for a place where he could eat and perhaps stay the night and was directed to the Benders’. When he disappeared, his brother, a lawyer named Col. A. M. York, followed his trail. He traced Dr. York to Cherryvale and no further. The Benders told Col. York that his brother had never come to their place. Kate Bender invited the colonel to sit a while and she would fix him a cup of tea. She offered him a seat by the canvas, but York said he wanted to ride on past 80 BENI, Jules Benedict was an extremely learned man who was appointed to the Supreme Court of New Mexico by President Franklin Pierce in 1853. Previously, he had spent all his adult life in Illinois, where he was a highly regarded member of the bar and a friend of both Abraham Lincoln and Stephen A. Douglas. On the New Mexico bench, Benedict handed down several opinions that are often cited as examples of fine judicial writing, but he is unquestionably best remembered for his sentencing in Taos of Jose Maria Martin. Martin had been convicted of a particularly heinous murder, a verdict with which Benedict fully concurred. Judge Benedict addressed the prisoner as follows: confessed he too had helped kill the Benders. He also mentioned the 20-foot well—at that time Downer’s confession had not yet become common knowledge. Harker said the posse had taken several thousand dollars from the bodies of the Benders, money they believed to have been stolen from the victims. As late as 1940 the same story surfaced from another source, George Stark, who said his late father had made an identical confession to him but had pledged him to secrecy until after his death. Were the confessions true? After the 1909 and 1910 confessions a search was made for the well in the area identified by Downer and Harker. But the area had long since been planted with corn. If the Benders were there, they had been plowed under. Of all the missing members of the Hell Benders, William “Old Man” Bender (c. 1813–1884?) is worth special mention since, if any of the family did survive the manhunt for them and was not killed, it was the elder Bender. If that was what happened, Old Man Bender died in 1884, 11 years after he had fled Kansas. In that year an aged individual who answered to his description and spoke with a German accent, as Bender had, was seized in the Montana Territory for a murder near Salmon, Idaho Territory. The victim’s skull had been crushed from behind with a blunt instrument. The method, plus the suspect’s physical appearance and the fact that he grew sullen when the name Bender was mentioned, convinced the arresting officers that they had the much-sought Old Man Bender. The suspect was clamped in ankle irons and tossed in the Salmon jail while the authorities back in Kansas were notified to send someone to make an identification. The next morning the old man was dead. In a desperate effort to escape, he had tried to cut off his foot and had bled to death. Since there was no ice house in town, the sheriff’s deputies tried to preserve the body in a calcifying pool. It didn’t work, and by the time witnesses arrived from Kansas, identification was no longer possible. However, since it seemed like a waste to give up such an attraction as a heinous murderer, the dead man’s skull, identified as “Bender’s skull,” was put on display in the Buckthorn Saloon in Salmon, where it remained, an object of many toasts, until the onset of Prohibition in 1920. Then it, like the rest of the Benders, disappeared. Benedict’s Sentence Jose Maria Martin, stand up. Jose Maria Martin, you have been indicted, tried and convicted, by a jury of your countrymen, of the crime of murder, and the Court is now about to pass upon you the dread sentence of the law. As a usual thing, Jose Maria Martin, it is a painful duty for the Judge of a court of justice to pronounce upon a human being the sentence of death. There is something horrible about it, and the mind of the Court naturally revolts at the performance of such a duty. Happily, however, your case is relieved of all such unpleasant features and the Court takes the positive pleasure in sentencing you to death! You are a young man, Jose Maria Martin; apparently of good physical condition and robust health. Ordinarily, you might have looked forward to many years of life, and the Court has no doubt you have, and have expected to die at a green old age; but you are about to be cut off in consequence of your own act. Jose Maria Martin, it is now the springtime, in a little while the grass will be springing up green in these beautiful valleys, and, on these broad mesas and mountain sides, flowers will be blooming; birds will be singing their sweet carols, and nature will be pleasant and men will want to stay; but none of this for you, Jose Maria Martin; the flowers will not bloom for you, Jose Maria Martin; the birds will not carol for you, Jose Maria Martin; when these things come to gladden the senses of men, you will be occupying a space about six feet by two beneath the sod, and the green grass and those beautiful flowers will be growing about your lowly head. The sentence of the Court is that you be taken from this place to the county jail; that you be kept there safely and securely confined, in the custody of the sheriff, until the day appointed for your execution. (Be very careful, Mr. Sheriff, that he have no opportunity to escape and that you have him at the appointed place at the appointed time); that you be so kept, Jose Maria Martin until—(Mr. Clerk, on what day of the month does Friday about two weeks from this time come? judge’s speech Probably the most famous judicial speech ever made in the Old West was the death sentence pronounced by Judge Kirby Benedict and referred to with solemn awe as Benedict’s Sentence. 81 BENSON family murders found Slade or Slade found Beni, the fact was that Slade captured the Frenchman, tied him to a fence post, and used him for target practice. Then Slade killed Beni and cut off his ears as souvenirs. According to most accounts, Slade used one ear as a watch fob and sold the other for drinking money. Today, Julesburg is a quiet little town of about 25,000 persons with very little of the wickedness that its founders had bequeathed it. See also: JOSEPH “JACK” SLADE. “March 22nd, your honor.”) Very well, until Friday, the 22nd day of March, when you will be taken by the sheriff from your place of confinement to some safe and convenient spot within the county (that is in your discretion, Mr. Sheriff, you are only confined to the limits of this county), and that you there be hanged by the neck until you are dead, and the Court was about to add, Jose Maria Martin, ‘May God have mercy on your soul,’ but the Court will not assume the responsibility of asking an allwise Providence to do that which a jury of your peers has refused to do. The Lord couldn’t have mercy on your soul. However, if you affect any religious belief, or are connected with any religious organization, it might be well for you to send for your priest or minister, and get from him—well—such consolation as you can, but the Court advises you to place no reliance upon anything of that kind! Mr. Sheriff, remove the prisoner. Benson family murders a not-so-ideal son During the 1980s—the decade of greed—it was inevitable that scandals and homicides among the rich and famous received a great deal of attention. The Benson family murders in Florida were a case in point. Mrs. Margaret Benson, a 58-year-old widow and heiress to a $10 million tobacco fortune after the death of her wealthy husband in 1980, moved herself and her grown children to a life of self-indulgent ease in Naples, Fla. She supported her children: a married daughter, Carol Lynn Benson Kendall; her older son, Steven; and her young adopted son, Scott. Of the boys, Steven— seemingly the ideal son—was by far the more responsible and dependable and had taken charge of managing the family’s affairs. Twenty-one-year-old Scott, by contrast, was always a problem, prone to violence and the use of drugs, snorting cocaine and inhaling nitrous oxide (laughing gas). Given to expensive clothes and flashy sports cars, Scott had difficulty living within a $7,000-a-month allowance. On occasion, he beat his mother and sister, and once the police had to haul him away to a drug-treatment center. Still, the members of the Benson family remained loyal and loving toward him. In 1985, Steven bought a $215,000 home complete with tennis court and swimming pool, which aroused his mother’s suspicions about how he could afford to do so. She began to realize he had been skimming money from a company the family owned. She made plans to have an audit conducted and hinted at disinheriting Steven. One summer day in 1985, the family climbed into their Chrevolet Suburban van for a drive when Steven said he had forgotten something and reentered the Benson mansion. While he was gone, two pipe bombs sent off in the van. Mrs. Benson, now 63, and young Scott died instantly, and Carol was badly injured. After recovering, Carol told investigators that Steven had made no effort to aid her after the explosion and had shown little emotion at the scene. He was eventually charged with murder. At Steven’s trial in 1986, Carol shocked the court by revealing that Scott Benson The only footnote to Judge Benedict’s sentence was that Jose Maria Martin did escape and never paid the supreme penalty. See also: ROY BEAN. Beni, Jules (?–1861) outlaw An ageless and larcenous Frenchman, Jules Beni operated a trading post near Lodgepole Creek, Colorado Territory around 1850, where anything went with no questions asked. An Eastern reporter called it the “wickedest city on the plains.” It wasn’t much of a city until a stage station was built next to it and a small settlement sprung up around it. The city became known as Julesburg in honor of old Beni. The real joke was putting Beni in charge of the stagecoach station; instantly, the line was plagued by holdups. Considering that the bandits always seemed to know which stages carried important money and which didn’t, it was only a matter of time until Beni came under suspicion. Beni was dismissed and replaced by Jack Slade, one of the most notorious killers the West ever produced. Needless to say, Slade and Beni did not get along, especially as Beni went about his stagecoach robbing a little more obviously now. The scene was set for a showdown, and Jack Slade came out second best. Beni blasted him with a shotgun and left him for dead, but miraculously, Slade recovered after the doctors had given up on him. That was lucky for Beni because the local citizens had taken him in custody and were getting set to hang him, founder of Julesburg or not. When Slade pulled through Beni was released after promising to vacate the area. He did, only to return about a year later. According to one account—Slade’s—Beni tried to kill his adversary again. In any event, whether Beni 82 BERKMAN, Alexander BERGDOLL REPORTED NEAR BERGDOLL ‘ARRESTED’ AGAIN. was actually her son and that her mother—actually Scott’s grandmother—had adopted him. Steven Benson’s defense was that the pipe bombs had probably been made by the drug-crazed Scott, who was seeking to destroy the family. The pipe bombs, the defense argued, must have gone off sooner than Scott had anticipated. However, prosecution witnesses contradicted that line of reasoning; one of them testified that Steven had once declared he had learned how to make pipe bombs years before. A purchase order for materials used for such devices was found to bear Steven’s finger- and palm prints. While no one had actually seen Steven plant the bombs, the circumstantial evidence was strong enough for the jury to quickly bring in a guilty verdict. Steven, then 35, was sentenced to two consecutive terms of life imprisonment with no parole for at least 50 years. CITY . . . Perhaps the most frantic headline of all appeared in the New York Times: BERGDOLL’S INITIALS AND ARROW ON TREE. Finally tiring of the chase, Bergdoll—who had slipped in and out of the country at least a half-dozen times—surrendered on May 27, 1939, sailing into New York aboard the German liner Bremen. Reports said he had fled Hitler’s Germany to avoid being drafted into the army there; however, as an American citizen, Bergdoll was not subject to German military service. Bergdoll’s case was debated in Congress and pressure was put on President Franklin D. Roosevelt to deny amnesty that had been granted to all other draft evaders and deserters. Bergdoll was sentenced to a total of seven years at hard labor. He was released early in 1944. Nineteen years later, suffering mental deterioration, he was confined to a psychiatric hospital in Richmond, Va. He died there on January 27, 1966. Bergdoll, Grover Cleveland (1893–1966) World War I draft dodger No draft dodger in American history was as infamous as Grover Cleveland Bergdoll, a handsome Philadelphia millionaire playboy who refused to report to his local draft board in 1917. Bergdoll was not captured until January 1920; eventually, he was sentenced to five years imprisonment. In a bizarre escape, Bergdoll talked his military escort into allowing him to retrieve a gold cache of $105,000 he said was hidden in his home, took them there and then eluded them. Over the next two decades the federal government spent millions of dollars trying to recapture him. Private “vigilantes” tried to kidnap, lynch or murder him. During this time Bergdoll flitted between America and various hideouts in Europe, but remarkably, he spent a large portion of the time hidden in the family mansion in Philadelphia with his wife and children. An overview of newspaper headlines perhaps best illustrates the comic quality of the desperate hunt. Some read: Berger, Meyer (1898–1959) reporter Although totally lacking the flamboyance of such other great crime reporters as Ike White, Charles MacArthur and Ben Hecht, Meyer “Mike” Berger was probably the greatest of his or any other day. He brought a sense of quiet, self-effacing dignity and a devotion to accuracy for which the field was hardly renowned. All doors were open to Berger, whether they belonged to distinguished citizens or secretive mobsters. Whenever a rampaging horde of crime reporters from the more than 10 New York City newspapers then in existence would descend on the home of a well-known citizen drawn into a criminal investigation, they would shove Berger to the front and announce: “This is Mr. Meyer Berger of the New York Times. He would like to ask some questions.” This same respect for the Times man was shown in a most unusual way by Arthur (Dutch Schultz) Flegenheimer after the reporter had covered one of his many trials. An incensed Schultz sought out Berger, demanded to know if he had written the story in which someone was quoted as saying Dutch was a “pushover for a blonde.” Quaking, Berger admitted he was. “Pushover for a blonde!” the gangster raged. “What kind of language is that to use in the New York Times?” Berger was nominated for a Pulitzer Prize in 1932 for his stories on Al Capone’s Chicago trial that had captured the character of America’s most famous gangster far better than the more so-called definitive efforts. When Abe Reles, the Murder Inc. informer, “went out the window” of a Coney Island hotel in which he was SEAS SEARCHED IN BERGDOLL HUNT . . . BERGDOLL DISGUISED AS WOMAN POSSIBLY . . . SEARCH FRUITLESS. . . . BANKER COUNSELS PATIENCE IN BERGDOLL CASE: HAS NO CLUE TO THE FUGITIVE . . . INDIANA MARSHAL SAYS DRAFT DODGER WENT INTO KENTUCKY . . . MAN IN FEMALE GARB TAKEN FOR BERGDOLL . . . BERGDOLL NEARING MEXICO . . . SEEK BERGDOLL IN MOHAWK TOWNS . . . BERGDOLL SUSPECT FREED . . . BERGDOLL CAPTURE HOAX OF SUMMER . . . ONEONTA PRISONER NOT BERGDOLL . . . 83 BERKMAN, Alexander being held under police “safekeeping,” Berger climbed out on the ledge where Reles would have stood—if indeed he had gone willingly—and told his readers what Reles saw and heard and what he must have felt. Berger won a Pulitzer Prize for his brilliant coverage of the 1949 shooting of 13 persons in Camden, N.J. by an insane veteran named Howard Unruh. The reporter followed the mad killer’s trail, talking to 50 persons who had watched segments of Unruh’s movements. The account, written in two and a half hours and running 4,000 words, was printed in the Times without any editorial changes. When Berger died nine years later, very few of his colleagues knew that he had given his prize money to Unruh’s aged mother. FPO FIG #17 TO BE PICKED-UP FROM PREVIOUS ED. Berkman, Alexander (1870–1936) anarchist and wouldbe assassin In one of the most tortured assassination attempts ever, anarchist Alexander Berkman tried but failed to kill a leading industrialist of the late 19th century. Few men were more hated by labor and radical forces in this country than Henry Clay Frick, chairman and strongman of the Carnegie Steel Co., who was blamed as much or more for the company’s abysmal working conditions as his partner, Andrew Carnegie. During the terrible Homestead Steel Strike of 1892, Carnegie left for a vacation in Scotland to avoid being around when the great labor crisis erupted over the workers’ refusal to accept a reduction in wages. Carnegie wanted the strike crushed by any means, and no one was more capable and indeed eager to do so than Frick. He recruited a private army of 300 Pinkertons and fortified the company’s mills at Homestead, Pa. Then, under cover of night, he sent the Pinkertons by barge up the Monongahela River. They opened fire on the strikers without warning, killing several, including a small boy, and wounding scores of others. The strikers countered with burning oil, dynamite and homemade cannon. With his army stymied, Frick turned to the governor for aid and 8,000 militiamen were dispatched to the scene. During the stalemate Frick continued his opposition to unionization despite a rising anger in the country. On July 23, 1892 Frick was in his private office with his chief aide, John Leishman, planning company strategy when a young man posing as an agent for a New York “employment firm” received permission to enter. Actually, the man was 21-year-old Alexander Berkman, a fiery anarchist and lover of another famous anarchist, Emma Goldman. Berkman was outraged at Frick’s behavior during the strike and resolved to assassinate him as an act of liberation on behalf of his work- Anarchist Alexander Berkman is shown after his assassination attempt on steel magnate Henry Clay Frick during the Homestead Steel Strike of 1892. ing comrades. He first tried to do so by making a bomb but failed to produce a workable model. Emma then went into the streets as a prostitute to raise money in order to buy a gun. She was picked up by a kindly older man who guessed her amateur status and sent her home with $10. With that, Berkman bought the assassination weapon. The actual attempt was best described by a contemporary account in Harper’s Weekly: Mr. Frick had been sitting with his face half turned from the door, his right leg thrown over the arm of his chair . . . and almost before he had realized the presence of a third party in the room, the man fired at him. The aim had been for the brain, but the sudden turning of the chairman spoiled it, and the bullet ploughed its way into the left side of his neck. The shock staggered Mr. Frick. Mr. Leishman jumped up and faced the assailant. As he did so another shot was fired and a sec- 84 BERTILLON system ond bullet entered Mr. Frick’s neck, but on the left side. Again the aim had been bad. Mr. Leishman, who is a small man, sprang around the desk, and just as the assailant was firing the third time, he seized his hand and threw it upward and back. The bullet embedded itself in the ceiling back of where the man was standing . . . Mr. Frick recovered almost instantly from the two shots and ran to the assistance of Leishman, who was grappling with the would-be assassin . . . The exertion made the blood spurt from his wounds and it dyed the clothing of the assailant. The struggle lasted fully two minutes. Not a word was spoken by any one, and no cry had been uttered. The fast-increasing crowd in the street looked up at it open-mouthed and apparently paralyzed (Frick’s upper-floor office could be readily seen into from across the street). There were no calls for the police and no apparent sign of excitement, only spellbound interest. The three men swayed to and fro in struggle, getting all the time nearer to the windows. Once the assailant managed to shake himself loose, but before he could bring his revolver again into play, Mr. Leishman knocked his knees from under him, and the combined weight of himself and Mr. Frick bore the man to the floor. In the fall, he succeeded in loosening one hand and with it he drew an old-fashioned dirk-knife from his pocket and began slashing with it. He held it in his left hand. Mr. Frick was trying to hold him on that side. Again and again, the knife plunged into Mr. Frick until seven distinct wounds had been made, and then Mr. Frick succeeded in catching and holding the arm. At the first sign of the knife the crowd in the street seemed to recover itself and there were loud calls of “Police!” “Fire!” The clerks in the main office recovered from their stupefaction, and rushed pell-mell into the office of their chief. Deputy Sheriff May, who happened to be in the office, was in the lead. He drew a revolver, and was about to use it, when Mr. Frick cried: “Don’t shoot! Don’t kill him! The law will punish him.” The deputy’s hand was seized and held by one of the clerks, while half a dozen others fell on the prostrate assailant. The police were in the office in a few minutes and took the man away. Fully two thousand people had gathered in the street, and there were cries of “Shoot him! Lynch him!” deported in the Red Scare roundups, Berkman and Goldman became the primary spokespersons for American anarchism. They were sent back to their native Russia, where they were welcomed by the new Soviet government, but the incompatibility of anarchism and communism soon forced them both to leave. Berkman settled first in Sweden, then Germany and finally in France. He continued his anarchist writing and organized and edited many of Goldman’s work. He did some translating and ghostwriting for European and American publishers but needed contributions from friends and comrades to survive. Both despondent and ill, he committed suicide in 1936. H. L. Mencken wrote of Berkman that he was a “transparently honest man . . . a shrewder and a braver spirit than has been seen in public among us since the Civil War.” Berkowitz, David R. See “SON OF SAM.” Berman, Otto “Abbadabba” (1889–1935) policy game fixer Few rackets have ever produced as much money for underworld coffers as the numbers game, and although the profit slice is 40 percent or more, crime bosses have always searched for ways to give the suckers even less of a break. Otto “Abbadabba” Berman was for a time a magician at this, as his nickname indicates. During the 1930s Berman devised a system for rigging the results of the game so that only a lesser-played number would win. He worked for Dutch Schultz, the crime czar who controlled the bulk of the numbers game in New York, including most of the action in black Harlem. At the time, the winning number was derived from the betting statistics at various race tracks. The underworld could not control the figures at the New York tracks, but during the periods when those courses were closed, the number was based on the results from tracks that the underworld had successfully infiltrated, such as New Orleans’ Fair Grounds, Chicago’s Hawthorne and Cincinnati’s Coney Island. Berman was able to figure out how much money to put into the mutual machines to have a low-played number come out. It was estimated that Abbadabba’s magic added 10 percent to every million dollars a day the underworld took in. In 1935 Dutch Schultz was assassinated by vote of the Luciano-Lansky national crime syndicate, allegedly because Schultz had announced he intended to kill Thomas E. Dewey, whose racket-busting activities were hampering underworld operations. Luciano especially was concerned about the ramifications of killing a man of Dewey’s stature. His concern, however, was no Despite a total of nine wounds, Frick was back at his desk within a week, but Berkman spent 14 years in prison before being pardoned in 1906. Like most acts of terrorism, his attack on Frick had not helped the intended beneficiaries. In fact, the strikers generally denounced the act, though many with seemingly little conviction. From 1906 until 1919, when they were 85 BETHEA, Rainey contradictory. The real death knell for the system came when two prisoners lodged in the same penitentiary were found to have the same Bertillon measurements, looked alike and even had virtually the same names. The Will West–William West case was the prime factor in convincing law authorities to switch to fingerprinting as an identification method. See also: FINGERPRINTING, “WEST BROTHERS.” doubt heightened by the opportunity he saw to take over the Schultz numbers racket. Schultz and three of his favorite underlings were cut down at the Palace Chophouse in Newark while having dinner. Unfortunately for the mob, one of those shot with Schultz was Berman. His loss was to cost the mob literally millions of dollars a year, for while others tried to imitate the technique of what Luciano’s aide, Vito Genovese, called “the Yid adding machine,” few approached even a fraction of his results. See also: NUMBERS RACKET, DUTCH SCHULTZ. Berrett-Molway taxi cab case Bethea, Rainey (1914–1936) last publicly executed man The last public execution in America was held in 1936. The victim was a 22-year-old black man named Rainey Bethea, and his execution at Owensboro, Ky. remains one of the most shameful episodes in U.S. history. Because Rainey had killed a 70-year-old white woman, public opinion was at a fever pitch, and the county sheriff, a woman named Florence Thompson, decided to stage the execution in an open field so that thousands of witnesses could be accommodated. By the night before the execution, Owensboro was swamped with visitors from all over the country; by dawn more than 20,000 persons had gathered at the execution site. Only six blacks were present—virtually all the local blacks had fled the town during the previous night’s drunken revelry, which was punctuated by calls for a mass lynching. Each time the hangman tested the scaffold, it snapped open to the appreciative cheers of the crowd. Bethea reached the scaffold at 5:12 A.M. and the execution moved briskly, authorities now fearing the crowd might get out of hand. When the bolt snapped, a joyous roar swept over the field and the crowd surged closer. Souvenir hunters almost immediately attacked the dangling, still-warm body, stripping off pieces of the condemned man’s clothing and in some instances trying to carve out chunks of flesh. Meanwhile, doctors fought their way through the melee to certify Bethea’s death and then cried out that his heart was still beating. The spectators groaned and pulled back, waiting. Bethea was finally pronounced dead at 5:45, and once more the souvenir hunters charged forward, a great scuffle taking place for possession of the death hood. See also: EXECUTIONS, PUBLIC. murder trial The murder trial of two men, Clement Molway and Louis Berrett, both Boston taxi drivers, in February 1934 is memorable for the sobering second thoughts it caused the jury. Eight undisputed eyewitnesses identified the pair as the men who murdered an employee of the Paramount Theatre in Lynn, Mass. Just before the case was to go to the jury, a man convicted with two others in another robbery-murder confessed to the crime. Berrett and Molway were freed and won compensation. Newspapers widely reported the deep impression made on the jurors, who admitted they would have convicted the innocent men. Typical was the following comment of the jury foreman, Hosea E. Bradstreet: Those witnesses were so positive of their identification that it was only natural that we should be misled. While I sat at the trial I somehow hated the thought of sending those two men to the electric chair; but we were sworn to perform our duty and we would have done it—to the best of our ability. . . . This trial has taught me one thing. Before I was a firm believer in capital punishment, I’m not now. Bertillon system criminal identification method From the mid-1880s through 1904 or 1905 the standard method of criminal identification in the United States was the system invented in 1883 by Alphonse Bertillon, a Frenchman. Bertillon concluded there were 12 measurements on an adult that do not change, such as the length and width of the head, the length of the left foot, left forearm and left little finger, and so on. Criminals were photographed and measured according to this method, and records were compiled on the assumption that no two people would ever look alike and have exactly the same measurements. There were several flaws in the Bertillon system, not the least being that more than one arresting officer often made entry of a subject’s “pedigree” and the material would be Bickford, Maria (1823–1845) murder victim The murder of Maria Bickford by Albert Tirrell in Boston on October 27, 1845 was noteworthy because the young man was of the Weymouth Tirrells, one of New England’s wealthiest and most socially prominent families. However, the case was to become even more noteworthy since it represented the first effective use of sleepwalking as a defense. 86 BICYCLE police The 25-year-old Tirrell was the bane of his family. Although married, he was notorious for picking up a whore and going off with her for a week or longer at a time. In one of the family’s constant efforts to get Albert to reform, they sent him on the road as a representative for one of the Tirrell businesses, Tirrell’s Triumphant Footwear. Exactly how providing Albert with such an ideal opportunity for whoring would lead to his reformation was, at least in retrospect, a mystery. In New Bedford, Mass., he met 23-year-old Maria Bickford and was soon pursuing his usual desires. But in the case of this woman, it was a matter of true love; Tirrell brought Bickford back to Boston, ensconcing her in a waterfront flat where he could visit her regularly, while continuing to pretend to his family that he had indeed become a solid citizen. However, the Tirrell-Bickford love affair was not a quiet one. They screamed, fought, got drunk frequently and eventually were evicted for boisterous behavior. Tirrell’s conduct became the talk of Boston. The family could no longer ignore this, and finally, Tirrell’s wife and brother-in-law brought criminal charges of adultery against him. In the year 1845 in Boston, adultery was a word spoken only in whispers. Indeed, the act was punishable by a fine and six months imprisonment. Even worse, a convicted man would almost certainly be treated as a pariah, shunned by society. Painfully aware of this, Tirrell was most contrite when visited in his cell by the family. “He implored his young wife for forgiveness,” says an account of the day. The fact that he was in the process of “drying out” added to the heart-rending scene. Finally, on October 20 the family, including Tirrell’s wife and brother-in-law, capitulated. They withdrew the charges and the prodigal son was turned loose upon signing a bond promising to “keep the peace and observe propriety in his behavior.” Back home for an hour, Tirrell kissed his wife and said he had to go out “on business.” Like a homing pigeon, he headed for the house of Joel Lawrence on Cedar Lane in the Beacon Hill district, where Maria Bickford had taken up residence. Tirrell brought with him a demijohn of rum. During the reunion of the lovers that followed, landlord Lawrence later said that he thought the house was falling down. Eventually, the lovers quieted a bit until the following evening. Then the revelry started again but soon turned into a nasty quarrel when Tirrell found some letters written to Maria by a new admirer. Over the next several evenings the pair’s frolicking was increasingly interrupted by harsh arguments, a matter compounded when a Miss Priscilla Moody from down the hall, unaware that Tirrell was around one afternoon, dropped by to ask Maria to help her out since she had two gentlemen calling on her shortly. When Tirrell erupted in anger, Maria just laughed and said if she did anything like that, it would just be “funning.” The Tirrell-Bickford funning came to an end at 4:30 the morning of October 27. Smoke was seen pouring out of Maria’s window, and the landlord, who had been awakened about an hour earlier by another of the incessant screaming matches between the lovers, broke in. Someone had deliberately set fire to the room. It was not Maria. She was lying on the floor, totally nude, her throat slit almost from ear to ear. When Lawrence viewed the scene, he shouted out, “Where’s Albert?” Albert had headed for the Boston docks, he joined a ship’s crew and sailed away as a common seaman. It was not until February 27, 1846 that he was apprehended aboard the schooner Cathay in New York and returned to Boston to face murder charges. There was little reason to doubt that Tirrell would be convicted. There were witnesses who saw him leave the Lawrence house moments before the fire. Those who had seen him testified that he wore no shirt under his coat—his bloody shirt had been found in the murder room. An acquaintance of Tirrell’s, Sam Head, told of how young Albert had turned up at his home and asked, “Sam— how came I here?” He stank of rum. With such a strong case against him, Tirrell was considered as good as convicted. Nevertheless, the Tirrell family decided to strive mightily to save the errant son, recoiling in horror from the stigma that would attach to all if Albert were hanged for murder. The Honorable Rufus B. Choate was retained to defend Albert. Choate, then at the height of his oratorial powers, was rightly considered a courtroom wizard, but everyone was convinced that in this case he was espousing a hopeless cause. It would take a miracle to save Tirrell. Which was exactly what Choate came up with. Choate stunned the court when he conceded that his client had indeed killed “this unfortunate woman.” However, the lawyer said, “I will prove that he cannot be held responsible under the law because he was asleep at the time.” While the courtroom buzzed with an argument never heard before in an American court of law, Choate continued: I do not mean, of course, that he was asleep in the usual physical sense. He was mentally asleep. Although he was capable of physical movement and action, he had no knowledge or judgment of what he was doing. His mental and moral faculties were in deepest slumber. He was a man in somnambulism, acting in a dream. Gentlemen, I will show that the defendant Tirrell has been a sleepwalker since early youth, and that while in a condition of somnambulism that often lasted for many hours, he performed feats of almost incredible complexity and dexterity. 87 BIDDLE brothers climb high in the mast and then come down safely, all the while acting “like a man in his sleep.” Lawyer Choate then recalled the words of Samuel Head, who had seen Tirrell shortly after Maria Bickford’s murder. “He seemed like a man coming out of a stupor. He said, ‘Sam, how came I here?’” Despite the prosecution’s attempts to knock down Choate’s unique defense of his client, the jury was duly impressed. It took less than two hours to bring in a verdict that established a legal milestone. Albert Tirrell was found not guilty and freed. As time passed, the Tirrell verdict did not sit well with the public, which clearly felt the family money had gotten him off. A man who could slit a pretty girl’s throat and—allegedly—not remember it was, general opinion held, more likely rum soaked than in a somnambulistic trance. Finally, bowing to public opinion, the family had Albert confined where he would no longer be a danger, sleeping or awake. See also: SLEEPWALKING AND CRIME. Witness after witness took the stand to tell of Tirrell’s past sleepwalking escapades and accomplishments. His mother said her son had first shown sleepwalking tendencies at the age of three. He had been found in the kitchen sound asleep smearing jam on the walls. He started sleepwalking regularly. Mrs. Tirrell took to tying his son to his bed, but the boy showed a slumbrous ability to untie knots he could not undo when awake. After the lad had been discovered to have climbed out of his bedroom window and perched precariously on the porch roof, Mrs. Tirrell, according to the testimony of a workman, ordered an iron grill over the window “to keep the tyke from killing himself.” The family physician reported that at the age of 10, the sleepwalking boy, barefoot and in only his nightgown, had been found in the late hours of a winter night just as he completed building a snowman. “The boy came near dying of pneumonia as a result of that,” the doctor testified. According to the evidence presented, Tirrell’s sleepwalking escapades became less frequent in adulthood but tended to be more dangerous and violent. His wife Cynthia awoke one night to find him trying to strangle her. Her desperate screams awakened him, and he expressed surprise and contrition, begged her forgiveness and then lapsed into a peaceful sleep. A sailor from the Cathay told of watching the sleeping and starknaked Tirrell cross the ice-covered deck of the vessel, bicycle police Late in the 19th century most big-city police departments found they could not adequately patrol their communities with just police on foot or on horseback. What they needed was a “motorized” force on bicycle. Typical was the New York Bicycle Squad formed in 1895 after police commissioner Theodore Roosevelt angrily declared the traffic of “steam carriages,” the forerunner of the automobile; huge horse-drawn trucks; and bicycles had made Eighth Avenue and the waterfront area unsafe for pedestrians. To regulate traffic in these areas, he assigned bicycles to four officers. The speed limit for all vehicles was set at eight miles an hour, and speeders were flagged down by a traffic cop on a bike who would demand to see the driver’s license. By 1902 the Bicycle Squad was enlarged to 100 men, and Commissioner Thomas Andrew could proudly announce a total of 1,366 arrests that year of “civilian wheelmen who persisted in risking the lives and limbs of others by ‘scorching’ along the Central Park drives.” He added that a great many of these “bicyclistscorchers were also of that despicable breed known as ‘mashers.’” By 1910 the horseless carriages had ceased being the mere playthings of the very wealthy and eccentric and were starting to choke the city streets. The Bicycle Squad did heroic work trying to contain these automobile “speed demons.” It did not occur to anyone until 1912 to provide the police with automobiles so that they could give chase to other such vehicles. In that year the Traffic Division was established. Still, the Bicycle Squad hung on, providing sundry services until A New York City bicycle cop runs down one of the new automobile “speed demons” around the turn of the century. 88 BIGAMY finally being abandoned in 1934. Rather than sell hundreds of bicycles to commercial dealers, the police auctioned them off to city kids, with some of the police bikes going for a mere 25¢. Of course many police departments today have on hand a few bicycles for special duty, such as during traffic gridlock. Biddle brothers melodrama about the case. It was called The Biddle Boys and played to capacity houses for many years. Big Store major confidence game operation Prior to 1900, swindles were pretty much “short cons” in which the victim was cheated for a few dollars, perhaps a few hundred and occasionally a few thousand. It was difficult to keep the sucker in tow long enough to make a really big killing. Buck Boatright, an ingenious gambler and the originator of a little con game called the smack, solved this problem by devising the most elaborate and successful confidence racket ever invented. Boatright’s plan was to set up a permanent base of operations, either an office or a store with seemingly respectable or authentic trimmings as well as many employees and “customers.” Here the sucker could be skinned with near-scientific precision. Boatright set up his operation with the backing of a number of con men who became his partners. The first requirement was to establish a protected territory in which police and politicians would cooperate for either a flat payoff or a percentage of the take. Boatright’s selection was Webb City, Mo., where in 1900 he opened what was to become known as the Big Store. Boatright’s operation was a fake gambling club, featuring among other things fixed sporting events (generally foot races or fights). So convincing was the atmosphere in Boatright’s establishment, which soon spawned a branch in Council Bluffs, Iowa, that a sucker almost never suspected he was losing his money in a completely play-act arena where everyone except the victim was a member of the gang. After the sucker was roped in by being allowed to win a few small bets, he then was informed of a big fix and induced to bet thousands, only to watch as something unforeseen went wrong. In a footrace or fight the participant the victim was betting on might suddenly “drop dead,” triggering a false panic since such sporting events were illegal. In other cases the victim would be kissed off when the two operators who suckered him in, and who allegedly lost their money with his, got into an argument that would end with one pulling a gun and “killing” the other. In this play-acted “sting” the shot con man would slump to the floor with blood gushing from his mouth. This would really be chicken blood secreted in a pouch in the man’s mouth and bitten open at the right moment. It was an act well calculated to put the sucker “on the run” since, while he had intended only to break the law against illegal betting, he now believed he was an accessory to murder. murderers and death-row escapees Ed and Jack Biddle escaped from the Allegheny County Jail on January 30, 1902, 16 days before they were to be executed for the killing of a store owner and a police detective. When details of the escape became known, it scandalized Pittsburgh and much of the rest of the country since the escape was engineered by 26-year-old Katherine Scoffel, the warden’s wife. She had come to their death cells a month earlier, as was her custom, to try to bring religion to doomed men and had fallen in love with Ed Biddle, eight years her junior. Mrs. Scoffel supplied the brothers with guns and hacksaws and led them to freedom through the warden’s home, which had a private entrance to the institution. She had drugged her husband so he would be asleep and made sure their four children were not home at the time. Two guards were shot superficially and another was overpowered during the breakout; when they were found, the alarm was sounded. The warden, apprised of the facts, notified the police of the Biddle brothers’ escape and told them to arrest his wife as an accomplice. Then he wrote a letter of resignation, gathered up his children and left the prison for the last time. Meanwhile, the three fugitives made it as far as Butler, Pa., switching from the carriage Mrs. Scoffel had secured for them to a stolen sleigh. They were stopped by a seven-man roadblock, and in a furious gun battle 26-year-old Jack Biddle was shot dead. Ed Biddle was hit three times in the lung. As he was dying, Katherine Scoffel begged him to shoot her. He did so, but while Biddle died a few hours after being taken into custody, Mrs. Scoffel survived. When she recovered, she was tried and sentenced to serve two years in the penitentiary of which she had once been the first lady. Asked during her trial how a woman of her standing could love a vicious criminal like Ed Biddle, she said: “I can forgive anything he’s done. Except one. I can forgive his killings, his robberies, anything. But I cannot forgive him for failing to kill me so that I could be with him forever in death.” Katherine Scoffel was released from prison in 18 months and lived until 1926, ostracized and in disgrace. Often through the years, she would see an advertisement in a newspaper for a performance of a 89 BILER Avenue Although the big store would seem to be an operation that could fleece only the most gullible, it was carried off with such convincing performances that many men of business and wealth were easily taken, never for a moment suspecting a swindle. Perhaps the greatest of all big store operators was Lou Blonger, a master fixer, who for four decades made Denver, Colo. the “con man’s capital of America.” See also: DOLLAR STORE, SMACK GAME. Courting exposure, indeed, seems very common among bigamists. A gray-haired 52-year-old night watchman was clapped in the county jail in New Haven, Conn. for having two wives—living a mere block from each other. He was exposed when a long distance call for one wife mistakenly went to the other. One Michigan bigamist got caught when his wife went by a photographer’s shop and spotted a picture of her husband and a stunning young bride. A Massachussetts man’s bigamy was revealed when two of his wives met in court while both were bringing action against him for nonsupport. Harried bigamists often find themselves mired deep in serious crime before long. The “flying lothario” of Memphis made the headlines from coast to coast after it was found he kept one wife in Tennessee and another in California, commuting back and forth each week by plane in order to spend weekdays in Memphis and weekends in Los Angeles. Travel costs murdered him, and he finally confessed to stealing $19,000 from the Memphis firm where he worked as a cashier. Few bigamists are exceptionally attractive. In fact, some of the country’s most successful bigamists are bald and fortyish, both in age and waistline. Master swindler and bigamist Sigmund Engel was only coming into his prime when he was arrested at the age of 73. At the other end of the scale was a 17-year-old schoolboy who had already walked up the aisle three times, evidently incapable of saying no to older women. Probably the only way to end bigamy would be to enact a proposal made in recent years by several district attorneys that a central national office be established to receive notice of and record every marriage made anywhere in the country. In addition, every person being married would have to be fingerprinted. Obviously, while this would effectively stop the bigamists, the proposal’s disregard for American concepts of civil liberties outweighs its usefulness as a measure to eliminate bigamy. bigamy Few crimes are as welcome to newspaper editors as bigamy, the act of ceremonially marrying another person when already legally married. Although the typical state statute exacts up to five years imprisonment for the offense, few bigamists are ever punished, usually getting off with a stern lecture provided they make amends by speedily annulling the illegitimate marriage. Meanwhile, the newspapers have their human interest story, especially when, as often happens, the bigamist’s spouses violently denounce or attack one another. One such case involved two women who went at each other in a Chicago courthouse corridor, pulling hair, gouging and biting. “I’m still in love with him,” wife number one announced to reporters, after the two battling women were separated. “I’ll help him all I can.” Which is how things turned out. Since he was her husband first, she got him while the second wife got only an annulment. Triumphantly, in fact, wife number one paid the $500 fine her errant husband faced for his misdeeds. It is not unusual to find a bigamist with six or eight spouses who still does not end up with a prison sentence, unless he or she is also guilty of stealing his or her spouses’ money or defrauding them of their fortunes. Few prosecuting attorneys will expend much energy on bigamy complaints because as many as a dozen investigators would have to be put on a single bigamy case full time to clear the tangled web. Another discouraging factor is that bigamists often have wives and families in different states. As a result, for every bigamist finally hauled into court, possibly as many as a hundred or more go free and undetected. Many bigamists have bizarre or zany reasons for committing the crime. Often, they have concocted and sold their spouses wildly improbable tales to sustain their deception. This was the case of a Washington woman who married two Canadian navy seamen, assuring each that she had a twin sister who had married the other. When it was discovered that both “twins” had identical cuts on a finger, her double life was exposed. Biler Avenue Chicago vice district From the 1870s until the turn of the century, Pacific Avenue, nicknamed Biler Avenue, was “one of the most disreputable streets in the city, built up with hastily constructed tenements which were occupied by the most depraved of men and women, black, white and mixed.” Yet it was still held in particular fondness by the reigning political powers. Biler Avenue and its side streets were filled with bordellos of the lowest class and lowest price in the city. A typical establishment was Dan Webster’s big groggery and bagnio at Nos. 130–132, which the Chicago Times called an “infernal 90 BILLY the Kid Deputy Ayers, with three prisoners chained to him, bedded down in the front room along with Deputy DuVal, who had Billee in tow. Deputy Wilkerson and the fifth prisoner slept in the small rear room of the cabin. About 3 A.M. Billee worked out of one of his handcuffs and managed to reach DuVal’s revolver. He fired but in the darkness only succeeded in wounding DuVall in the head. He then turned the gun on Ayers before the deputy had a chance to react out of his sleep, shooting him in the right nipple. Meanwhile Wilkerson had rolled over into a sitting position in the doorway of hell hole. There it is that the rottenest, vilest, filthiest strumpets, black and white, reeking with corruption, are bundled together, catering indiscriminately to the lust of all.” What made the activities of the establishment most noteworthy was, as the Times discovered, that the building was owned by Michael C. Hickey, the superintendent of police. Because of the stir caused by the Times exposé, Hickey was hauled before the Police Board for trial, but he was acquitted of any wrongdoing since there was no way a superintendent of police could possibly have known about the character of his tenants. An even more startling revelation was that an entire block on Harrison Street was the property of Mayor Carter Harrison. “Our Carter” the Times said, “owns the entire block between Clark Street and Pacific Avenue. On the corner of Clark, and running west to the middle of the block, stands a hotel. The other half of the block is occupied by four or five ordinary frame houses. One is used for a lager-beer saloon, another for a restaurant, still another for a tobacco store, a fourth as a hotel on a small scale, and right among these, as snug as a bug, Our Carter has allowed a number of gay damsels to nestle down, and they are rather homely ones at that.” Even that last withering comment was not enough to keep Carter Harrison from becoming a five-term mayor. Biler Avenue thus typified Chicago’s tolerance of political venality, an attitude that was to last for many decades. See also: CARTER HARRISON. Billee, John (?–1890) western murderer The idea of bringing in a badman dead or alive was an Old West concept that did not usually apply to deputy federal marshals. For each prisoner brought back, the marshal was paid the sum of $2 plus a mileage allowance of 6¢ per mile going and 10¢ coming back provided he had his man. Out of this sum, the marshal had to pay all his own expenses and feed his prisoner. However, if he lost his prisoner or was forced to kill him, the lawman lost his fee and mileage allowance! The system encouraged marshals to try their best to keep their quarry alive. A noted case that underscored the point involved John Billee, who killed a man named W. P. Williams in April 1888 and buried the corpse in a ravine in the Kiamichi Mountains. Federal deputies caught up with Billee in a wide sweep during which they also netted four other wanted men. On their way back to Fort Smith, deputies Perry DuVall, Will Ayers and James Wilkerson stopped with their prisoners to spend the night at a deserted two-room cabin outside Muskogee, Okla. in Indian Territory. Famous “flopped,” i.e., reversed, portrait of Billy the Kid started the legend that he was left-handed. 91 BILLY the Kid An enthusiastic Police Gazette artist was so awed by the Kid’s exploits that he awarded him two right hands. the next room and Billee put a shot into his back. Ayers then lunged at the outlaw and battled Billee to keep him from getting off another shot. While this was going on, Wilkerson leveled his own gun and aimed carefully at the outlaw, trying to get off an incapacitating, rather than a fatal, shot, which he did. By keeping Billee alive long enough for him to meet his doom on the gallows at Fort Smith on January 16, 1890, the three wounded deputies were able to collect their fee for the outlaw. an example of the man by having his feet and neck tied together. There is no evidence that this punishment had any lasting effect on Billington, who became the scourge of the Plymouth colony, starting feuds with a number of settlers. One Pilgrim who refused to knuckle under to Billington’s bullying was John Newcomen, a neighbor, and the pair became mortal enemies. Finally, one day in 1630 Billington ambushed Newcomen while he was out in the woods hunting, shooting him dead with a blunderbuss from behind a rock. Billington was quickly seized, tried by the Pilgrims and summarily hanged. Ironically, many Americans today proudly trace their ancestry back to the Mayflower and Billington, the American colonies’ first murderer. Billington, John (?–1630) America’s first murderer Even before the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth Rock in 1620, Capt. Miles Standish had already had his fill of one John Billington aboard the Mayflower. Standish reprimanded Billington, a foul-mouthed brawler from the London slums, and eventually was forced to make 92 BINAGGIO, Charles Billy the Kid (1859–1881) outlaw With that pledge Billy the Kid became the chief killer of the Lincoln County War, lining up with McSween. When the opposing forces besieged the town of Lincoln for several days, Billy killed numerous enemies. McSween was murdered during the siege and his death ended the war, as Chisum saw he lacked the power to win by himself. Billy the Kid went back to rustling and organized a gang of gunfighters and cutthroats. He robbed Chisum’s cattle as well as others’. Eventually, Gov. Lew Wallace offered an amnesty to all participants in the Lincoln County War, and for a time, Billy considered accepting it. But he was leery of the “formality” of the trial he would have to face and stayed on the loose. He permanently lost his chance to go straight after killing a lawman. Billy and his gang killed several more men over the next year or so but suffered their losses as well. Sheriff Pat Garrett stalked Billy and in one ambush killed Billy’s close friend Tom O’Folliard, whom he mistook for the Kid. In December 1880 Charlie Bowdre died in an ambush at Stinking Springs, New Mexico Territory. Trapped by Garrett and his posse, Billy and several of his confederates were forced to surrender. Billy was convicted of the murder of Sheriff William Brady and sentenced to hang. Confined in a top-floor room of the Lincoln County Courthouse, he made a sensational escape, killing deputies James Bell, whom he liked, and sadistic Bob Olinger, whom he hated. He shot Olinger down like a dog in the street outside the courthouse and fled. Billy was a hero to those who shared his sympathies in the Lincoln County War and to Mexicans, among whom he often hid out. Finally, Garrett located Billy the Kid hiding at old Fort Sumner. When Billy walked into a darkened room, Garrett shot him down without giving him a chance to surrender. He was buried in a common grave with his two buddies, O’Folliard and Bowdre. The gravestone bore the inscription “Pals.” After Billy the Kid died, the legend-makers went to work. The first book about him appeared three weeks after his death. Most of his biographers probably had never been west of New York. Sheriff Garrett contributed a volume, which greatly built up Billy and in the process, of course, the man who had gotten him. Serious students of Billy the Kid have been mystified by his place in the folklore of the country. His crimes were largely unimaginative and cold blooded. He lacked the verve and style that marked Jesse James, for instance, and seldom inspired the loyalty that James did. See also: CHARLIE BOWDRE, PATRICK FLOYD GARRETT, JOE GRANT, LINCOLN COUNTY WAR, TOM O’FOLLIARD, ROBERT OLINGER, DAVE RUDABAUGH, JOHN TUNSTALL. There has probably been more written about Billy the Kid than any other outlaw, which perhaps explains why so little of his true story can be accurately reconstructed. Hyperbole has been added to lies until we are left with a portrait of a young outlaw said to have killed 21 men during his 21 years. The number is an exaggeration. He did not kill a man at the age of 12 for insulting his mother as is often stated. Probably the first man the New York–born youngster—whose real name is believed to have been either William Bonney or Henry McCarty—killed was a bully named Frank “Windy” Cahill, who had called him a “pimp and a son of a bitch.” Billy gunned him down on the spot. He was arrested but almost immediately escaped from jail. In fact, he frequently escaped from jails, which probably helped to give him a romantic air. There was certainly nothing romantic about his looks. He was small, with prominent front teeth and a short, fuzzy upper lip, almost a harelip, which gave him a perpetual smile. He smiled when he killed and his smile made him look pathological, which he probably was. One moment he was good natured and the next he displayed an explosive temper. Beginning in his early teens, Billy supported himself by gambling and, when the cards ran wrong, by stealing anything from clothes to cattle. After his mother died in 1874, Billy was completely on his own. Following the Cahill killing and a few others, according to some historians, Billy hired out as a cowboy to an English gentleman rancher, John Tunstall. It was a smart move by Tunstall since Billy had been stealing his stock. Billy looked upon the Englishman as a father figure, even though Tunstall was only five or six years older. Tunstall, on the other hand, said he saw good in Billy and was determined to make a man out of him. When the Lincoln County War for much of the New Mexico Territory backcountry and the Pecos Valley broke out soon afterwards, Tunstall became a leading figure on one side. Allied with Alexander McSween and cattle king John Chisum against the business interests of the county dominated by Lawrence G. Murphy, James J. Dolan and James H. Riley, Tunstall turned out to be the first major casualty, shot down in February 1878 by gunmen supposedly deputized to arrest him on a trumped up charge. Billy saw the killing from a distance but could do nothing about it. He was deeply affected by Tunstall’s murder. “He was the only man that ever treated me like I was free-born and white,” he said. Over Tunstall’s grave he swore, “I’ll get every son-of-a-bitch who helped kill John if it’s the last thing I do.” 93 BIOFF, Willie Morris Binaggio, Charles (1909–1950) political leader and murder victim was elected governor, he would give gambling and other “wide-open” interests free rein in the state. More than $200,000 flowed in from gangland sources to help Binaggio’s plans. Forrest Smith was elected governor and Binaggio claimed credit. But Binaggio found he could not deliver on his promise to the underworld, a fact that was now common knowledge. A St. Louis newspaper broke the story that the understanding he had with the underworld called for opening up both Kansas City and St. Louis, but that the St. Louis police commissioner had blocked every one of his moves. Binaggio was forced to stall for time on his underworld agreement. The time expired, and it was obvious that Binaggio was in deep trouble. The mobs had realized that their $200,000 was a write-off. All that remained was the payoff. It was Little Joe for Binaggio and Gargotta. The murder of Charley Binaggio and his number one muscleman, Charley Gargotta, on April 6, 1950 shocked Kansas City, Mo., where Binaggio was the acknowledged political and crime boss. He was found stretched out in a swivel chair at the First District Democratic Club, his face blood soaked and four bullets in his head. Garotta lay on the floor nearby, the same number of slugs in his head. Overlooking the grisly scene were large portraits of President Harry Truman and Gov. Forest Smith. The bullet wounds in the heads of both men were arranged in two straight rows, or “two deuces.” In dice parlance, this is called Little Joe. It is also the insignia the underworld stamps on welshers when it wants the world to know that the murder was done by the mob. Clearly, Binaggio had welshed on a promise to the national crime syndicate. Only 41 at the time of his murder, Binaggio was recognized as a political “comer.” He had been born in Beaumont, Tex. As a youngster he became a drifter and was arrested twice in Denver for carrying a concealed weapon and for vagrancy. At age 23 Binaggio landed in Kansas City and joined the operations of North Side leader Johnny Lazia, who delivered votes for Democratic boss Tom Pendergast. Lazia’s reward was control of gambling, vice, liquor and racing wires in the North Side. Binaggio continued to climb the criminal ladder even after Lazia’s assassination in 1934. By 1944 he controlled all the North Side wards. In 1946 Binaggio made a splash on the national scene when President Truman ordered a purge of Congressman Roger C. Slaughter for voting against administration bills. Truman called in Jim Pendergast, the late Tom’s nephew successor, and ordered the nomination of Enos Axtell. Slaughter lost in the primary, but the Kansas City Star soon charged wholesale ballot fraud. During several probes launched on both the national and state level, a woman election watcher was shot to death on the porch of her home. Just before state hearings were scheduled to start, the safe at City Hall in Kansas City was dynamited and fraudulent ballot evidence was destroyed. Both the ballot frauds and the City Hall bombing were believed to have been masterminded by Binaggio. However, he was never indicted and only one minor hanger-on, “Snags” Klein, went to prison, for a short term. Thereafter, a power struggle broke out between Jim Pendergast and Binaggio. The former proved to be lacking the astuteness of his late uncle, and by 1948 it was obvious that Kansas City was becoming Binaggio’s town. However, Binaggio still needed a lot of funds to beat Pendergast’s entrenched machine, and he spread the word throughout the underworld that once his man Bioff, Willie Morris (1900–1955) labor racketeer and stool pigeon A noted union racketeer and ex-pimp, Willie Bioff masterminded, with George Browne, the Chicago syndicate’s extortion of an estimated $6.5 million from the Hollywood movie studios in the 1930s. Bioff was eventually convicted because of the crusading activities of right-wing columnist Westbrook Pegler, who discovered Bioff as a “guest of honor” at a lavish Hollywood party and remembered him as a two-bit panderer during his own apprenticeship as a Chicago reporter. Bioff became a pimp no later than the age of 10, when he began collecting money from other schoolboys for enjoying the favors of his “girls” on a table at the local poolhall. By his mid-teens Bioff had an entire string of prostitutes working for him and was a familiar sight in Chicago’s vice-ridden Levee area, wearing gaudy silk shirts and offering a girl for every purpose. While Bioff knew the virtue of paying for police protection, some of his activities proved just too much, and he served jail time for brutalizing his prostitutes. Yet somehow, as just seemed to happen in Chicago, Bioff escaped serving one six-month term he was sentenced to. In the meantime, while maintaining his vice activities, Bioff moved up in the Capone mob as a union slugger, a job he performed so well that he was promoted steadily up the ladder, eventually being installed by the mob as president of the International Alliance of Theatrical Stage Employes and Motion Picture Operators. In this position, Bioff teamed up with George Browne to terrorize studio executives by threatening to shut down all moviemaking. The result was enormous payoffs by the movie moguls to Bioff, Browne and numerous other members of the Capone syndicate. 94 BISBEE Massacre It was at this stage that Pegler started digging into Bioff’s record and publicizing his unsavory past. Despite charges of Pegler’s antiunionism, Bioff was forced to serve his old six-month vice sentence, although while doing his time in the Chicago House of Correction, he was provided with a private office and a tub of iced beer renewed each day. Thanks to Pegler’s efforts Bioff and Browne were convicted in 1941 of violating antiracketeering laws. Each of the pair drew a 10-year sentence. It was not a fate either appreciated, and both testified for the government in the prosecution of many top members of the syndicate, men like Frank Nitti, Phil D’Andrea, Paul Ricca, Charlie Gioe, Lou Kaufman and John Roselli. The defense attacked Bioff’s character and demanded to know why he had lied to previous grand juries. “I am just a low, uncouth person,” he replied sadly. “I’m a low-type sort of man.” Because of his testimony the top members of the Chicago syndicate went to prison. The exception was Nitti who committed suicide instead. As these crime figures went in, Bioff and Browne went out. Browne ran and hid. Bioff also traveled, finally settling in Phoenix, Ariz. under the name of William Nelson. Bioff’s nature was to court the centers of power, and in 1952 he and his wife contributed $5,000 to the senatorial campaign of a department store heir named Barry Goldwater. After the election a warm friendship developed between Arizona’s new senator and Bioff-Nelson. Just two weeks before Bioff’s untimely demise, Goldwater, an accomplished air force pilot, flew Bioff and his wife to Las Vegas and back. On November 4, 1955, Bioff went out the kitchen door of his home and climbed into his small pickup truck. His wife waved to him. Bioff waved back, then tramped on the starter. There was a blast and a flash. The truck was demolished, as was Willie Bioff. It was a little late in coming, but syndicate vengeance had been exacted. See also: PROCURING. Bird Cage Theatre gallery” FPO PICKUP FROM LAST PRINTING In the view of many in the Old West, confession did not cleanse the soul. John Heath was dragged from Tombstone’s jail and lynched for his part in the Bisbee Massacre despite the fact that his confession led to the capture of five other perpetrators. consequences. In one wild shoot-out 12 men were reportedly left dead. Care was required in the selection of the repertoire, since if too evil a villain appeared on the stage, he might soon be forced to dodge lead from outraged members of the audience. There is no accurate record of the numbers of fatalities that occurred in the Bird Cage, but while it never equaled the fabulous Oriental Saloon as a shooting gallery, it certainly provided the setting for a good many death scenes on both sides of the footlights. See also: TOMBSTONE, ARIZONA TERRITORY. Tombstone night spot and “shooting One of the more wicked establishments in Tombstone, Ariz. during the 1880s was the Bird Cage Theatre. A performance of H.M.S. Pinafore might grace its stage while harlots plied their trade in 12 tiny balcony boxes. An act more in keeping with the place was the appearance of Fatima, who belly-danced to raucous western acclaim in 1882. The owners of the theater, Bill and Lottie Hutchinson, made it a rule that the audience had to check their shooting irons upon entering, but unfortunately, the regulation was not always obeyed, often with tragic Birdman of Alcatraz 95 See ROBERT FRANKLIN BISMARCK Hall STROUD. These suspicions were not unfounded. Once jailed and subjected to some persuasion, Heath admitted knowing about the robbery plans. It was not clear whether he was merely in on the planning or had indeed done most of it, but in any event, Heath was now “cooperative” and spilled out the names of those involved: Daniel Kelley, Daniel Dowd, James “Tex” Howard, William Delaney and Comer Sample. After some months all five were rounded up, given a speedy trial and sentenced to hang. Heath, without whose admissions the others would not have been apprehended, was extended leniency and given a life sentence. Arizonians found it difficult to accept this concept of law and order. western beliefs did not hold that a man’s soul was made any less black through confession. On February 22, 1884 an irate mob of several hundred broke into the Tombstone jail, and when they were finished, John Heath dangled lifeless from a telegraph pole. In the cemetery at Tombstone, Heath’s marker can still be read. “John Heath, taken from County Jail and lynched by Bisbee mob in Tombstone, Feb. 22nd, 1884.” See also: DANIEL KELLEY. Bisbee (Arizona) kidnapping Without doubt, the largest mass kidnapping in American history occurred in 1917 in Bisbee, Ariz., once the greatest copper boom town in the country. In that year the Industrial Workers of the World, or Wobblies, staged a general strike, which, given the economy of the town, meant primarily a strike against Phelps-Dodge Copper. What happened next is not in dispute by labor historians. The company bankrolled an operation by Sheriff Harry Wheeler that gathered the largest posse in the West’s history to run the strikers out of town. In a midnight raid more than 2,000 strikers were rounded up; some 1,200 of them were jammed into cattle cars and shipped off across the desert into New Mexico. This mass abduction broke the strike and started the Wobblies on a steady decline within the union movement. As for the criminal aspects—the action was clearly an act of kidnapping—Phelps-Dodge was credited with using its gigantic financial power in Arizona to ensure that not a single man went to prison for the outrageous act. Bismarck Hall Bisbee Massacre New York dive Of all the vicious establishments that abounded in New York’s Bowery in the post–Civil War period, one that had a uniquely Old World flavor was Bismarck Hall. Low physically as well as morally, the Hall had an annex in a string of cavelike rooms buried under the sidewalk where ladies employed in the dive could entertain gentlemen. Following an Old World custom, the operator of the dive supposedly often “bought” his inmates by paying them a small sum of money binding them to him for several years. While such an agreement, of course, would have had little standing in court, its terms were quite well enforced; the girls were not allowed off the premises unless they left a “deposit” that guaranteed their return. Bismarck Hall achieved a measure of renown when Grand Duke Alexis of Russia, visiting it in the 1870s while slumming, or, as the practice was then known, “elephant hunting,” recognized a Russian countess who had fallen on hard times and was working there as a “waiter girl.” According to the story, he bought the freedom of this unnamed noblewoman and took her back to Russia and her former position of grace. robbery carnage Probably few robberies exercised the West more than what became known as the infamous Bisbee Massacre, which some historians have claimed marked the swing of the Arizona Territory from anarchy to law and order. On the evening of December 8, 1883, five masked men rode into the mining town of Bisbee and dismounted at the store of A. A. Castanda. They wore long overcoats to cover the rifles they carried. Two of the men entered the store, which was about to close. There were six customers still inside and one of them, J. C. Tappenier, reached for his gun when he saw the intruders produce their rifles. He went down in a blast of rifle fire that alerted the whole town. As curious townsfolk poured into the street to see what was going on, three lookouts outside the store started shooting to clear them away. Two men and a woman were killed in the raking fire, bringing the total death count to four, with several others wounded, before the five thieves rode out of town with $3,000 in cash and various pieces of jewelry. A sheriff’s posse from Tombstone took off in pursuit of the bandits, numbering among its ranks a tracker named John Heath. Some thought Heath did an excellent job of getting the posse to run in circles. Suspicion also focused on him for a number of other reasons, one being a report that he had been suspected of heading an outlaw gang some time earlier in Brewery Gulch. Black Bart (1830–1917?) stagecoach robber One of the most colorful, daring and unconventional bandits of the Old West was Charles E. Bolton, better known as Black Bart, the poet laureate of outlawry. By 96 BLACK Hand Black Dahlia (1925–1947) murder victim the best count, he pulled 27 stagecoach holdups in California from 1874 to 1883. But he prided himself on never robbing a stagecoach passenger. After each robbery Black Bart would send the coach on its way and then stroll off on foot, since he greatly disliked horses. Wearing a duster and a flour-sack mask and carrying an empty shotgun, he would step out into the road and shout to the stage driver, “Throw down your box or die.” Sometimes he would issue orders to his men in the bushes to open fire if the driver refused. The driver would see a half-dozen rifles in the shadows and would do as he was told. Actually, the rifles were never more than broomstick handles. After each holdup Black Bart would leave behind bits of doggerel that won him a reputation as a poet. One typical poem read: The 1947 case of Elizabeth Short, better known as the Black Dahlia, is unsolved but still actively pursued, principally because it has had more “confessions” than any other case in California history. In a sense, Elizabeth Short was typical of the young girls who flooded Los Angeles: she was from a broken home, with an unhappy lovelife, consumed with a desire for a Hollywood career. She had, as they said in Hollywood, a gimmick. She always dressed completely in black. It was one way to grab attention, but she certainly had others. She understood the meaning of the casting couch and would go to bed with any man who had even the most tenuous connection with the studios. They started calling her the Black Dahlia, and in the zany world of moviemaking, she might eventually have gained enough of a reputation to make it despite a lack of acting ability. On January 15, 1947 her nude corpse was found in a garbage-strewn vacant lot in a Los Angeles suburb. She had been badly mutilated and her body had been crudely cut in half. Deep into the thigh of the 22year-old victim, the killer had carved the initials “BD,” presumably for Black Dahlia. It took the police some time to identify the severed corpse as Elizabeth Short, or the Black Dahlia, but no time at all to make several arrests. The murder seemed to excite the public and produced a rash of confessions. In fact, the police were overwhelmed by men and women coming forward to claim credit for the brutal act. Most of the confessions were soon discounted because the selfproclaimed murderers demonstrated a lack of knowledge about various aspects of the case. Yet, still more confessors came forward. One woman walked into a station house and said “The Black Dahlia stole my man, so I killed her and cut her up.” A husband whose wife had deserted him said he was the killer in the hope that if he made himself notorious and got his picture in the papers, his wife would return to him. Another sent the police a letter made out of pasted-up letters from magazines, offering to meet them and give them information. He signed the message “Black Dahlia Avenger.” But he never kept the rendezvous. Another writer sent a message reading: “Here are Dahlia’s belongings. Letter to follow.” Enclosed were Elizabeth Short’s Social Security card and birth certificate and her address book—with one page missing. Unfortunately, no letter followed. The most promising confession appeared to be that made by a 29-year-old army corporal, who talked loudly and convincingly of knowing her. He appeared quite knowledgeable about the facts of the case and insisted, “When I get drunk, I get rough with women.” After an intensive investigation, the police wrote him off as an unbalanced per- Here I lay me down to sleep To await the coming morrow Perhaps success, perhaps defeat and everlasting sorrow I’ve labored long and hard for bred [sic] For honor and for riches But on my corns too long you’ve tred You fine-haired Sons of Bitches Let come what will, I’ll try it on My condition can’t be worse And if there’s money in that box ’Tis munny in my purse. Black Bart, the Po-8. Black Bart was captured on November 3, 1883, after a robbery that had netted him $4,800. A rider came by during the robbery and fired at the outlaw, forcing him to flee so rapidly he dropped his handkerchief. Detectives traced the laundry mark, F.O.X. 7, until it led them to a man named Charles E. Bolton in San Francisco. The San Francisco Bulletin described him as “a distinguished-looking gentleman who walked erect as a soldier and carried a gold-knobbed cane.” At first, Bolton denied being Black Bart but finally confessed. He was sentenced to 10 years in San Quentin but was released on January 21, 1888, with time off for good behavior. When a reporter asked him if he intended to go on writing poetry, Black Bart snapped, “Young man, didn’t you just hear me say I will commit no more crimes?” According to the report, which had a romantic air, Wells Fargo settled an annuity on Black Bart for his agreement to rob no more stagecoaches. There is no additional information about him. One account had him living out his days in Nevada, and another said he died in 1917 in New York City. 97 BLACK Maria sonality. As the confessions continued to pour in, all efforts to keep an accurate count were dropped, and to this day the Black Dahlia case remains unsolved. worked behind his counter. His killers were never caught, although it was suspected that gangsters working for Lupo the Wolf, a Black Hand chieftain in Italian Harlem, were behind it. Lupo was regarded as the biggest Black Hander in New York City, and years later, an infamous Murder Stable, which he owned on East 107th Street in Manhattan, was discovered to be the burial place for at least 60 victims, many of them individuals who had refused to pay Black Hand extortion demands. Lupo’s power sprang from his shrewd use of terror. Strutting around Italian Harlem, the man exuded cruelty, and it was the custom for residents, at the very mention of his name, to cross themselves and extend their fingers in an effort to ward off his spell. Within Italian-American society almost anyone could be a Black Hand victim. While on a triumphal engagement at the Metropolitan Opera shortly before World War I, tenor Enrico Caruso got a Black Hand demand for $2,000, which he paid, regarding an appeal to the police as useless if not foolhardy. However, his payment of the money led to a new demand for $15,000 more. This time the tenor notified the authorities because he realized paying the money would only lead to further, even greater demands. Under police direction, Caruso left the money beneath the steps of a factory as the extortionists had ordered. When two prominent Italian businessmen tried to retrieve the loot, they were arrested. Both went to prison in one of the few successful prosecutions of Black Hand criminals. Caruso was kept under guard for a number of years thereafter on the theory that he faced Black Hand retribution, but it never came, because his extortioners were no more than independent operators who had no connection with a crime family or the nonexistent Society of the Black Hand. A New Orleans Black Hander, Paul Di Cristina, considered himself so immune from interference by the law that he delivered his Black Hand notes in person. His victims always quaked and paid—all except Pietro Pepitone, a grocer. He informed Di Cristina’s strongarm men that he would not pay. So the boss came around personally to collect. When Di Cristina alighted from his wagon in front of the grocer’s store, Pepitone picked up a shotgun, stepped out on the sidewalk and blasted the Black Hander to death. It has been estimated that at least 80 different Black Hand gangs operated in Chicago, totally unrelated to one another except that their messages to their victims were always the same, “Pay or Die.” Virtually all the Black Hand gangs were wiped out or disappeared around 1920. The leaders of the Cardinelli Black Handers were executed in Chicago; the DiGiovanni mob leaders were convicted in Kansas City, Black Hand extortion racket “The Society of the Black Hand” was one of the sillier journalistic hoaxes of its time. Contrary to what newspapers of the era published, there was no such Society of the Black Hand, but that was undoubtedly of little comfort to Black Hand victims. Recalcitrant victims of this extortion racket were shot, poisoned, dynamited or maimed; more pliant targets willingly turned over their funds after receiving a demand for money usually outlined at the bottom with a hand that had been dipped in black ink, a menacing sight sure to produce an icy feeling around a victim’s heart. Actually, there once had been a Society of the Black Hand—not in New York, not in Italy, not even in Sicily, but in Spain. It originated in the days of the Inquisition, when like such genuine Italian secret societies as the Camorra and Mafia, it was organized as a force for good, trying to fight the oppression of its day. In later centuries the Mafia and the Camorra turned into criminal bodies, while the Society of the Black Hand in Spain simply withered away. But for New York City newspapermen, La Mano Nera, or the Black Hand, had a nice ring to it; it was easy to remember and lurid. Thus was reborn the Black Hand. Reporters and some detectives wasted their time trying to trace suspects’ family trees to tie them to some Black Hand Society. In reality, the Black Hand was simply an extortion racket practiced in the Little Italy sections of numerous American cities. The senders would threaten the recipient or his family and would warn that they would kill or maim a family member as a starter. Usually, the letter was signed with some sort of ominous symbol, such as a skull and crossbones or knives, hatchets or sabers dripping blood. Once the newspapers publicized the symbol of a black hand, that symbol became standard. Certainly, Black Handers, many of whom were Mafia and Camorra gangsters, often killed if they did not receive their payoff, although more often they might at first catch a victim’s child and cut off a finger as a convincer. A typical victim of a Black Hand operation was a wealthy Brooklyn butcher named Gaetano Costa, who in 1905 got a Black Hand letter that read: “You have more money than we have. We know of your wealth and that you are alone in this country. We want $1,000, which you are to put in a loaf of bread and hand to a man who comes in to buy meat and pulls out a red handkerchief.” Costa, unlike his neighbors, refused to pay and was shot dead one morning as he 98 BLACKBEARD Lupo the Wolf got 30 years in New York, albeit for counterfeiting rather than Black Hand crimes. Some observers of the crime scene have attributed the decline of the Black Hand racket to the rise of the big-money rackets under the scourge of Prohibition; there was so much more money available in bootlegging, rumrunning and hijacking that the extortionists couldn’t be bothered anymore with what was by comparison a penny-ante racket. However, that was hardly the whole answer. The fact was that Prohibition brought the Italian immigrants into close contact with the feared police for the first time. Most Little Italy sections around the country turned alcohol making into a “cottage industry,” with its attendant odors, smoke and fumes. That meant the neighborhood policeman had to be paid off. And when you paid off a man, you had the right to ask him for a favor, such as taking care of this Black Hander who was bothering you. See also: ENRICO CARUSO, DEATH CORNER, LUPO THE WOLF, SHOTGUN MAN, WHITE HAND SOCIETY. Black Maria The throwing of the series appears to have been thought of initially by Chicago first baseman Charles Arnold “Chick” Gandil, who passed the word to Boston gamblers that he could line up several teammates for a lucrative killing. The other players involved were Eddie Cicotte and Claude Williams, star pitchers who between them had won 52 games during the season; left fielder Shoeless Joe Jackson; center fielder Oscar Felsch; third baseman George “Buck” Weaver; shortstop Charles “Swede” Risbergand; and utility infielder Fred McMullin. The gamblers first approached were Joseph “Sport” Sullivan of Boston and William “Sleepy Bill” Burns of New York. Because they felt they needed more capital to finance a gigantic killing, they approached the country’s leading gambler, Arnold “the Brain” Rothstein. It is debatable whether or not Rothstein entered the plot or turned them down and then simply went ahead and bet at least $60,000 on Cincinnati (and collected $270,000) because he knew the fix was in and saw no need to pay out any bribe money himself. In any event, the main operator behind the fix became Abe Attell, the ex-featherweight boxing champion. A caller to Attell’s hotel suite in Cincinnati later told of seeing money stacked on every horizontal surface in the room, on tables, dresser tops and chair seats, after the Reds won the first game. In the first two games Cicotte’s invincible “shine ball” failed him, and he was knocked out in the fourth inning; Williams was uncharacteristically wild and lost 4–2. By the end of the second game, rumors of the fix were rampant, and the Reds were big favorites to take the series. It was impossible to find a professional bookmaker who would bet on Chicago, that action being played strictly by amateur bettors. It took a yearlong grand jury investigation to crack the case, with confessions coming from Jackson, Cicotte and Williams. Comiskey was forced to fire all the players except Gandil, who had already “retired.” Testimony showed that most of the players had gotten $5,000 for their parts in the fix, while Gandil had kept $35,000 for himself. How many hundreds of thousands the gamblers made was never really determined. When several of the players left the grand jury room, a group of small boys awaited them. One said to Shoeless Joe Jackson: “It ain’t true, is it, Joe?” “Yes, boys,” the outfielder replied, “I’m afraid it is.” The conversation has come down in folklore as the boy wailing plaintively, “Say it ain’t so, Joe.” Another bit of folklore is that the baseball establishment excised this cancer as quickly as possible. In fact, the baseball magnates provided legal aid to the players, and indeed, the jury acquitted them and carried some of the defendants out of the courtroom on their shoulders. However, Judge Kenesaw Mountain Landis, police van The Black Maria (pronounced Ma-rye-ah) police van originated in Boston, Mass. In 1847 a newspaper informed its readers that a “new Black Maria” had been put into service. There is no record of Black Marias necessarily being painted black; the origin of the term most likely referred to a huge black woman, Maria Lee, who ran a lodging house for sailors during the period. Since the woman was generally called Black Maria and her establishment was among the most unruly in the city, it was assumed that a police van loaded with boisterous offenders was coming from Black Maria’s. Black Sox Scandal baseball betting coup Before 1919 the fixing of baseball games for betting purposes was by no means unheard of. But in that year it went too far; the “unthinkable” happened: a World Series was fixed by eight star players for the Chicago White Sox who managed to lose the series to the underdog Cincinnati Redlegs five games to three (the series that year was being played in an experimental ninegame set). All the details of what was to be called the Black Sox Scandal were never fully exposed, primarily because there was an attempted cover-up by the baseball establishment, in general, and White Sox owner Charles A. Comiskey, in particular. The offending players were not even suspended until there were only three games left to play in the following season, when confessions by three players to the grand jury forced Comiskey to act. 99 BLACKMAIL An old print depicts the bloody end of Blackbeard the Pirate. rally looking fierce and wild, made him altogether such a figure that imagination cannot form an idea of a fury from hell to look more frightful. appointed commissioner to oversee the integrity of “the Game,” was not satisfied. He never let any of the players don a Comiskey uniform again. See also: ARNOLD ROTHSTEIN. Not much is known about Blackbeard’s early life. He was generally believed to have been born in Bristol, England, although some claimed he was from Jamaica or the Carolinas and “of very creditable parents.” Blackbeard himself boasted his parents were even bigger rascals than he, keeping a grogshop and specializing in giving sailors knockout drops and then shanghaiing them. In any event, Blackbeard went to sea at a young age and served on English privateers during Queen Anne’s War (1702–13), eventually gathering a group of cutthroats on a ship of his own. When peace came, Blackbeard turned pirate and came to command five ships and crews totaling 400 to 500. By 1716 Blackbeard enjoyed the protection of Gov. Charles Eden of Carolina, who thereafter shared in a portion of the booty taken. Blackbeard preyed on shipping all along the American coast line from New Blackbeard (?–1718) pirate No pirate in American history enjoys quite as ferocious a reputation as Edward Teach (or Thack or Thatch) of the 14 wives and the pigtailed beard. A contemporary pirate historian, Capt. Charles Johnson, offered the following description: This beard was black, which he suffered to grow of an extravagant length, as to breadth, it came up to his eyes. He was accustomed to twist it with ribbons, in small tails . . . and turn them about his ears. In time of action he wore a sling over his shoulders, with three brace of pistols hanging in holsters like bandoliers, and stuck slow-burning lighted matches under his hat, which, appearing on each side of his face, his eyes natu- 100 BLISS Bank Ring vate detectives in the city. Since even a small agency will get eight or 10 blackmail cases a year, it is evident that police statistics on the crime are meaningless, with perhaps only one in 20 or 50 cases reported. Furthermore, there is no way of measuring how many other victims are too frightened even to enlist the service of a private agency and instead pay off. Most blackmail cases are based on modern versions of the badger game and involve the sexual misadventures of the victim, complete with pictures. The second largest category is probably homosexual cases, and many of the remainder relate to business shenanigans. A classic example of the latter involved a Brooklyn businessman who faked company expenses to beat the Internal Revenue Service on his income. Unfortunately for him, the businessman let his secretary help with the doctoring, and shortly afterward, the secretary decided she would work only from 11:30 A.M. until 3:00 P.M., with two hours or so for lunch. She doubled her own salary, the balance being off the books. Ironically, the secretary ran afoul of the tax men, and the blackmail case came to light. Many blackmailers are freelancers such as a brother and sister team who blackmailed a university professor in Massachusetts for $21,000 by claiming that he had fathered the woman’s son or a prostitute who milked the son of a former governor for $40,000. However, there have been a number of organized blackmail rings. The most successful of these was the Forcier-Gaffney gang, which extracted at least $2 million from wealthy homosexuals over a period of 15 years. The ring was smashed when one victim finally had the courage to go to the police. Organized crime often uses blackmail in its bankruptcy scams, first getting something on a businessman and using it as a wedge to become his “partner.” At the petty end of professional blackmailers was a Midwestern ring that concentrated on housewives who shopped in supermarkets. They spied on the women until they spotted one slipping small items into her purse or coat pocket. Outside the store they would confront her under the guise of being police detectives. They would settle for all the money the woman had on her plus, of course, the groceries. Blackmail is a crime with a long history. According to the Greek historian Xenophon, blackmailing was so pervasive some 2,300 years ago that many prominent and wealthy citizens of Athens went into exile to escape the exactions of its perpetrators. He also tells us of another victim who subsequently lost all his money in a commercial venture and thus, happily, no longer was compelled to live in fear of the blackmailers. Even today that is probably the most foolproof protection. England down to the West Indies. In one of his more daring raids, he once blockaded the port of Charleston, S.C., finally accepting a ransom in drugs and medications. Under a pardon granted by Gov. Eden, Blackbeard became a familiar figure in what is now North Carolina. At the time he had 13 wives, scattered around various ports. In Bath, N.C. he took bride number 14, a blond-haired girl just turned 15. The marriage barely outlasted the honeymoon when Blackbeard brought a number of his ruffians along for a visit at his new in-laws’ plantation. His young wife finally fled and hid with friends. Despite the pirates’ lavish spending, the people of Bath soon were disenchanted with Blackbeard, finding that he and his crew made free with their houses and women and demanded all kinds of requisitions from them. Despairing because of the pirate’s close ties to the royal governor, several Carolinians appealed to Gov. Alexander Spotswood of Virginia for help. Spotswood could not interfere in another colony but resolved to do something about Blackbeard at sea, since the pirate was notorious for attacking Virginian shipping. Spotswood commissioned a young lieutenant named Robert Maynard to conduct a hunt. Maynard finally located the pirate at anchor near Ocracoke Island, off North Carolina. On November 21, 1718 Blackbeard was killed in a fierce battle in which he took five bullets and 25 cutlass wounds before a seaman struck him from behind and sliced his head off. When Maynard sailed back to Virginia, Blackbeard’s bloody head was hung by the hair from the bowsprit of his ship for all to see. Stories of Blackbeard’s buried treasure have tantalized fortune hunters for 250 years. Legend places some of his many hoards in such locations as Ocracoke Island; the Isles of Shoals off New Hampshire; Plum Point, N.C.; under the Blackbeard Tree on the island of New Providence in the Bahamas; Ossabaw Island, Ga.; under a walnut in Burlington, N.J.; and the island of Trinidad. None has ever been found. See also: MAJOR STEDE BONNET, PIRACY. blackmail Blackmail, the extortion of money from a victim by threats of public disclosure, censure or exposure to ridicule, is not a frequent crime, if judged by the numbers reported to the police. In one year the New York district attorney reported only four cases had reached his office. However, during that same period three of the larger detective agencies in the city handled more than 50 cases, none of which had been reported to the authorities—and at the time, there were also 300 pri101 BLOODY Angle Bliss Bank Ring criminal-police alliance Crime’s golden age in America started with the end of the Civil War, as thousands of wastrels and rogues schooled in the rough-and-tumble of wartime criminality came home determined never to work for a living again. While great gangs had existed in the cities long before the war, the crime specialist emerged during the postwar period. Mobs formed to practice one particular brand of crime, and among the most highly rewarded were the bank burglar gangs. Since the great street gangs had often allied themselves with political protectors and carried out many chores for them, such as winning elections through voter intimidation, it was only logical that the new crime mobs would work with the authorities. The Bliss Bank Ring, bossed by two leading thieves, George Miles Bliss and Mark Shinburn, was probably the biggest bank mob to appreciate the virtue of working with the law. It was common practice for the Bliss gang to pay off the police with about 10 percent of the loot, somewhat less if the score was exceptionally large. “If we spoil them with too much money,” Shinburn said, “they won’t be hungry for more.” They hardly needed to worry. The appetite of the police seemed insatiable, and they often squabbled about their individual shares. Capt. John Young, chief of the Detective Bureau of the New York Police Department, finally quit in disgust rather than share the $17,500 cut given him by the Bliss forces for one robbery. The extent of the gang’s involvement in police bribery was perhaps best exhibited after Young’s departure. Bliss lobbied openly for Detective Jim Irving to be put in charge of the bureau, personally stating his case to Boss Tweed of Tammany Hall. The friction over bribes within the bureau was such, he warned, that some disgruntled member might go to reform-minded Samuel Tilden with the facts. “Put Detective Jim Irving at the head of the Detective Bureau,” Bliss told Tweed, “and you’ll switch the whole business to safety. If not, I can’t say what will happen.” Tweed saw the merits in Bliss’ argument, and Irving was given the post, whereupon the bank ring entered its most prosperous period. With the cooperation of the police, the ring pulled off the famous $2.75 million raid on the Ocean Bank located at Fulton and Greenwich Streets, in 1869. The breakdown of bribes paid to police was revealed later by confessions: James Irving, head of Detective Bureau $17,000 John McCord, detective $17,000 George Radford, detective $17,000 James Kelso, detective $17,000 Philip Farley, detective $17,000 John Jordan, captain of the Sixth Precinct and later superintendent of police $17,000 George Elder, detective $17,000 Inspector Johnson $1,800 One other detective $1,000 Frank Houghtaling, clerk of Jefferson Market Police Court John Browne $10,000 $500 Total $132,000 For this sum of money the police not only did not harrass the Bliss gang but also performed yeoman service in trying to pin the job on the George Leonidas Leslie gang, an outfit notorious for being niggardly in the payment of bribes. The Bliss Ring survived even the fall of Boss Tweed in 1873, but when Thomas F. Byrnes became head of the Detective Bureau in 1880 and outlawed the alliance between the police and the bank burglars, the gang fell apart. Many members were arrested, and Bliss himself was captured and sentenced to prison for the robbery of a Vermont bank. Penniless when released, he spent his final years writing exposés of crime. Only Shinburn survived the ring’s demise, fleeing to Europe, where for years he lived the life of a count, having bought the title with the proceeds of some of his crimes. See also: MARK SHINBURN. Bloody Angle New York murder site During the great tong wars fought in the early 20th century in New York’s Chinatown, the area became an armed camp. Mott Street became the stronghold of the On Leong Tong, while Pell Street belonged to the Hip Sing Tong. Doyers Street was a sort of no-man’s-land with a certain sharp turn that journalists labeled the Bloody Angle. The police later estimated that more men were murdered there than at any other spot in New York City and most likely the entire United States. Only the foolhardy ventured past it after dark. The Bloody Angle was ideal for an ambush, with too abrupt a turn for a pedestrian to see ahead. Armed with a snickersnee, or hatchet, sharpened to a razor’s edge, a boo how doy, or hatchet man, could strike before the victim had time to cry out, lay the weapon across his throat and flee through an arcade to safety. See also: AH HOON, BOW KUM, MOCK DUCK, SNICKERSNEE, TONG WARS. 102 BLOOMINGDALE-Morgan Affair Bloody Tubs places criminal gang One of the most vicious gangs in Baltimore, Md. during the mid-1800s, the Bloody Tubs sold their electioninfluencing services to the highest political bidder. They earned their name from their habit of dunking political opponents in the slaughterhouse tubs. Like another vicious gang of criminals, the Bloody Inks, whose turf extended from Baltimore to Philadelphia, they so terrified voters with their brutal methods that many persons were afraid to come to the polls. The heyday of both the Bloody Tubs and the Bloody Inks ran from 1857 to 1870. By the end of this period, their crimes were so outrageous that even the most callous politicians could no longer offer them protection or make use of their services. Stripped of their political protection, the Bloody Tubs fell to the mercy of police “head smashers” and retired from the field. Bloomingdale-Morgan affair This sex scandal caused considerable dismay in the Reagan White House and concluded later in a savaqe murder that was judged to be unconnected to it. The scandal erupted when a beautiful playgirl-model filed a $10 million palimony suit in 1982. Thirty-year-old Vicki Morgan filed the claim against multimillionaire Alfred Bloomingdale and later against his estate, charging she had long been “kept” by him for sexual perversions and sadomasochistic orgies. Bloomingdale was the scion of the Bloomingdale’s department store family and a longtime friend of Ronald Reagan. His wife, Betsy, was a particularly close friend of the president’s wife, Nancy. The affair had started in 1970 when Morgan was 17 and Bloomingdale was 53. Bloomingdale had spotted Morgan on Sunset Boulevard and followed her into a restaurant and struck up a conversation with her. He insisted on having her phone number before he would leave. Morgan later said, “He was so persistent, I had lunch with him.” Lunch was not what the encounter was all about, and within a week of “wooing,” Morgan was mired into Bloomingdale’s bizarre world of leather and chains, with Bloomingdale as a demanding dungeon master. Vicki stripped naked along with as many as three other women so that Bloomingdale could whip them and have them engage in an endless number of sexual “games.” The end result: Vicki “found herself falling in love” with Bloomingdale. If love was not enough, there was the matter of compensation. Bloomingdale paid Morgan’s rent, provided her with spending money to the tune of a trifling—for him—$18,000 a month and got her launched on a movie career that never amounted to much. This went on for 12 years. For all his weird activities Bloomingdale still had time to do his thing on the social circuit. He extended his fame and fortune by developing the Diners Club credit card. For a time he was also a Hollywood agent and producer and was a big booster of actor Ronald Reagan’s career in state and, later, national politics. After Reagan became president, Bloomingdale, as a member of Reagan’s “kitchen cabinet” of political advisers, harbored hopes of becoming ambassador to France. However, he got no such appointment, and it was said later by some observers, this was because the public image–conscious president was obviously aware of his pal’s swinging lifestyle. A year later, Bloomingdale became a member of Reagan’s Foreign Intelligence Advisory Board, composed of “trustworthy and distinguished citizens outside the government” who reviewed the operations of U.S. intelligence and counterintelligence agencies. perversion in high Vicki Morgan’s long-running love affair with multimillionaire Alfred Bloomingdale bared perversions in high political and social circles. 103 BLUE-sky laws stressed that others had had reasons to murder Morgan because of her claims of depraved sex with government officials. The jury rejected such theories and convicted Pancoast. He was sentenced to 26 years to life in prison. In December 1984, a jury finally ordered the Bloomingdale estate to pay $200,000 to Morgan’s estate, on the grounds that Bloomingdale had promised in a letter in February 1982 to pay $240,000 for Morgan to spend time with him in the hospital during his terminal illness. Morgan had received $40,000 before these funds also had been cut off. Under the law, the money went to her 15-year-old son, who had been fathered during an affair Morgan conducted during a brief breakup with Bloomingdale early on in their relationship. Early in 1982, the 66-year-old Bloomingdale was diagnosed with throat cancer and hospitalized. It was during this period that his wife discovered he had been providing Morgan an $18,000 monthly allowance. Furious, Mrs. Betsy Bloomingdale had the payments stopped. Morgan countered by filing a $5 million palimony suit, claiming she was Bloomingdale’s confidante, business partner and traveling companion. Shortly after, she raised the ante another $5 million for Betsy having cut off her $18,000 stipend. Before the case came to court, Bloomingdale died, on August 20, 1982. The following month, a court threw out most of the $10 million claim, declaring the relationship had been no more than a “wealthy, older paramour and a young, well-paid mistress.” The judge permitted to stand Morgan’s claim that she had a written contract guaranteeing her a $10,000 payment each month as a partner in Bloomingdale’s business interests. While litigation against the Bloomingdale estate continued, the depressed and angry Morgan moved into a North Hollywood condominium, which she eventually shared with an old friend, Marvin Pancoast, a homosexual with major psychological problems of his own. The condominium became the site of frequent drug and drinking bouts. Arguments between the two over money, mainly that Pancoast could not come up with his share of the expenses, became tense. On July 7, 1983 Pancoast used a baseball bat to beat Morgan to death. He notified the police and confessed to the crime, but later recanted. Meanwhile, the embarrassing political fallout continued when an attorney practicing criminal law announced he had been asked to represent Pancoast at this trial and said he had videotapes showing Bloomingdale and Morgan in group and sadomasochistic sex with a number of top government officials. The lawyer said one person so involved “would definitely embarrass the president, just like Mr. Bloomingdale did.” Shortly thereafter, he insisted the tapes had been stolen, and the following day porno publisher Larry Flynt said he had a deal with the lawyer to pay $1 million for the tapes, but that the lawyer never showed up to complete the deal. The lawyer later denied having talked to Flynt. The tape story was considered to be a hoax and the lawyer was charged with having filed a false report. Pancoast pleaded innocent to the murder of Vicki Morgan by reason of insanity. Records indicated that over the previous 13 years, he had been diagnosed as masochistic, manic-depressive and psychotic-depressive. It turned out he had once even confessed to the Sharon Tate and related murders, which actually were committed by the Charles Manson family. Besides trying to discredit Pancoast’s previous confession, the defense also blue-sky laws In 1911 the state of Kansas passed the first law to protect the public from the marketing of deceitful stock or shares in worthless, often imaginary enterprises. The “blue-sky” nickname was given to them by a state legislator who demanded that the rules placed on investment concerns “should be as far reaching as the blue sky.” The Kansas law and those enacted by other states were vigorously challenged by investment and banking interests until the Supreme Court upheld them in a 1917 ruling. The High Court bolstered the nickname by denouncing fraudulent investment schemes “which have no more basis than so many feet of ‘blue sky.’” Bodie, California lawless gold-mining camp Gold placers were first discovered in Bodie in 1859, but since the town was isolated on the eastern slope of the Sierra Nevada, it didn’t boom until 1870, when rich veins started showing up. The population quickly mushroomed to some 15,000, drawn by what would eventually prove to be some $100 million worth of ore over the next two decades. With fortunes to be made and stolen overnight, Bodie became perhaps the most lawless, corrupt and vice-ridden town in the West. Three breweries working 24 hours a day, were needed to service some 35 saloons. There were also some 60 bordellos in action on a 24-hour basis, home, according of one historian’s account, to no less than 1,800 prostitutes. With a total population of only 15,500, it was clear what the remaining 13,200 were doing when they weren’t drinking, digging or killing each other. Violent deaths in such an atmosphere were understandably frequent, and in fact, it was said that Bodie always had “a man for breakfast.” Men were killed for their gold in arguments over who paid for the last beer, for being 104 BOLLES, Don agreed to let investigators tape his phone conversations as he carried out his stock deals. Numerous heads rolled as a result, and Drexel Burnham Lambert, one of the giant financial institutions on Wall Street, plunged to near collapse, turning into a shell of its former self. In a plea bargain Boesky got off with a three-year sentence, saying he was “deeply ashamed” of his past actions. Many observers thought he had paid a very tiny price for the ruined financial fortunes of so many shareholders. Even his $100 million penalty—the largest of its type in history—left him a most wealthy man. When he left prison, Boesky did, however, face a host of legal actions undertaken by ex-partners and victimized shareholders. See also: DENNIS LEVINE. line-jumpers at brothels and, now and then, in disputes about the facts of some previous killing. When one entire Sunday passed without a fatality, folks in Bodie spoke with pride of the “Christian spirit” that had overtaken the town. Bodie did not live long enough to be tamed. After 1880 the gold finds became less lucrative and by the turn of the century much of the town was empty and forlorn. Some slight mining activity continued up to World War II, but most of the town’s well-preserved but unused wooden structures were burned in a fire in 1932. Today Bodie is nothing more than a ghost town with a bloody past. See also: BADMAN FROM BODIE. Boesky, Ivan (1937– ) “Ivan the Terrible” of stock deals Until the mid-1980s Ivan Boesky was regarded as the most controversial high-rolling stock speculator on Wall Street. Few such operators were more feared than “Ivan the Terrible,” as he was called. Boesky gambled tens of millions on risky securities deals. Later, when the secrets of his methods were uncovered, he was regarded as one of the biggest crooks in the financial world. The son of a Russian immigrant in Detroit, Boesky was graduated from law school in 1962 and moved to New York four years later. He did stints in an investment firm and then a brokerage house, and then was attracted to the wild world of risk arbitrage—risking huge sums buying and selling stocks of companies that appeared to be likely to merge or be taken over by other firms. Boesky launched his own arbitrage firm with $700,000 in capital, and 11 years later had a financial empire worth some $2 billion. He lived with his wife and four children in a 10-bedroom mansion on a 200acre estate in suburban Westchester County and maintained a lavish river-view apartment in Manhattan. Corporations competed to get him on their boards, and he gave huge sums to charities while making increasing profits on his stock dealings. Unfortunately, Boesky didn’t do this on the up-andup. He sought out insider tips and paid generously for such illegal information. In May 1986, Dennis Levine, one of Boesky’s key illegal sources and a wheelerdealer in his own right, was trapped by government investigators and started to “sing.” The man he gave to the government was Boesky, and Boesky in November of that year made an agreement to pay $100 million in penalties for violating securities laws. To cut his potential prison time, Boesky started to outwarble Levine and turned in his fellow lawbreakers. He even Bolber-Petrillo murder ring The Bolber-Petrillo murder ring, which reaped a fortune from insurance killings in the Italian community of Philadelphia during the 1930s, is an excellent example of why murder statistics are not to be trusted. The ring disposed of an estimated 30 to 50 victims before police suspicions over just one or two brought about the killers’ downfall. From a statistical viewpoint, the case is often cited as an indication that the generally accepted figure of 20,000 murder victims a year may be greatly understated and that a truer figure would be 20,000 known homicides a year and 20,000 undiscovered ones. Neither Dr. Morris Bolber nor his two cousins, Paul and Herman Petrillo, were much interested in such a statistical overview, being content to rake in a goodly income from the occupation of murder during the Depression, a period when most forms of business were hardly rewarding. The original murder scheme was hatched by Dr. Bolber and Paul Petrillo in 1932, when they decided to have Petrillo seduce Mrs. Anthony Giscobbe, the wife of one of the doctor’s patients. The woman had often complained to Dr. Bolber of her husband’s infidelities. When she fell in love with Petrillo, she also rather enthusiastically agreed to a plan to kill her husband for the $10,000 insurance on his life. Since the errant Mr. Giscobbe often staggered home dead drunk, it was a relatively simple matter to undress him and leave him all night by an open window in the dead of winter. Eventually, the husband succumbed to pneumonia, and the grieving widow and Dr. Bolber each netted $5,000. Perhaps the only sad development for the widow was that immediately upon completion of this financial transaction, Paul Petrillo lost all amorous interest in 105 BOLTON, Charles E. Bolles, Don (1929–1976) murder victim her. The slick-haired Petrillo had moved on to conquer new lonely wives, all of whom had husbands not long for this world. Since the plotters found that few Italian husbands carried much, if any, insurance, they decided to add a new wrinkle to the operation by recruiting Petrillo’s cousin, Herman Petrillo, an actor of some accomplishment with church groups, to impersonate the husbands and apply for insurance. Naturally, the wives were required to screen their husbands’ mail and weed out all insurance correspondence. After a few premium payments were made, the husbands were efficiently dispatched. A roofer named Lorenzo was heaved off an eight-story building by the Petrillos in an on-the-job accident that doubled the payment on his life. To make the death more convincing, the Petrillos gave the roofer some French postcards before shoving him off the roof, making it rather obvious that the victim had been distracted by them when he misstepped. After a dozen or so murders, the plotters recruited a valuable new accomplice, Carino Favato, a faith healer known as the Witch in her own bailiwick. The Witch had murdered three of her own husbands and apparently been consulted by female clients who wished to be rid of their spouses. The Witch poisoned them for a price. However, when Dr. Bolber pointed out that she had erred grievously by not adding the insurance wrinkle to the operation, the Witch was duly impressed, readily agreed to a liaison and was able to supply the names of quite a few potential victims. The ring went busily about committing murder, most often by poison or by Dr. Bolber’s favorite method, “natural means,” a canvas bag filled with sand that, when artfully applied, caused a fatal cerebral hemorrhage without any telltale marks. By 1937 the ring’s death toll may easily have approached 50, at least 30 of which were rather well documented later on. A recently released convict in need of money called on Herman Petrillo with a scheme by which they could both make money. Herman was not impressed, mainly because he already had a very good thing going. “Dig up somebody we can murder for some insurance and you can make some dough with us,” he told the exconvict earnestly. The ex-con was frightened of murder and informed the police. The ring’s members were rounded up, and with unseemly eagerness, each agreed to inform on all the others in the hope of gaining leniency. Although some wives went to prison, others were permitted to turn state’s evidence. Dr. Bolber and the Witch were sentenced to life imprisonment and the Petrillos were executed. Don Bolles, award-winning investigative reporter for the Arizona Republic, was fatally wounded when a bomb exploded in his car on June 2, 1976. He died 11 days later after having lost both legs and his right arm in the explosion. At the time of the explosion, Bolles told eyewitnesses and paramedics that he “was working on a Mafia story.” He also said “John Adamson did it” and mentioned “Emprise,” a Buffalo, N.Y. sports conglomerate that had been linked to organized crime and operated dog racing tracks in Arizona. Adamson was a 32-year-old professional racing dog owner. In December, Adamson confessed a murder-for-hire plot, implicating Max Dunlap, a wealthy Phoenix contractor, and James Robison, a Phoenix plumber. Adamson signed a statement alleging that Dunlap had hired him for $10,000 to kill Bolles because his writings had irritated Kemper Marley, Sr., a 74-year-old rancher and wholesale liquor distributor and one of the richest men in the state. Adamson also claimed Dunlap wanted the reporter killed before Bolles made a scheduled trip to San Diego the following month. The significance of the trip was never established. According to Adamson, he invited Bolles to a Phoenix hotel and then placed a bomb under his car. His statement further declared that Robison detonated the explosive charge from several hundred feet away by use of a radio transmitter. After Bolles’ death, a group of journalists called Investigative Reporters and Editors, Inc. came to the state and wrote about corruption and other criminal matters. Meanwhile, Adamson was allowed to plead guilty to second-degree murder and was sentenced to 20 years and two months. Dunlap and Robison were convicted in 1977 of first-degree murder, mainly on Adamson’s testimony, and were sentenced to death. In February 1980 the convictions of the two men, still professing their innocence, were overturned by the Arizona Supreme Court because the trial judge had not permitted the defense to question Adamson about his criminal activities unrelated to the murder. The state announced plans to retry the pair but in June 1980 asked for dismissal of the charges “without” prejudice because Adamson had refused to testify against them. Adamson indicated he wished a better deal for himself. He was retried alone and found guilty. The state announced plans to push for the death sentence and then allow Adamson to serve a life term if he would once more agree to testify. Many observers felt, however, the Bolles murder case would never be brought to a satisfactory conclusion. Don Bolles remains the only American reporter believed to have been killed by what is considered 106 BONNIE and Clyde hand, did, having read hundreds of pirate stories and decided that was one of the things a bloody pirate should do. The information on Bonnet’s life is sketchy and not necessarily trustworthy. He was supposedly a man of good family and education who had fought in Queen Anne’s War until it ended in 1713, when he retired in middle age to an estate he had bought on the island of Barbados. For no apparent reason, he decided to turn pirate. One historian of the period assures us he “was driven to it by a nagging wife.” In any event, Bonnet went about becoming a buccaneer in a most unpiratical fashion: he bought and outfitted a vessel with his own money. Shortly thereafter, he formed an alliance with Blackbeard, a valuable ally since he was under the protection of Carolina governor Charles Eden. Blackbeard’s interest in Bonnet seemed limited to the latter’s possession of a vessel that was worth adding to his fleet. Blackbeard insisted on bringing Bonnet aboard his own vessel, Queen Anne’s Revenge, as number two in charge of all pirate activities. It apparently took Bonnet some time to figure out that Blackbeard had simply appropriated his ship and put one of his own men in charge. Eventually, Bonnet got another vessel and started a one-man crime wave of the sea, looting ships from New England to the Spanish Main. Like Blackbeard, Bonnet maintained control of his crew through threats and violence. Bonnet’s crew required merciless discipline, perhaps because the men had little respect for their captain’s seamanship. Once when Blackbeard cheated Bonnet out of his share of booty and set sail, Bonnet started out for what is now North Carolina in pursuit but instead wound up in Bermuda. When Blackbeard was killed on November 21, 1718, Bonnet became a most-hunted buccaneer along the Atlantic Coast. He lasted only until the following December 18, when he was hanged in Charleston. Bonnet had been easily captured after running his ship aground. See also: BLACKBEARD, PIRACY. “organized crime.” Chicago Tribune reporter Jake Lingle suffered the same fate in 1930, but his death was not due to his endeavors as a journalist but rather to his own criminal involvement in the rackets. Bolton, Charles E. SEE BLACK BART. bombings (aerial) See BOOTLEGGING. Bonanno, Joseph C. See BANANA WAR. Bonnet, Jeanne (1841–1876) gangster Also known as the Little Frog Catcher, Jeanne Bonnet was a bizarre character who founded one of California’s strangest criminal gangs, composed only of women. Jeanne got her nickname from the way she made an honest living—catching frogs in the marshes of San Mateo County. She had other unusual habits, including wearing men’s clothing and regularly visiting the leading bagnios of the Barbary Coast. Whether her interests were truly or solely sexual became a cloudy issue in view of later events. She formed a gang of women recruited from the brothels, from which they all fled on a single night. A dozen of them joined her, holing up in a shack on the San Francisco waterfront south of Market Street. They lived by robbing, stickups, shoplifting and other forms of thievery, swearing off prostitution completely and having nothing to do with men, except, of course, as victims. The gang crumbled in less than a year, however, when Jeanne Bonnet was found shot to death with a bullet through her heart. The police concluded she had been murdered by one or more of the pimps whose ladies she had taken, thus ending an early, if criminal, experiment in women’s liberation. Bonnet, Major Stede (c. 1670–1718) the Gentleman Pirate Aside from Blackbeard, Major Stede Bonnet, the socalled Gentleman Pirate, was probably the worst scourge in American coastal waters during the early 1700s, the halcyon years of piracy. Blackbeard’s reputation for violence was largely exaggerated, while Bonnet was, in fact, more of a bloodthirsty killer than a gentleman. In pirate legend, it is Blackbeard who made victims walk the plank and then laughed hideously as the poor souls struggled in the water and finally submerged. Actually, it was never proven that Blackbeard made anyone walk the plank. Bonnet, on the other Bonney, William H. Bonnie and Clyde See BILLY THE KID. public enemies As professional thieves, Bonnie and Clyde—Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow—never qualified as public enemies. Most of their thefts were of the minor-league variety: grocery stores, filling stations, luncheonettes and a few small-town banks. Their greatest haul was no more than $3,500. But they were brutal, killing at 107 BONNIE and Clyde In January 1930 Clyde met 90-pound, golden-haired 19-year-old Bonnie Parker, who was “sort of married” to a convict, Roy Thornton, serving 99 years for murder. Bonnie described herself in that period as “bored crapless.” They started living together, and Clyde tried to support them by playing the saxophone. It was a futile effort and he quickly reverted to robbery. It wasn’t long before Dallas lawmen arrested Clyde for a burglary in Waco: he had left his fingerprints behind. The judge sentenced him to two years. Buck Barrow escaped from prison, and he and his wife, Blanche, joined up with Bonnie. On a visit soon afterwards, Bonnie passed a narrow-handle .38 Colt through the jail bars to Clyde. After he made his break, Bonnie stayed put for a while to keep the law occupied. The law caught up with Clyde in Ohio. This time Barrow was sent to the prison farm at Eastham, Tex., one of the most brutal institutions in the state. Clyde endured many tortures there and became a far more hardened criminal and a confirmed homosexual. He served 20 months, gaining a pardon after his mother tearfully pleaded his cause with Gov. Ross Sterling. Clyde Barrow said he would never see the inside of a prison again. “I’ll die first,” he said, and he was right. Following Clyde’s release, Bonnie teamed up with him on various robberies, but after a confrontation with the police, they became separated and Bonnie was caught. She served three months for the robbery of a car the couple had seized trying to escape. Clyde went on committing robberies and killed his first two lawmen in Atoka, Okla. When Bonnie rejoined him, they fell in with a gunman named Ray Hamilton, an incorrigible young thief and killer who in many ways was a more spectacular criminal than Clyde. His relationship with Bonnie and Clyde, however, was more meaningful than just the addition of greater firepower on their holdups. Hamilton regularly slept with Bonnie and at times with Clyde as well. It was, by all accounts, a well-adjusted triangle, at least for brief periods. Eventually, the sexual pressures probably became too much for the three, and Hamilton broke away. Both Bonnie and Clyde apparently needed a more submissive love partner; Hamilton was just too tough to give them their way. After leaving them the last time, he pulled off a long string of crimes and several jailbreaks before finally dying in the electric chair in 1935. While Bonnie and Clyde’s robberies continued to be on the minor side, their escapades were often extremely violent. They stuck up a butcher, and when the man came at Clyde with a cleaver, Clyde avoided the blow and emptied his gun into him. In November 1932 the pair held up a filling station and kidnapped the attendant, William Daniel Jones. After learning who his captors were, Jones joined up with them and replaced Ray least 13 persons and escaping police ambushes with incredible pluck. In a sense, Clyde Barrow was cut from a heroic mold, unlike many other gangsters of the 1930s, such as Baby Face Nelson, Pretty Boy Floyd and even John Dillinger. When trapped, he never abandoned his woman, often fighting his way back to her and leading her to safety. It was an odd relationship: a homosexual and a near nymphomaniac. Born in extreme poverty in Texas in 1909, Clyde followed his older brother into crime, first stealing turkeys and then graduating to cars. The pair committed several robberies in the Dallas area. Finally, after holding up a gas station in Denton, Tex., they were forced to make a 90-mile-an-hour run from the police with Clyde behind the wheel. Buck was shot during the chase, and when Clyde wrecked the car in a ditch, he left Buck for the law, fearing his brother would bleed to death otherwise. Buck got five years. Bonnie and Clyde are snapped in a playful mood. Gag photos such as these did much to capture the public’s attention. 108 BOORN brothers Hamilton in their affections. He later described his experience as “18 months of hell.” Meanwhile, Buck Barrow had been in and out of jail again, this time pardoned by the new governor, Mrs. Miriam “Ma” Ferguson, who had granted pardons to some 2,000 felons during an earlier term. With Buck and Blanche in tow, the gang now numbered five and was ready for the big time. Brandishing newly obtained machine guns, they held up a loan company office in Kansas City. They had been identified, and their exploits made front-page news from coast to coast, which pleased Bonnie no end. She deluged newspapers with samples of her “poetry.” Editors eagerly printed her poem “The Story of Suicide Sal.” They also printed pictures of her smoking a cigar and brandishing a machine gun. Bonnie said these were “horsing around” pictures and resented the light in which the newspapers had put them. During their getaways the gang often kidnapped lawmen, one of whom was chief of police Percy Boyd. When they let him go, Bonnie told Boyd: “Tell the public I don’t smoke cigars. It’s the bunk.” They fought their way out of a trap in Joplin, Mo., killing two officers, but it was apparent that the gang could not continue to escape capture or death. In July 1933 the gang was hiding out in the deserted fair grounds in Dexter, Iowa when a posse closed in. Buck Barrow was fatally wounded and Blanche captured. Bonnie and Jones were also wounded, but Clyde got both of them away. In the next few months, Bonnie and Clyde killed four more lawmen. During this period Jones took the first opportunity to desert them. When picked up in late 1933, he told of his incredible career of crime and suffering with the pair and begged to be sent to prison, where he would be safe from Bonnie and Clyde. The law obliged. Bonnie knew the end was near. She mailed newspapers “The Ballad of Bonnie and Clyde,” which concluded: From heartbreaks some people have suffered, From weariness some people have died, But take it all and all, Our troubles are small, Till we get like Bonnie and Clyde. Some day they will go down together, And they will bury them side by side. To a few it means grief, To the law it’s relief But it’s death to Bonnie and Clyde. The pair stayed on the run until May 23, 1934, when they attempted to hook up with Henry Methvin, a convict they had freed once while busting out Ray Hamilton in a daring prison raid. With the law closing in on all sides, they felt Methvin was the only one left outside of family whom they could trust. But Methvin sold them out, informing the law about a roadside rendezvous he was to have with them. In exchange, he was not prosecuted for charges pending against him in Louisiana and Texas. A trap was set up at Gibland, La., near the Texas border, under the command of Capt. Frank Hamer of the Texas Highway Patrol, an ex–Texas Ranger who for the past three and a half months had been assigned exclusively to tracking down Bonnie and Clyde. Hamer and five other lawmen waited at an embankment armed with a Browning automatic rifle, three automatic shotguns and two rifles. Bonnie and Clyde drove up to the rendezvous site. Clyde was driving in his socks; Bonnie was munching on a sandwich. They had in their car a shotgun, a revolver, 11 pistols, three Browning automatic rifles and 2,000 rounds of ammunition. There is some argument about whether they were given a chance to surrender or even knew they had run into a trap. The lawmen opened fire and the pair died instantly. They dug 25 bullets out of Clyde and 23 out of Bonnie. See also: FRANK HAMER, RAY HAMILTON. The road gets dimmer and dimmer, Sometimes you can hardly see, Still it’s fight man to man, And do all you can, For they know they can never be free. Boodle Gang early New York hijackers It may well be that the American crime of hijacking was originated by an 1850s New York street gang known as the Boodle Gang. These toughs raided food provision wagons that passed through their area on the lower West Side. When the wagons started detouring around the Boodle Gang’s territory, they descended on the Centre (later changed to Center) Market and became the most efficient of the butcher cart mobs. About a dozen thugs would ride up to a large butcher shop and charge inside. Seizing a whole carcass of beef, they would fling If they try to act like citizens, And rent them a nice little flat, About the third night they are invited to fight, By a submachine-gun rat-tat-tat. They don’t think they are too tough or desperate, They know the law always wins, They have been shot at before But they do not ignore That death is the wages of sin. 109 BOOT camps it on their cart and then whip their horses at breakneck speed down the street. The gang’s activities did not meet with disfavor in their neighborhood since immediately after a raid a number of stores would offer meats at bargain prices. In the 1860s the Boodlers perfected their methods and invaded the financial district to rob messengers of their money and securities, a haul more rewarding than meat carcasses. In January 1866 two gang members knocked down a messenger, grabbed his satchel and escaped on a speeding butcher’s cart with $14,000 in cash. As they fled, the gang stopped all pursuit by clogging up Beekman Street with three other carts. The technique was a perfect model for the hijackers of the following century. The police were not particularly successful at rounding up the Boodlers, but the gang eventually disappeared because it could not withstand the depredations of other area gangs, especially the Potashes, who sought to reserve the best criminal activities and territories for themselves. him that he had been murdered and was willing to name names and places. His murderers, the spirit announced, were Stephen and Jesse Boorn, his brothersin-law and Amos’ own nephews. The murder place was the Boorn farm and “I’m buried there under the stump of a tree.” By October the brothers had been tried, convicted and sentenced to death. Naturally, the state of Vermont had more evidence than just Uncle Amos’ dream. Buried in the earth inside the Boorn barn had been found a large knife, a penknife and a button. The knives were identified by Mrs. Colvin as the property of her husband. Then there were the bones found by a dog digging at the base of a stump on the farm. The first announcement was that they “might have been human.” Two doctors later said they belonged to an animal, but they had to admit that two toenails found among the bones had “the appearance of belonging to a human foot.” Then Jesse, in shackles for three months, made a confession and his brother Stephen followed some weeks later. According to Stephen’s written admission, they had murdered Colvin after a fierce argument, buried him, dug up his bones some years later and “throwed them in the river.” At their trial both brothers repudiated their confessions, insisting they had made them simply as a bid for clemency when they saw how inflamed public opinion against them was. Their mother, Mrs. Barney Boorn, was excommunicated from the Baptist church. The state legislature was then petitioned for a commutation of the sentences to life imprisonment. The petition was granted Jesse but denied his brother, who was slated to hang January 28, 1820. One of the Boorns’ attorneys attempted a final gamble; he decided to advertise for Russell Colvin. An advertisement thus appeared in the Rutland Herald under the headline “MURDER”: book whippings During colonial days books that were deemed offensive were also considered “criminal” in themselves and therefore subject to criminal punishment in addition to being burned. In a typical Massachusetts case, a book was sentenced “to be publicly whipt with 40 stripes, save one, and then burnt.” In 1754 the hangman was assigned to perform that same task on a pamphlet that criticized the court. The public punishment was carried out in the middle of Boston’s King Street. Boorn brothers wrong men convicted of murder The case of the Boorn brothers has been cited countless times by those warning against the perils of both capital punishment and false confessions. In 1819 the village of Manchester in Vermont was rocked by a murder trial, described at the time as being “attended by such multitudes” that it had to be held in the Congregational church since the court house was “by a very great deal too small.” Seven years earlier, during the War of 1812, a man named Russell Colvin had disappeared from his home after 18 years of a presumably happy marriage that produced a string of numerous and presumably happy children. Folks thought it odd at the time but did nothing about it until old Amos Boorn had a dream in 1819 that was to become most famous. Old Amos was the uncle of Colvin’s wife. Three times on a single night in May, Colvin appeared in the old man’s dream and informed Printers of newspapers throughout the United States are desired to publish that Stephen Boorn, of Manchester, in Vermont, is sentenced to be executed for the murder of Russell Colvin, who has been absent about seven years. Any person who can give information of said Colvin, may save the life of an innocent by making immediate communication. There followed a short description of the supposed victim. Among the newspapers that picked up the item was the New York Post, and it was read aloud one night in a New York hotel to James Whelpley, a former Manchester resident, who began telling stories about the village idiot Colvin. Within earshot of Whelpley was Taber Chadwick. Chadwick realized that his brother-in-law, William Polhemus, who owned a farm 110 BOOTLEGGING in Dover, N.J., had working for him a weak-minded man who called himself Russell Colvin. In late December 1819 Colvin was returned to Manchester. There he confronted Stephen Boorn, whose legs were still fettered in irons. Colvin looked at the fetters and asked, “What’s them for?” “Because they say I killed you,” Stephen said. “You never did,” Russell said in all seriousness. “Jesse threw a shoe at me once, but it didn’t hurt me any.” The case was reopened and the Boorns were cleared. In 1820 the brothers petitioned the legislature for compensation for their false conviction and close call with the hangman. Their request was turned down. It was pointed out that both brothers had made false confessions, no matter how desperate their situation, which had helped to convict them. boot camps Besides the high recidivist rates, the juvenile boot camps were plagued by scandals of routine and brutal beatings of inmates by guards. In Maryland, Gov. Parris N. Glendening and Lt. Gov. Townsend suspended the state’s camps and fired the top five juvenile justice officials. Soured by similar results, officials in Colorado, North Dakota and Arizona dropped their programs, and others scaled back their efforts amid predictions that they too would fold eventually. In Georgia a Justice Department investigation concluded the state’s “paramilitary boot camp model is not only ineffective, but harmful.” A number of experts regarded the boot camp experiments as nothing more than cynical political maneuvers. Dr. David M. Altschuler of the Institute for Policy Studies at Johns Hopkins University described them as “just another knee-jerk reaction, a way to get tough with juveniles that resonated with the public and became a political answer.” And Gerald Wells, a senior associate at the Koch Institute, stated, “People thought boot camps shaped up a lot of servicemen during three wars. But just because you place someone in a highly structured environment with discipline, does not mean once they get home, and out of that, they will be model citizens.” Perhaps the major problem with boot camps was the budget issue. Get-tough ideas resonate with the public, but when it came to the extra expense involved in follow-up, the money was not there. Besides with a drop in the juvenile crime rate since 1994, along with the country’s overall drop in the juvenile population, it became even harder to interest voters to pay for individualized rehabilitation. As a result the 27,000 young people who were sent to boot camps each year were largely sent to prison instead. Gerald Wells warned that as bad as boot camps proved to be, “once you start incarcerating kids, you have lost. But unfortunately, that is where we seem headed.” A solution whose time came and went In 1995 it was looked upon as the most promising idea in the battle against serious juvenile crime. Dubbed the Leadership Challenge, it began in Maryland and called for boot camp programs for teenage criminals. Boot camps had existed before, but this was an ambitious extension of the idea under the aegis of Lt. Gov. Kathleen Kennedy Townsend of Maryland, who previously had been a former assistant attorney general in the Clinton administration where she had studied the boot camp idea and determined it represented “a cost-effective intermediate punishment.” It was thought that military-style discipline would improve juvenile rehabilitation programs. Several other states quickly followed the Maryland program. The results were pathetic, as determined by a national study of such state boot camps that revealed a shockingly high recidivism rate, ranging from 64 to 75 percent. If asked, the men who ran genuine boot camps could have predicted that the juvenile programs would not work. “The key reason we are successful,” noted Sgt. Maj. Ford Kinsley, who supervised drill instructors at the Marine Corps’ recruitment base at Parris Island, S.C., “is that we have a clientele down here that chose to be here on their own. They are not here because a judge said you should go here. Our population comes with a lot more positive attitudes.” He explained that when “a kid graduates from Parris Island, he is just beginning a four- or five-year enlistment in the Marine Corps. It is not like they spend 11 months here and we just throw them out onto the streets.” Boot Hill Almost all Americans believe that every gunslinging western community had its Boot Hill, where all the victims of lead poisoning were buried. The fact is that the “Boot Hill industry” is a 20th-century development. There really was only one Boot Hill and that was at Dodge City. The name referred to a slight rise used as a temporary burial spot and alluded to the custom of burying a corpse there with his boots curled up and placed under his head as a sort of permanent pillow. In due course, Dodge’s Prairie Grove Cemetery was completed, and in 1879 the 25 or so inhabitants 111 BOOTLEGGING The U.S. Coast Guard stopped thousands of boats attempting to bring in bootleg liquor. Despite many shoot-outs and arrests most rumrunners easily reached the shore. of Boot Hill were transferred to the new burial grounds. Most communities didn’t know they were supposed to have a Boot Hill until they read modern western novels and saw movies about the Wild West and became aware of the demands of the tourist industry. Along with newly christened Boot Hills came such graveyard graffiti as “Died of lead poisoning” and, for a cattle rustler, “Too many irons in the fire.” One of the superattractions of the West is the 20th-century Boot Hill in Tombstone, Ariz., where visitors are welcomed to the burial sites of Tom and Frank McLowery and Billie Clanton, who all died in the famous gunfight at the O.K. Corral. With a certain pride it is claimed that among the graveyard’s residents are Dan Dowd, Red Sample, Tex Howard, Bill DeLaney and Dan Kelly, all of whom were “hanged legally,” an accomplishment of sorts. In one of the more exploitative events at Tombstone, one promoter tried to sell squareinch plots of Boot Hill cemetery but was squelched by the city council. See also: LESTER MOORE. Booth, John Wilkes ASSASSINATION. 112 See ABRAHAM LINCOLN— BORDEN, Lizzie lons of alcohol in seven years. Their total business in bootlegging was put in excess of $50 million. With the repeal of Prohibition, bootlegging did not simply fade away. Bootleggers have always operated and probably always will. By not paying alcohol taxes the bootlegger is able to put out a more reasonably priced product of “mountain dew,” or “white lightning.” In 1958 the government seized 15,000 stills, although by the 1970s the figure stood at about only 10 percent of that figure. It is difficult, however, to dismiss bootlegging and moonshining as playful larks; hundreds of tipplers of bootlegged alcohol die each year from poisoning. One of the more frightful instances occurred in Atlanta, Ga. in October 1951, when a bootlegger used 54 gallons of methyl alcohol to mix up a large batch of moonshine. The liquor was sold all over Atlanta, some to an Auburn Avenue nightclub. One Sunday night a man named Eliza Foster walked into the club and downed a shot. A half hour later he dropped dead. He was the first to go. A little while after that, two more went. A man died in his car, a bottle of this same batch on the seat beside him. Another casualty, a little old lady, died in her rocking chair, a bottle of the bad liquor lying spilled at her feet. In all, 13 people died that day, and hundreds of others, feeling miserable and some already blind or writhing on stretchers, jammed into Grady Memorial Hospital. Tortured, frightened people fell to their knees in prayer, expecting to die, and by Monday night 14 more had passed away, raising the total to 27. By the end of the week, there were 35 dead—three were children. The figure finally reached 42. There was no reliable estimate of the number of people who went blind. Altogether, however, at least 500 persons were seriously affected. After the mass poisonings the sale of legal whiskey went up 51.2 percent in Atlanta. But the tragedy in that city was not an unusual event. Just two weeks later eight persons in Revere, Mass. died from another batch of poisoned liquor. There are no accurate national figures on how many deaths are caused each year by poisoned moonshine, but the number of deaths plus those permanently blinded or paralyzed is certainly in the hundreds. Moonshining operations and stills are turned up not only in the backwoods but in the big cities as well. In virtually all these cases a frightening disrespect for human life is exhibited. Producers seeking to cut costs often dilute their moonshine with rubbing alcohol. Some shortcut artists even add lye to the whiskey to give it a sting, and even more callous individuals mix in ether and fuel oil. Some experts calculate that as much as 20 percent of all alcohol consumed in this country is illicit bootlegging Bootlegging was and is a major pastime in America. Because it remains an illegal enterprise, however, no reliable figures on its scope have ever been established. The term bootlegging derives from the custom of the early Indian traders who carried a bottle of liquor in their boot since such traffic with the red man was either illegal or frowned upon. Hence, a bootlegger came to mean a person engaged in illegal liquor deliveries. Naturally, bootleggers thrived most during Prohibition, from January 16, 1920 until repeal of the 18th Amendment on December 3, 1933. The best guess was that during the Prohibition period Americans annually consumed at least 100 million gallons of bootleg liquor. Great profits were derived from bootlegging during Prohibition. In the larger cities powerful bootlegging gangs arose to meet demand and to fight bloody wars for control of the huge income. Much of the liquor was smuggled across the border from Canada or Mexico or brought in by boat. Many of the gangs found it necessary to produce their own alcohol to assure themselves of a steady supply and established illegal distilleries and breweries, activities that would be impossible without political and police cooperation. Prohibition made possible the rise of the “Chicago gangster” and the domination of that city and the entire Midwest by the Capone gang, but only after the gang had eliminated many tough competitors, such as the Dion O’Banion mob and the Bloody Gennas. It has been estimated that more than 1,000 men died as a result of the bootleg wars in Chicago alone. In Williamson County, Ill. another bloody war was fought, perhaps even more constant and murderously inventive than those in Chicago, Detroit, Philadelphia or New York. It was also the scene of an incredible American first. On November 12, 1926 the farmhouse belonging to a prominent family of bootleggers was subjected to an aerial bombing by a rival bootlegging family. Three projectiles were dropped, but since all failed to explode, no damage occurred and there were no complaints and no arrests. Still, it was the first and only time real bombs were dropped from a plane in the United States in a genuine effort to destroy human life. Many of the great American fortunes derived from bootlegging activities, as leading businesses, like the criminals themselves, could not resist the lure of huge revenues. In 1930 a federal grand jury uncovered the largest liquor ring of the era. Thirty-one corporations and 158 individuals were cited in Chicago, New York, Cleveland, Detroit, St. Louis, Philadelphia, St. Paul, Minneapolis, Los Angeles and North Bergen, N.J. and charged with the diversion of more than 7 million gal113 BORDENMANIA The verdict in the case of Lizzie Borden, perhaps this country’s most enduring cause célèbre, was not guilty. The jury had needed only an hour to arrive at it. Lizzie made one statement to the press expressing her elation but then refused to say any more, even though reporters parked in front of the Borden home for weeks and weeks, searching for more morsels to feed their hungry readers. Lizzie enjoyed a considerable public sympathy during her ordeal and through her acquittal, but over the years public opinion seemed to turn, with more and more people regarding her as guilty. After a time she was considered guilty, as the popular rhyme went, of the charge that she “gave her mother forty whacks.” Lizzie and Emma inherited their parents’ $500,000 estate, but they soon sold the house and moved into a lavish mansion in Fall River. Lizzie returned to her charitable works. Although she demanded anonymity, it is believed she financed several college educations. In 1905 Emma moved out of the mansion after an argument. She too had lived under a cloud, and there was even speculation that she was the killer. At the time of the murder, Emma had been staying overnight with friends, but some authorities on the Borden case insisted she could have returned home, committed the crimes and returned to her friends’ unseen. The sisters never spoke again. When Lizzie died in 1927, she left nothing to Emma. Aside from some bequests to servants, she willed the bulk of her estate, $30,000 in cash and large holdings in stocks, to the Animal Rescue Leagues of Fall River and Washington, D.C. She was buried in the family plot beside her mother, father and stepmother. moonshine, basing their estimates on the government’s open admission that it finds no more than onethird to one-half of all illegal stills, a figure that others believe high. See also: HAMS, PROHIBITION, RUM ROW. Borden, Lizzie (1860–1927) accused murderess A well-respected, religious spinster of 32, Lizzie Borden of Fall River, Mass. became without doubt America’s most celebrated accused female murderer, charged with the 1892 killing of her father, Andrew, and her stepmother, Abby. On August 3 of that year, Mr. and Mrs. Borden were both taken ill with severe stomach pains. Lizzie had bought some prussic acid just a short time before, but no connection was ever developed. Between 9 and 9:30 on August 4, a hot, sweltering morning, someone entered a second-story bedroom of the Borden house and axed Abby Borden to death, bashing her skull 19 times. At the time, Lizzie’s sister Emma was away from home, and the only ones known to be in the house besides the victim were Lizzie and Bridget Sullivan, the Irish maid. If either of them was the murderer, they certainly concealed it from the other for the next hour to 90 minutes, each going about their business without indicating any knowledge of the body in the bedroom. At about 10:30 Andrew Borden returned home from his business activities. He lay down on a sofa in the downstairs sitting room to take a nap, and the murderer crept up on him and hit him 10 times with an ax, killing him. The police charged Lizzie Borden with committing the crimes, strictly on circumstantial evidence, not all of it very strong. For one thing, although the walls of both murder rooms were splashed with blood, no blood was found on Lizzie or her clothes. There was a theory that Lizzie had stripped naked to do the deeds and then had put her clothes back on, but that certainly would have involved a great risk of her being seen by the maid. The authorities claimed but never really proved that Lizzie had burned a dress in the kitchen stove a few days after the murders. After being held in jail for nearly a year, Lizzie was subjected to a 13-day trial, with the entire nation hanging on every word. Rather than play down the gruesome nature of the murders, her defense attorney stressed this aspect. He then pointed to the prim, very feminine, charity-minded Lizzie and said: “To find her guilty, you must believe she is a fiend. Gentlemen, does she look it?” Bordenmania impact of Lizzie Borden case No murder case in American history caused more public repercussions than that involving Lizzie Borden, the 32year-old spinster who was tried and acquitted of killing her father and stepmother with an ax in their home in Fall River, Mass. in 1892. The case was the subject of an endless number of books, magazine articles and newspaper accounts. Edmund Pearson explained the public’s fascination with the case may have resulted from its very “purity.” The murders, and Lizzie’s guilt or innocence, were uncomplicated by such sins as ambition, robbery, greed, lust or other usual homicidal motives. Innocent or guilty, Lizzie became an American hero. The verse and doggerel on the case varied from the anonymous children’s jump rope rhyme: Lizzie Borden took an ax And gave her mother forty whacks; When she saw what she had done, 114 BOWDRE, Charlie Gov. Calvin Coolidge to act, but he had refused. When rioting broke out, the mayor called out Boston contingents of the militia, established order and broke the strike. Then Gov. Coolidge ordered the commissioner to take charge of the police once more and called out the entire Massachusetts militia. With the police union defeated, AFL head Samuel Gompers tried to win back the jobs of the strikers, who had all been fired. Coolidge responded with a statement that made him famous, won him the vice-presidential nomination in 1920 and paved the way for his subsequent succession to the presidency. “There is no right to strike against the public safety by anybody, anywhere, any time,” Coolidge said. She gave her father forty-one. to A. L. Bixby’s almost endearing: There’s no evidence of guilt, Lizzie Borden, That should make your spirit wilt, Lizzie Borden; Many do not think that you, Chopped your father’s head in two, It’s so hard a thing to do, Lizzie Borden. The New York Times informed its readers that controversy over Lizzie Borden’s innocence or guilt was directly responsible for 1,900 divorces. Such was the grip of “Bordenmania” on the entire nation. Borne, Henry Boston Strangler See DUTCH HENRY. See ALBERT H. DESALVO. Botkin, Cordelia (1854–1910) poisoner A poisoner convicted in one of the most sensational trials of the 1890s, Cordelia Botkin may well have been, as the Sunday supplement writers later referred to her, the original Red Hot Mama. Certainly her triangle love affair earned her a reputation as a truly wanton woman as well as a murderess. A stocky, fleshy woman living in San Francisco, she nonetheless seemed to have all the charms necessary to lure a successful journalist named John Presley Dunning away from his wife and child for a life of gambling and whoring. In 1896 Dunning’s wife had had enough and returned to her parents in Dover, Del. While that should have pleased Botkin, she still feared Dunning’s wife might someday lure him back, and she deluged Mrs. Dunning with anonymous threatening letters, advising her against trying to rejoin her husband. In 1898 Dunning got an assignment covering the Spanish-American War, and Botkin grew more certain he would not return to her. Her depression gave way to murderous thoughts. She went out and bought a box of chocolates, a lace handkerchief and two ounces of arsenic. She spent several hours inserting arsenic into each piece of candy. She enclosed the handkerchief and a note that read “With love to yourself and baby—Mrs. C.” and tied up the whole package with pink ribbons. The next day she mailed the “gift” to Mrs. Mary Dunning in Delaware. When the box arrived, Mrs. Dunning puzzled over the identity of the “Mrs. C.” who had sent the candy. She thought of several people it might have been. But having a sweet tooth, she didn’t hesitate long before polishing off the box. Her sister, Mrs. Joshua Deane, joined in. Twenty-four hours later both women were dead. The deaths did not help Botkin’s lovelife, how- Boston, Patience (1713–1735) first woman hanged in Maine In Puritan New England, Patience Boston was often cited from the pulpit as proof of how one sin begets another. She was first caught lying, then swearing, then being drunk, then stealing and finally committing murder. In 1735 Boston killed eight-year-old Benjamin Trot of Falmouth by picking him up and throwing him down a well to drown after he had accidentally tramped on her toe. There was only a minimum of debate about sparing her life because she was a woman, a fact certainly outweighed by her heinous past record as a liar, curser, drunk and petty thief. She was hanged in York on July 24, 1735, the first woman to suffer that fate in what is now Maine. Boston police strike On September 9, 1919 a union of policemen in Boston went on strike; 1,117 out of 1,544 patrolmen walked off their jobs after the police commissioner refused to recognize their right to join the American Federation of Labor (AFL). Under an unusual law, the police commissioner was appointed by the governor of the state rather than the mayor of the city and thus had much more freedom. Although Mayor Andrew J. Peters and a citizens committee made compromise proposals on pay and working conditions to head off the strike, the police commissioner rejected them. The resulting strike left Boston virtually unprotected and riots, robberies and lootings followed. Before the strike began, Mayor Peters and James J. Storrow, the head of the citizens committee, had urged 115 BOWERS, J. Milton ever, because the box of candy was eventually traced back to her in San Francisco. After a lurid trial that satisfied even the most avid readers of the sensational press, she was found guilty of murder on December 31, 1898 and sentenced to life imprisonment. She died in San Quentin in 1910. bounties See BANK ROBBERIES—BOUNTIES; Four Brothers. These groups were already at odds on such matters as the control of gambling in various parts of New York’s Chinatown. As the dispute appeared beyond settlement, the On Leongs murdered Bow Kum on April 15, 1909, and the first of Chinatown’s great tong wars broke out. One typical killing spree took place in the venerable Chinese Theater on Doyers Street on New Year’s night during a supposed truce in the fighting that had been arranged for the biggest Chinese celebration of the year. The performance went along smoothly until a celebrant in the audience suddenly tossed a bunch of lighted firecrackers into the air. This caused a brief commotion before things quieted down. As the audience filed out at the end of the performance, five men remained in their seats. They all had bullets in their heads. The banging of the firecrackers had drowned out the cracks of the revolvers of five Hip Sings behind five On Leongs. Police estimates of casualties during the war were put at about 350 before the tongs came to a peace settlement in late 1910 and the war over Little Sweet Flower ended. See also: AH HOON, BLOODY ANGLE, MOCK DUCK, TONG WARS. JOHN BILLEE; OUTLAW EXTERMINATORS, INC. bounty jumping Civil War racket During the Civil War enterprising individuals and organized gangs reaped a fortune collecting bounties for enlisting in the Union Army and then immediately deserting. The cycle would then be repeated, generally in another congressional district or state, for amounts that varied from $100 to as much as $1,000. One specialist in this racket was caught after 32 enlistments and desertions, a record that drew him a four-year prison term. A notorious Chicago underworld character named Mike McDonald operated a bounty racket on an organized basis, recruiting hoodlums to sign up for service. McDonald collected a commission each time and shuttled the men around to different areas for repeat tries, keeping track of his “campaigns” on a large war map with tacks indicating where each hoodlum was assigned. Profits from this racket provided McDonald with the capital to set up several gambling houses after the war. There are some estimates that perhaps nearly half of all desertions from the Union Army, which totaled 268,000, were really cases of bounty jumping. While such figures are most likely too high, considering the large number of draftee desertions, they are at least indicative of how widespread the crime was. See also: MICHAEL CASSIUS “MIKE” MCDONALD. Bowdre, Charlie (c. 1853–1880) accomplice of Billy the Kid Charlie Bowdre’s grave is among the most visited in the country, but only because he shares it in common with Billy the Kid. They, together with another of the Kid’s sidekicks, Tom O’Folliard, lie in Old Fort Sumner, N.M. under a stone marker bearing the inscription “Pals.” Bowdre, somewhat older than the Kid, seems to have always been fascinated by him. A cowboy drifter, he settled in New Mexico Territory in the late 1870s and married a pretty Mexican girl named Manuela. He apparently wanted to retire from the wild life, but with the outbreak of the Lincoln County War, he took up his guns on behalf of the Tunstall-McSween group and joined forces with Billy the Kid. By the time the war ended, Bowdre was convinced that Billy was the smartest and toughest man ever to ride a horse. When the Kid said they were going into the cattle-rustling trade, Bowdre went along without question. But his blind faith in Billy came to an abrupt halt on December 21, 1880, when a posse headed by Pat Garrett cornered the Kid’s gang in a deserted farmhouse at Stinking Springs. In the gunfight that ensued Billy shoved Bowdre, who had been hit five times, through the door of the house, saying: “They have murdered you, Charlie, but you can get revenge. Kill some of the sons of bitches before you go.” Bowdre lived only long enough Bow Kum (1889–1909) murder victim Bow Kum, meaning “Little Sweet Flower,” was a beautiful slave girl of 15 when she was illegally brought into the United States by a wealthy San Francisco Chinese, Low Hee, who had paid a Canton slave merchant the unheard of sum of $3,000 for her. The American authorities found out about Bow Kum some three years later and despite Low Hee’s valid bill of sale, placed her in a home. Bow Kum was finally released when she married another man, Tchin Len, who took her to New York. A dispute broke out between Low Hee and Tchin Len on the matter of compensation and soon involved three groups: the On Leong Tong, an alliance of the Hip Sing Tong and a fraternal organization called the 116 BOYLE, W.A.“Tony” to pick up another couple of bullets; lunge forward mumbling, “I wish . . . I wish”; and die. A short while later, Billy the Kid surrendered to Garrett. The gunfight at Stinking Springs perhaps gives the inscription “Pals” an ironic twist. See also: BILLY THE KID, PATRICK FLOYD GARRETT, LINCOLN COUNTY WAR. four years. He eventually married a fourth time, and when he died in 1904 at the age of 61, the murder of Cecelia Bowers was still being carried in police files as “unsolved.” Bowery Boys early New York gang One of the toughest gangs in New York during the early 1800s was the famed Bowery Boys, who, as native Americans, did battle with the dreaded Irish gangs, especially the Dead Rabbits and their satellites. On occasion, they also fought the police. Unlike the other great gangs, the Bowery Boys were not loafers and bums—except on Sundays and holidays. Nor were they criminals, except once in a while, until the Civil War. The average Bowery Boy was a burly ruffian who worked as a butcher or apprentice mechanic or perhaps a bouncer in a Bowery saloon or dance cellar. Almost always, he was a volunteer fireman, an avocation that gave the Bowery Boys important political pull since the firemen were strong allies of Tammany Hall and thus had important influence on the running of city government. The Bowery Boys were especially valuable allies on election day when their rough activities often determined voting results. The Bowery Boys’ hatred of Irish gangs and of foreigners in general was implacable, and they campaigned strongly for those candidates who ran against naturalization laws and favored their repeal so that Irish voters could be stripped of their citizenship. The Bowery Boys worked on behalf of such candidates with blackjacks in hand and voted early and often themselves in every election. The Bowery Boys’ greatest fight was a two-day battle on July 4 and 5, 1857, when allied with forces of the anti-Irish Native American Party, they withstood an invasion of the Bowery by the Dead Rabbits and the Plug Uglies and other gangs from the Five Points area. With more than 1,000 combatants taking part, the police lacked sufficient manpower or backbone to stop the fighting throughout the first day and much of the second. Officially, eight gang members died and another 100 were injured, but it was known that both sides dragged off a considerable number of corpses for secret burials in their own bailiwicks. During the Draft Riots the Bowery Boys took part in much of the criminality loosed on the city. After that, the gang splintered into various smaller groups, almost all involved in illegal pursuits. See also: DEAD RABBITS, DRAFT RIOTS. Bowers, J. Milton (1843–1904) accused murderer The Bowers case, involving a handsome young San Francisco doctor who lost three wives to early deaths, was one of the 19th century’s most sensational, controversial and protracted. The doctor, J. Milton Bowers, was convicted of murder and later cleared, although not to the satisfaction of the police or a substantial portion of the public. Bowers’ third wife, 29-year-old Cecelia, had been ill for two months before dying from what appeared to be an abscess of the liver. Dr. Bowers appeared appropriately grief stricken over the death of his wife of three years. But an anonymous letter triggered an investigation, and an autopsy was ordered. When the body was found to contain phosphorus, Bowers was charged with murder. He was pilloried in the press, and the public seemed obsessed with the fact that Cecelia was the third of Bowers’ wives to die after a short-lived marriage. In addition, all three had been duly insured. There were also charges that Bowers was a criminal abortionist. At Bowers’ trial much damning evidence was presented by his brother-in-law, Henry Benhayon, who testified that the doctor had prevented his wife from receiving outside care during much of her illness. Bowers was convicted of first-degree murder and incarcerated pending a decision on his appeal for a new trial. In October 1887 Henry Benhayon was found dead in a rooming house. Police discovered a bottle of potassium cyanide and three suicide notes. One of the notes, addressed to the coroner, confessed that Benhayon had poisoned Mrs. Bowers. While this sensational development appeared to clear Dr. Bowers, the police were not convinced that the suicide note was genuine or that Benhayon’s death was a suicide. Tracing purchases of potassium cyanide, the police located a druggist who identified one John Dimmig as a purchaser. They then discovered that Dimmig had visited Bowers in his jail cell. Although he denied having bought the poison or being involved in Benhayon’s death, Dimmig was charged with murder. The first trial ended in a hung jury. In the meantime, Dr. Bowers’ motions for a new trial were rejected. Dimmig was tried again in late 1888 and acquitted. In August 1889 Dr. Bowers was released from jail, where he had been confined for 117 BRADY gang bowie knife and identified him. When Boyd was apprehended the next day, he was sitting in a church pew “with a hymn book in his hand, and from which he was singing with apparent composure.” He was hanged forthwith. When four decades later Robert Louis Stevenson created The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, an enterprising American journalist tried to resurrect Boyd as the source of Stevenson’s inspiration. This thesis had and has nothing to recommend it other than increased circulation, since Stevenson was known to have based his tale of “man’s double being” on Deacon William Brodie, an 18th-century Scotsman who, while a respected member of the Edinburgh town council, led a gang of criminals. Fashioned either by the famed Jim Bowie or his brother Rezin P. Bowie, the bowie knife was the West’s most popular close-combat weapon before being supplanted by the six-shooter. The Mississippi pirates disemboweled their victims with it; the early river gamblers settled disputes with it; the Texas Rangers carried it as a sidearm; and the men of the mountains and the West hunted with it, slaughtered animals with it, cut wood with it and ate with it. The knife was baptized in blood by Jim Bowie in the famous Sandbar Duel fought on the Mississippi near Natchez in 1827. Jim Bowie, appearing only as a second for one of the participants, joined in a murderous melee that broke out and killed a second for the rival party with a 15-inch-blade knife. He butchered his opponent so efficiently that word of his wicked weapon spread rapidly. The homemade knife had originally been fashioned from a large blacksmith’s rasp, but given its new notoriety, the Bowie brothers sent it to a Philadelphia cutlery manufacturer who shaped and polished it to their instructions and christened it a bowie knife. An authentic bowie knife was anywhere from 15 to 20 inches in overall length with a blade of 9 to 15 inches, sharpened only on one side to the curve of the tip and then on both sides to the tip. A handguard of brass allowed the knife wielder to thrust or parry and slide his hand down over the blade as the situation required. Weighing 2 pounds or more, it could be used for brute force or deft lethality. Once the weapon became popular, more than a dozen cutlers started producing it, each claiming to have been the originator. There was, however, no dispute over the knife’s intended use. A Sheffield, England manufacturer catered to the market perfectly by inscribing on the blade the legend “America Can and Must be Ruled by Americans.” See also: SANDBAR DUEL. Boyle, W. A. “Tony” (1902–1985) labor leader and murderer In labor’s worst murder scandal during recent years, rivaling the disappearance of ex-Teamsters boss Jimmy Hoffa, United Mine Workers (UMW) president Tony Boyle was convicted of the 1969 murder of union rival Joseph Yablonski and Yablonski’s wife and daughter. On December 31, 1969, seven months after the 59year-old Yablonski, a union rebel, announced he would oppose Boyle for the UMW leadership, he, his wife, Margaret, 57, and their daughter Charlotte, 25, were shot to death while they slept in their Clarksville, Pa. home. Boyle, angered by the grass roots opposition to his reign, ordered Yablonski’s assassination after a heated board meeting in Washington the previous June. The plot began to unravel when William Turnblazer, a lawyer and former UMW District 19 president, admitted his role in the conspiracy. He testified that the order was given as Boyle, Turnblazer and Albert Pass stood outside an elevator. At his first trial in 1974 in Media, Pa. Boyle insisted no such meeting had taken place, but he was found guilty. Three others pleaded guilty, including Pass, who was sentenced to three consecutive life prison terms. Boyle got the same sentence. Boyle’s conviction was overturned by the Pennsylvania Supreme Court because the presentation of certain evidence had not been permitted. A retrial in 1978 ended with the same verdict, and the same sentence was again imposed on Boyle, then 77 and suffering from heart disease. He died in 1985. Boyd, Jabez (?–1845) murderer Eventually to be known as the American Jekyll and Hyde, Jabez Boyd was always judged to be a highly religious man in his community, but it appears that he used his church-going activities to learn when potential victims would be abroad with sums of money on their person or in their homes. He would then strike accordingly. One night in 1845, Boyd waylaid Wesley Patton in Westchester, Pa. When Patton resisted and possibly recognized Boyd, the latter clubbed him to death. Unknown to Boyd, another man witnessed the crime Brady gang public enemies Although they are little remembered now, the Brady gang were the most sought criminals in the United States, following the fall of such 1930s gangsters as 118 BREAKENRIDGE, William and diverse small things” from his master, and about the same time in Plymouth, Katheren Aines, a married woman, was required to wear a B for bawd “for her unclean and laciviouse behavior with . . . William Paule.” A number of crimes were considered so heinous that branding was mandatory even for a first offense. Burglary of a dwelling house called for the letter B to be branded on a culprit’s forehead. A second such offense required a second branding and whipping. A third offense called for the death penalty. Counterfeiting was considered such a danger that the offender was branded on his right cheek with an F for forger. It was presumed that such a branding would be proper warning to any potential victims to beware of their money or supposed legal records. With proper application, branding of course produced a permanent scar, but the punishment was considered so awesome that several constables took to using a light touch or an iron not heated sufficiently to destroy the tissue. Officially, the branding iron was last used on Jonathan Walker, who in 1844 had the letters S.S. (for slave stealer) burned into the palm of his right hand; however, the practice of branding continued as an acceptable form of punishment in the informal miners courts in the West and in the military, especially during the Civil War. On October 10, 1863 a Union artillery brigade held a mass branding of those being drummed out of the service for deserting their batteries. The brigade was assembled in the form of a hollow square facing inward, with a battery forge in the center. A battery blacksmith heated irons, and the letter D was burned into the convicted men’s left hips. Significantly, the army had by this time restricted branding to relatively unseen parts of the body. Miners courts, acting in a lawless environment, were not as lenient. Generally, these courts believed in only two penalties, hanging and expulsion from the community. When this later punishment was decreed, the convicted man was often branded on the forehead, face or hands to give due warning to other communities of his unsavory character. This extralegal form of punishment disappeared by the 1880s and 1890s. See also: JONATHAN WALKER. Further reading: Crime and Punishment in Early Massachusetts by Edwin Powers. Dillinger, Baby Face Nelson, Pretty Boy Floyd, Bonnie and Clyde, and the Barker-Karpis mob. By eradicating the Brady gang, the FBI disarmed the critics of its methods. Before that, J. Edgar Hoover had been attacked on the floor of the U.S. Senate as being a personal coward, the FBI had been criticized for killing John Dillinger without giving him a “chance”; and when Hoover made his famed foray to New Orleans to arrest Alvin Karpis personally, the newspapers gleefully reported that none of the host of FBI agents making the arrest had thought of bringing along a pair of handcuffs. The Brady gang began in Indiana during the early 1930s, when three former lonewolves—Al Brady, Clarence Shaffer and James Dalhover—teamed up to terrorize the Midwest. While the other public enemies fell one by one, Brady and his two friends left a trail of holdups of banks and other establishments during which they killed two clerks and three police officers. They had been captured once but had escaped jail and by the end of 1937 were the most hunted men in the country. Feeling the “heat,” the trio moved into virgin territory in Maine. In October 1937 they entered a sporting goods store in Bangor and asked for two revolvers of a certain make. The clerk waiting on them recognized the three as the Brady gang and said the weapons would be in stock the following week. On October 12, 1937 the trio returned and were recognized by an employee, who immediately pulled a hidden cord that caused a suspended show card to drop in the store window. At that instant four FBI men, guns drawn, jumped from hiding places under the counter and surprised the gangsters, who turned and charged out the door. They were immediately hit with a hail of bullets fired by 16 other FBI agents hidden across the street. Brady and Shaffer died instantly; Dalhover lived long enough to be executed. More important, the FBI received no criticism for the ambush of the gang. In part, that was because none of the gangsters ever exhibited the verve and flair of John Dillinger. But it was also true that the public took the Brady gang for what they were, brutal murderers. The days of romanticizing public enemies was over. branding punishment for crime Branding as a punishment for crimes was never as widely used in the New World as in Europe, but it was a standard form of punishment in colonial America. In the Massachusetts colony the wearing of signs or initials on a person’s outermost garment was in effect a method of symbolic branding. Thus, in Boston in 1639 Richard Wilson had to wear a T for theft of “money Bras Coupe (?–1837) slave outlaw In the 1820s one of the most famous slaves in New Orleans was Squier, an exceptionally talented Bamboula dancer. His master was Gen. William de Buys, well known as an indulgent slave owner. The general 119 BREMER, Arthur Herman was all the more indulgent of a famous slave like Squier. He taught Squier to shoot and let him go hunting alone in the forests and swamps. A big and powerful man, Squier became adept at firing a rifle with either hand, something that would stand him in good stead later on. He also became accustomed to the feeling of freedom. So much so, that he ran away. When he was caught, he escaped again. In 1834 Squier was shot by a patrol of planters hunting slaves in the swamps, and his right arm was amputated. As soon as his wound had healed, Squier ran away again, determined never to be retaken. He organized a gang of escaped blacks and—what truly terrified New Orleans—some renegade whites. Now known as Bras Coupe, the escaped slave led his gang on frequent robbery and murdering raids around the outskirts of New Orleans. For nearly three years Bras Coupe was the scourge of New Orleans, a hobgoblin used by mothers and nurses to frighten their children. The New Orleans Picayune described him as “a semi-devil and fiend in human shape” and called his life “one of crime and depravity.” What frightened the slave owners most, of course, was the fact that Bras Coupe became a hero to the other blacks. They endowed Bras Coupe with superhuman powers. In the instant folklore that sprung up around him, the veritable superman was fireproof and, having now lost his one weak arm, invulnerable to wounds. Hunters who tried to take him in the swamp stood in awe as their bullets flattened against his chest while he laughed. Sometimes the bullets whizzed off Bras Coupe’s chest and came flying back at the hunters. When a detachment of soldiers invaded his lair, they were swallowed up in a cloud of mist and never seen again. Bras Coupe was said to paralyze with a mere glance and to nourish himself on human flesh. Bras Coupe’s mythic qualities were tarnished on April 6, 1837, when he was shot by two hunters. But he escaped and it was assumed, would surely survive since he knew all the miraculous herbs that could be found in the swamps. On July 19 of the same year, the legend came to a tawdry end. A Spanish fisherman, Francisco Garcia, long considered to be in league with the slave-outlaw, brought Bras Coupe’s body into New Orleans on a mule-drawn cart. He said Bras Coupe had fired on him from the shore of the Bayou St. John. Infuriated, Garcia said he had come ashore and beat the slave renegade’s brains out with a club. The weight of evidence, however pointed to the conclusion that Bras Coupe had been murdered as he slept in Garcia’s hut. Garcia demanded the $2,000 reward that had been posted for the outlaw; but however much the whites had feared the man they called the Brigand of the Swamp, they had little stom- ach for the Spaniard’s act. He was given only $250 and told to leave. The body of Bras Coupe was displayed for two days in the Place d’Armes so that several thousand slaves could be brought to view it as an object lesson. Breakenridge, William (1846–1931) western lawman An opponent of the Earps, Deputy Sheriff Billy Breakenridge of Tombstone was a “survivor” of the Tombstone feuds and certainly one of the few lawmen ever to hire known outlaws to act as his bodyguards. A native of Wisconsin, Breakenridge served in the U.S. Cavalry and later made an unsuccessful attempt at prospecting. In 1880 he was a deputy to Sheriff John Behan, a law officer often at odds with Wyatt Earp and accused of being in league with the notorious Clantons and Curly Bill Brocius, the leaders of the “cowboy element,” which was more or less a synonym for rustlers. Breakenridge’s main duty was the collection of taxes, an occupation not noted for longevity in the area around Tombstone. To solve this problem, Breakenridge approached Curly Bill and asked him to act as his bodyguard while he made his rounds in outlaw territory. On the surface, Curly Bill’s agreement appeared to be a lark, but it was far more likely that the outlaw was interested in cementing his relations with Behan. In all the violence of the Tombstone feuds, including the famous gunfight at the O.K. Corral, Breakenridge, although not loved by the Earp faction, at least managed to avoid antagonizing the Earps to the point of provoking a showdown. As a result, and in spite of the “Behan stain,” Breakenridge continued to hold down various law enforcement jobs, working as a U.S. marshal and as a special agent for the Southern Pacific Railroad. He died in 1931, six years after a much publicized “reconciliation” with Wyatt Earp. See also: JOHN BEHAN. Bredell, Baldwin See COUNTERFEITING. Bremer, Arthur Herman (1950– ) would-be assassin On the afternoon of May 15, 1972, George Wallace was campaigning at a Laurel, Md. shopping center in his quest for the Democratic presidential nomination. He left the bulletproof podium and was shaking hands with people when a young blond man called several times, “Hey, George, over here!” Wallace moved toward that area, and the youth pulled a gun and fired several shots at Wallace, hitting him four times. In the ensuing struggle with Wallace’s guards, the assassin 120 BRIGGS, Hattie emptied his weapon, wounding three others, all of whom recovered. Wallace himself remained paralyzed afterwards because of a bullet that lodged near the spinal column. The would-be assassin was identified—how soon was to be a matter of some concern later—as Arthur H. Bremer, a young man in his twenties who had been a janitor’s assistant and a busboy in Milwaukee, Wis. In November 1971 Bremer had been charged by Milwaukee police with carrying a concealed weapon, but this was reduced to a disorderly conduct charge and the gun confiscated. Shortly thereafter, he went out and bought two other guns. On March 1, 1972 Bremer started following the Wallace campaign trail. During that period he spent about $5,000, although his total earnings for 1971–72 came to only $1,611. At times, he left the Wallace trail. On April 7 and 8 he stayed at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel in New York, where Hubert Humphrey was staying. Bremer then traveled to Ottawa, Canada, where he stayed at the expensive Lord Elgin. He also checked into a number of motor inns along the Wallace campaign route. Where he got the money for the bills has remained a mystery, especially since it was established that he had not received any money from his parents. As is customary in such cases, Bremer was initially reported to be a “loner,” but that does not appear to have been very accurate. He had quite a few friends in Milwaukee, including Dennis Cassini, an individual officials never got to question. He was found dead of a heroin overdose, his body locked in the trunk of his own automobile. Although this was reported to the FBI, there is no indication that its director, L. Patrick Gray, ordered any inquiry into the matter. Other odd facts or circumstances developed. Bremer had been seen in Ludington, Mich. in the company of a man described as having a “New Joisey brogue.” Roger Gordon, who was a former member of the Secret Army Organization (SAO), a right-wing intelligence organization, said the man was Anthony Ulasewicz, a White House operative later to win fame in the Watergate scandal. Gordon later left the country. There were prominent reports that White House aide Charles W. Colson ordered E. Howard Hunt (two more Watergate personalities) to break into Bremer’s apartment and plant Black Panther Party and Angela Davis literature. More explosive than that charge was the allegation that the order was given within one hour of the attempt to kill Wallace. Commenting on these details in an interview with Barbara Walters, Wallace said: “So I just wondered, if that were the case, how did anyone know where he lived within an hour after I was shot?” A practical political result of the attempted assassination of Wallace was to force him out of the 1972 race, in which he was expected to run as a third-party candidate. A week before the election, voters were polled on how they would have voted had Wallace run. The results were Nixon, 44 percent; McGovern, 41 percent; Wallace, 15 percent. Such a result, because of how the vote broke down, would likely have thrown the election into the House of Representatives, where Wallace would have had considerable influence. With Wallace out of the race, virtually all his supporters went to President Nixon. Arthur Bremer has steadfastly refused to state why he shot Wallace. He was sentenced to 63 years, over objections by his attorneys that he was unbalanced. He has been described as a loner in the Maryland State Penitentiary, working in the print shop. “Bremer does not give interviews,” Warden George Collins said in 1979. “In fact, he won’t even see his mother. She came in all the way from Milwaukee at Christmas, and he talked to her for about five minutes and went on back down inside. He just doesn’t want to be bothered. He just doesn’t want any hassle.” The warden did add Bremer was “a very good inmate, so far as obeying institution rules is concerned.” Brennan, Molly (?1853–1875) murder victim A dance hall girl at the Lady Gay gambling saloon in Sweetwater, Tex., Molly Brennan participated in a love triangle that provided western folklore and Hollywood with one of the most oft-used clichés ever. A character named Melvin King, who was a sergeant with the 4th Cavalry when he wasn’t beating up or shooting up folks, was romantically inclined toward Molly. Once while on leave, King rode up to Kansas to visit friends, which put him far out of sight and out of mind for Molly, who then took an interest in a civilian scout for the army named Bat Masterson. Returning from his leave, King was already in a foul mood, having come out second best in a dispute with Wyatt Earp, and he was spoiling for a fight. When he heard about Molly’s fickleness, he rode hell-for-leather toward Sweetwater. King stormed into the Lady Gay to find Molly and Bat on the dance floor. Masterson barely had time to unclinch from Molly as King drew his gun. At the same time King fired, Molly threw her body in front of Masterson and took the bullet in her stomach. King’s second shot shattered Masterson’s pelvis, but as Bat was falling, he drew his .45 and shot King dead. Molly Brennan died shortly afterward as a result of her wound. 121 BRINK’S robbery was all in their care and feeding. But his recipe for the latter was something he would share with no one, other than to say they got prime feed only. There was good reason for Briggen to guard his secret. The truth was a grisly story. He hired homeless men as his helpers, recruiting them on a customary trip to the Embarcadero section of San Francisco. A downand-outer would jump at the chance for a good job with room and board, and Briggen could keep him several weeks if not months before the man would demand his back pay. Then Briggen would kill him, chop up the body and feed it to his prize swine. In his twisted mind, Briggen had become convinced it was this diet of human flesh that made his swine prize winners. He was finally exposed in early 1902, when his newest hired hand, a youth named Steve Korad, who had arrived very enthusiastic about finding work, looked around his room and found two severed human fingers from a previous victim that Briggen had carelessly dropped behind the bed. Korad raced off in the night and notified the law. When authorities dug up Briggen’s ranch, their search turned up the bones of at least a dozen victims, but they were sure they had not found them all. The pigpen itself yielded up several bones, including one dead man’s skull. Briggen was convicted in August 1902 and sentenced to life. He died in San Quentin shortly thereafter. An unkind chronicler said that out of respect for Molly, Bat Masterson avoided all romantic entanglements for a month. Considering the condition of Masterson’s pelvis, this was almost certainly both untrue and ungracious. It became the custom at the Lady Gay for the men to toast the memory of Molly Brennan, and her sacrifice went on to be reenacted in scores of Hollywood shoot-’em-ups. briefcase agents early FBI men During the early years of the FBI, agents were not permitted, under ordinary circumstances, to carry a gun or make an arrest, other than those an average citizen could make. If they needed to arrest someone, they were required to seek local assistance. Such restrictions on federal agents made sense in terms of preventing the rise of a national police force, but in actual practice they led the underworld to regard the FBI as an impotent force. FBI men became known as “briefcase agents,” because that was about the only equipment they could carry. The requirement that the FBI seek local assistance in making arrests proved to be a serious drawback because of the widespread corruption among many local police departments. By the time agents arrived to arrest a suspect, he often had already fled the scene thanks to the local police “pipeline.” The FBI was forced to select carefully among the various jurisdictions before attempting an arrest. While the rise of the public enemies brought about some demands for unshackling the briefcase agents, two crimes in particular led to federal passage of a package of crime laws by 1934 that widened the scope of the FBI and gave its agents the right to carry firearms and make arrests. These were the Lindbergh baby kidnapping and the Kansas City Massacre. Briggs, Hattie (c. 1880–1890s) madam In vice-ridden Chicago during the 1880s and 1890s, the most famous madams were Carrie Watson and Lizzie Allen, but a black madam (“as ugly as anyone could imagine,” according to one contemporary account) named Hattie Briggs enjoyed almost equal notoriety, being the subject of a never-ending string of newspaper articles. Six feet tall and weighing about 225 pounds, Hattie cut an arresting figure in the long scarlet coat she always wore. She ran two brothels, one on Clark Street and another on Custom House Place, where her girls were available for 25¢. However, rare indeed was the customer who got out of either of these dens without being robbed. Scorning such slow-moving, indirect robbery methods as the sliding panels used in some other establishments, Hattie’s technique was quick and most direct. She would simply seize a customer and slam him up against a wall a few times, strip him of his money and toss him out into the street. Although Hattie was raided several times a week, she got off with minor fines; few victimized customers cared to appear in court to testify against her. Briggen, Joseph (c. 1850–1903) mass murderer One of this country’s most awesome mass murderers, Joseph Briggen committed his crimes for many years on a small ranch in a remote California valley. Briggen barely made a living on his Sierra Morena Ranch. Certainly he was never prosperous enough to keep more than one hired hand at a time. In fact, were it not for his prime Berkshire swine, for which he almost invariably won the coveted blue ribbon at the state fair in Sacramento, Briggen’s ranching would probably have been considered a total loss. At state fair time, however, he was in his glory, his prize swine attracting top dollar. When he was asked about how he raised them, Briggen would say the secret 122 BROADWAY Mob A diagram shows the route taken by the bandits in the Great Brink’s Robbery in 1950, which netted them $2.7 million in cash, checks and securities. While the newspapers constantly wrote exposés of her activities, it took the police some 10 years to drive her from the city; some cynical newsmen saw this as proof of police corruption. Indeed, Hattie’s downfall resulted more from her insulting the police than from her breaking the law. In the early 1890s Hattie took a young black thief and gambler, William Smith, as a lover. She set him up in the saloon business and dressed him gaudily in patent-leather shoes with white spats, lavender pants, white vest, yellow shirt, bright blue coat and, of course, a silk hat. She adorned him with diamond pins and rings. Smith soon became very “big for his britches” and bragged that Hattie intended to make him the “biggest black boy in Chicago.” Indeed, Hattie announced that she was making so much money she intended to buy up all the brothels and saloons in the city’s vice centers for Smith, elect him mayor and abolish the police force. This may have been the insult the police could not abide because a force of 20 patrolmen raided Smith’s main saloon and, following a desperate battle, arrested the great man and 22 of his henchmen. After Smith’s liquor license was revoked, the still-smarting police turned their rage on Hattie Briggs, arresting her 10 to 20 times a day with blanket warrants. After lasting about half a month, Hattie finally hired a moving van and shipped off her girls and their bedding to a new place in suburban Lemont. According to later reports, Hattie moved south to a place where the law was said to be more considerate of hard-working madams. See also: PANEL HOUSE. Brink’s robbery The Great Brink’s Robbery of 1950 was two years in the making. For 24 months, 11 middle-aged Bostonians, seven of them heretofore no more than petty thieves, worked on the robbery of the Brink’s North Terminal Garage. They entered the garage at night and walked about in their stocking feet, measuring distances, locating doors, determining which way they opened, all beneath unsuspecting guards. On one occasion they removed the locks from the doors, fitted keys to them and then replaced the locks. They even went so far as to break into a burglar alarm company in order to make a closer study of the alarm system used by Brink’s. In December 1949 they ran through a com123 BROCIUS, William B.“Curly Bill” plete dress rehearsal. Finally, they decided they were ready. On the appointed day, January 17, 1950, the bandits entered the garage dressed in simulated Brink’s uniforms, rubber Halloween masks, and crepe-soled shoes or rubber overshoes. They made their way to the counting room and relieved five very surprised employees of $2.7 million in cash, checks and securities. The cash alone came to $1,218,211. In less than 15 minutes they were gone. The plan had been to keep a low profile for six years until the statute of limitations ran out, but one of the bandits, Joseph “Specs” O’Keefe, felt he had been gypped out of his fair share. He demanded another $63,000. The others refused but then started worrying he would turn informer. A professional hit man, Elmer “Trigger” Burke, was assigned to shut O’Keefe up permanently. Burke chased O’Keefe through the streets of Boston in a wild nighttime shoot-out, firing at him with a machine gun. O’Keefe was wounded in the arm and chest but escaped, although Burke was sure he had finished him off. The hit man was seized by police before he could correct his error. O’Keefe took offense at the effort to kill him and eventually started talking to the law; by then the FBI had spent $25 million investigating the caper. As a result of O’Keefe’s talking to the police, eight of the plotters were convicted and given life sentences. In 1980 an $18 million movie titled The Brink’s Job was released. It was played partly for laughs. On hand for the showing in Boston were two of the three surviving members of the original bandit group. Both had served 14 years for the crime before being released. “I’m glad they made something light out of it,” said 72-year-old Thomas “Sandy” Richardson. “Yeah, people need a few laughs these days.” Seventy-year-old Adolph “Jazz” Maffie wasn’t completely sold. “I thought it was all right. But only thing is that it wasn’t that much fun. That was hard work, that kind of job.” “Yeah,” Sandy said. See also: ELMER “TRIGGER” BURKE. lished that Bristol Bill had escaped from the British penal colony in Sydney, Australia; his true identity had not been known there either. In New York, Bristol Bill teamed up with another ex-Sidney prisoner, James Stuart, better known as English Jim, who had served 12 years down under. It was later estimated that the pair robbed more banks in the area from New York to Boston than any other criminals of their era. By the late 1840s, after several close brushes with pursuing detectives, they decided to pursue their calling in the relative safety of Vermont. Within a matter of several weeks during the fall of 1849, they robbed six banks, floated a huge quantity of counterfeit money and swindled a number of businessmen. However, the small-town police of Vermont proved sharper than their big-city brethren and captured Bristol Bill. English Jim escaped, fleeing to California, where he became one of that state’s top criminals before being captured and hanged by vigilantes. Bristol Bill was sent to prison for 14 years. His later life proved as enigmatic as his earlier history, and his true identity was never learned on this side of the Atlantic. Broadway Mob rumrunners One of the most important components that eventually were merged into the national crime syndicate was the Broadway Mob of the 1920s. Officially run by Joe Adonis (his real name was Joseph Doto but he went under the name “Adonis” because he was proud of his looks), the Broadway gang boasted a board of directors that included such future big shots as Frank Costello and Lucky Luciano. It totally controlled the flow of bootleg liquor in the great center of Manhattan. Luciano brought in the Bug and Meyer Mob, run by Meyer Lansky and Bugsy Siegel, to provide protection for the gang’s convoys. Adonis and Costello soon decided that it made more sense and was cheaper to bring Lansky and Siegel in as partners. This new interethnic Broadway Mob soon dominated bootlegging in New York, supplying good whiskey to all the top speakeasies, including Jack White’s, Jack and Charlie’s “21” Club, the Silver Slipper, Sherman Billingsley’s Stork Club and others. While not all the whiskey was “right off the boat” as claimed, even the liquor produced in Waxey Gordon’s Philadelphia distilleries was far better than the local rotgut. The Broadway Mob invested in some of the best speakeasies and thus had a special interest in keeping the liquor supplies of good quality. It was through the workings of the Broadway Mob that the syndicate’s top mobsters came to own some of Manhattan’s most Bristol Bill (c. 1840) bank robber and counterfeiter Perhaps one of the most mysterious criminals in American history was the notorious Bristol Bill, who operated during the 1840s in New York and Boston. His true identity was never known to police in this country, although the London police know exactly who he was. They refused to reveal it, however, because Bill’s influential father, a member of the British Parliament, did not want the family name dishonored. It was estab124 BROWN, Sam respective bands met at Iron Springs, a waterhole in the Whetstone Mountains. Earp told Brocius he was taking him in, and Curly Bill said he had a warrant for Earp. The latter ended this legal impasse by blowing Brocius to pieces with a double blast from his shotgun. See also: JOSEPH ISAAC “IKE” CLANTON, NEWMAN H. “OLD MAN” CLANTON, WYATT EARP. valuable real estate, a situation unchanged even to the present day. See also: JOE ADONIS. Brocius, William B. “Curly Bill” (1857–1882) western outlaw A brutal outlaw whose real name was William B. Graham, Curly Bill Brocius, or Brocious, was the most important gunfighter in the Clanton gang and, as such was frequently at odds in Tombstone with the Earps. Curly Bill was probably the one Clanton man Earp feared most, and it was said the Earps provoked the famous or infamous gunfight at the O.K. Corral because Brocius was not around. When Old Man Clanton died, Curly Bill became the de facto leader of the gang, having far more ability, brains and guts than Ike Clanton. He would have been a more imposing outlaw except for a lack of ambition. Curly Bill preferred commiting crimes that required little effort on his part. He was quite content to capture a Mexican muleteer in the hills, take all his money and torture him to death. Brocius killed Marshal Fred White on the streets of Tombstone in a confrontation with that lawman and his deputy, Virgil Earp. It was a matter of dispute whether Curly Bill killed the marshal with a cunning maneuver of his six-gun as he was handing it over to White or whether White caused his own death by seizing the gun by the barrel. Virgil Earp said it was murder; a jury decided on accidental death. In July 1881 two Clanton gunmen, Bill Leonard and Harry Head, were killed trying to hold up the store of William and Isaac Haslett in Hauchita, New Mexico Territory. The brothers were hailed as heroes, but they didn’t have much time to enjoy their fame before Curly Bill and Johnny Ringo rode into town and shot them both dead. Later that same month Brocius led his men on a particularly vicious murder spree, ambushing a Mexican trail herd in the San Luis Pass and killing 14 vaqueros. Actually, six of the victims fell in the first volley and the rest surrendered, only to be tortured to death before their cattle were driven off. After the O.K. Corral gunfight, Curly Bill took part in an assassination attempt on Virgil Earp and the successful ambush of Morgan Earp, both for handsome pay provided by Ike Clanton. After those killings and a couple of stagecoach robberies, Brocius, in one of the frequent ironies of law enforcement in Tombstone, was sent off to the hills armed with a warrant for the arrest of Wyatt Earp that had been issued by Earp’s foe Sheriff John Behan. Earp was in the hills at the same time looking for Brocius. Their broken homes and crime For years the broken home, one altered by divorce, desertion or death, has been considered a major cause of delinquency and subsequent criminal behavior by children. Overall, various studies have indicated that 40 percent of juvenile delinquents, give or take 10 percent or so, come from broken homes, which is at least double the percentage of children from broken homes in the general population. Among male delinquents in cases closed by the Los Angeles Probation Department, 58 percent of those institutionalized came from broken homes. However, it has become apparent on the basis of several studies that the judicial process tends to select children from broken homes for institutionalization, adding an important distortion to the figures. More recent studies have concluded that the impact of a broken home may not be very significant on white males, although some researchers insist there is an important impact on white females and on blacks compared to whites in general. But even in these cases, the differences may be more apparent than real, as is suggested in a 1972 Florida study by Roland J. Chilton and Gerald E. Markle. It found that the socalled differences in delinquency rates between white boys and girls are primarily in the areas of ungovernability, truancy and running away from home and that statistical differences between the sexes virtually disappear for behavior that would be considered a crime if committed by an adult. Among black children distinctions between the seriousness of the offense tend to disappear, suggesting that for black youths the home situation may be less significant as a cause of major misconduct, which is considerably higher among blacks than among whites. The Florida study found that in low-income families, white or black, the seriousness of the offense was not determined by the family situation, suggesting that the family’s overall economic condition rather than its composition is more relevant to the development of delinquency. 125 BROWN, William Brooks, William L. “Buffalo Bill” (?1832–1874) lawman and horse thief they could be brought to trial, they were lynched the night of July 29, 1874. Brooks’ motive, it became apparent, was to cripple the rival company and win back the mail contract for his former employer. All in all, it was an ignoble end for the man who just two years before had been known as the toughest gun in Dodge City. There are those who say that William Brooks could have been the greatest and most efficient lawman the West had ever seen before he himself went bad. The life of Brooks, called Buffalo Bill because his prowess as a buffalo hunter nearly equaled that of William F. Cody, is steeped in controversy. Little is known about his early life, although he was apparently born in Ohio. Brooks’ story really begins in the late 1860s, when he was reputed to have killed several men in gunfights. After a stint as a stage driver, he became marshal of Newton, Kan. in 1872, reportedly at the age of 40. The town wanted a “mature man” for the job and Brooks seemed to fit the bill. Yet some biographers insist he was in his twenties at the time. Brooks’ sixguns made quite an impression in Newton, and he was soon offered the chance to clean up Dodge City. In his first month on the job there, Brooks was involved in some 15 gunfights, killing or wounding numerous “hard cases.” One of the men he killed had four brothers, who then came gunning for Brooks; with just four shots—according to the legend—Brooks dispatched them all. In any event, Brooks had gone far in taming Dodge and had he continued, Wyatt Earp would never have gotten the opportunity to achieve his later fame there. However, power seemed to have corrupted Brooks. He killed a few men he ought not have, one for merely being his rival for the affections of a dance hall girl. Brooks then backed down in a shoot-out with a tough character named Kirk Jordan and left Dodge. Some say it was this loss of face that turned Brooks bad and led him to engage in many illegal enterprises. According to one popular story, Brooks made a try for the marshal’s job in Butte, Mont., but his reputation and an opponent named Morgan Earp defeated him. The legend says Brooks’ defeat rankled him to the point that he went gunning for Morgan Earp and was killed in a classic gunfight at high noon, with the two men firing at once and one dropping in the dust. That would have been a far more glorious ending for Buffalo Bill Brooks than what actually happened. The facts are that no such duel ever took place— Brooks’ time ran out long before the alleged fight. In early 1874 he returned to his old employer, the Southwestern Stage Co., as a driver. A few months later, the company lost its mail contract to a competitor, and Brooks was out of a job. Late in June 1874 a number of mules and horses belonging to the competing company were stolen. About a month after that, Brooks and two others were arrested for the thefts. Before Brown, Hendry (?1850–1884) lawman and outlaw Several men in the history of the West have made a transition from outlaw to lawman or vice versa, but Hendry Brown seemed to flit back and forth so much it was difficult to say which one he was at any particular time. Brown was first heard of when he was operating in Texas as an illegal whiskey peddler. He said then that he had been a lawman in the panhandle, which may or may not have been true. What is true is that later on he did some posse duty with the McSween forces during the Lincoln County War in New Mexico, which might have qualified him as a lawman except that he spent a good deal of this time riding with Billy the Kid. After the Lincoln County War cooled, Brown split from Billy the Kid, deciding that the outlaw life offered little promise of longevity. He drifted over to Tascosa, Tex., where he magically ended up as town constable. But that activity soon bored Brown, and he hit the outlaw trail, working his way up to Kansas. After a while, Brown figured that the lawman game was, all in all, a better bet, and using his credentials as a constable in Texas, he became a deputy marshal at Caldwell. He killed a couple of men in the line of duty and soon picked up the marshal’s star. He was holding that job when in 1884 fickleness overtook him again. With three confederates he plotted out a bank robbery at Medicine Lodge in April of that year. It was a bloody affair, with Brown gunning down the bank president and another member of the gang killing a teller. The four bandits fled but they never made it back to cover in Caldwell. A hard-riding and fast-shooting posse cornered them and took them back to the local jail. They never survived the night—a large mob overwhelmed the guards and hanged all four from the same tree. Brown, Sam (?–1861) Virginia City killer Vicious even by the standards of the frontier, Sam Brown was said to have killed some 13 men in the streets and barrooms of Virginia City, Nev. The stocky red-bearded killer always carried a huge bowie knife slung from his gun belt. Proficient with the use of both knife and revolver, Brown killed without provocation. There is no record of him ever challenging a man as 126 BUCHALTER, Louis “Lepke” Only when they opened the restaurant coolers did they discover the terrible truth. Seven bodies were stacked in the coolers: the entire workforce of five employees and the two owners of the franchise operation. All had been methodically slaughtered. Clearly it was one of the most gruesome robberies ever committed, and also one of the most baffling, since the perpetrators obviously were intent on leaving no witnesses. In the O. J. Simpson case a few years later much was made—successfully—by the defense in the criminal case that much of the evidence had been contaminated by inept investigators. However, the Simpson case could be held up as towering efficiency compared to the Brown investigation. Local authorities were determined to produce quick charges, and an innocent former employee was held and grilled for a considerable waste of time while some insisted the trail was allowed to grow cold. In Homicide: 100 Years of Murder in America, Gini Graham Scott, Ph.D., reflected the opinion of a number of experts in declaring: “There must have been telltale evidence left behind, but whatever it might have been was smudged over or trampled by the eager but inexperienced police. . . . By the time a task force of experienced officers from other communities took charge, it was too late to solve the murders.” well armed as himself, and he never invited anyone to do fair battle. He killed only when he knew he was in no danger himself. One of his more revolting crimes took place in a C Street saloon in 1861. A pleasant young miner named McKenzie accidentally bumped his elbow at the bar. Brown turned to see who had offended him and spotted McKenzie, a man Brown knew had not been around long enough to make any close friends who would stand up for him. Seizing the youth by the throat, Brown, according to a contemporary account, “ran a knife into his victim, and then turned it around, completely cutting the heart out, then wiped his bloody knife and lay down on a billiard table and went to sleep.” Finally, Brown picked the wrong would-be victim, a farmer named Vansickle. On July 6, 1861, Brown’s birthday, the killer boasted between whiskeys that he would “have a man for supper.” He decided on Vansickle, who quickly made off for his farm, with Brown in bloodthirsty pursuit. By the time Brown reached the farmhouse, Vansickle had just enough time to dash inside and grab a shotgun. When the farmer came back to his doorway with the weapon, Brown, not relishing such resistance, climbed back on his horse and rode off to town. However, Vansickle was not prepared to let the matter rest. He decided he’d have to kill Brown to prevent him from trying again. As Brown dismounted in front of a saloon, Vansickle rode up. A contemporary account states, “Upon seeing his pursuer, mortal terror seized upon the ruffian; abject, unutterable fear sealed his lips; a spasmodic, agonizing yell of despair forced itself from his mouth. . . .” Vansickle leveled his shotgun and blasted his tormentor with both barrels. An inquest the next day found that Vansickle “had shown good sense, and, instead of deserving punishment, he should be rewarded for having thus rid the community of this brutal and cowardly villain.” Brown, William Brown’s Hole See ALEXANDER WILLIAM HOLMES. Brown’s Chicken mass murders investigation western outlaw refuge Brown’s Hole was one of the great western outlaw hideouts, lying some 250 miles southwest of Hole in the Wall. Accessible only by little-known roads that wound through deserts and over mountains, it lay at the junction of what is now eastern Utah, western Colorado and southern Wyoming. Brown’s Hole, rather than Hole in the Wall, was Butch Cassidy’s favorite hideout. It was here that the scattered elements of Cassidy’s Wild Bunch knew they could always renew contact. What Butch liked best about it was that “the tax collector doesn’t come around too often.” classic botched Brownsville affair mass punishment One of America’s most callous miscarriages of justice occurred in 1906 after an unidentified group of men shot up stores and homes around Fort Brown in Brownsville, Tex., where three companies of black soldiers were stationed. The shootings happened around midnight on August 13 and resulted in the death of a local resident and the severe wounding of a policeman. Despite the fact that the incident had taken place in the dark, a number of witnesses said the shooting had been done by soldiers, and the following morning some car- One of 1990s most horrific cases of mass murder, it remained unsolved and has been cited by some crime experts as one of the worst fumbled investigations ever conducted by police. On January 8, 1993 workers of the day shift of Brown’s Chicken & Pasta Restaurant in what was called the sleepy Chicago suburb of Palatine arrived and were mystified to find the entire overnight crew had mysteriously disappeared. 127 BUCHALTER, Louis “Lepke” tridges of U.S. Army specifications were found outside the fort. The company commanders instituted an immediate inspection of all the soldiers’ rifles but concluded none had been fired, and an inventory check indicated that none of the fort’s cartridges were missing. Several grand jury and military inquiries failed to pin the blame on any specific individuals. On October 4 President Theodore Roosevelt ordered an ultimatum be read to the troops, who had since been transferred to Fort Reno, warning that all would be ordered discharged “without honor” unless they handed over the guilty parties. When all continued to maintain their innocence, the entire group of 167 enlisted men were accused of a “conspiracy of silence” and discharged “without honor.” None were afforded any opportunity to confront their accusers and none were ever proved guilty of being involved in the crime. The Senate Committee on Military Affairs later held hearings that were critical of the president’s actions, and a military court of inquiry in 1909 announced that 14 of the soldiers would be allowed to reenlist, but the reasoning behind this decision was not revealed. The record of the discharges stood for 66 years until September 22, 1972, when secretary of the army Robert F. Froehlke issued a directive changing them from “without honor” to “honorable.” Buccieri, Fiore “Fifi” (1904–1973) syndicate killer A top enforcer for the Chicago syndicate, Fiore “Fifi” Buccieri was considered to be mob leader Sam Giancana’s personal hit man. No complete record of Fifi’s kills have been recorded, although federal agents who had bugged a house in Florida being used to plan a murder heard Buccieri reminisce about a number of killings. Among other principles he espoused was that ammunition for shotguns used in an assassination should be “fresh.” Fifi was particularly lighthearted about the gruesome demise of William “Action” Jackson, a 300-pound collector for the mob’s loansharking operation who was suspected of holding out some of the money and of being an informant for federal authorities. Jackson was hung from a meat hook, stripped and shot in the knee. Then, Buccieri recalled, the boys decided “to have a little bit of fun.” Jackson was worked over with ice picks, baseball bats and a blow torch. Fifi got hold of an electric cattle prod and jammed it up Jackson’s rectum. The fat victim lived for two days, but even at that, Fifi was “sorry the big slob died so soon.” Buccieri took photographs of the mutilated corpse and passed them around as reminders to other mobsters not to stray from mob rule. The manhunt for Louis “Lepke” Buchalter was among the most intensive ever, one that ended only when other leaders of organized crime betrayed him. Fifi was a graduate of Chicago’s worst juvenile gang, the 42ers. He was a hulking, gravel-voiced punk who attracted younger kids by his dapper dress and his affection of wearing wide-brimmed hats similar to those worn by movie gangsters. He attached himself to another up-and-coming 42er, Sam Giancana, who eventually rose to the top position in the Chicago outfit. Fifi became Giancana’s personal executioner and his loyal ally during the power struggles for mob leadership. The law never made Buccieri crack. During one federal probe investigators tried to elicit mob information by questioning Fifi about his brother Frank, also involved in mob affairs. They even questioned Fifi about the fact that his brother had a girlfriend who had been a Playboy bunny and a centerfold nude in Playboy magazine and that he had given her a horse as a pre128 BUCHANAN, Dr. Robert sent. Fifi’s answer, which became a classic in underworld circles was, “I take the Fifth on the horse and the broad.” Fifi died of cancer in 1973, and Giancana was assassinated two years later. There was speculation at the time that the mob—if the Giancana killing was a mob caper and not a CIA operation, as the underworld has insisted—would never have dared move against Giancana while Fifi Buccieri was alive. the need for an enforcement branch within its framework. Lepke was put in charge of it, with Albert Anastasia as second in command. The choice of Anastasia was obvious; he was a madman whose philosophy could be summed up in three words—kill, kill, kill. And the election of Lepke over him was equally logical. Lepke was the greatest exponent of violence in the rackets; an associate once noted, “Lep loves to hurt people.” Under Lepke and Anastasia the enforcement branch, later dubbed Murder, Inc. by the newspapers, carried out hundreds of hits for the syndicate. Lepke courted trouble with the law, living lavishly and relishing the spotlight. Thomas Dewey, then an ambitious special prosecutor, zeroed in on him once he had convicted Luciano. And while Dewey went after him for bakery extortion, the federal government stalked him for restraint-of-trade violations. Then the federal Narcotics Bureau began gathering proof that Lepke was the head of a narcotics-smuggling operation that was involved in massive bribing of U.S. customs agents. Free on bail, Lepke decided to go into hiding. While a nationwide manhunt was organized to catch him, he continued to control his union rackets from various Brooklyn hideouts, where he was being hidden by Anastasia. The continued manhunt, however, put extraordinary pressure on the entire syndicate and hamstrung their operations. Mayor Fiorello LaGuardia turned the screw even tighter by ordering his police commissioner, Lewis Valentine, to go to war on “hoodlums.” The problem got so bad that it was brought to the attention of Luciano, then confined at Dannemora Prison but still the top voice in the organization. Luciano agreed that Lepke had to give himself up, but there was a problem: Lepke realized Dewey could convict him of enough charges to keep him in prison for life. Therefore, Luciano decided that Lepke would have to be fooled into surrendering. He arranged for an emissary Lepke trusted, Moe “Dimples” Wolensky, to carry a message that a deal had been worked out with J. Edgar Hoover whereby if he surrendered directly to the FBI chief, he would be tried on the federal narcotics charge only and not handed over to Dewey. Lepke bought the story and surrendered on a Manhattan street to gossip columnist Walter Winchell and Hoover. As soon as he entered their car and Hoover spoke to him, Lepke realized he had been doublecrossed. Lepke was convicted on federal charges of narcotics conspiracy and sentenced to 14 years at Leavenworth but was then turned over to Dewey who succeeded in getting another conviction that resulted in a 39-year-to-life sentence. Unfortunately for Lepke, while he was behind bars, the story of Murder, Inc. broke, mainly because of Buchalter, Louis “Lepke” (1897–1944) syndicate leader and murderer The only national crime czar and kingpin of the rackets ever to go to the electric chair, Louis “Lepke” Buchalter graduated from sneak thievery during his youth on New York’s Lower East Side to become one of the founders of the national crime syndicate. Through control of the tailors and cutters unions, Lepke milked millions from the New York garment industry. Part of Lepke’s power sprung from his control of Murder, Inc., the Brooklyn “troop” of specialist killers who serviced the syndicate. Thus, Thomas E. Dewey referred to Lepke as “the worst industrial racketeer in America,” and J. Edgar Hoover called him “the most dangerous criminal in the United States.” In the early 1920s, while most gangsters were attracted by the huge fortunes to be made in booze, Lepke chose a different route to underworld fame and wealth. He and another thug, Jacob “Gurrah” Shapiro, linked up with the era’s top labor racketeer, “Little Augie” Orgen, to offer strike-breaking services to garment industry employers. Little Augie was shot dead in 1927, but Lepke and Shapiro prospered, especially after refining their operations so that they could serve both sides, assuming the added duties of union organizers and eventually taking control of union locals. The union racketeers extended their operations to control the bakery drivers’ union and levied a penny “tax” per loaf on bakers to guarantee their products got to market fresh. To greater or lesser degrees, Lepke moved into other industries, especially in league with Tommy Lucchese, a mobster with close ties to Lucky Luciano. Their extortion rackets expanded to tough on such businesses as handbags, shoes, millinery, poultry, cleaning and dyeing, leather, restaurants and others until it was estimated legitimate businesses were paying Lepke up to $10 million a year just so they could operate without trouble. The Lucchese connection gave Lepke an “in” with the budding crime syndicate being formed by Luciano, Meyer Lansky, Frank Costello, Joe Adonis, Dutch Schultz and others. The new organization recognized 129 BUCK gang information supplied by squealer, Abe Reles, one of the group’s leading killers. Lepke was tied in as the leader of the killer troop and was specifically linked to the 1936 murder of a Brooklyn candy store owner named Joe Rosen, a former trucker in the garment district who had been forced out of business by Lepke. Instead of bearing his loss in silence, Rosen began making noise about going to the district attorney’s office. Lepke handed out a contract on Rosen to two of his chief aides, Mendy Weiss and Louis Capone, and to Pittsburgh Phil Strauss. Rosen ended up with 17 bullets in his corpse. Even though Reles was killed in a mysterious fall from a window in a hotel where he was being kept under police guard, authorities had more than enough evidence to convict Lepke, Weiss and Capone (Strauss had already been sentenced to death for another murder). Through various appeals, Lepke staved off execution until March 1944. Shortly before his death the newspapers were filled with speculation that Lepke was talking about corrupt political and labor officials he had had dealings with and that if he really “opened up” he could blow the roof off the country, among other things delivering what one newspaper called “a prominent labor leader, powerful in national politics, as a man who had inspired several crimes.” In thinly disguised sidebar stories, that labor leader was readily identifiable as Sidney Hillman, then an intimate advi-ser to President Franklin D. Roosevelt. Lepke himself was quoted as saying: “If I would talk, a lot of big people would get hurt. When I say big, I mean big. The names would surprise you.”The New York Mirror reported, “It is said Lepke offered material to Governor Dewey that would make him an unbeatable presidential candidate.” On the afternoon of the execution, Lepke released his version of the facts. He had his wife read a statement that he had dictated: “I am anxious to have it clearly understood that I did not offer to talk and give information in exchange for any promise of commutation of my death sentence. I did not ask for that! . . . The one and only thing I have asked for is to have a commission appointed to examine the facts. If that examination does not show that I am not guilty, I am willing to go to the chair, regardless of what information I have given or can give.” Clearly Lepke had given some information, but it had not been enough, and now he was eager to inform the syndicate he was not going to talk about crime matters. If he did, he realized, no member of his family would be spared. On March 4, 1944 Lepke silently followed Capone and Weiss to the chair. See also: INC.; JACOB THOMAS E. DEWEY; JEWISH MAFIA; MURDER, “LITTLE AUGIE” ORGEN; JACOB “GURRAH” SHAPIRO; WALTER WINCHELL. Buchanan, Dr. Robert (?1855–1895) murderer Dr. Robert Buchanan, one of New York’s most famous 19th-century killers, was a vain murderer who modeled his crime on a similar one committed by a young medical student, Carlyle Harris, for which the latter went to the chair. Dr. Buchanan, possessing higher scientific knowledge than that of a mere medical student, improved on Harris’ method but also went to the chair. Buchanan’s background is a bit murky. He had lied about his age and education so that he could practice medicine in Canada without a license. When he got caught, he went to Chicago for a couple of years and then returned to Halifax, Nova Scotia, where he married the daughter of a wealthy manufacturer. Buchanan talked his in-laws into sending him to Edinburgh, Scotland to complete his medical education. When he returned, he and his wife moved to New York, where he set up a modest practice in Greenwich Village. By 1890 when he divorced his wife and sent her back to Nova Scotia, Buchanan had developed a taste for the seamier side of life and had formed an attachment with big, fat, ugly Annie Sutherland, who lived in the Village but ran a call house in Newark. Annie had one very redeeming quality: she had $50,000 in the bank. When he proposed marriage, Annie Sutherland jumped at the chance. For her, marrying a doctor meant respectability. For Dr. Buchanan, the marriage meant $50,000. About that time the Carlyle Harris case was coming to trial. Harris, a medical student had secretly married a young girl named Helen Potts. After tiring of her, he disposed of Helen by poisoning her with morphine. He had been caught because a doctor noticed her pupils were pin points, the universal sign of morphine poisoning. One evening Buchanan was drinking in Macomber’s, a Village watering hole. He slammed a fist on the bar and said: “And I tell you Carlyle Harris was a fool! If Harris had known anything about medicine, he could have gotten away with it easily.” “How, Doc?” a drinking companion asked. “Never mind,” said Buchanan. “We of the profession cannot have laymen mindful of such information.” Buchanan would say no more, but he was in fact to put his opinion to the test. In 1892 he announced he was going to Edinburgh by himself, but four days before he was scheduled to leave, he canceled the trip 130 BUCKMINSTER, Fred the pupils dilate or enlarge. If Harris had used some atropine when he gave his wife the morphine, his wife’s eyes would have ended up looking normal, and no one would have suspected.” White ran his story, and Dr. Buchanan was indicted. An autopsy showed that his wife had in fact been killed by morphine poisoning. At his trial the prosecution went so far as to kill a cat in the courtroom with morphine and then administer atropine to show how the pin pointing could be prevented. On July 1, 1895 Dr. Buchanan went to the electric chair as a result of drunken remarks he never remembered making. See also: ISAAC DEFOREST “IKE” WHITE. because his wife had taken sick. Buchanan promptly called in not one but two other physicians to treat her. Both of them were with her when she died. Clearly, the doctors had no reason to view the woman’s death as anything other than apoplexy, the result of a cerebral hemorrhage; their patient did not appear to have been poisoned since her pupils were not contracted. Apoplexy and morphine poisoning produced similar symptoms except for that one basic difference: in apoplexy there is no change in the pupils of the eyes, but in morphine poisoning the pupils greatly contract. Some of Mrs. Buchanan’s friends, from her brothel in Newark, were sure the doctor had not only married her for her money but had also killed her for it. Although the police wouldn’t listen to such shady characters maligning an apparently respectable medical man, Ike White, a star reporter for the New York World who had a reputation for breaking cases, did listen. He had worked on the Carlyle Harris case and was intrigued by the story of a doctor who had married a madam. White asked the physicians who had attended Mrs. Buchanan about her symptoms and raised the possibility of morphine poisoning; he was told that the woman’s pupils had definitely not contracted. An a verage investigator or reporter might have given up right there, but White kept checking. He discovered that a mere three months after Mrs. Buchanan’s death, the doctor had announced he was going to Edinburgh. Instead, he went back to Nova Scotia and remarried his first wife. The major difference in the doctor’s present marital condition was that he was $50,000 better off. There was a story here, and White knew it. He also knew that in the 1890s, before the psychiatric couch came into vogue, the average man imparted his deepest secrets to either his priest or his bartender. He also knew that Dr. Buchanan was not a churchgoer. This theory is what finally led the reporter to Macomber’s. He talked with Old Man Macomber about a number of things, including sports, current events, murders—especially the Carlyle Harris case— and people in the neighborhood who had died, such as Mrs. Buchanan. Finally, the matter of Dr. Buchanan’s statement about Harris’ stupidity was raised. “Now how could Harris not have been found out?” White said derisively. The bartender leaned forward. “The doc told me,” he said. “One night he said he wouldn’t tell anybody how it could be done, but by closing time he was so plastered he whispered to me that if I’d set up one for him, he’d tell just me. I did and he said, ‘If you’ve ever been to the eye doctor, and he’s put drops in your eyes, chances are the eye drops were atropine, which makes Buck gang Indian murderers The Rufus Buck gang, five semiliterate, half-black, halfCreek Indians, lasted only two weeks in the old Indian territory of Arkansas-Oklahoma. While their crimes were shocking, they are best remembered by the enemies they made. Rufus Buck and his four confederates—Lewis Davis, Sam Sampson, Maoma July and Luckey Davis—were all under the age of 20 when they started their depredations on July 28, 1895. A deputy marshal made the mistake of looking at them suspiciously and died in a hail of rifle fire. Over the next 13 days they carried out a series of holdups of stores and ranches around Fort Smith and committed several rapes, in one case threatening to drown a woman’s babies unless she submitted. They held up a drummer, or salesman, named Callahan and gave him a “sporting chance” to escape if he could outrun their fire. He did, and in frustration, the gang turned their guns on Callahan’s young black helper, killing him without the same sporting offer. Not only whites but Creek Indians as well were incensed by the gang’s actions. On August 10 the five were trapped in a grove outside of Muskogee where they were dividing some loot. The posse that tracked them down was composed of lawmen and a company of Creek Light Horse (Indian police). They were brought to trial before Hanging Judge Parker, although the Creeks sorely wanted to try the gang and mete out Indian justice. None of the gang or their five appointed lawyers had much to say. One attorney’s total summation was, “May it please the court and the gentlemen of the jury, you have heard the evidence. I have nothing to say.” The jury rendered its verdict without even sitting down in the jury room, and the five were duly hanged on July 1, 1896. 131 BUFFALINO, Russell A. professional. He victimized dishonest bankers, seeking out those who had been accused of cheating customers. He would pose as a depositor with some stocks that he would leave for safekeeping and then would permit himself to be “swindled” out of them after the banker was fed false information that the stock had suddenly ballooned in value. As Buckminster once put it, “When I see a crook, I see nothing but dollar signs.” Buckminster’s greatest swindle of other swindlers was a racket he worked with Kid Dimes, a leading gimmick man who fixed roulette wheels for crooked gambling houses. Buckminster was probably the first man to “fix” a fixed roulette wheel. In 1918 the Kid was busy rigging a wheel for the King George Club, a crooked gambling joint in Chicago’s Loop area populated by con men who steered suckers there nightly. The wheel Kid Dimes constructed allowed the croupier to let the ball stop in any of three numbers he desired, giving him complete control in picking red or black, odd or even or the winning set of numbers. On Buckminster’s instructions, Kid Dimes added another button at the customer’s end of the table that would cancel out the croupier’s choice and magnetize the ball into the number 8 slot. Outfitting himself in a 10-gallon hat, Buckminster posed as a Texan looking for some gambling action and soon was steered into the King George. With a con man at each elbow, he began playing the wheel. Despite their egging and his swagger about being a Texas oilman, he made only small bets. The house let him win a few while the con men kept working on him to set up a killing. Finally, Fred rose to the bait. He plunked down a roll of $10,000 on a bet covering numbers 7 through 12. The odds against Fred winning were 5-to-1. But of course there was no danger of that. Then just before the croupier rolled his roll, Fred tossed a fat $1,000 bill on number 8 “for good luck.” As the wheel spun, the croupier hit the secret button that guaranteed the ball would stop in a safe number in the 30s. At the same time, Fred pushed his button, canceling out the croupier’s action. The little ball came to rest on number 8. A loud cry went up in the place. Nobody had seen a hit like that. Five-to-1 on the combination bet and 35to-1 on the number bet paid a total profit of $85,000. The croupier was stunned. A hurried conference was held, but Buckminster was relaxed. With so many suckers in the place, the house could do nothing but pay off. Others pounded on his back, congratulating him. Fred announced he hadn’t had enough and continued to play further until he lost back $5,000. In the process, he also removed the secret button from under the table. Then After the execution a picture of Rufus Buck’s mother was found in his cell. On the back of it he had written this poem: MY dreAM— i,dremP’T, i, wAs, in, HeAven, Among, THe Angels, FAir: i,d, neAr, seen, none, so HAndsome, THAT TWine, in goLden, HAir: THeY, Looked, so, neAT, And; sAng, so, sweeT And, PLAY,d, THe, THe, goLden, HArp, i, wAs, ABouT, To, Pick, An, Angel ouT, And, TAke, Her, To, mY HeaRT: BuT, THe, momenT, i, BegAn, To, PLea, i,THougHT, oF, You, mY, Love, THere, Was, none, i,d seen, so, BeAuTiFuLL, On, eArTH, or, HeAven, ABove. gooDl By, My Dear, Wife . . anD MoTHer All. so. My sisTers. RUFUS, BUCK Youse. Truley We are told by one of Hanging Judge Parker’s more maudlin biographers that the poem “brought tears to Parker’s dimming eyes.” See also: ISAAC C. “HANGING JUDGE” PARKER. Buckminster, Fred (1863–1943) con man One of the most fabled of American con men, Fred Buckminster started on the “bunco trail” while still a teenager. He was to be a swindler the rest of his life, completing his last prison term at the age of 75. In an era of hard money, he stole a minimum of $3 million. He worked for 20 years with another fabulous fraud, Artist Yellow Kid Weil, together developing and pulling off some of the most famous con games of all time. They worked variations of the “fixed” prize fight and horse race swindles, utilizing a “big store,” or phony betting shop, to trim the suckers. Everyone in the establishment other than the victim was a fake, betting and collecting on phony races. On some occasions Buckminster and Weil would turn things around and swindle a genuine betting parlor; one of them would get the results of a race at the western Union office while the other placed a bet before the hotel bookie joint received the results. They swindled “Palmer House” Ryan, operator of the Stockade, a horse-betting establishment in the woods outside Chicago, by having a railroad engineer toot out the winner in code as his train passed the Stockade. Buckminster discovered early in his career that the easiest person to cheat was another thief, amateur or 132 BULETTE, Julia murder of Hoffa. Later he drew a long sentence for murder and was regarded as the oldest top mafioso behind bars. he walked out, promising the con men to return the next evening. Naturally, he did not come back. The gambling house owners were furious and sent for Kid Dimes to explain what went wrong. Kid Dimes was a picture of innocence as he inspected the table. He emerged from under the table holding a dead battery. Shaking his head in disdain, he said: “Why don’t you people change batteries at least once a week to be safe? At a dime a throw you ought to even be able to afford to change batteries every night.” Over the next decade, whenever things cooled down, Buckminster and Kid Dimes worked that racket on several gambling houses. Buckminster once estimated it netted close to $750,000. Despite his successes, Buckminster spent a great many of his adult years in prison. He was acutely aware of how greatly the odds favored the police over the crook. “A copper can make a thousand mistakes but a crook only one to get put away,” he said sadly when he got out of prison the last time. At the age of 76, Buckminster retired from the rackets. In 1941 he did a series of memoirs for a detective magazine. He raised one of the checks given him for the use of his byline from $100 to $1,000 and cashed it. The publishing house took it philosophically and did not prosecute. Sending a dying old man back to prison made little sense, and it did seem a little late for Buckminster to alter his ways. See also: JOSEPH “YELLOW KID” WEIL. Buffalo Blacks murders racist homicides In the 1980s a rash of murders of blacks by one man led to the commencement of explosive racial panic and retribution, which may have been curbed only by the solution of the crimes. Known as the “Buffalo Blacks murders,” the deadly spree spread far beyond that upstate New York city, sometimes as far as to Georgia, and produced an atmosphere of bigotry and animosity in areas considered relatively free of such feelings. Eventually one man acknowledged responsibility for 13 deaths, with others unsolved but still perhaps connected with his rampage—or inspired by it. The killings started when a 14-year-old AfricanAmerican youth was shot outside a Buffalo supermarket by a white man. The next day a 32-year-old man was also shot to death in a fast-food restaurant in a Buffalo suburb. There was another killing that night, and then a fourth victim fell in nearby Niagara Falls. All had been shot with a .22-caliber weapon, and the crimes were headlined as the work of the “.22-caliber killer.” Panic seized the black community, which complained about nonexistent police protection in their areas. White motorists were pelted by blacks, a cross was burned in Buffalo and fears grew that some paramilitary racist groups were behind the violence. The killings resumed on October 8 when the body of a 71-year-old black cabbie was found in the trunk of his car, his heart ripped out. The next day another black taxi driver was found by the Niagara River. His heart was also ripped out. On October 10 there was another frightening occurrence. A white stranger appeared at the bedside of a black patient recuperating from an illness in a Buffalo hospital. He snarled, “I hate niggers.” The stranger started to strangle the patient but was frightened off by the appearance of a nurse. The patient’s description of his assailant seemed to match those given by eyewitnesses in the .22-caliber killings. There were no more attacks in the Buffalo area. Then, on December 22, a series of knife slashings by a white man of five blacks and one Hispanic occurred in a brief period in New York City. Two survived the onslaughts, but four of the victims died. The press dubbed the attacker the “Midtown Slasher.” While the police hunt was on in New York City, a 31-yearold black man was stabbed to death in Buffalo on December 29. The next day the same fate befell a Buffalino, Russell A. (1903– ) mob leader Although labeled by the McClellan Committee as “one of the most ruthless and powerful leaders of the Mafia in the United States,” Russell A. Buffalino has remained a prime example of the shadowy crime kingpin about whom much is suspected but little proved. Centering his activities around Pittstown Pa., Buffalino was long considered the Mafia “family boss” of organized crime in much of that state. His activities reportedly also extended into upstate New York and New Jersey, where he was described as an active participant in labor racketeering and a behind-the-scenes power in Teamsters’ affairs. It is known that the government has long regarded Buffalino as the prime suspect in ordering the “disappearance” of ex-Teamster head Jimmy Hoffa. He also reputedly was involved in peddling drugs and fencing stolen jewelry. Although he had a record of arrests dating back to 1927 on such charges as receiving stolen goods, petty larceny and conspiracy to obstruct justice, he was not convicted of a serious offense until 1977, when he was sentenced to four years for extortion after threatening a man who owed $25,000 to a jeweler. The evidence against Buffalino was uncovered as part of the federal government’s efforts to link him to the possible 133 BULETTE, Julia Bug and Meyer Mob black victim in Rochester. Over the next two days there were three more attacks on blacks, but they survived. By January 6 authorities declared that the stabbings were “probably linked” to the .22-caliber killings. The police now had a theory but no suspect. That changed on January 20 when white private Joseph Christopher was charged with the slashing of a black GI at Fort Benning, Georgia. Christopher was from Buffalo and a search of his former residence turned up .22-caliber ammunition, a gun barrel and two sawed-off rifle stocks. Investigators established that he had joined the army in November, after the Buffalo shootings, and was on leave from December 19 to January 4 and that he arrived in New York by bus on December 20 just before the slashings started. In May Christopher, who was hospitalized with selfinflicted wounds, bragged to a nurse that he had been involved in the September shootings. He was charged with four of the shooting deaths, and in New York he was indicted in one of the slashing murders and a nonfatal attack. Christopher waived a jury trial in Buffalo and went to trial before a judge. In December 1981 he was found to be mentally incompetent to stand trial, but that decision was later reversed and he was convicted of three counts of first-degree murder and sentenced to 60 years in prison. That finding was also reversed on grounds the judge had improperly barred testimony indicating mental incompetence. However, three months later a Manhattan jury rejected Christopher’s claim of insanity, and the terrors of the .22-caliber killings and the Midtown slashings reached their legal conclusion. buffaloing early Lansky gang Started in 1921 by Meyer Lansky, who was the brains, and Bugsy Siegel, who provided the muscle, the Bug and Meyer Mob was the forerunner of Murder, Inc. Lansky and Siegel had been inseparable buddies since childhood in New York City. Together they formed a stolen car combine, in time supplying cars to various gangs. As their gang of tough Jewish hoods grew, Lansky began renting out drivers for the cars and then hit men who might be needed. They also took on the job of protecting bootleg gangs’ booze convoys, occasionally hijacking shipments for another gang. The Bug and Meyer Mob’s rates were high, and in time some bootleggers figured out it would be cheaper simply to bring them into the operation and give them a slice of the take. Lucky Luciano, thanks to a friendship with Lansky that was to last his lifetime, made good use of the mob. The Bug and Meyer forces protected Luciano from assassination until he was ready to move against the “Mustache Petes” of the old Mafia forces. As the head of a group of Jewish gunmen posing as police detectives, Siegel assassinated Salvatore Maranzano, thereby making Luciano the number one Italian gangster in the country. After that, the need for the Bug and Meyer Mob ended, and all its members moved on to lucrative positions with the newly established Luciano-Lansky crime syndicate. Years later when Lansky attempted to gain refuge from U.S. law in Israel, he tried to paint the Bug and Meyer Mob as just a collection of poor Jewish boys he had organized to protect other Jews from the vicious Irish gangs of the period. This revisionist version of history has little evidence to support it. The Bug and Meyer Mob was a group of killers, the first of organized crime’s Murder, Inc. troops, and many of its “graduates” played godfatherly roles when the Brooklyn version of that organization was established in the 1930s under Lepke and Anastasia. See also: MEYER LANSKY, BENJAMIN “BUGSY” SIEGEL. method of police brutality in the old West Described several times in western lore as “the gentle art of bending a revolver barrel around a lawbreaker’s skull,” buffaloing was a common treatment given cowboys by vicious “townie” lawmen. Two confirmed practitioners of the method were Wild Bill Hickok and Wyatt Earp. This technique was rarely anything other than pure brutality, since the victim was generally in custody and disarmed when the “head creasing” took place. The term evidently derived from the contemptuous attitude many lawmen had toward cowboys, regarding them as so dimwitted that they were as easy targets for a slugging as a buffalo was for a hunter’s gun. Earp carried the practice to such excess that one Texas cattleman put a $1,000 bounty on his head because of his treatment of the rancher’s cowboys. See also: GEORGE HOYT. bugging See WIRETAPPING AND BUGGING. Bulette, Julia (1832–1867) madam and murder victim Julia Bulette was the reigning madam of Virginia City, Nev. during the town’s wide-open mining days, and her murder in 1867 became a cause célèbre of the time. In a larger sense, it marked the beginning of the taming of the West. It is hard to separate fact from legend when talking about Julia. In later years it was believed that she was buried in a solid silver coffin, that a parlor car on the 134 BUNDY, Ted Virginia and Truckee Railroad was named in her honor, that she was enormously rich and that she charged as much as $1,000 a night for her company. Probably only the last two items were really true. This beauty of Creole origin turned up in Virginia City in 1859, when it was no more than a town of clapboard houses and tents inhabited by 6,000 miners and a handful of women. Julia immediately set up business as a prostitute, starting to entertain men as soon as a floor was laid for her cabin, while other grateful miners went about putting up the walls and roof. Julia’s enterprise flourished and within a year she employed six other girls to handle business. She opened a parlor house that became the town’s center of elegance, one that offered French cuisine and wines and had fresh flowers brought in daily from the West Coast by Wells Fargo. Julia was made an honorary member of the Virginia City Fire Co., the only woman so honored, and on the Fourth of July, she led the parade through town, riding a fire truck adorned with roses. Much beloved by miners, mine owners and railroad tycoons, Julia was frequently pictured as the prostitute with the Golden Heart. Her praises were often sung by a young reporter for the Territorial Enterprise who had just adopted the pen name of Mark Twain. During the Civil War she was one of the biggest contributors to fund-raisers for the Sanitation Fund, the Red Cross of its day. When a fever epidemic hit the area, Julia turned her pleasure palace into a hospital and pawned much of her jewelry and furs to raise money to care for and feed the sick. After the sickness passed, the establishment returned to its fabled bagnio status. During her early years in town, Julia always sat in the orchestra of the local theater surrounded by a swarm of admirers, but with the arrival of more virtuous ladies and gentlemen in Virginia City, she was forced to sit in a box on the side, curtained off from their cold stares. Civilization was coming to the West, and Julia’s days as queen of Virginia City society were clearly coming to an end. On January 20, 1867 Julia was found strangled in her bed, most of her valuables gone. She had been murdered by either a thief or a client. The miners of Virginia City were outraged. Quickly, suspect after suspect, 12 in all, were arrested, questioned and finally released after proving their innocence. Had one been judged guilty in those angry days just following murder, a lynching would have resulted, despite the attitudes of the more righteous elements. Unable to bring the culprit to justice, the men of Virginia City gave Julia Bulette the biggest funeral the town had ever seen. All mines, mills and stores were shut down and draped in black bunting. Led by the fire company and the Metropolitan Brass Band, the cortege paraded through town with hundreds of weeping men in the line of march. We are told that the respectable women of the town shuttered their windows for fear of seeing their own husbands in the procession. After Julia’s body was laid in the ground, the band marched back to town, playing the rollicking “The Girl I Left Behind Me.” Several months after the murder, the culprit, John Millain, described in the local press as a “trail louse,” was captured following an attempt to rob and kill another madam. Many of Julia’s jewels and other prize possessions were found on him. Despite his claims that others were responsible for the murder, Millain was convicted after a quick trial. The community attitude toward Millain was probably best reflected in the district attorney’s summation to the jury: Although this community has, in times past, seen blood run like water, yet in most cases there was some cause brought forward in justification of the deed, some pretext. But on the morning of the 20th of January last, this community, so hardened by previous deeds of blood, was struck dumb with horror by a deed which carried dread to the heart of everyone—a deed more fiendish, more horrible than ever before perpetrated on this side of the snowy Sierra. Julia Bulette was found lying dead in her bed, foully murdered, and stiff and cold in her clotted gore. True, she was a woman of easy virtue. Yet hundreds in this city have had cause to bless her name for her many acts of kindness and charity. So much worse the crime. That woman probably had more real, warm friends in this community than any other; yet there was found at last a human being so fiendish and base as to crawl to her bedside in the dead hour of the night, and with violent hands, beat and strangle her to death—not for revenge, but in order to plunder her of these very articles of clothing and jewelry we see before us. What inhuman, unparalled barbarity! That philosophy reflected the thinking of virtually the entire male population of Virginia City, but not that of some of the women. During his confinement in jail, many of the good ladies of the area virtually lionized Millain, bringing him delicacies to fortify his spirits. A woman’s committee went so far as to circulate a petition for commutation of his sentence. The Territorial Enterprise was incensed by the effort, commenting: “We believe that the man will be hung. If he is not, we do not know where a fit subject for hanging is to be found.” 135 BUNDY, Ted three Bummers and arrest them on some minor charge, and since the outlaws knew they would be released shortly, they offered no resistance, right up to the moment when a noose was suddenly slipped around their necks. After a few such multiple hangings, the Bummers who hadn’t been hung fled and law and order came to Auraria. Bunch, Eugene “Captain Gerald” (?1850–1889) train robber A former schoolteacher who decided there was more money in robbing trains, Eugene Bunch became the notorious Captain Gerald, scourge of the railroads of Texas, Louisiana and Mississippi during the 1880s. He staged his first robbery in 1888, when he climbed aboard a Southern Express train outside New Orleans and quietly informed the express car guard that he would blow his brains out if he didn’t open the safe. Departing with $10,000 in currency and bonds, he told the guard to inform the railroad line that Captain Gerald would be back. Wanted posters described this Captain Gerald as “soft-spoken.” After he gained notoriety and a certain popularity with a few more robberies, Bunch was described by the newspapers as being “handsome and daring.” Bunch moved on to Texas, where he became a society darling and extremely popular with the ladies. He passed himself off as a Captain Bunch, a former newspaper editor from Virginia, and he spent an honest six months running a local newspaper. Bunch also had a torrid affair with the daughter of a former governor of Texas. When the train-robbing urge hit him again, Bunch ended up in Mississippi and the girl followed him, dutifully awaiting his return from each holdup. By now, however, Pinkerton detectives were closing in on Captain Gerald and had even connected him with Captain Bunch. In 1889 Bunch ceased his lone wolf operations and recruited five gunfighters to form a gang. One was captured and betrayed the gang’s hiding place on a small island in a Mississippi swamp. Bunch and two of his gang were ambushed while they were eating. His two confederates were shot before they could even rise from the table. Attempting to make a run for it, Bunch was shot dead in a spirited gun battle. The revelations about Captain Bunch, needless to say, sent shock waves through Texas society. Ted Bundy struck a “Dracula” pose as the judge left the courtroom following a jury recommendation that Bundy be sentenced to die in the electric chair. After Millain was sentenced to be hanged on April 24, 1868, so many people wished to attend the event that it had to be shifted to a great natural ampitheater one mile to the north of the city. On that day all the mines on the Comstock shut down once again; it was the second major holiday Julia Bulette had provided. Bummers western gang The Bummers were an organized band of outlaws who robbed, raped and terrorized Auraria, Colorado Territory from about 1855 to 1860, much as the Plummer gang did a few years later in Bannack, Montana Territory. In 1860 the Bummers were wiped out by a vigilante committee of just 10 townsmen in alliance with the local sheriff, who made no pretense about observing legal niceties. The sheriff whose name went unrecorded by the chroniclers of the day, would approach two or Bundy, Ted (1947–1989) the charming human monster The standard description of the average serial killer is that he has, especially in the eyes of neighbors, the 136 BURDELL, Dr. Harvey behavior patterns of a “creep.” In some atypical instances, however, the serial killer comes across differently. Ted Bundy certainly belongs to this “different” class. As one journalist noted: “The moment he stepped into the courtroom in Utah . . . those who saw him for the first time agreed with those who had known him for all of his twenty-eight years. There must have been some terrible mistake.” It was no mistake, as Robert Keppel, an expert who worked on serial killer investigations, noted: “Bundy [later] said he had a Ph.D. in serial killing. He taught us that a serial killer can appear to be absolutely normal, the guy next door. It’s very simple. He liked to kill.” Ted Bundy was to leave a scar on the American psyche from 1974 to 1989, when he was finally executed in Florida. His first batch of kills, eight of them, started in 1974, as young women disappeared from Seattle streets. They had been lured into a beige Volkswagen by a presentable young man named Ted. A police computer search turned up nearly 3,000 owners of lightcolored Volkswagens in Seattle, and Bundy’s name cropped up among them. But while many were questioned and checked on, Bundy was not. Why should he have been? He was of impeccable character, with numerous good points: Colorado became convinced Bundy had murdered Caryn Campbell, a nurse who had been vacationing in Aspen almost a year earlier. Campbell had been missing for five weeks before her body turned up in a snowbank. She had been raped, bludgeoned to death, and then ravaged almost beyond recognition by wild animals. Bundy was extradited to Colorado but was never to stand trial for the Campbell murder. Instead he escaped twice. The first break occurred when Bundy was alone in a room in the county courthouse in Aspen. He jumped from a second-story window and disappeared, not to be recaptured until a week later. Although Bundy was charged with a vile crime, his exploit made him a folk hero in some quarters, a perverse public reaction expressed on future occasions. Six months later, still awaiting trial, Bundy outwitted his jailers again, this time wiggling through a lighting panel in the ceiling of his cell. The opening was only 18 inches wide, and in order to make good his escape, Bundy had managed to lose 35 pounds. While authorities pressed their search for the fugitive, Bundy made his way across the country to Tallahassee, Fla. Using a phony name and stolen cars and credit cards, he moved into a rooming house on the outskirts of Florida State University. The lodging was just four blocks from the Chi Omega sorority house. Less than two weeks after arriving in Florida, Bundy invaded the sorority house. He was dressed in black and carried a heavy wooden club. Two co-eds were to die in the house. They were found to have been gnawed badly, but unlike Campbell, they bore bite marks not from wild animals but from their wild human attacker. Particularly gnawed up was Lisa Levy, who bore teeth marks on one of her breasts and on her buttocks. She had been beaten, bitten, and strangled in her bed. Another sorority member, Margaret Bowman, met the same grisly fate. The bite marks, investigators realized, were appalling evidence of the killer’s psychotic fervor at the moment of the kills. Levy and Bowman were not the only victims in the Chi Omega house that night. Another co-ed was also attacked and beaten unconscious, but she recovered. Meanwhile, Bundy moved on like a wraith in the night, and six blocks farther on, a young actress was beaten and raped in her bed. She also survived but could offer no description of her attacker. During the ensuing investigation, several residents in Bundy’s rooming house were suspected of the killings, although Bundy was not. Evidently, he was considered a cut above the rest. At the time, the fact that Bundy had very crooked teeth went unnoticed. Three weeks after the sorority house invasion, Bundy stole a white van and drove to Jacksonville, • He had worked as a counselor at a crisis clinic. • He had become an assistant director of the Seattle Crime Prevention Advisory Commission. • He had written a rape prevention pamphlet for women. • He had gotten a letter of commendation from the governor of Washington for once capturing a purse snatcher in a shopping mall. Bundy was very active in the Republican Party and won the title of Mr. Up-and-Coming Republican. A former state party chairman who knew Bundy well and recruited him as his assistant said: “If you can’t trust someone like Ted Bundy, you can’t trust anyone—your parents, your wife, anyone.” Presumably, Seattle lost a fine resource when Bundy left the area and moved on to Salt Lake City and became a Mormon. The killings followed him. Bundy’s first arrest came in October 1975 when a 19-year-old woman identified him in a police lineup as the man who had tried to handcuff her and pull her into his car one night in Murray, Utah. Bundy had been picked up for a traffic violation, and when handcuffs were found in the car, police thought back to the attempted kidnapping of the young woman. Bundy was convicted in the case and given a one- to 15-year prison sentence. While the case was pending, police in 137 BURDELL, Dr. Harvey where he attempted to abduct a 14-year-old girl. He was forced to drive off when the girl’s brother appeared. The brother and sister were quick enough to make a note of the van’s license plate. Three days later, 12-year-old Kimberly Leach disappeared from her Lake City junior high school in the middle of the day. Her corpse was not found for two months. When it was discovered, Kimberly was described as having been the victim of “homicidal violence to the neck region.” By now, police in Washington State, Utah, Colorado and Florida were coming to grasp that a single killer was responsible for at least 18 murders in their jurisdictions. Bundy had been the prime suspect in the Campbell murder in Colorado, and he was now being sought for many others as well. He moved on to Pensacola, driving yet another stolen VW and unaware that the FBI had just listed him on its Ten Most Wanted list. The car Bundy was driving was recognized by police as a stolen vehicle, and he was seized when he tried to flee on foot. At first, the police did not know whom they had caught, as Bundy gave a false name. But they did know that he was involved somehow in other cases: They found the plates from the van in which the 14-year-old Jacksonville girl had nearly been abducted. Thirty-six hours after Bundy’s arrest, he was identified. The authorities had hit the jackpot. Florida law officials charged Bundy with the murders of Lisa Levy and Margaret Bowman. An impression made of Bundy’s teeth showed that his crooked bite marks matched perfectly those found on Lisa Levy’s buttocks. Bundy pleaded not guilty to the Chi Omega murders and once again was perversely celebrated by those with a twisted and maudlin viewpoint when, as an ex–law student, he conducted part of his own defense. It took the jury just seven hours to find Bundy guilty on a variety of counts. The teeth bite evidence was the most damning, but in addition, a hair in the panty hose mask worn during the attack on the actress the same night as the sorority house killings was found to be indistinguishable from Bundy’s. When asked if he had anything to say before sentencing, Bundy, with tears in his eyes, declared: “I find it somewhat absurd to ask for mercy for something I did not do. The sentence is not a sentence of me. It’s a sentence of someone who is not standing here today.” Bundy’s mother was quoted as saying, “There will be appeal after appeal after appeal.” Even the judge exhibited a certain sympathy for Bundy when passing the death sentence, saying: “Take care of yourself, young man. I say that to you sincerely. It’s a tragedy to this court to see such a total waste of humanity. You’d have made a good lawyer. I bear you no animosity, believe me. But you went the wrong way, partner. Take care of yourself.” On a radio talk show one commentator wondered if the judge would have been pleased to have Bundy give his daughter driving lessons. A year later, Bundy was convicted of the murder of Kimberly Leach, whose body had been found halfburied near a state park. The van he was driving at the time contained leaves and soil matching samples near the burial site. Also, bloodstains in the van matched the blood type of the murdered girl. There were a number of appeals put forward by Bundy. In the process, he accumulated a large body of supporters, including a number of lawyers and journalists who had followed the trials. The string ran out at last for Bundy in 1989. In a final interview, Bundy confessed to 28 additional murders. On the night of his electrocution, there were 100 newspeople circulating the crowd outside the prison. It was one of a few cases where those favoring execution far outnumbered those opposed. Signs raised in celebration bore messages such as “Buckle up, Bundy, it’s the law” and “roast in peace.” Buntline, Ned See EDWARD Z. C. JUDSON. Burdell, Dr. Harvey (1811–1857) murder victim The murder of Dr. Harvey Burdell was New York’s most sensational case during the 1850s, marked by too many suspects and too many motives, and ending with the public paying P. T. Barnum a fortune to view a baby whose claim to fame was not having been fathered by the late dentist Burdell. In 1857 Dr. Burdell, at the age of 46, was no pillar of righteousness in the community. When the police relayed news of Burdell’s murder to his own brother, Theo, the man declared, “I am not surprised, for he was a dirty”—here even the more sensational of the city’s press concealed the words— “... .. . ..... !” As the police pressed their investigation, they found that no one seemed to have a good word to say about the departed wealthy dentist. He was described as a sly scoundrel, an accomplished thief, a slick cheat, a welsher, a cheap swindler, a liar “whose word was not worth a cough,” a man who quarreled with everyone including his patients. One redoubtable Irishman even insisted Burdell had been a secret agent in the pay of the British government. And why not? Anything was possible when speaking of a man who could woo a girl, go to the church to marry her, pull her father aside and say the wedding was off unless he was paid $20,000, 138 BURKE, Elmer “Trigger” Mrs. Cunningham became a prime suspect when she suddenly laid claim to a widow’s portion of Burdell’s estate, stating she had married him secretly a short time before his murder. She even produced a rather senile minister to attest to the marriage. Yes, the minister said, he had married the woman to a Harvey Burdell. But he wasn’t at all sure if this Burdell fellow resembled the deceased. In fact, the minister allowed that the groom looked a little like roomer Eckel. The coroner decided there wasn’t all that strong a case against any of the three alone, so he ruled all three were involved in the murder and should be charged. The prosecutor in the case was A. Oakley Hall, a district attorney who was later to become the most rapacious and, according to some, the most dishonest district attorney in the history of New York City, known as O. K. Haul. But at this stage of the game, Hall was merely out to make a name for himself so he could pave the way for his future misdeeds. Mrs. Cunningham was to be tried first, under Hall’s plan, and her supposed confederates later. One reason for this was that doctors had found Burdell had been stabbed by a left-handed person—and Mrs. Cunningham, or Mrs. Burdell, was left-handed. But aside from that detail and motive and opportunity, there was little direct evidence linking the woman with the crime. All the while the district attorney was presenting his case, the defendant sat in a chair demurely knitting little blue and pink things. Finally, Hall had had enough and he protested this bizarre behavior. Emma’s lawyer, Henry L. Clinton, a descendant of a former vice-president of the United States, defended his client’s action. Mrs. Burdell—as he insisted on calling her— was pregnant and would soon be giving birth to the deceased’s child. In the end, that as much as anything caused the jury to bring in a not-guilty verdict. With the woman free, the prosecution gave up efforts to convict the two men. The men quickly disappeared, but Mrs. Cunningham-Burdell stayed much in evidence, pressing her claim to the Burdell fortune. Now that she was with child, she stood to inherit virtually the entire estate. Her pregnancy, however, had an odd quality to it. She seemed to grow bigger, but she would not permit her doctor to examine her. She was, she said, of the old, old school, and no male hands would ever touch her body. Finally, the doctor decided he was being used and went to the district attorney to say he suspected the woman was stuffing her dress with cushions. The authorities put a watch on her and soon found she was dickering to buy a new-born baby. She offered a young unmarried girl about to give birth $1,000 if she would slip her baby right over to the Burdell home. The girl and indeed call the wedding off if no agreement in principle was reached. Dr. Burdell was paid back in full by his murderer; he died in painful and lingering fashion. He had been stabbed 12 times, and sometime during that ritual, in between or afterward, the murderer or murderess paused to strangle him for good measure. He was found in the master bedroom of his Bond Street home by a young boy who came each morning to make a fire in the fireplace. The boy had trouble pushing open the door to the bedroom, and the obstruction turned out to be Burdell’s body. The place was spattered with blood. There were three other people living in the Burdell mansion. One was a comely widow, Mrs. Emma Cunningham, who, on a sublet deal with the dentist, rented out rooms to boarders. She was about the most distressed person the police found. When informed of the crime, she shrugged and said, “Well those things happen.” A bachelor businessman, John J. Eckel, who rented a room in the house, was not quite as heartbroken. In fact, a contemporary historian insisted he danced a jig when he learned of Burdell’s passing. The other tenant was George Snodgrass, who was the son of a Presbyterian minister, a shy and effeminate-looking youth, broke into a big smile when told about the murder and supposedly went out to celebrate, got drunk and tried to attack a hulking longshoreman. Snodgrass was to become a prime suspect after the police found various female undergarments, which he evidently liked to wear, secreted in his rooms. This struck the lawmen as somehow highly significant in a murder investigation. But there were other major suspects. Dr. Burdell was known to owe a bundle to Honest John Burke, the crookedest gambler in town. Honest John took the loss of his money quite well when informed of his patsy’s death. As a matter of fact, he ordered drinks set up for everyone in his favorite tavern, including the officers who brought him the tidings. A rich old Connecticut Yankee, Spawl, now living in New York, had much the same reaction as Honest John, although he didn’t spend any money to exhibit his joy. Dr. Burdell had also pursued his daughter, Miss Lucy Spawl, until Spawl sent him away. Burdell had become so incensed that he beat up the old man. Unfortunately for the police, Honest John, Spawl and several other suspects all had alibis for the time of the murder. This left authorities with the three persons living in the Burdell mansion, Cunningham, Eckel and Snodgrass. And in fact, since the house was shut tight from the inside and the fireplace boy had his own key to get in, the murder certainly appeared to be an inside job. If it hadn’t been, then how had the killer entered and left? 139 BURKE, William took the money, and as soon as her baby was born, it was sent over to the alleged Mrs. Burdell, who planned to inform her doctor that a little event had happened during the night. But the police were watching and stormed into the bedroom of the bogus mother-to-be and arrested her. Many people thought that since Mrs. Cunningham wasn’t pregnant, it somehow meant she had indeed murdered Burdell. But the fact was she had been acquitted of that charge. Fraud charges were brought against her but they were later dropped. The Burdell case was to remain unsolved, although for many years the press continued to present various theories. The Police Gazette came out with an exclusive that the murderer was a man named Lewis, who had just been executed in New Jersey for another murder. Lewis had told the Gazette that he had done the job by mistake, meaning to kill another Burdell. Whoever did kill Dr. Burdell, now firmly established as New York’s favorite murder victim, never paid for his sins, but at least the guilty party did not gain financially from his or her crime. The only one to make out well moneywise was the bogus Burdell baby. Her mother, already $1,000 ahead on the deal, rented her out for $25 a week to P. T. Barnum, who displayed the tot at his museum for all the eager New Yorkers wishing to see what a baby impostor looked like. man named George Goll for the job but released him for insufficient evidence. Via the grapevine, Burke informed Goll that he did not believe the accusation against him. When he got out of prison, he found Goll on a Manhattan street and put two bullets into the back of his head. Burke also committed a number of other murders mostly on paid assignments but occasionally gratis. He apparently killed Edward “Poochy” Walsh on July 23, 1952 out of nothing more than personal pique. He entered a bar where Poochy was holding forth, stuck a revolver in his face and blew his victim away with three slugs. “Don’t call me Trigger no more,” he said. “Call me Killer.” For the rest of Trigger Burke’s days before his arrest, he was a wanted man, but he remained readily available to the underworld for hit duty. In June 1954 Burke was assigned to eradicate Joseph “Specs” O’Keefe, reputedly a wayward member of the gang that had pulled the $2.7 million Brinks robbery and believed to be about ready to provide the police with details and names of those involved. It was one of the few jobs Burke messed up. In a wild machine-gun spree through the streets of Boston, Burke loosed blast after blast at the fleeing O’Keefe but managed only to wound him. O’Keefe survived and identified his attacker. Trigger Burke became the most hunted outlaw of the era for all of 24 hours. Contrary to expectations, Burke did not leave Boston; he apparently had more assignments. The next day another hoodlum, George O’Brien, was found fatally wounded just three miles from the scene of the Burke-O’Keefe shooting spree. And that evening a Boston detective arrested Burke “on suspicion.” Burke looked at him and said, “You’ve made a better pinch than you think, copper.” Burke was clapped in the 104-year-old Suffolk County Prison on Charles Street and remained there until he was able to escape three months later with the help of two gunmen who broke into the prison through a carriage shed and two unused emergency doors. Burke’s escape electrified the nation, but his freedom was short lived. A year later, he was captured by the FBI in Charleston, S.C. while waiting for a bus. He was unarmed and offered no resistance. Burke’s attorneys resisted efforts to extradite him to New York for the Walsh killing, insisting he go instead to Massachusetts to face charges of carrying a machine gun and breaking out of jail. New York won out. On January 9, 1958 Burke went to the electric chair, after a last meal of a giant steak followed by a half-dozen cigars. He spent his remaining hours going over 144 newspaper clip- Burke, Elmer “Trigger” (1917–1958) hit man In the 1950s the most reliable hit man used by the underworld was Elmer “Trigger” Burke, who often said there were only two things in this world that he loved—money and machine guns. In trouble as a youth, he was advised by his older hoodlum brother, Charlie, to join the army in order to avoid being sent to prison for the robbery of a New York City grocery. Fighting in Europe during World War II, he distinguished himself, earning his nickname of Trigger by storming a German machine-gun nest and killing eight enemy soldiers. When his lieutenant reached the scene, he found Burke still blazing away and told him to stop because “those bastards are dead.” “You’re goddamn right they are,” Burke replied, slinging his weapon. When Burke returned to his native Hell’s Kitchen in New York City, he again moved in mob circles and through his brother’s good offices became a freelance killer for a number of gangs. These killings he handled with precision, but he proved less adept at committing his own robberies. He was sentenced to two years at Sing Sing for a liquor store holdup. While Burke was in prison, his brother was murdered. The police nabbed a 140 BURNS, William J. at Trenton. Heading Burns’ defense was Clarence Darrow, and the hearing soon turned into a trial of Georgia’s penal system. Described in chilling detail was the “sweat box,” a barrel with iron staves on top, in which “insolent” prisoners were kept, often with near-fatal results. It was revealed that prison cages built for 18 men actually housed 34 convicts. Bolstered with endorsements by several other governors, Gov. Moore rejected the extradition request. Burns was a free man inside New Jersey. Still Georgia did not cease its efforts to recapture its most publicized fugitive. In 1941, Gov. Eugene Talmadge tried again to win custody of Burns, citing improvements made in the penal system. These claims were countered by penal reformers who said the changes were in name only, not in fact. In 1945, Gov. Ellis Arnall finally ended the chain gang system and invited Burns to return to Georgia. He did, and Arnall immediately commuted his sentence to time served. A free man at last, Burns returned to his New Jersey home and thereafter continued to lend support to penal reform movements until his death 10 years later. See also: CHAIN GANGS. pings of his exploits. Burke advised the warden to preserve them all “for history’s sake.” See also: BRINK’S ROBBERY. Burke, William (1870–?) “Philadelphia’s Jean Valjean” William Burke was one of the most tragic figures in American criminality, whose fate earned him the title of Philadelphia’s Jean Valjean. Burke did not, however, enjoy the final happiness of his fictional counterpart. In his early years in Boston Burke had a different nickname, the Prince of Flatworkers, which he had earned by robbing an estimated 300 to 400 houses and apartments in that city. Finally caught, he served seven years in the Charlestown state prison under another name. Upon completion of his sentence Burke settled in Philadelphia, where he lived an honest life and saved up enough to open a cigar store. He married and in 1911 was elected to the city council on a reform slate. Burke might have continued his upright life with his past shrouded in secrecy had not a former fellow convict from Charlestown recognized him. The man blackmailed Burke to the point that he finally resigned from office and confessed his criminal record, retiring then to a bitter obscurity. Burns, William J. (1858–1932) detective Few detectives in history have led as checkered a career as William J. Burns, founder of the detective agency that bears his name. He was also the “star of the United States Secret Service” and later the discredited head of the Bureau of Investigation, forerunner of the present FBI. Both in government and private work, Burns may have been the most politicized detective the country has ever seen. Samuel Gompers, the head of the American Federation of Labor, regarded him as an enemy of labor, a frame-up man and faker of evidence. Yet during their head-on clash over the 1910 bombing of the Los Angeles Times building, it was Gompers who lost face when the McNamara brothers, two labor officials, were convicted of the murderous plot. Burns emerged to great accolades, with the New York Times referring to him as “the greatest detective certainly, and perhaps the only really great detective, the only detective of genius whom the country has produced.” Similarly the great attorney, Clarence Darrow, who also tangled with Burns in the McNamara case, came within an eyelash of being sent to prison on a charge of jury tampering. But during his career Burns himself narrowly missed being imprisoned on such charges as kidnapping and jury tampering, once being lucky to escape with a mere fine against his agency for keeping under surveillance the jurors in the trial of oil man Harry Sinclair. Throughout his career, Burns served the establishment, or at least those elements within the Burns, Robert Elliott (1890–1965) chain gang fugitive Author of I Am a Fugitive from a Georgia Chain Gang, Robert Elliott Burns, through his book and a subsequent movie about his life, was responsible for the exposure and eventually the end of the inhumane Georgia chain gang system. Out of a job as a World War I veteran, Burns, together with two strangers, burglarized $5.80 from a grocery store. For this crime he was sentenced to six-to10 years on the chain gang. In June 1922 Burns made a dramatic escape and was not located until 1930, by which time he had risen to a high post on a magazine in Chicago. Burns voluntarily returned to Georgia after being promised by state officials that he would get a pardon. Instead, he was returned to the chain gang. Burns then did what no other prisoner had done—he escaped the chain gang a second time, assuming a double life in New Jersey. During this period Burns began writing magazine articles describing his personal story and exposing chain gang conditions. These articles were expanded into a book, and in 1932 a movie about his prison life starring Paul Muni evoked much public sympathy. Georgia officials, however, were outraged. Finally locating Burns later that year, they demanded his extradition. Gov. A. Harry Moore of New Jersey held a special hearing in the Senate Chamber of the State House 141 BURR-Hamilton duel establishment he deemed proper. Generally, this meant those with a strong antilabor bias and pro–Eastern Republican leanings. Few could quarrel with Burns’ early detective career as a member of the U.S. Secret Service, when he cracked many important counterfeiting cases, especially the Bredell-Taylor ring. In 1905 Burns was put in charge of investigating the great western land fraud, in which tens of thousands of acres of public lands were illegally fenced or bought under false representations. Through Burns’ efforts Oregon senator John H. Mitchell and Oregon representative John N. Williamson, both Republicans, were convicted and right-wing Republicans never forgave Burns. Years later, considerable evidence indicated that some of the investigations and prosecutions were so corrupt and politically tainted that many regarded them as worse than the charges brought against those eventually convicted. In 1906 Burns left government service to conduct an investigation of corruption in San Francisco, one that would ultimately wreck the machine and send Boss Abe Ruef to prison. Later, he cracked the Los Angeles Times bombing, which many regarded as the greatest bit of detective work in American history, by tracing bomb fragments to the McNamara brothers. However, Burns’ stunning accomplishment in the case became somewhat tarnished when, some say at the instigation of Times owner Harrison Gray Otis, he attempted to prove the McNamara’s lawyer, Clarence Darrow, had attempted to bribe two jurors. The charge was a bit far fetched considering Darrow was at the time preparing to have the McNamara brothers plead guilty in order to save them from execution. The move failed when Darrow, taking over his own case in summation, made a speech lasting a day and a half that has been cited as matching the eloquence of William Jennings Bryan’s “Cross of Gold” oration. “Burns!” Darrow sneered throughout. “Burns with his pack of hounds. The steel trust with its gold. All arrayed against me. I stood alone for the poor and weak. Will it be the gray dim walls of San Quentin? My life has been all too human, but I have been a friend to the helpless. I have cried their cause.” Near the conclusion, Darrow cried: “Oh, you wild insane members of the steel trust. . . . Oh, you bloodhounds of detectives who do your masters’ evil bidding. Oh, you district attorneys. You know not what you do.” Right then, it was said, Burns knew he was beaten. The jury came in with a not-guilty verdict after only one ballot. Another trial for the alleged bribing of the second juror ended in a hung jury, and the local authorities, Otis and Burns gave up their attempt to jail Darrow. Despite this defeat, Burns’ detective agency was flourishing. He had succeeded in wresting the plum of the profession, the contract with the American Bankers Association for the protection of its 11,000 member banks, from the much larger and more powerful Pinkertons. Burns’ disdain for the Pinkertons was limitless. He regarded his competitors as cowardly, taking on only “safe” cases and never going against local public opinion. To Burns’ credit, he was willing to buck public opinion in the case of a young Jewish businessman in Georgia, Leo Frank, who was convicted of raping and murdering a 14-year-old white girl, Mary Phagan, and sentenced to death. During their investigation Burns and one of his assistants were almost lynched by a mob. Because of evidence uncovered by the detectives, Frank’s death sentence was commuted, but he was later kidnapped from his prison cell and hanged. From 1912 through the war years, Burns compiled an impressive record of uprooting political corruption in a number of states, leading to indictments of many lawmakers and political figures. In 1913 he exposed bribe taking in Canada in the Quebec Legislature. In 1921 Burns was appointed to a position that should have been the capstone of his career, head of the Bureau of Investigation, then an organization that was inept at best and corruption-ridden at worst. It cannot be said that Burns improved matters; in fact, the bureau became overrun with agents urged on Burns by the very figures who were to become involved in the Teapot Dome Scandal. About the only laudable accomplishment of the bureau under Burns was an effective prosecution of the Ku Klux Klan, which Burns had come to hate in the aftermath of the Leo Frank case. However, his famed ability to detect fraud and graft failed him completely as the “Ohio Gang” took over during the Harding administration. Burns apparently saw nothing while corrupt friends of Harding looted the Veteran’s Bureau and the Alien Property Claims Bureau. The former bloodhound failed to uncover Secretary of the Interior Albert Fall’s blatant selling off of the Teapot Dome and Elk Hills government oil reserves to the highest bribers. In 1924 Burns resigned in disgrace and was succeeded by a young assistant, J. Edgar Hoover. Burns remained on the front pages as head of his private agency; he was accused in 1927 of jury tampering in the acquittal of oilman Harry Sinclair, charged as one of the bribers of Secretary of the Interior Fall. Burns had accepted an assignment from Sinclair to keep the jurors under surveillance. An angry federal judge ruled that the jury shadowing was itself a form of jury tampering. 142 BUTCHER, Jake Burns’ angry response, which perhaps all too well summarized his own career, was, “My men didn’t do anything for Harry Sinclair that I haven’t done for the federal government hundreds of times!” Burns died in April 1932. See also: LEO FRANK, LAND FRAUDS, LOS ANGELES TIMES BOMBING, GASTON BULLOCK MEANS, EARL ROGERS. glamorous and lately lamented outlaw named Sam Bass. In any event, they went about robbing trains until they became the subject of ballads, especially after the brothers made a habit of robbing the same train at the same spot on a number of occasions. In February 1888 the Burrows were captured, but Rube broke jail and escaped. With an accomplice named Lewis Waldrip, who may have been Leonard Brock, Rube spent most of the next several months trying to break Jim Burrow out of his Little Rock, Ark. prison, but his brother died there from consumption in December. Forced eastward by his pursuers, Rube Barrow continued his train-robbing activities in Florida and Alabama. In 1890 he pulled one of his lone wolf jobs. As he confidently strode to his horse to ride off once more into the darkness, a Southern Express detective took his head off with a shotgun blast. Burr-Hamilton duel The most famous duel in this country’s history was between Alexander Hamilton and Vice President Aaron Burr on the banks of the Hudson River at Weehawken, N.J. on July 11, 1804. There had been a festering hatred between the two men since 1801, when Hamilton refused to join in the conspiracy to keep Thomas Jefferson from the presidency and persuaded a number of key Federalist congressmen to choose Jefferson in the runoff against Burr, whom Hamilton called “a cold-blooded Catiline.” At the signal, Burr fired, and Hamilton rumbled forward mortally wounded. Hamilton’s gun had discharged into the air, and many of his supporters claimed he had deliberately fired high. A coroner’s jury called for Burr’s arrest, but he fled to the South. After the duel, Hamilton’s reputation was enhanced, while Burr became an outcast. A typical poem attacking him read: Burton, Mary (?–?) false informer An 18th-century prostitute and thief named Mary Burton had a more chilling record as an informer than even the girls involved in the Salem witchcraft hysteria. Finding herself in prison in 1741, Burton, also known as Margaret Kelly, sought and won her freedom by concocting a story about an imaginary “Negro criminal plot” in New York City. Because blacks, slave and free, comprised a large segment of the population, any talk of concerted action by them provoked fears on the part of the whites. Given that climate, the general rule was that any testimony by a white woman, regardless of her character or motive, was sufficient to convict a black. Mary Burton also found that every new accusation she made added to her prestige. As a result, 71 blacks were transported away, 20 were hanged and 14 others were burned at the stake. As was the case in the Salem executions, the general dignity with which many of the condemned died finally sparked doubt in the public’s mind, and Mary Burton’s charges were later simply ignored. Oh Burr, oh Burr, what hast thou done, Thou hast shooted dead great Hamilton! You hid among a bunch of thistle And shooted him dead with a great hoss pistol! Burrow, Rube (1856–1890) train robber and murderer Reuben Houston Burrow, the leader of the notorious Burrow gang of the 1880s, developed the same sort of mystique that Jesse James enjoyed. The balladeers and legend-makers, for instance, celebrated the time Rube and brother Jim drove off the miserly banker out to foreclose on a widow’s mortgage; of course, they also robbed him for their own gain. A daring criminal, Rube several times pulled off one of the most difficult of criminal endeavors: robbing a train single-handed. Generally, however, he worked with a gang that included his brother, James, another pair of brothers, Will and Leonard Brock, and various other “hard cases.” The Burrow brothers were born in Alabama and eventually moved to Texas, where they led rather tranquil existences as small farmers for about 14 years before suddenly turning to crime, perhaps because of tales they had heard about a so-called Burts, Matthew (1878–1925) train robber A minor member of the notorious Burt Alvord–Billy Stiles outlaw band, Burts deserves an entry of his own since, thanks to a cunning strategem by law officers, he was responsible for the gang’s complete breakup. Burts was suspected of being one of the robbers who held up the Southern Pacific train near Cochise, Arizona Territory on September 9, 1899 but it couldn’t be proved. Constable Grover of Pearce devised what might be called a reverse undercover operation: he hired Burts as a deputy. Totally unsuspecting any 143 BUTTERWORTH, Mary ulterior motive, the dim-witted Burts, got rip-roarin’ drunk with Grover and his cronies and slowly spilled out details of the robbery until he had made what amounted to a complete confession and had named all the other robbers. With Alvord and Stiles identified, the days of their criminal enterprises were numbered. For being an unwitting informer, Burts was rewarded with a prison term instead of the rope. He served his time and then moved on to California, where he engaged in the cattle business. Despite years of honest living, Burts still died violently; he was shot dead in 1925 in a grazing rights dispute with a neighboring rancher. See also: BURT ALVORD, BILLIE STILES. Joe Valachi, the celebrated informer, marveled at Buster’s shooting ability, which was equally masterful with machine guns, pistols or shotguns. Buster was the main shotgunner in the shooting of two top Masseria aides: Alfred Mineo and Steve Ferrigno, cut down in the Bronx on November 5, 1930. After the hit he and the two other gunmen with him scattered, but a police officer cut him off just a block from the murder scene. Excitedly, Buster told him there had been a shooting down the street. The officer raced that way and Buster the other. Another of Buster’s victims was James Catania, alias Joe Baker, who was killed on February 3, 1931 as he stood on a street corner talking to his wife. Buster had been loathe to do the shooting in front of the victim’s wife but couldn’t resist such an open target. He was proud of the fact that every shot hit the victim and none the woman. Buster lived through the Castellammarese War and the victory of Maranzano, but when Maranzano died in a 1931 plot that brought Lucky Luciano to real power, Buster’s days were numbered, probably because he was not respectful toward the Mafia captains. He was amused by, rather than in awe of, the structure and rituals of the Mafia. In September 1931 the nonbeliever was killed in a poolhall on the Lower East Side and his body toted away for dumping. Just as Buster’s early history is a mystery, so too is his final resting place. See also: JOSEPH VALACHI. bushwhacker Originally bushwhacker had no more meaning than backwoodsman, but the backwoods became the scene of so much criminal violence, starting with the 18th century depredations of Joseph Hare, Sam Mason and the Harpe brothers along the Natchez Trace, that every bushwhacker had to be regarded as a potential attacker. By the time of the maraudings of Quantrill and his Raiders during the Civil War, bushwhacker had already come to mean a backwoods outlaw. Buster from Chicago (?–1931) hit man Perhaps the most brutal and efficient hit man the Mafia ever had was known simply as “Buster from Chicago.” Because of his prowess at murder, he was imported into New York by the Maranzano forces to do battle with the dominant power of Giuseppe “Joe the Boss” Masseria during the Castellammarese War of 1930–31. In true Hollywood fashion, no one ever knew Buster’s real identity, and his appearance belied that of a professional killer. He looked and dressed like a college boy and carried with him, in the proper Chicago tradition, a submachine gun in a violin case. How many men he killed during that war or earlier in Chicago was never determined, but Buster had a reputation of always succeeding in a hit and doing it with a flair that other gangsters admired. On an assignment to “take out” Peter “the Clutching Hand” Morello, Buster found him and a visitor in Morello’s office. He shot Morello, but his victim was tough. He got up and danced around the office trying to avoid further shots. Getting into the spirit of things, Buster backed off and for a while tried to wing Morello shooting gallery style before finally finishing him for good. Then, without a word, Buster turned to the visitor, one Giuseppe Pariano, who had stood frozen during the macabre scene, and killed him also. Butcher, Jake (1937– ) the $700-million bank man Of all the high finance scam operators whose depredations came to the fore in what came to be known in financial circles as the “Greedy 1980s,” Jake Butcher had the distinction of being the most punished by the law, ending up with much more prison time than such offenders as Ivan Boesky, Michael Milken, and Charles Keating, Jr., among others. Jacob “Jake” Franklin Butcher was a former Democratic candidate for governor of Tennessee and organizer of the 1982 World’s Fair in Knoxville. Considered a respected figure in Tennessee banking circles, Butcher defrauded his own banks (he controlled 26 in Tennessee and Kentucky) of millions of dollars so that many of them failed and went bankrupt. Butcher’s depredations, which financed his flamboyant lifestyle— such as the purchase of such “toys” as a 60-foot yacht for a mere $400,000—ended up costing the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation (FDIC) well over $700 million, with Butcher and his wife having personal debts of more than $200 million. It was said at the time that by his actions alone, Butcher had destroyed the deep-held faith that people 144 BYRNES, Thomas F. had put in their banks since the reforms of the 1930s. The public grasped clearly the threats to their banks and savings and that they would have to pay for FDIC losses through their taxes. As a result, there was universal praise for the sentence imposed on Butcher—two 20-year concurrent terms, the maximum allowed. duced the image onto a blank paper. With several confederates of artistic bent, she filled in the images with quill pens and then passed them on through a pipeline, which included a local justice who was above suspicion. It is impossible to establish any firm money figure on the scope of the profits realized, but the bills reportedly caused considerable financial havoc in Rhode Island, and the operation must have been extensive. The socalled kitchen counterfeiters stayed in existence for seven years before Mary Butterworth was arrested along with a half-dozen others. However, while a number of bogus bills were found and the counterfeiter’s tools located in the woman’s kitchen, no hard evidence could be produced proving the bills had been there. Eventually, Butterworth and the others were released Butterworth, Mary (1686–1775) counterfeiter One of the first successful counterfeiting rings in America was masterminded by a woman, probably the first of her sex to practice the art in the New World. In 1716 30-year-old Mary Butterworth started her monumental fraud right in her own kitchen in the Plymouth colony, copying the Rhode Island pound “bills of credit.” Using a hot iron and some starched muslin, she simply repro- 145 C As head of the Detective Bureau, Byrnes outlawed such cooperation between crooks and police and set as his first goal the elimination of bank robberies in the Wall Street area. He had received more than acclaim after solving the Manhattan Bank job. Several grateful bankers had gotten together and “invested” a large sum of money for him from which he collected the profits. This was not to be considered a reward because rewards had to be approved by and shared with police superiors, not to mention that a certain percentage of rewards had to be given to the police pension fund. Byrnes appreciated the sentiments of the bankers and decided to show his gratitude by ordering all professional criminals to stay out of the Wall Street area. To enforce this edict, he ordered his men to arrest or at least blackjack any professional thief found south of Fulton Street, the demarcation known to criminals as Byrnes’ Dead Line. Byrnes further aided the prominent bankers and stockbrokers by always proving cooperative in hushing up any personal scandals. If he reduced the incidence of major crimes in the Wall Street area, Byrnes was also responsible for a novel treatment of crime elsewhere in the city. He more or less legalized crime, or more precisely, he kept it within acceptable limits by using some criminals to oversee or suppress other criminals, giving each a protected area in which to operate. In return, for this right, the criminals paid Byrnes far less than the previous levels of graft but were required to perform certain other duties on request. For instance, if a prominent person had his pocket picked or was robbed by foodpads, all Byrnes had to do was ask for the return of the loot and it was on his desk within 24 hours. for lack of evidence. She was closely watched for many years thereafter to prevent any resumption of the counterfeiting. Thus, tranquility was restored to the New England financial scene. Byrnes, Thomas F. (1842–1910) New York police inspector Although he served briefly as chief of police in New York City, Thomas F. Byrnes really made his mark while serving as chief of detectives and chief inspector of the force in the 1880s and 1890s, during which time he was easily the most renowned American policeman of the era. What he lacked in honesty he more than made up for in flamboyance. It has been said that Byrnes embodied all that was good and all that was bad in the 19th-century policeman. Born in Ireland in 1842, he was brought to New York as a child. During the Civil War he fought for two years in the Union Army before joining the police force in 1863. By 1870 he had moved up to captain, a rank generally achieved only by playing according to the accepted rules, which meant collecting bribes and passing along the proper share to police higher-ups and to the right politicians at Boss Tweed’s Tammany Hall. In 1880 Byrnes became head of the Detective Bureau after solving the record $3-million robbery of the Manhattan Bank. He had rounded up most of the loot and several of the burglars and been applauded by Tammany for his work, especially since the Leslie mob, which pulled the job, had neglected to fork over the standard policepolitician cut for such a caper, generally 10 percent of the take. 146 CALICO Jim Public drunk and prostitute Calamity Jane picked up occasional change in her last years posing for tourists at the gravesite of her “lover,” Wild Bill Hickok. Byrnes’ downfall came about in the mid-1890s because of the opposition of reformer Theodore Roosevelt, at the time a member of the four-man board of police commissioners, and because of the findings of the Lexow Committee. Writing to Henry Cabot Lodge, Roosevelt announced: “I think I shall move against Byrnes at once. I thoroughly distrust him, and cannot do any thorough work while he remains. It will be a hard fight, and I have no idea how it will come out.” As it was, Byrnes retired about a month later, in June of 1895. He had had a particularly trying time before the Lexow Committee, which heard testimony indicating that Byrnes permitted widespread corruption within the Detective Bureau. His men were notorious for refusing to undertake robbery investigations unless the victim first posted a reward. Byrnes was personally pressed to explain how he had accumulated $350,000 A gullible public regarded such feats as examples of keen detective work, and overall, Byrnes’ stature was enhanced. Byrnes appreciated the value of public relations and became a romantic figure in print. He collaborated on a number of books, and one of his own, Professional Criminals of America became a best-seller. In his day, Byrnes got as much mileage out of denouncing foreign-born anarchists as did J. Edgar Hoover upon his discovery of the communist menace. Byrnes realized that if he catered to a privileged few, he had carte blanche to do whatever he wished with all others. In the 1880s he was considered second only to Inspector Alexander “Clubber” Williams in his devotion to the practice of the third degree. Byrnes was, to journalist Lincoln Steffens, “Simple, no complication at all—a man who would buy you or beat you, as you might choose, but get you he would.” 147 CALIFORNIA Outlaws Calamity Jane (1852–1903) woman “outlaw” in real estate, $292,000 in his wife’s name. His top salary had been $5,000 a year and no more than a quarter of his huge estate could be attributed to the “gratuities” of the Wall Street crowd. Despite these embarrassments, Byrnes made a pitch at staying on as chief of police, assuring Roosevelt and the other reformers that he could run a department free of all corruption. His own failings, he said, were due to being trapped in a foul system. His offer was rejected. See also: BLISS BANK RING, DEAD LINE, OLD SHAKESPEARE. cackle-bladder Few works touching on female criminality in America and especially in the West fail to include Martha Jane Cannary, best known as Calamity Jane. However, her inclusion in such studies is a miscarriage of justice, since it has been clearly demonstrated that the extent of her lawless behavior was limited to disorderly conduct, drunkenness and stints of prostitution, such as her 1875 tour of duty at E. Coffey’s “hog farm” near Fort Laramie. Calamity’s “autobiography” is full of shoot-’em-up exploits and, of course, a torrid love affair with Wild Bill Hickok. Actually, it is doubtful that Hickok ever considered this muscular, big-boned girl who dressed like a man anything other than an occasional member of his entourage. After Hickok’s death in 1876, Calamity Jane became a living legend: “the White Devil of the Yellowstone,” as one dime novel called her. The last 25 years of her life were spent peddling her autobiography and other books about her for a few pennies, whoring and appearing in various Wild West shows, from which she was invariably fired for drunkenness. In 1900 a newspaper editor found her sick in a brothel and nursed her back to health. Calamity was dying in a hotel room in Terry, not far from Deadwood, S. Dak. in the summer of 1903. On August 2 her eyes fluttered open and she asked the date. Upon being told, she nodded and said: “It’s the 27th anniversary of Bill’s [Hickok’s] death. Bury me next to Bill.” They did and recorded her death on August 2, although she had not died until August 3. But then the facts never have been permitted to cloud the Calamity Jane legend. See also: WILD BILL HICKOK. con man’s trick Probably the most efficient method ever devised by confidence men to “blow the mark off,” i.e., to get rid of a victim after fleecing him is the use of a “cacklebladder.” The victim is lured into a supposedly sure thing such as betting on what he is assured to be a fixed horse race. He is steered to a phony betting parlor where everyone is an actor playing a role, from the supposed tellers to the bettors winning and losing fortunes. Naturally, the horse he bets on loses, but before the mark can remonstrate another supposed loser, who is actually in on the scheme, turns on the con man playing the role of the chief conspirator. He screams he has been ruined, pulls a gun and shoots the con man dead. There seems no doubt the man is dead as blood literally gushes from his mouth. Everyone starts to scatter, and so does the bilked victim. Not only has he lost his money, but even worse, he’s now involved in a homicide. Sometimes the supposed murderer will flee with the mark, even conning the sucker into leaving the city with him. Eventually, of course, the mark decides he is better off to part company with a man who has committed murder and who could now drag him into prison as an accessory. This type of scam is made convincing through the use of a cackle-bladder, a tiny bag of chicken blood concealed in the mouth and bitten open at the appropriate moment. The gimmick was also used in the last century at fixed running races and boxing matches as well, where the “sure thing” runner or boxer whom the sucker had bet on seemed to drop dead. Since gambling on such races or fights was illegal and all the bettors were therefore liable to imprisonment, everyone, including the gullible victim, fled when the faking runner or boxer dropped. While the cackle-bladder is only used on rare occasions in contemporary confidence games, it remains a favorite with insurance accident fakers, who use the dramatic spurt of blood to convince witnesses that they have really been injured. Calico Jim (?–1897?) shanghai operator Shanghaiing of men was an old San Francisco custom and one of its most proficient practitioners, along with the infamous Shanghai Kelly, was Calico Jim. A Chilean whose real name was said to be Reuben, Jim ran a saloon and crimping joint at Battery Point, from which a great many men were sent on long sea voyages. During the 1890s the San Francisco police received so many complaints against Jim that they began paying him close attention. Evidently not close enough, however, because a policeman sent to arrest him didn’t come back. Another tried and also never returned. A total of six police officers went to the saloon and disappeared; all had taken a sea cruise, compliments of Calico Jim. Feeling now that his days in the business were limited, Jim sold out and returned to his native Chile. It was many months before the policemen made their way back to home port. It has been said that they pooled their money, drew lots and sent one of their 148 CAMPBELL, Bertram number off to Chile to hunt down Calico Jim. After many months of hunting, according to the story, the policeman found Jim on a street corner in Callao, Chile and shot him six times, one for each officer he had shanghaied. There is some doubt about the truth of this account, although it gained a great deal of currency. For years the police department insisted there was no record of six officers being shanghaied. But jaded citizens of San Francisco contended they knew a cover-up when they heard one. See also: SHANGHAI KELLY. California Outlaws states, and from its standpoint, all intervening land had to be acquired for this purpose, no matter by what means. If the railroad passed through farmland or the home of some settler, the property was condemned, and the helpless owner had to accept the pittance offered him or get nothing. The railroad imported gunmen from the East to do battle for it, and any act committed by the company was considered legal, including such atrocities as the “slaughter of Mussel Slough,” in which seven settlers were shot and killed in 1880. The result was a virtual civil war, as the landowners of the San Joaquin Valley banded together to fight the “enveloping tentacles of the Octopus engulfing their lands,” as one historian put it. Undercover agents of the railroad moved in among the settlers to spy on and single out troublemakers to be dealt with. Under their leaders, Chris Evans and the Sontag brothers, George and John, the California Outlaws began robbing Southern Pacific trains. They would stop the trains on lonely stretches and, ignoring the passengers and the U.S. mails, rob only the railroad’s safe in the express car. The raids went on for years. Railroad anti-railroad band Perhaps the nearest thing this country ever saw to the Robin Hood legend was the California Outlaws, a misnomer for the small ranchers and mountain people of the San Joaquin Valley who did battle in the latter part of the 19th century with the Southern Pacific Railroad, or the “Octopus,” as it was commonly known and described in the Frank Norris novel of that title. The railroad was laying its tracks through several western Often cited as an example of the dangers of faulty eyewitness testimony, Bertram Campbell (left) was identified as a forger by five bank tellers and sent to prison. Later, Alexander Thiel (right), a professional check passer, was determined to be the guilty party. 149 CANADA Bill Campagna was lodged in a cell next to Aiello while a detective who understood the Sicilian dialect posed as a prisoner in another cell. He heard Campagna say: “You’re dead, dear friend, you’re dead. You won’t get up to the end of the street still walking.” Aiello was quaking with fear. “Can’t we settle this?” he pleaded. “Give me fourteen days and I’ll sell my stores, my house and everything and quit Chicago for good. Can’t we settle it? Think of my wife and baby.” Campagna was unmoved. “You dirty rat! You’ve broken faith with us twice now. You started this. We’ll finish it.” It was no idle threat. When Aiello was later found shot down on the street, 59 slugs, more than a pound of bullets, were dug out of his body. At the height of the assassination scare against Capone, the gang boss made Campagna his main bodyguard. At night, the devoted little killer slept on a cot just outside Capone’s bedroom door. Anyone going in would have to climb over Campagna’s body. In the 1930s and early 1940s, Campagna became a key figure in the mob’s union rackets and extortion plots against Hollywood movie studios. Along with six others, Campagna was convicted of conspiracy to extort $1 million from studio executives and sentenced to 10 years. He served one-third of his sentence and was paroled to a firestorm of protest by Chicago newspapers. In later years Campagna played the role of a gentleman farmer on an 800-acre spread near Fowler, Ind. He died of a heart attack aboard a pleasure cruiser off Miami in 1955. detectives under the notorious Big Bill Smith and lawmen under U.S. marshal George C. Gard engaged in an unseemly bounty competition for bringing in, or more often killing, individual members of the Outlaws. In time, the Outlaws dwindled down to a band of 24 men, plus a 25th named Ed Morrell who worked as a spy for them among the railroad detectives. Morrell, later immortalized by Jack London in The Star Rover, was able to save the Outlaws from several traps, but after he was exposed, the band was destroyed. John Sontag was killed in a shoot-out with a posse of railroad gunmen. Chris Evans went to prison under a life sentence; George Sontag died attempting to escape from Folsom Prison. Ed Morrell, later to become famous as the most tortured prisoner in the history of American penology, drew a life term but was pardoned in 1907. See also: CHRISTOPHER EVANS, ED MORRELL, SONTAG BROTHERS. Campagna, Louis “Little New York” gangster (1900–1955) Considered by Al Capone to be his most reliable bodyguard, Louis “Little New York” Campagna was a stubby little mobster who, thanks more to his steel nerves than his brainpower, rose to the top echelon of syndicate crime. During the Chicago mob’s movie studio extortion days, Campagna walked into a jail and stiffened a wilting gang member, Willie Bioff, who had announced he wanted to quit the rackets. In a menacing voice few could equal, Campagna said, “Whoever quits us, quits feet first.” Later, after Bioff cracked, sending several top syndicate men, including Campagna, to prison, Little New York always bemoaned the fact that his associates had vetoed a “feet first” proposal regarding Bioff. Al Capone had imported Campagna in 1927 from New York, where he had cut his criminal teeth as a teenager in the Five Points Gang and been convicted of bank robbery at 19. Capone dubbed him Little New York merely to demonstrate his ability to import all the gunners he needed. Campagna soon demonstrated his nerve following an unsuccessful plot by the Aiello brothers to assassinate Capone. Shortly thereafter, Joseph Aiello and one of his gunmen were taken to the Chicago Detective Bureau lockup. Campagna promptly surrounded the bureau with a dozen gunmen, and he and two others approached the building, shifting weapons from holsters to side pockets. A policeman recognized Campagna and, realizing he was laying siege to the building, sounded the alarm. A score of detectives rushed out to seize the trio and hustled them into the building before their accomplices could come to their aid. Campbell, Bertram (1886–1946) wrong man The case of Bertram Campbell demonstrates as well as any the near impossibility of achieving adequate compensation for wrongfully convicted individuals. Before his conviction, Campbell had been a securities salesman and customer’s man for several New York brokerage houses. In February 1938, New York City police detectives visited Campbell in his apartment in Freeport, Long Island and brought him to the city for questioning. There five bank tellers identified him as a forger who had recently cashed two checks for $4,160 under the name of George Workmaster. He was convicted of the charge and served three years and four months of a five-to-10-year sentence in Sing Sing, all the time maintaining his innocence. Released on parole late in 1941, Campbell, a sick and broken man, eked out a rather miserable existence as a bookkeeper. In early 1945 he happened to read a newspaper story that the FBI had arrested a forger in Kentucky. The man’s method of operation brought Campbell up sharply. It fitted perfectly with the one used in the crimes of which 150 CANAL Street ket Street because the fruits of any vice could be purchased along its cobble-stoned length. The ladies of Canal Street knew how to get a man’s money, and they were not averse to slitting his throat if need be. In the end, the residents of the street usually got every penny a man had, leaving him without even enough with which to buy a mug of beer. Canal Street was said to be the birthplace of the word mugging. When a man had been so sheared that he didn’t even have the price of a mug of beer, he would walk outside and waylay a passerby or “mug” him. The worst dives on Canal Street were those places on the East Side whose rear areas extended on wooden pilings over the canal. Unsuspecting canalers and lakers were hustled there by painted women who charged exorbitant prices for their services. However, if a man had money, but was uncooperative about parting with it, he was fed an overdose of knockout drops. He then was hauled into a backroom, stripped of all his clothes and dumped naked down a slicked wooden chute into the canal with hardly an incriminating splash. Eventually he would turn up floating face down in the murky water. The police would know no more than that he had been killed in one of about 100 places and listed the victim as a “floater.” In one week in 1863 no less than 14 floaters were fished out of the canal, five on one morning alone. Canal Street lived on protection. One time there was a report, undoubtedly true, that several leading politicians had had a little two-day party in one of the street’s leading bordellos, which helped explain why no concerted effort was made to drive out the scarlet women. For many years about all the politicians would grant the citizens of Buffalo was a segregation ruling that denied such ladies the right to go any further uptown than the liberty pole, which marked the entrance to Buffalo proper in those days. So long as the prostitutes remained in the Canal Street area, they were safe. In 1870 a young reformer named Grover Cleveland was elected sheriff of Erie County after making campaign promises to clean up Canal Street. Cleveland tried to keep his word but was singularly ineffective. The saloon keepers and brothel owners of the street paid out so much money to the right political forces in Buffalo that Cleveland’s campaign was fruitless. If he made arrests, politically controlled judges immediately released the prisoners for “lack of evidence.” Cleveland went on to become president of the United States. He was once asked what was the greatest disappointment of his life; he stated that it was not failing to be reelected president in 1888 but rather being unable to wipe out the scourge of Canal Street. he had been convicted. Campbell contacted a lawyer, who learned that the forger had been brought to New York for arraignment. The lawyer rounded up the five bank employees and took them to see the forger, Alexander D. L. Thiel. Three of them immediately admitted they had been in error, that Thiel was the man. Thiel, now a drug addict, readily confessed. To the FBI he had been “Mr. X,” who in 40 years had duped banks the country over for upwards of $600,000. After months of delay Campbell was pardoned and awarded $40,000 for earnings lost and $75,000 for disgrace and humiliation suffered. All in all, it seemed about as satisfactory a conclusion to a sad case as was possible. However, Campbell’s tribulations were not over. Nassau County officials slapped Campbell with a $4,000 bill for welfare payments made to his wife while he had been wrongfully imprisoned. Then, just 82 days after he had won the $115,000, Campbell died of a stroke, which doctors speculated was the result of the strain of his years in prison. See also: ALEXANDER THIEL. Canada Bill Canal Street See WILLIAM “CANADA BILL” JONES. Buffalo vice center “For sheer wickedness, vice and crime there is no need to go any further west than here,” a 19th-century historian said of Canal Street in Buffalo, N.Y. It was quite a claim to make about a thoroughfare but two blocks long. Born with the Erie Canal, Canal Street was set off on a jutting piece of land, segregated from the rest of Buffalo by 40 feet of murky water. On quiet summer nights Buffalonians could stroll casually along the canal and gaze across at the street that never lost its light from dusk to dawn. They could hear boisterous noises of ribaldry and wonder if at that moment, somewhere on Canal Street, someone was in the process of being killed, a likely occurrence on a street that boasted 93 saloons, three combination grocery-saloons and 15 dives known as concert halls. More than half these establishments had portions of their premises given over to prostitution, with an estimated 400 practitioners of that art on hand around the clock. Canal Street grew up with the Erie Canal, which cut across New York State and linked up the Hudson with the Great Lakes. The street sucked gold from the rugged sailors of the Lakes and the lusty canalers and in return provided a bawdiness unrivaled even in the tenderloin sections of far bigger cities. An early clergyman thundered from his pulpit that it should be called Mar151 CANDELARIA, Nevada cut up many others. The law never did get anything on Emma, however. Her victims couldn’t or wouldn’t talk, and Canal Street had its own rules: nobody ever told anything to the law about anybody. Fittingly, Emma got her just deserts in a knife battle with a redhead called Deadly Dora. If there was one thing Dora wouldn’t tolerate, it was another woman stealing a man from her. She had latched on to a blueeyed Swedish sailor for whom she developed a genuine affection. Emma tried to cut in and knives flashed. They fished Emma’s body out of the canal a few days later. A time came when Buffalonians could thank the girls of Canal Street for preventing the city from being overrun by prostitutes. It happened during Pan-American Year, when all Buffalo was in a Mardi Gras spirit in celebration of the turn of the century. Up till then the several hundred prostitutes in and around Canal Street had the territory to themselves, but with the celebration hundreds of sinful ladies from New York City headed for the bonanza town of the North. One day, bag and baggage, they poured from a train at the Terrace railroad station, directly across from the canal, and attempted to move in. The women were all colorfully dressed, and canalers paused in their labors to give them a cheering welcome. They circulated among the men with friendly words that happy days had indeed come to Buffalo. The gay arrival, however, also had been seen by the women of Canal Street, and like an army, they swarmed out of the dives and bordellos to descend on the train station. Many carried stillettos, clubs, planks or chairs. It was a battle the likes of which Buffalo had never seen before. Before it was over, close to 100 ladies were in various degrees of undress. A dedicated reporter counted eight females stripped totally raw. Two dozen girls had to be hospitalized, many with awful knife slashes across their faces. The paddy wagon made a total of 32 trips to the Franklin Street Station, hauling off battling participants. By nightfall the battle was over, and the New York ladies, no match for the denizens of Canal Street, jammed back into the station and took the next train out. Pan-American Year was the last really big one for Canal Street. Buffalo was changing. Erie Canal traffic was dipping, and as the railroads took over more, fewer and fewer Great Lakes freighters docked. Consequently, fewer sailors and canalers hit Canal Street. The joints began to shutter. In 1908 a citizens’ movement increased the pressure on the police to clean up Canal Street once and for all. Raids increased, and foreign immigrants began to flood into Canal Street, soon outnumbering the criminal element. In 1915 the name of the street was changed to Dante Place. In peculiarly American style, the area became an ordinary slum, Both before and after Cleveland, Canal Street went its own murderous way, regarding all type of crime as hardly worthy of special notice. When Fat Charley Ott, the proprietor of The Only Theater, a sort of combination concert hall, saloon, dance hall and assignation hotel, came to a bad end, the street handled it in typical fashion. Fat Charley had a propensity for padding the bill of a client who appeared in possession of less than all his faculties. One sweltering night in the 1890s, he made the mistake of trying it on a certain bearded laker. After letting out an angry howl that filled the Only, the laker reached across the bar, seized Fat Charley by the hair and with brute force hauled Charley to him. Like many a lakeman, he carried a Spanish knife, a nasty, two-edged slicer that was worn up the sleeve, attached by a leather thong. He whipped it out. Fat Charley struggled to get loose, but his unhappy patron wasn’t letting go. At the time, there were some two dozen other patrons in the Only. They gaped in motionless horror as the bearded lakeman decapitated Charley Ott with one swipe. The murderer strode out of the Only as the other customers froze. Someone allowed that perhaps the police should be informed. Others agreed but suggested that perhaps they should have a drink in memory of the dear departed. They had one, another and then another. When in due course the police arrived, the Only was empty save for the two parts of Fat Charley, a looted till and scores of empty liquor bottles. And some wag had even left a sign on the door that read CLOSED ON ACCOUNT OF ILLNESS. It was said, not without good reason, that the females of Canal Street were far more deadly than the males. There was, for instance, Gallow May Moore, a blond hellion who could throw her garter stiletto with unerring accuracy; any man who tried to leave her without paying the premiums could count on awesome retribution. Her favorite trick was to pin an unchivalrous gentleman to a wall with a stiletto, empty his pockets, kiss him goodbye and leaving him dangling as she went out to live it up on his roll, with enough set aside for a new knife. Then there was Frosty Face Emma, described as a handsome woman much sought after by men. She had, however, one disconcerting habit. For a time she could drink liquor as though she had a hollow leg, and a gentleman would wait impatiently for her to enter a more compliant phase, which unfortunately never happened. At a certain level of consumption, she turned into a vicious man-hater. A man’s only hope was that he had not as yet adjourned with her to a more secluded atmosphere before she exploded. Otherwise, there was little chance he would be seen alive again. One historian states Emma assassinated at least seven lovers and 152 CAPITAL punishment homesteaders, who won the sympathy of most of the nation. During the period of the Johnson County War, Canton, slender, cold eyed and sinister looking in a long capelike coat, was described by a companion as a man who “only thought of guns and killings . . . they seemed to be on his mind all the time . . . he couldn’t sleep. He was always jumping up and saying . . . ‘Do you hear them? . . . Get on your guns.’ But it wasn’t anything—just the wind or the horses.” The fact that Canton was able to switch sides with so few second thoughts can be partially explained by the gunfighter ethics of the day. However, it was later proved that he had switched sides more than once. Canton’s real name was Joseph Horner, the son of a Virginia doctor who came to Texas after the Civil War. By his mid-twenties Horner had run up a criminal record of bank robbery, rustling and assault with intent to kill. In 1874 he fled Texas after killing a soldier in a saloon brawl. Between that time and his appearance in Wyoming, Horner had engaged in a number of illegal enterprises. After his Wyoming days—there was no way he could remain there, being generally regarded as a hired killer—Horner, using the name Canton, became an undersheriff in Pawnee County, Okla. and then a deputy U.S. marshal in Alaska. He later returned to the States and was employed by the Texas Cattle Raisers’ Association. It has been suggested that through this organization’s good offices a long-missing fugitive named Joe Horner received a pardon from the governor of Texas. Perhaps in deference to the feelings of ill-will back in Wyoming, it was not revealed that Horner was Canton until he died in 1927. See also: CATTLE KATE, NATHAN D. CHAMPION, JOHNSON COUNTY WAR, RED SASH GANG. breeding its own type of vice and crime. But the whores and whoremasters were gone, and Canal Street, with its incredible century of murder, mayhem, vice and corruption, was just a memory. See also: FLOATERS, MUGGING, YORKY OF THE GREAT LAKES. Candelaria, Nevada lawless mining town Of all the mining camps that sprang up in Nevada in the 1860s and ’70s, Candelaria deserves special mention because for a quarter of a century it officially had only seven murders. That was remarkable for a town that boasted 10 whorehouses running around the clock and that sold whiskey by the gallon. In fact, fatal shootings were extremely common, and recorders of the town’s history put the death toll in the several hundreds. More so than any other mining camp where the law was seldom found, the public relations–minded authorities of Candelaria were inclined to write off almost any shooting as a matter of self-defense. Of the seven killings officially listed as murders, none was ever solved. Canton, Frank M. (1849–1927) outlaw, lawman and vigilante leader One of the villains or heroes of the Johnson County War in Wyoming Territory, depending on one’s outlook, Frank M. Canton was proof that an evil man who was good to the right people could do all right for himself in the Old West. While his early life was at the time a mystery, Canton turned up in Wyoming in 1880 and became a small rancher; two years later, he was elected sheriff. As a lawman, he ran up an impressive record tracking down rustlers, although some objected that many of the socalled rustlers were in no shape to answer formal charges after facing Canton’s six-guns. After two terms Canton found himself voted out of office. He was so bitter that when approached by Wyoming’s wealthy stockmen to head up their vigilante war against rustlers in Johnson County, Canton accepted even though he knew the real objective of the war was to intimidate the small ranchers responsible for electing him to office. These ranchers, actually homesteaders with a few head of cattle, had incurred the wrath of the absentee cattle barons of Cheyenne, who were determined to rewrite the traditional law of the range that a maverick, or unbranded, steer belonged to the man with the longest rope. With Maj. Frank Wolcott, Canton led the big cattlemen’s paid vigilantes in numerous attacks and lynchings in Johnson County. They were finally beaten, however, by a ragtag but straight-shooting army of capital punishment When on January 17, 1977 Gary Gilmore was led before a firing squad and shot to death, the execution marked the return of capital punishment in the United States after a 10-year hiatus. It is often assumed that executions stopped because of a ruling by the U.S. Supreme Court, but in fact, executions ceased basically because of a combination of public disapproval and the growing reluctance of juries to convict in cases involving mandatory death sentences. Thus, while there were 152 executions in 1947, the number dropped to seven by 1965 and to just one in 1967. It was only at this stage that the Supreme Court agreed to hear arguments in two cases challenging the basic precepts of capital punishment. Certainly, the strongest evidence that the High Court follows election results or public opinion can be seen in its rulings con153 CAPITAL punishment cerning capital punishment, both pro and con. In 1967 public opinion was overwhelmingly opposed to the death penalty, and the High Court was eventually to rule that way. When by 1976 public opinion had shifted in the opposite direction, the Court veered toward that view, even while admitting that the primary argument always made for the death penalty, that it is a deterrent to murder and other capital crimes, was faulty. Capital punishment in the American colonies was patterned after the English system, but the early settlers, with some lamentable exceptions, soon broke away from the full implementation of the death penalty for such crimes as witchcraft, blasphemy, fornication, various “crimes against nature” and “man stealing.” Murder and thievery, major or petty, remained firm cause for execution. In 1834 Pennsylvania banned public executions, and in 1847 Michigan became the first state to abolish the death penalty. Other states joined the abolition movement, although the death penalty made a strong comeback during periods of great wars, the Civil War and the two world wars. By 1971 39 of the 54 U.S. jurisdictions (the 50 states, the District of Columbia, Puerto Rico, the Virgin Islands and the federal jurisdiction) carried the death penalty on the books for as many as eight capital crimes: espionage, treason, murder, rape, kidnapping, arson, train wrecking and robbery. In most states the number of offenses for which the penalty was imposed ranged from one to four. The principal argument presented by advocates of capital punishment is that it satisfies society’s need for retribution and retaliation and serves as a deterrent to the commission of murder. Moreover, it is the only certain process for the elimination of deviants. The arguments of the abolitionists are many. It is a weapon used primarily against the blacks and other racial minorities and the poor (“Rich men never burn” is a death house saying). As a deterrent, they insist, capital punishment doesn’t work. In some states the murder rate actually decreased when the death penalty was abolished. Overall, it appears that the murder rate in states with or without the death penalty is, over a period of time, about the same. In states where murders do increase (both in states with and without capital punishment), the causes for the increase are apparently due to societal or cultural variations or changes. If a state moves to a greater heterogeneous mix, the murder rate will go up, death penalty or no. Abolitionists also argue against the deterrent theory on the ground that the crimes it punishes result from irrational impulses, not cool calculation. As Gary Gilmore commented about his murder of two young strangers: “Murder is just a thing of itself, a rage, and rage is not reason, so why does it matter who? It vents a rage.” Most of the men who have been on death row insisted they murdered without any thought of the consequences. Furthermore, it has been shown that mass murderers move blithely from states without the death penalty to states with it. There have even been a number of murders committed because the death penalty exists. According to the Washington Research Project, an Oklahoma farmer who had shot to death a total stranger simply explained to police, “I was tired of living.” In 1961 a convicted Oklahoma murderer, James French, who had been tried three times for one homicide, strangled his cellmate in order to speed his own execution along. In 1938 Robert West, who had helped build Missouri’s gas chamber, killed a young girl and, after turning himself in, said his only motive for murdering the victim was to be able to die in the gas chamber. When John Spenkelink died in the electric chair in May 1979, he became the first person executed in Florida in 15 years. A later study of the six-month period before and after his execution, when the public controversy about the issue was at its peak, showed that homicides in the state increased 14 percent. Opponents of the death penalty also argue for rehabilitation over execution. Probably no prison warden would deny that murderers are often the most easily rehabilitated and best-behaved convicts. Additionally, cases of murder committed by paroled murderers are most rare, especially when compared with repeaters of other types of crimes. It was against this background that in 1972 the Supreme Court ruled the death penalty as practiced was unconstitutional, in violation of the Eighth Amendment ban on cruel and unusual punishment, particularly in the way judges and juries arbitrarily and infrequently imposed it. The immediate impact of the Court’s decision was that the death sentence for 648 men and women then on death row was commuted to life imprisonment. Almost immediately, supporters of capital punishment launched a counterattack. By 1976 public opinion, upset by sensational murders little different from those of earlier years, had turned once more in favor of the death penalty. A not-unmindful Supreme Court took the hint and announced in a new ruling the same year that execution methods in the United States were not inherently “cruel and unusual” punishment as prohibited by the Constitution. The Court even cited various public opinion polls indicating that Americans favored capital punishment by a two-to-one margin. However, at the same time, the Supreme Court agreed there was little proof the death penalty deters the commission of capital crimes. Fundamentally, the Court decreed that retribution and punishment alone were sufficient reasons to impose the death penalty. In other words, the concept of the state “getting even” for killing by killing had 154 CAPITAL punishment become a worthwhile value. Left unanswered by the Court was how, if society has the right to take a life as retribution, this could fail to reinforce a murderer in his firm belief that he has a right to “get even” with his victim. Surveys indicate that 84 percent of all homicides are motivated by the murderer’s desire to exact retribution for some real or imagined offense committed by the victim. The reimposition of the death penalty in the United States puts this country in the opposite camp from such western nations, 41 in all, as England, Germany, Italy, Switzerland, the Netherlands, Israel, the Dominican Republic, Honduras, Costa Rica and Ecuador. Among the United States’ bedfellows are Russia, China, Libya, Iraq, Iran, Castro’s Cuba, Chile and Saudi Arabia. Perhaps remarkably, the Supreme Court has never regarded execution in itself as “cruel and unusual punishment” when the possibility of error is considered. Proponents of the death penalty give assurances that the likelihood of a mistake can be ruled out because the judicial process in capital cases is allegedly so much more exact, thus eliminating the type of error that turns up in so many “wrong man” cases involving lesser crimes. Of course, innocent men have been executed. Years afterward, official decrees of one sort or another have cleared some of the Mollie Maguires, the Haymarket martyrs, and Sacco and Vanzetti, but these are causes célèbres. As many legal authorities have commented, the interest in clearing the average innocent man after he is executed dwindles to nil. What we are left with is some of the more bizarre ways innocent persons have been saved from execution. In 1894 Will Purvis was saved from hanging in Mississippi simply because the knot around his neck slipped and he dropped unharmed. The execution was postponed because the onlookers became unruly, some taking it as a sign from the Divine that Purvis was innocent. In the period before his execution was rescheduled, Purvis escaped from custody and surrendered only when a new governor agreed to commute his sentence to life imprisonment. Twentytwo years later, in 1920, Purvis was proven innocent by a deathbed confession of the real murderer, whose story was found to check in every detail. For his tribulations, Purvis was awarded $5,000 by the state legislature. In Florida in 1902 J. B. Brown mounted the scaffold still protesting his innocence for having murdered one Harry Wesson. Chagrined officials called off the execution when the sheriff, as required by law, started reading the death warrant and discovered that through a clerical error it listed as the man to be executed not Brown but the foreman of the jury that had convicted him. While officials argued about whether or not to proceed with the execution, Brown’s ordeal on the scaffold created a nationwide stir, and the governor bowed to demands that the condemned man’s sentence be commuted to life. In 1913 a man named J. J. Johnson confessed on his deathbed that it was he who had killed Wesson, even revealing where he’d hidden some of the victim’s personal effects. Brown was pardoned and awarded compensation of $2,492, to be paid in monthly $25 installments. By the turn of the century it was obvious various jurisdictions were going to have to loosen the purse strings for damages significantly as scores of condemned men have been cleared after years of appeals while they were on death row. The state of Illinois in recent years has been obliged to release six such condemned men out of 12 because it was later determined they were not guilty. Advances in DNA techniques have led to the freeing of scores of condemned persons. Yet at the same time the majority voices within the criminal justice system continue to campaign for a cutoff of appeals from the death sentence so that justice can be done for the sake of the victims and their families. Generally these parties propose a five-year limit on delays of executions. Fairly or not these limitations have sometimes recently been referred to as “the Bush brothers program” calling for faster executions. Critics tend to cite any number of cases in which the final acquittal process took and takes longer than that to finally win out. Texas governor George W. Bush and Florida governor Jeb Bush represented “high execution” states, Texas being first and Florida third. Of course, such high execution states have records for wrong man death row inmates. The fact remains, as Congressman Don Edwards of California has noted, “Most of the releases from death row over the past twenty years came only after many years and many failed appeals. The average length of time between conviction and release was almost seven years.” Some releases come in unusual ways, even in what has been described as random ways. Filmmaker Errol Morris went to Texas to do a documentary on Dr. James Grigson, the controversial and some said notorious “Dr. Death.” Grigson claimed 100 percent certainty for his courtroom predictions that a particular defendant would kill again. One man he made such a prediction about was Randall Dale Adams. During his work on Dr. Grigson, Morris became interested in the case of Randall Adams and in his investigation uncovered layers of prosecutorial misconduct in the cases. Morris eventually obtained a virtual confession to the murder Adams had been accused of by another person. Morris’s 1988 movie, The Thin Blue Line, did much to free Adams the following year. 155 CAPITAL punishment of children where he had been taken after a suicide attempt, and fly him directly to the death chamber rather than stay the execution. The joke went around that the condemned man was not to collect $200 for passing Go. On the other hand Texas officials seemed eager to help a prisoner with a special request, such as one inmate whose lawyers failed to have him declared incompetent for execution when he asked to be put to death on the night of the full moon. Officials deemed it a request worth granting. Perhaps the most controversial execution under George W. Bush involved that of Karla Faye Tucker, who was condemned for her role in two killings. It appeared Tucker had undergone a death row conversion to Christianity. She married the prison chaplain and was acknowledged to have become a model inmate. Many Evangelical Christians regarded her conversion as clear proof of the transforming power of God, and religious leaders like Pat Robertson and Pope John Paul II called on Gov. Bush to grant clemency. He did not, despite his own well-known religious awakening in helping him swear off alcohol and right the course of his own life. Later after Tucker was executed, Bush was portrayed in a Talk magazine interview as mocking the woman’s appearance on television with Larry King in which she asked the governor to spare her. The magazine reported that Bush had imitated her in a whimpering voice. After the article, Bush campaign aides insisted the magazine reporter had misread his comments, but the magazine stood by the article. The fact remains what riles the public the most is indications that condemned men are delaying their executions by an endless string of appeals. For proexecutions forces the number one case of this type at the turn of the century was the case of Mumia AbuJamal, a convicted cop killer sentenced to death. AbuJamal’s supporters insist he is not guilty and that he was convicted because of his political beliefs and the determination of the police and prosecution to be rid of him. A black journalist in Philadelphia, Abu-Jamal, became a political symbol after the murder of a Philadelphia policeman, Daniel Faulkner, on December 9, 1981. At age 15, Abu-Jamal was a member of the Black Panther Party and minister of information for the Philadelphia chapter. When the party fell apart, AbuJamal turned to broadcasting and by age 25 was one of the top figures in local radio and interviewed many top luminaries such as Jesse Jackson. He won a Peabody award for his coverage of the pope’s visit, was president of the Philadelphia Association of Black Journalists and was called “one to watch” by Philadelphia magazine. Another Texas “death row alumnus” who exceeded the five-year rule was Clarence Brandley who was convicted in 1981 for the rape-murder of 16-year-old high school girl. The police zeroed in on Brandley who was the only black custodian at the school, the rest being white. Hair left at the crime scene clearly implicated a white man, but the prosecution relied heavily instead on the testimony of two chief witnesses. Later one of the two key witnesses recanted his statements at the original trial, saying at a later appeal hearing that the prosecution and the police had pressured him into implicating Brandley. The other witness confessed the crime, and Brandley was released in 1990. Had a fiveyear rule been in effect, Brandley would have been dead four years before his release. Another capital case that received much attention in recent years involved Anthony Porter who was convicted in 1983 of a double murder in Chicago witnessed by several persons. Porter’s lawyer lost several appeals but two days before his execution date in 1998 Porter got a stay because of his limited mental capacity. Porter was freed in 1999 after journalism professor David Protess assigned students to investigate the prosecution of the case. A number of the witnesses recanted their testimony, and another man confessed. Porter had exceeded the five-year rule by 11 years. Professor Protess’ students also exonerated two other death row inmates. The question was whether this was something the public should regard as laudable or whether, as the New York Times noted, “No system that requires college students to provide justice can be called functional.” Numerous experts have claimed one should not believe that somehow murder prosecutions are always more carefully considered because of the implications of the possible death penalty. Gregory Wilhoit was not released until six years after his conviction in 1987 in Oklahoma. He was convicted of murdering his estranged wife in her sleep. An expert for the prosecution declared that Wilhoit’s teeth matched bite marks on the victim’s body. On appeal it was ruled that Wilhoit’s lawyer did not challenge that testimony and, as an appeals court later ruled, the lawyer was “suffering from alcohol dependence and abuse and brain damage during his representation of appellant.” At a new trial a year after the so-called five-year rule would have run out, 11 experts testified that the bite marks did not match, and Wilhoit was released. Despite this, observers agree there was no way a politician can be too supportive of the death penalty as well over 70 percent of the public approved of it. And the rule is the quicker the better. Thus in Texas, aside from distasteful headlines, there was little outcry from the public in December 1999 when officials chose to remove a hospitalized inmate from intensive care, 156 CAPONE, Alphonse “Scarface Al” Black Panther history was waved like a bloody flag: Had he said, ‘All power to the people?’ Yes, he admitted he had said that. . . . Thus with Judge Sabo’s help, an award-winning radical journalist with no criminal record was portrayed as a police assassin lying in wait since age 15. After Mumia’s conviction, Sabo instructed the jury: ‘You are not being asked to kill anybody’ by imposing the death penalty, since the defendant will get ‘appeal after appeal after appeal.’ Such instruction, grounds for reversal since Caldwell v. Mississippi, was allowed in Mumia’s case.” By the time he had been on death row for 13 years, Abu-Jamal was a cult hero to many and disparaged by others as the only classic radical-chic cause to survive into the 1990s. Among those who have rallied to AbuJamal’s cause have been Norman Mailer, Cornell West, Ed Asner, Whoopi Goldberg, Susan Sarandon, and Oliver Stone. Others, less likely to be regarded as liberal “bleeding hearts,” such as Stewart Taylor, Jr., of the National Journal, supported Abu-Jamal’s call for a new trial, labeling his trial “grotesquely unfair.” Meanwhile the pros and cons of the case persisted. The Yale Law Review published one of Abu-Jamal’s articles. National Public Radio’s All Things Considered scheduled a series on the condemned man’s commentaries (but then canceled it following objections from the Fraternal Order of Police). When Abu-Jamal’s book, Live From Death Row, appeared, it was greeted with a boycott, and a skywriter circled the Boston offices of the publisher with a trailer proclaiming “Addison-Wesley Supports Cop Killers.” In the anti–Abu-Jamal campaign, journalist Bisson reported, “Officer Faulkner’s widow has gone on TV claiming that Mumia smiled at her when her husband’s bloody shirt was shown—even though the record shows that Mumia wasn’t in the courtroom that day.” (In fact, during his trial Mumia was kept in a holding cell, reading about his own trial in the newspapers.) Still, the controversy roared on. In 1999 Evergreen State College in Washington State featured Abu-Jamal’s voice at its commencement. Abu-Jamal was heard via audiotape from death row in Pennsylvania. Naturally, pro-execution forces were outraged. The battle for a new trial for Abu-Jamal had become by the turn of the century a testament to the fact that the battle over capital punishment would not cease any time soon. See also: DNA EVIDENCE, EXECUTION, METHODS OF. Further reading: The Death Penalty In America, edited by Hugo A. Bedau; Capital Punishment, edited by Thorsten Sellen. However, Abu-Jamal never compromised on his beliefs—which led the Philadelphia Inquirer to call him “an eloquent activist not afraid to raise his voice.” This led to his undoing, as his positions caused him to lose jobs at black stations, and he was forced to drive a cab to support his family. His supporters charged AbuJamal was consistently subjected to police harassment, including, they said, a cocked finger and a “bang, bang” from a smirking cop. Thus the scene was set for the deadly events of 1981. Officer Faulkner stopped a Volkswagen driven by AbuJamal’s brother and an altercation ensued. The brother hit the officer, and Faulkner began beating him with a 17-inch flashlight. Abu-Jamal was nearby in his cab and ran over, armed with a .38. Shots were fired. AbuJamal was hit and Faulkner died. The question was had Abu-Jamal shot the officer. Several witnesses saw another shooter flee the scene. Jamal’s weapon, found nearby was empty save for five shell casings. However, at the time the bullets could not be tied to Abu-Jamal’s gun, and incredibly the police failed to smell the gun barrel to see if it had been fired. But the police did have an eyewitness, one Robert Chobert, a cabbie, who said he saw Abu-Jamal “standing over him [Faulkner] and firing shots into him.” The problem was that Chobert said the shooter had raced from the scene before being captured, but the police said the wounded Abu-Jamal had not run at all. Two other police witnesses also had contradictions in their testimony. Abu-Jamal’s supporters pointed out Chobert had reasons to be a good police witness. He was at the time on probation and was driving that night with a suspended license. None of this did the defendant any good since he was brought to trial before Albert F. Sabo, a judge labeled by the Philadelphia Inquirer as a “defendant’s nightmare,” having sentenced more men to death (31 to date, only two of them white) than any other sitting jurist in the nation. A fellow judge once called Sabo’s courtroom a “vacation for prosecutors” because of a bias for convictions. Terry Bisson, writing in New York Newsday, called the murder trial “a policeman’s dream.” Denied the right to represent himself, AbuJamal was defended by an attorney since labelled incompetent but who had actually handled about 20 homicide cases and felt restrained by Abu-Jamal’s demands for a defense on a political rather than legal basis. Abu-Jamal’s supporters have since his conviction asked for a new trial before an unbiased judge. Attorney Leonard Weinglass filed a motion to have Judge Sabo removed from the case because, he said, Sabo could not provide even the “appearance of fairness.” In Sabo’s courtroom, said journalist Bisson, “Mumia’s 157 CAPONE, Alphonse “Scarface Al” 10 years: Indiana However, as more states have or are coming on line for the death penalty, it is possible that some alterations will have to be made in the above listings. Depending on the states, the procedures are still subject to judicial appeal and may or may not include any minimum age standards. Standards for executions of juveniles in this country derived from English law. The United Kingdom long sanctioned the death penalty for teens and preteens for such varied crimes as murder, rape, theft and picking pockets, but reports of many such death sentences pronounced was hardly an indication of those carried out. Richard Streib noted in 1995, “Research at Old Bailey revealed that although more than one hundred youths had been sentenced to death from 1801 to 1836, none had been executed. While some cases do exist, it appears settled that execution of youths was never at any time common in England.” In America the first documented execution of a juvenile took place in Roxbury, Mass., in 1642. Thomas Graunger went to the scaffold for having sodomized a cow and a horse. The all-male jury sentenced him under the Old Testament law described in Leviticus 20:15. From the 1890s through the 1920s executions of juveniles numbered from 20 to 27 per decade, 1.6 percent to 2.3 percent of all executions. In the 1930s the number of juvenile executions rose to 41, in line with the general pickup in executions during that period. Naturally as public support for capital punishment waned, and indeed was outlawed for a number of years, juvenile executions dropped off. As the recent public support for both capital punishment for adults and an equally fervent demand for executions of juveniles grows, it appears likely that more of the young will face that grim fate. What cannot be disputed is a report of Amnesty International that noted, “The USA carries out more executions of juvenile offenders (people sentenced to death for a crime they committed when they were under the age of 18) than almost any other country in the world.” This mug shot of Al Capone was taken in 1929 in Philadelphia, where he allowed the police to arrest him in order to “take off some heat” brought on by the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre. capital punishment of children a concept in flux The school shootings of children by children during the late 1990s into the new millennium have produced outrage on the part of many elements of the public, and there is growing demand for harsher punishment of children—such as life sentences and even the death penalty. This attitude seems to be eroding the long-held view that youngsters, of various ages, should be treated less harshly or that there be minimum age restrictions to severe punishments. Several states provide no minimum age for execution but do require that age be a factor in sentencing. Among these states are Arizona, Arkansas, Colorado, Florida, Maryland, Mississippi, New Mexico, Pennsylvania, South Carolina, Washington and Wyoming. Three other states have no minimum age for executions, and age is not a factor in sentencing. They are Delaware, Oklahoma and South Dakota. States that include a specific age for executions of children are as follows: 18 years: California, Connecticut, Illinois, Nebraska, Ohio, Tennessee Capone, Alphonse “Scarface Al” (1899–1947) gang leader 17 years: Georgia, New Hampshire, Texas Al Capone was a mindless, brutal and obscure Brooklyn hood in his teens, but by the age of 26 he had become the most powerful crime boss of his day and could boast that he “owned” Chicago, that city of gangsters, during the Prohibition years. At its zenith the Capone mob had probably upward of 1,000 members, most of them experienced gunmen, 16 years: Montana, Nevada 15 years: Louisiana, Virginia 14 years: Alabama, Idaho, Kentucky, Missouri, New Jersey, North Carolina, Utah 158 CAPONE, Frank but this represented only a portion of Capone’s overall empire. Capone often proclaimed, “I own the police,” and it was true. Few estimates would place less than half the police on the mob’s payroll in one way or another. Capone’s hold on the politicians was probably greater. He had “in his pocket” aldermen, state’s attorneys, mayors, legislators, governors and even congressmen. The Capone organization’s domination of Chicago and such suburban areas as Cicero, Ill. was absolute. When Capone wanted a big vote in elections, he got out the vote; when he wanted to control the election returns, his gangsters intimidated and terrorized thousands of voters. The politicians he put in power were expected to act the way the Big Fellow desired. The mayor of Cicero once took an independent action. Capone caught him on the steps of City Hall and beat him to a pulp; a police officer standing nearby had to look elsewhere to avoid seeing the violence. Capone was born in Brooklyn in 1899 and attended school through the sixth grade, when he beat up his teacher, got beaten by the principal and quit. After that, he learned his lessons in the streets, especially with the tough teenage James Street gang, run by an older criminal, Johnny Torrio, as a subsidiary of the notorious Five Points Gang, to which Capone eventually graduated. Among his closest friends, both in school and in the gang, was a kid who grew up to become a major crime boss, Lucky Luciano, and the two remained lifelong friends. When he was in his late teens, Capone was hired by Torrio as a bouncer in a saloon-brothel he ran in Brooklyn. Capone picked up a huge scar on his left cheek in an altercation with a tough hood named Frank Galluccio, who slashed him with a knife in a dispute about a girl. Later, Capone would claim he got the wound serving with the “Lost Battalion” in France during World War I, but he was never in the army. In 1920 Torrio, who had relocated in Chicago to help his uncle, Big Jim Colosimo, the city’s leading whoremaster, ply his trade, summoned Capone to come and help him. What Torrio wanted to do was take advantage of Prohibition and gain control of the booze racket, an endeavor that promised profits in the millions. But he was being thwarted by Colosimo, who was so rich and content he saw no need to expand. Torrio soon decided Colosimo would have to be eliminated so that he could use Big Jim’s organization for his criminal plans. He and Capone plotted Colosimo’s murder and imported New York talent to do the job. The Torrio-Capone combine was then on the move, taking over some mobs that bowed to their threats and going to war with those that failed to cooperate. Their biggest coup was the assassination in 1924 of Dion O’Banion, the head of the largely Irish North Side Gang, utilizing the talents of Frankie Yale of Brooklyn, the same man who had rubbed out Colosimo. However, the O’Banion killing resulted in all-out war with the rest of the North Siders. Torrio was badly shot in an ambush and hovered near death in a hospital for days. When he got out in February 1925, he told Capone, “Al, it’s all yours,” and retired back to Brooklyn with an estimated $30 million. It was a sobering experience for the 26-year-old Capone, who found he now needed to use brains instead of muscle to run things. He had to become a top executive, bossing a firm employing more than 1,000 persons with a weekly payroll of over $300,000. He demonstrated he could do this as well as work with other ethnic groups, such as the Jews, the Irish, the Poles and the blacks. Capone appreciated any man provided he was a hustler, crook or killer, and he never discriminated against any of them because of their religion, race or national origin, being perhaps the underworld’s first equal opportunity employer. Capone’s secret of success was to limit his mob’s activities mainly to rackets that enjoyed strong demand from the public: liquor, gambling and prostitution. Give the people what they want and you have to gain a measure of popularity. Al Capone was cheered when he went to the ball park. Herbert Hoover was not. Capone surrounded himself with men in whom he could place his trust, a quality he in turn inspired in many of his underlings. He was even smart enough to hire Galluccio, the thug who had scarred him, as a bodyguard, an act that demonstrated to the underworld the Big Fellow’s magnanimity. Still, he faced many assassination attempts, including an effort to poison his soup. In September 1926 the O’Banions sent an entire convoy of cars loaded with machine-gunners past Capone’s Cicero hotel headquarters. They poured in 1,000 rounds, but Capone escaped injury. One by one, Capone had his North Side enemies eliminated, and he did the same to others who resisted bending to his will. His most famous killing involved treachery within his own organization. Hop Toad Giunta and Capone’s two most competent killers, John Scalise and Albert Anselmi, were showing signs of planning to go independent. Capone invited them to a banquet in their honor and, at the climax of the evening, produced an Indian club with which he bashed their brains in. By this time, Capone started to look invincible, but he erred terribly when he ordered the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre in an effort to kill Bugs Moran, the last major force among the old O’Banions. Seven men were machine-gunned to death by Capone hit men masquerading as police officers. Suddenly, the public had had enough of the savage bootleg wars. Washington 159 CAPONE, James began applying intense pressure, and while he could not be convicted of murder, Capone was nailed for income tax evasion and sentenced to the federal prison at Atlanta for 11 years. He was transferred to Alcatraz in 1934 and within a few years his health began to deteriorate. When released in 1939, he was a helpless paretic, a condition generally attributed to the ravages of syphillis contracted in his early whorehouse days. Chances are he had also gone “stir crazy,” a comm on fate among Alcatraz inmates. Capone retired to his mansion in Miami Beach, no longer capable of running the Chicago mob. For several years he wavered between lucidity and mental inertia. He died on January 25, 1947. Al Capone had left an imprint on America and the rest of the world. Even in the minds of foreigners, he was the “Chicago gangster” personified. His impact on Chicago was significant and long lasting. During his reign Capone ordered the extermination of more than 500 men, and an estimated 1,000 died in his bootleg wars. The pattern of violence he set and the organization he built did not disappear with either his imprisonment or death. It is still not dead. See also: ANTHONY JOSEPH ACCARDO; JOSEPH AIELLO; ALCATRAZ PRISON; LOUIS “TWO GUN” ALTERIE; ANSELMI AND SCALISE; BOOTLEGGING; LOUIS “LITTLE NEW YORK” CAMPAGNA; FRANK CAPONE; JAMES CAPONE; RALPH “BOTTLES” CAPONE; CICERO, ILL.; VINCENT “SCHEMER” DRUCCI; FIVE POINTS GANG; GENNA BROTHERS; GREAT DEPRESSION; JAKE “GREASY THUMB” GUZIK; HAWTHORNE INN; MIKE “DE PIKE” HEITLER; HERBERT HOOVER; ALFRED “JAKE” LINGLE; ANTONIO “THE SCOURGE” LOMBARDO; JAMES LUCAS; “COUNT” VICTOR LUSTIG; MACHINE GUN JACK MCGURN; GEORGE “BUGS” MORAN; ELIOT NESS; FRANK NITTI; CHARLES DION “DEANIE” O’BANION; PINEAPPLE PRIMARY; PAUL “THE WAITER” RICCA; JOHN TORRIO; ROGER “TERRIBLE” TOUHY; HYMIE WEISS; WHITE HAND GANG; FRANK J. WILSON; FRANKIE YALE. Frank’s labors on behalf of his mentor Johnny Torrio and his brother Al were generally employed in situations where persuasion had failed and force was called for. Such was the case in the 1924 city election in Cicero, Ill., where the Democratic Party had actually dared to mount a serious effort against the Torrio/Capone-backed regime of Joseph Z. Klenha. What ensued on April 1 was one of the most terrorfilled elections in American history. Frank Capone showed his great ability as a political campaigner by leading an assault on election eve against the Democratic candidate for town clerk, William K. Pflaum, beseiging him in his office, roughing him up and finally destroying his office. At polling places during the balloting, a thug would sidle up to a voter waiting in line to cast his or her ballot and inquire as to the person’s preferences. If the voter gave the wrong answer, the thug ripped the ballot from the person’s hand and marked it properly. The thug then waited, fingering a revolver, until the voter dropped the ballot into the box. Voters who still protested were simply slugged and carried from the polling place to vote another day. When honest election officials and poll watchers objected, they too were slugged, kidnapped and held until the voting ended. Three men were shot dead, and another had his throat cut. A policeman was blackjacked. Michael Gavin, a Democratic campaign worker, was shot in both legs and carted off to be held prisoner in the basement of a mob-owned hotel in Chicago. Eight other balky Democrats kept him company and ministered to his wounds. By late afternoon a group of honest citizens appealed to the courts for assistance and County Judge Edmund K. Jarecki swore in 70 Chicago policemen as deputy sheriffs. Over the next several hours officers and Capone’s followers fought a series of battles. A police squad commanded by Detective Sgt. William Cusick pulled up in front of a polling place near the Hawthorne works of the Western Electric Co. where Al and Frank Capone, Charles Fischetti, a cousin, and Dave Hedlin were “campaigning” with drawn revolvers. In that era unmarked police cars were long limousines no different in appearance from the type gangsters used, and Al Capone, Fischetti and Hedlin hesitated at the sight of the vehicle, unsure whether its occupants were police officers or merely gangsters who supported the anti-Klenha ticket. Frank Capone exhibited no such inhibitions and immediately opened fire on an officer at virtually point-blank range. Frank missed and the officer and another policeman responded with double blasts from their shotguns, killing the elder Capone instantly. Al Capone fled the scene. Capone, Frank (1895–1924) brother of Al Capone Had Frank (Salvatore) Capone, Al Capone’s elder brother, survived until the latter’s climb to the pinnacle of power, it might well be that he would have been just as famous—Frank Capone’s killer instincts and savagery exceeded those of his brother. Despite Al’s acknowledged ruthlessness, he was a man who would try to deal before he tried to kill. Frank Capone never exhibited such patience. “You never get no back talk from no corpse,” he used to say, a sentiment made all the more ominous by his quiet, almost bankerlike demeanor. 160 CARDIFF Giant Frank Capone was given the biggest underworld funeral Chicago had seen up till then, even eclipsing that of Big Jim Colosimo a few years earlier. His coffin was silver-plated, satin-lined and surrounded by $20,000 worth of flowers. The Chicago Tribune called the affair fitting enough for a “distinguished statesman.” In deference to the sad occasion, every saloon, gambling joint and whorehouse in Cicero closed down for two solid hours. But perhaps the crowning tribute to Frank Capone was the election returns. The entire Klenha slate was swept back into office by overwhelming margins. Indian in a saloon brawl but was not prosecuted. It was in a later melee with other Indians that Hart lost an eye. Transferred to Idaho, he was charged with yet another murder, but the case was finally dropped. Returning to his marshal’s job in Homer, Hart eventually lost his badge when store owners began noticing steady shrinkage of their stocks. As marshal, Hart was furnished keys to all business places. He also lost his position as commander of the American Legion post when other members finally thought of asking for proof of his war record. When he couldn’t even prove he was a veteran, he was expelled. Without income and evicted from one house for nonpayment of rent, the Hart family went on relief. It was then that Hart got in touch with the other Capones. With the help he received from them and the money he got for telling his fanciful stories to the newspapers, Hart-Capone was able to live out the rest of his years in reasonable comfort, although by the time of his death in 1952 he was totally blind. Capone, James (1887–1952) brother of Al Capone and lawman Referred to by the newspapers as the “white sheep” of the family, James Capone was not precisely a model citizen—except in comparison. He disappeared from the Capone family fold in 1905, when he was 18, and considering what later became of the other Capone brothers, it was probably a good thing. Jim Capone did not surface again until 1940, when—broke, missing an eye and unable to support a wife and several children—he wrote to Ralph Capone, still a mighty power in the Chicago mob. He later visited with Ralph, who thereafter sent him monthly support checks, and with Al, who was in sickly retirement in Florida. Only then did Jim’s wife learn for the first time that her husband was the brother of the notorious Al Capone. The newspapers also soon learned the facts, at least as Jim Capone told them. According to Jim’s own account, he had spent most of his years as an enforcer of the law and was known in Nebraska as Richard James “Two-Gun” Hart because of his prowess with a gun. The loss of an eye he falsely attributed to a gunfight with gangsters. While the newspapers played up this white sheep story, the real facts were hardly as flattering to TwoGun Hart. Capone-Hart had joined a circus and later bummed all over the United States and Central America. In 1919 he dropped off a freight in Homer, Neb. and settled there. He married Kathleen Winch, the daughter of a grocer, and eventually had four sons. During this period he told such vivid tales of his war exploits, although he had never served in the armed forces, that the awed local American Legion post made him their commander. Hart’s popularity was such that he was named the town’s marshal and after two years became a state sheriff. In 1922 he joined the Indian Service as a special officer supervising the Omaha and Winnebago tribes to prevent the sale of liquor to them. Hart earned a reputation for cruelty to the Indians and was eventually transferred to Sioux City, Iowa, where he killed an Capone, Ralph “Bottles” (1893–1974) brother of Al Capone The most durable of the Capone brothers, Ralph “Bottles” Capone was a loyal aide to his younger brother Al, and like the mob chieftain, he did a stretch for income tax evasion. Afterward, he got out, Ralph rejoined the Capone mob. In 1950 the United Press stated that “in his own right [Ralph Capone] is now one of the overlords of the national syndicate which controls gambling, vice and other rackets.” That statement was somewhat of an exaggeration. Ralph was always given a position of honor within the group as well as excellent sources of income, partly to provide for Big Al’s sickly retirement in Florida after his release from prison. But Ralph was never on the same level as the leaders of the national syndicate, such as Lucky Luciano or Meyer Lansky, or the heads of the Chicago mob, such as Tony Accardo, Paul Ricca, Jake Guzik and Sam Giancana. Part of Ralph’s income through the years came from his longtime legitimate business: distributing bottled water in Chicago, an activity that won him the nickname Bottles. Ralph’s investment in bottling plants stemmed from a plan Al had devised to gain monopoly control of the soda water and ginger ale used in mixed drinks. In the early 1950s Ralph was questioned by the Kefauver Committee at great length. A short while later, his son, Ralph, Jr., committed suicide. Young Ralph had been haunted by the Capone name through school and a long string of jobs, and he had always tried to keep his identity secret but without success. 161 CARDINELLA, Salvatore “Sam” The Car Barn Gang ranged far afield in their depredations and would often make an incredible sweep robbing saloons from Manhattan’s 14th Street all the way up to the Bronx. The Kid would simply walk behind the bar and tap the till while Big Bill and a dozen or so stalwarts isolated the bouncers. If a barkeep objected to the Kid’s action, he would receive a liquor bottle across his skull from the teenaged gangster. Often the saloon keepers who got advanced warning of the approach of the Car Barners, realizing that resistance was foolhardy, would reduce the amount of cash in the till and hope the gangsters would be mollified with their take. Meanwhile, the war between the Car Barners and the police raged on. Finally, the police strong-arm squad was sent into the area to clean out the gang. They clubbed the gangsters unmercifully, but neither side could get the better of the other as long as Big Bill and the Kid were in the forefront of the battles. Eventually, however, the pair killed a Bronx liquor dispenser making a valiant effort to protect his receipts and were arrested for murder. Big Bill and the Kid, not yet 21, were executed for the crime, and by the onset of World War I, the dispirited Car Barners collapsed under persistent police attacks. The Capone name was not easily shaken by either the son or the father. Even in his eighties, Ralph Capone was still being described as an important member of the mob. Car Barn Gang The Car Barn Gang, the last gang in America to declare open war on the police, was clearly an organization born in the wrong era. The Car Barners harkened back to the post–Civil War days when criminal bands operated in most big cities on the basis of pure terror and often engaged in pitched battles or vindictive strikes against the police. Organized in late 1911 in New York City, the Car Barners recruited mostly the young toughs who infested the East River docks, fighting, stealing and rolling drunks. As a gang, they became vicious gunmen and highwaymen, staging daring daylight robberies and holding up trolley cars with the same Wild West techniques used in earlier days on stagecoaches. The first the police knew of the existence of an organized gang was the appearance of placards near the old car barns around Second Avenue and East 97th Street. The signs read: Notice COPS KEEP OUT! NO POLICEMAN WILL HEREAFTER BE ALLOWED IN THIS BLOCK By Order of THE CAR BARN GANG. Cardiff Giant scientific hoax The Cardiff Giant, allegedly the fossilized remains of an authentic giant who in ancient times walked the earth in the area of what has become New York State, was one of the most lucrative hoaxes in history. George Hull, a former cigar maker from Binghampton, N.Y., conceived the plot to create the the giant. In 1868 he obtained a five-ton block of gypsum in Iowa and had it fashioned into the shape of a huge man by a stonecutter in Chicago. He then shipped the statue to the farm of a cousin, William Newell, near Cardiff, N.Y., where after a year the latter duly “discovered” it. It is not clear whether the pair had first concocted their plot as a swindle or if, as he would later state, Hull had had the giant built to ridicule clergymen who were always quoting from Genesis about a supersized race— “There were giants in the earth in those days.” A Syracuse newspaper headlined the find as “A Wonderful Discovery,” and the pair pitched a tent and began exhibiting the giant, charging 5¢ for a view. News of the find flashed across the country and indeed around the world. Thousands swarmed to see it and admission was raised to 50¢ and then to $1. Meanwhile, most experts were convinced the Cardiff Giant was genuine. Two Yale professors, a paleontologist and a chemist, agreed it was a true fossil. The director of the New York State Museum thought the giant was The police soon learned the Car Barners were most serious about their edict after a half-dozen officers who had ventured into the forbidden zone were either stabbed or had their skulls fractured. Following that, the police never patrolled the area in groups of less than four or five, leading to the vaudevillian comic’s famous joke that the police were insisting on police protection. The primary captain of the Car Barners was one Big Bill Lingley, widely renowned as a burglar and desperado. He seldom ventured forth with less than two revolvers, a blackjack and a slungshot, which he used to attack a likely citizen or a police officer. Big Bill’s principal confederate was Freddie Muehfeldt, a youth who, although from a good family and a background of considerable Sunday School work, at age 17 had taken up a wastrel life on the docks. Big Bill determined to make over Muehfeldt, who became known as the Kid, in his own image. They became the twin terrors of the Car Barners’ domain from East 90th Street to 100th and from Third Avenue to the East River. Almost by themselves, they were said to make the area as unsafe for honest folk as the notorious Hell’s Kitchen section. 162 CARNIVAL gyps squad of detectives and hurried to the prison, posting men at the rear entrances where the bodies were taken out. A hearse turned into the alley and stopped. The officers surrounded the vehicle and opened the back door. Inside were a doctor and a nurse, dressed in white. “What does a dead man need with medical attention?” Norton wanted to know, but he got no answer. The hearse contained a rubber mattress filled with hot water and heated by pads attached to batteries. At the head of the bed was an oxygen tank. There was also a basket jammed with hot-water bottles and a shelf loaded with syringes and stimulants. Rushing into the jail, Norton found Cardinella laid out on a slab and his relatives eagerly signing papers for possession of the body. Norton bluntly announced that the body would be held for 24 hours, and though Cardinella’s relatives screamed in anger, they were powerless. Later, medical men agreed Cardinella’s neck had not been broken when the trap was sprung: his body had been too light. Death had resulted from choking. The doctors said that had sufficient heat been applied to the body quickly, he might have been revived. really a statue but indeed most ancient and the “the most remarkable object yet brought to light in this country.” Others, including Oliver Wendell Holmes and Ralph Waldo Emerson, concurred. Still, a few were doubtful; the president of Cornell University felt the giant was made of gypsum and thought there were hints of a sculptor’s chisel. But the crowds, now arriving by special trains, continued to grow, and P. T. Barnum, the great showman, offered $60,000 to lease the object from Newell for three months. The farmer refused. Undeterred, Barnum hired a sculptor, Professor Carl C. F. Otto, to make an exact copy of the giant. When Hull and Newell brought their giant to New York in 1871 for exhibit, they discovered Barnum was already displaying his version in Brooklyn. While they hauled Barnum into court, newspapermen were tracing Hull’s activities and uncovered his purchase of gypsum in Iowa. They located the stonecutter in Chicago, one Edward Salle, who admitted to carving the giant, aging it with sand, ink and sulfuric acid, and punching pores into it with darning needles. Faced with the growing evidence of fraud, Hull confessed. Barnum now was able to avoid prosecution by claiming all he had done was show the hoax of a hoax. Thanks to their fraud, Hull and Newell netted about $33,000 after building expenses of $2,200. Barnum, who continued showing his version for years, made much more. Today, the Cardiff Giant, Hull’s authentic fake, is on display at the Farmers’ Museum in Cooperstown, N.Y. card trick suicide inventive way of avoiding execution William Kogut, San Quentin death row convict #1651, is seldom remembered today except in the folklore of the notorious prison he inhabited, but his final exploit would alter the practices followed in numerous death rows around the country. When Kogut entered San Quentin Penitentiary in 1930 sentenced to death by hanging for the lethal stabbing a woman, he openly boasted he would never be executed, that he would instead die by his own hand. The sentencing judge did not dismiss the threat but instead warned authorities to deprive him of all weapons or tools that would facilitate a suicide attempt. In San Quentin the guards kept an unusually close watch on Kogut, whose only diversion was playing solitaire with one of the two decks of cards he was permitted to keep in his cell. One Sunday morning not long before his scheduled execution, the prison was ripped by a terrific explosion. Guards rushed to death row and discovered Kogut lying in a pool of blood, his face little more than a blob. It took the coroner and a group of chemists several days to figure out how Kogut had managed to kill himself. He had in days previous been playing solitaire—or so it seemed. Unobserved by guards, he was busily scraping off all the red spots on the cards—the hearts and diamonds—with his thumbnail. Then he soaked that residue in water in his tin cup, producing a wet Cardinella, Salvatore “Sam” (1880–1921) murderer One of the most terrifying and obese criminals in Chicago history and chief of a gang that even the beer barons of Prohibition were fearful of crossing, Sam Cardinella was the mastermind of an incredible plot of self-resuscitation. Known as Il Diavolo, or “the Devil,” Cardinella was one of the city’s most powerful Black Handers until police cracked down on that racket, whereupon he and his gang turned to banditry and violent crime. Il Diavolo’s top triggerman was Nicholas Viana, better known as the Choir Boy, an accomplished murderer at the age of 18. The gang committed 20 murders and well over 100 holdups before Cardinella, Viana and Frank Campione were captured and sentenced to be hanged. But the Cardinella story did not end there. In his death cell at the Cook County Jail, Cardinella went on a hunger strike and lost 40 pounds. Only 11 minutes before Cardinella was slated to die, Lt. John Norton, who had apprehended him, received a telephone tip that Cardinella’s friends “are going to revive him after the execution.” Norton quickly gathered a 163 CARPENTER, Richard pulp. This he poured into a hollow knob from his cot and then he plugged the knob with a second knob. Now Kogut had what he wanted—a potential deadly bomb. The bits of playing cards were made of cellulose and nitrate, and when mixed with a solvent formed pyroxylin, an explosive that could be set off by heat. What he had was a primitive homemade pipe bomb. On the night of October 9, 1930 Kogut put his bomb in his tin cup and placed it on the small heater in his cell. Then he laid his head on the cup and waited for the inevitable explosion that cheated the hangman. Kogut’s card suicide trick can never be duplicated in San Quentin or, in fact, any other death row. Condemned prisoners are still allowed playing cards, but the decks are routinely collected and checked. by the electric chair. On a gray morning two days before Christmas, Carlton swung from the gibbet in the Tombs courtyard in New York City. After the execution a newspaper commented, “We are not at all sure that this hanging was entirely legal but it certainly was justice.” See also: HOWE AND HUMMEL. carnival gyps Probably half the people in this country visit a carnival or fair of some kind during the course of a year; yet the so-called games of skill or chance they play are obviously among the most lucrative gyps practiced today. None of the games played are susceptible to being beaten, either by skill or chance. All of them are or can be rigged. The television program 60 Minutes once devoted an entire segment to the exposure of just one gyp game, “razzle,” an involved form of gambling in which the customer can never win. The “gaff,” or fix, is applied to every game or built right into it, as is the case with various coin-pitch games in which a player wins a prize if his coin lands inside a square or circle without touching a line. In this game valuable prizes can theoretically be won, but the house percentage has been mathematically worked out as 80 percent—compared to a little over 1 percent for casino dice, 2.5 to 5 percent for roulette and 15 percent or so for one-armed bandits. Milk bottle toss is a notorious gaff game, although the proprietor or a shill, or phony player, will always be seen winning. The object of the game is to knock six imitation milk bottles off a podium with three baseballs. Knocking them down is not sufficient—they must be knocked completely off the table. The key to the gyp is that three of the six bottles arranged in pyramid form are lead-weighted at the bottom. When these three are placed at the bottom row, or base, they will do no more than fall over even when hit directly, and the player loses. Yet it’s relatively simple for the operator of the game to demonstrate how easy it is to win. He throws the three baseballs and the six bottles topple to the floor, but his assistant has simply stacked the six bottles so that three non-lead-weighted bottles are on the bottom row and the weighted ones are on top. A mere brushing will topple the weighted bottles to the floor. Even games with a guaranteed prize are gaffed. The most common variation of this is the “string game,” in which all prizes are attached to strings that feed into a crossbar, or collar. The player pulls a tab for one of the strings on the opposite side of the collar and wins whatever prize pops up. The operator demonstrates the honesty of the game by grabbing all the strings on the other side of the collar and pulling them so that every prize, Carlton, Handsome Harry (?–1888) murderer Handsome, blue-eyed Harry Carlton was a dapper murderer who had a date with the hangman late in 1888. However, after his sentence had been pronounced, the New York legislature decided that no convicted murderer would be hanged after June 4, 1888 and that from January 1 of the following year on, the state would use the electric chair for capital punishment. The lawmakers’ intention was that anyone with a death sentence who was still alive on June 4 would be executed the next year in the electric chair. But that was not the way they had written the statute. Instead, the law was phrased to say that nobody could be hanged after June 4, 1888 and that “electrocution shall apply to all convictions punishable by death on or after January 1st.” Carlton’s lawyer was quick to spot the loophole. He demanded that Handsome Harry be freed. Death happened to be the only punishment on the books for murder—unless the jury recommended mercy, which in Handsome Harry’s case it had not. If a person committed murder, as Harry had, and got no sympathy from the jury, he or she had to die. However unintentionally, the language of the new law stated that persons who committed murder before June 4, 1888 not only could not be hanged but moreover could not be punished at all. Handsome Harry became an instant worldwide cause célèbre and his case shook the very foundation of law in New York State. If he were let go, it would mean that for a seven-month period murder was legal in the state! The dispute was rushed to the Supreme Court. In a marked departure from the High Court’s traditional respect for legalisms, it ruled that while the interpretation of the law by Carlton’s attorney might be technically correct, no slipup by the legislature could be allowed to endanger human lives. Hanging, the Supreme Court held, remained in force until replaced 164 CASEY, James P. movies. While he couldn’t skate, he didn’t approve of the girls going out alone at night. Carpenter always bought clothes for the girls, although he neglected himself to the point of going around in tatters. In addition, he always kept his grandfather supplied with three cigars a day. Suddenly, his thin veneer of sanity cracked. On December 4, 1953 Carpenter stole a car, which he later wrecked, and held up a grocery for $100. From that day on, he never returned to his home or saw his family. He ran up a string of more than 70 heists and became a cop killer in August 1955, gunning down a police detective who attempted to arrest him on a Chicago subway. Once, he was recognized and almost caught in a downtown movie theater by an off-duty policeman named Clarence Kerr, who happened to be there with his wife. When Kerr ordered Carpenter into the lobby and demanded identification, Carpenter faked a stumble and came up shooting, hitting Kerr in the chest and wounding him badly. Kerr was able to fire one shot off at the fleeing Carpenter, injuring him in the leg. Before passing out, Kerr gasped to his wife: “It was Carpenter—Carpenter—I know it was Carpenter.” The manhunt for Carpenter, pressed by Chicago police for more than a year, intensified, with the fugitive’s picture splashed across television screens. While police cars wailed through the streets, Carpenter took refuge in the house of a truck driver and his family and threatened to kill them all unless they kept him hidden. But Carpenter was really not that much of a menace to his captives. He yearned for a family environment and ended up trusting the truck driver and his wife too much. They managed to elude his watch long enough to get out of the house and call the police. Within minutes 30 police cars surrounded the house. Carpenter was able to flee through a barrage of bullets and made it across the roof to another building, where he took refuge in a room. When police burst in on him, Carpenter tried unsuccessfully to pretend he was the real occupant of the room. After his arrest, he said: “I’m sorry about one thing—I didn’t do a single thing to make my mother and my sisters proud. It was a lousy life I led—but it is too late now. . . . I’ll go to the chair, but I hope I can see my mother before I die.” Carpenter got his wish before dying in the electric chair on March 16, 1956. including very valuable ones, jump up to tempt the public. The trick: the strings attached to the valuable ones are “dead-enders,” reaching the collar but not extending to any of the tabs on the other side. One of the most exotic gaffed games, and a very popular one at big carnivals because it seemingly can’t be fixed, is the “mouse game.” The public bets on which of 60 numbered holes a mouse will enter, and the prize is quite a good one. A mouse is placed on a wheel, covered with a tin can and spun around vigorously so that when liberated, it is weaving almost drunkenly. Then completely unrehearsed, the mouse heads for the numbered holes. Meanwhile, the operator of the game has made a quick survey of the board and judged whether more money is bet on odd or even numbers. With a foot pedal, he simply closes either the odd or even holes, thereby greatly increasing the house’s winnings, especially if the mouse enters an unplayed number. If the mouse, staggering around the holes, butts his head against a closed-off hole, it simply backs off and heads for another opening. This does not look suspicious to the public because the mouse has been moving erratically all along. Finally, the creature enters a hole. Whether or not there is money bet on it, the house almost always wins much more than it loses. Carpenter, Richard (1929–1956) murderer The object of one of the greatest manhunts in American criminal history, Richard Carpenter was the real-life villain of Hollywood’s The Desperate Hours, holding a Chicago family hostage and forcing them to hide him in a drama reported in headlines around the world after he was finally caught. The Sunday supplements still carry stories of Carpenter as a prime example of a “mama’s boy” turned killer. His probation report showed he was passionately fond of his mother and would always come to her as a child, sit on her lap and moan, “Mother, I’m terribly lonely.” In 1951 Carpenter had begun to make excursions into crime. He was finally arrested for pulling a gun on a taxi driver and robbing him of $8; he got a year in jail. On her visits to the prison, Carpenter’s mother brought him cakes and other sweets, which he shared with nobody. He made no friends among his fellow prisoners. His cellmates tagged him Mama’s Boy and savagely never let him forget it. When Carpenter was released, he vowed never to fool around with crime or guns again. He became a cabbie, earning about $80 a week. His streak of puritanism showed through when he refused any fare to a gambling joint or brothel. He remained his lone wolf self but occasionally would take his sisters and a girl cousin to a skating rink or the Carroll’s orgy Prohibition offense What may have been the silliest arrest in the entire era of Prohibition, but one with tragic personal consequences, was that of Broadway producer Earl Carroll for an “orgy” held on February 22, 1926 at the Earl Carroll Theatre after a performance of his Vanities. 165 CASH machine rackets in his presence. He was released after serving four months. Carson, Ann (1790–1838) counterfeiter A strange set of circumstances turned Ann Carson into one of early America’s most notorious female criminals. The daughter of a naval officer, she was the lovely and vivacious wife of Capt. John Carson of the U.S. Army, who disappeared in 1810 on a mission in the West against the Indians. Carson was listed as presumed dead. In 1812 Ann Carson met Lt. Richard Smith, who was stationed near her home in Philadelphia. After a short courtship they were married and lived happily until January 20, 1816, when her first husband arrived at his home and banged loudly on the door. He told Smith who he was. Smith, who later insisted he had been confused, drew a revolver and shot Carson dead. Within days Smith was brought to trial, and it was soon evident that everyone assumed he had killed Carson rather than give up his wife. While the trial was going on, Ann Carson made a desperate attempt to kidnap the governor of Pennsylvania, Simon Snyder, and hold him as a hostage to gain her second husband’s release. She failed, and Smith was convicted and, on February 4, 1816, hanged. Ann Carson lost all respect for law and order and became the head of a band of hardened criminals. Drawing on her military background, she organized the gang under strict regulations that made them most effective. While they engaged in some violent crimes, Ann Carson’s gang were most competent at counterfeiting, passing notes for six years with brilliant efficiency. After they were finally rounded up, all were given long prison terms in 1823. Ann Carson died in Philadelphia Prison in 1838 while working on her memoirs. Drawing shows James Casey being conveyed through heckling San Franciscans to be hanged by the vigilance committee. With typical Broadway irreverence, Carroll was honoring the Countess Vera Cathcart, who had just beaten an Immigration Service effort to prevent her from remaining in this country on the grounds of “moral turpitude” because of her sensational divorce from the earl of Cathcart. Climaxing the party onstage, a bathtub was filled with champagne and a nude model climbed in while men eagerly waited to fill their glasses or at least ogle at the naked beauty. When reports of the big bash got out, producer Carroll was hauled before a federal grand jury to explain his unique violation of the Volstead Act. Carroll tried to avoid prosecution by declaring there was no champagne in the bathtub, merely ginger ale. For this heinous distortion, he was convicted of perjury, fined $2,000 and sentenced to the federal prison at Atlanta for a year and a day. Carroll suffered a nervous breakdown on the way to the penitentiary. Because of his mental state, his fellow prisoners were ordered never to mention bathtubs Caruso, Enrico (1873–1921) Black Hand extortion victim Few Italians coming to America around the turn of the 20th century expected to escape the terrors and tribulations they had experienced at the hands of criminals in their native country. Rich or poor they could expect threats on their lives—so-called Black Hand threats that promised death unless they paid money. These were not the work of any “Black Hand Society” but extortions performed by the Mafia or other criminals, and not even the most famous were immune. During a triumphal engagement at the Metropolitan Opera shortly before World War I, the great Italian tenor Enrico Caruso received a Black Hand letter, with the imprint of a black hand and a dagger, demanding $2,000. The singer quietly paid, considering an appeal to the police both useless and foolhardy. 166 CASSIDY, Butch derer, Charles Cora, were hanged from the windows of the vigilante headquarters on makeshift gallows. Casey’s political friends buried him and had inscribed on his tombstone, “May God Forgive My Persecutors.” It should also be noted that in the two months following Casey’s execution, not a single murder occurred in San Francisco, a period of tranquility never again experienced in that city. However, when this payment was followed by a new demand for $15,000, Caruso knew he had no choice but to go to the police. If he did not, he realized the criminals would continue to increase their demands and drain him dry. Caruso had been instructed to leave the money under the steps of a factory, and after the police set a trap, he did so. Two prominent Italian businessmen were seized when they tried to retrieve the loot. The two were convicted of extortion and sent to prison—one of the few successful prosecutions of Black Hand criminals. Even so, Caruso was considered to be in such great danger in case the criminals sought their usual vengeance on an informer that he was kept under police and private detective protection, both in this country and in Europe, for several years. See also: BLACK HAND. cash machine rackets The explosive growth in bank and store cash machines in recent years has inevitably fostered various criminal means of exploiting them. While there have been occasional murders resulting from crooks forcing victims to hand over their personal codes so as to allow them to extract money from the machines, this is not a frequent occurrence since banks generally limit the amount of money that can be withdrawn in any one day from any one account. As a result nonviolent but ingenious scam artists represent the more common cash machine predators. Not long ago in New York City, a bankcard customer approached a cash machine during evening hours and found a handwritten sign reading: “Sorry for the inconvenience. Minimum withdrawal $300.” This happened to be the maximum withdrawal permitted from the machine. The customer wanted much less cash but given the alternative opted to withdraw $300. He inserted the card, punched out his code and saw the bills drop into a withdrawal slot. However, the man soon discovered he could not raise the slot cover to retrieve his money. Puzzled for a time, he finally noticed two tiny screws inserted on either side of the slot cover that effectively sealed it. The man left the outer bank lobby in search of a policeman. After going only one block in an unsuccessful search, he returned to find the screws removed and his $300 gone. Bankcard machines are designed to thwart theft, but with every new safety technique, thieves refine their methods. In this case the bank announced it would alter the slot cover design, but experts regarded this as an unsatisfactory solution. The slot covers on some machines had replaced certain types of money dispensers that dropped the cash through an open slot. These were plugged by thieves using various wax sprays and the like. Money could be cleared out by the thieves at their leisure after a customer attempting to make a withdrawal left. Most cash machines have a special telephone connection to the bank machine’s main office, enabling a customer to call on the spot Casey, James P. (?–1856) murderer One of the most famous and infamous victims of the San Francisco Committee of Vigilance, James Casey was the editor of the Sunday Times and a member of the city’s Board of Supervisors during what many regard as the most politically corrupt decade in San Francisco’s history. Ruffians, outlaws, thieves and murderers controlled the city in the 1850s and were protected by equally crooked politicians, one of whom was Casey. An arch rival of Casey was James King, editor of the Evening Bulletin, who publicized Casey’s involvement with corrupt elements and his previous history, which included serving 18 months in Sing Sing prison for larceny. In 1855 King’s voice was the most virulent in calling for the reestablishment of the 1851 vigilance committee to clean up the city. On May 14, 1856 King launched a vigorous attack against Casey and said he deserved “having his neck stretched.” As King left his newspaper’s offices later that day, Casey accosted him, shoved a revolver against his chest and ordered him to “draw and defend yourself.” Casey then shot and mortally wounded his foe without even giving him a chance to draw a weapon, which in any case he did not have. After the shooting Casey was taken into custody. However, fearing the political powers would permit him to escape justice, the vigilance committee swung into action. A thousand men enrolled in a special armed force, and militiamen guarding Casey in jail wired their resignation to the governor, stacked their arms and joined the vigilantes. King clung to life for six days before dying on May 20. He was buried two days later, with an estimated 15,000 to 20,000 men and women following his body to the grave. By the time the last of the throng returned to the city, Casey and another mur- 167 CASTELLAMMARESE War manding respect as much by being able to exercise restraint as by his more than competent shooting. He was a superb planner of crimes and had the gift for being able to use the best ideas of others, especially Elzy Lay, who was probably the smartest of the group and Cassidy’s best and most trusted friend. The Wild Bunch’s first important train robbery, after a number of bank jobs and stock thefts, was that of a Union Pacific train near Wilcox, Wyo. on June 2, 1899. The gang detached the express car and blasted it open with a dynamite charge, enough to get in but not to kill a plucky guard inside who was determined to resist. Throughout his career Cassidy could boast he had never killed a man, although the same could not be said for the rest of his gang despite his best efforts to restrain them. The Wilcox robbery netted $30,000. The Wild Bunch quickly pulled three more train robberies, and Cassidy’s fame spread. While Pinkerton detectives tracked him, the Union Pacific considered another way of containing Cassidy—offering to buy him off by obtaining a pardon for him and giving him a job as an express guard at a very high salary, presumably as a no-show job. Cassidy himself probably queered that deal by robbing yet another train just as negotiations through intermediaries were beginning. The railroad then sent its own band of gunfighters after Cassidy and his gang. Equipped with highpowered rifles, these manhunters took up the chase utilizing a high-speed train. A number of the gang were either killed or arrested, and Cassidy realized it was only a matter of time until he too would be run into the ground. In late 1901 Cassidy, accompanied by the Sundance Kid and his lady, the celebrated Etta Place, fled to New York and the following year headed for South America. Much has been speculated about the relationship between Etta, Butch and Sundance, but there is little doubt that Etta was basically Sundance’s woman. Butch once told an acquaintance, “She was the best housekeeper in the Pampas, but she was a whore at heart.” Etta was also the hard-riding partner who joined with the two men on their many holdups in Argentina. In between jobs Butch and Sundance flirted with going straight and became close friends with a young mining man, Percy Seibert, who in time came to learn their identities, a secret he kept. Cassidy often spoke earnestly to Seibert about changing his life, and the mining man encouraged him. In 1907 Etta Place returned to the States for reasons of health. Sundance took her back but rejoined Cassidy in 1908. Forced to move on because they had been identified, the pair went to Bolivia, where, according to more or less the official Pinkerton version, they were killed in 1911 by when such a caper is suspected. To counter this, crooks simply put the communication system out of service. Security experts and police advise bankcard customers to be wary when using cash machines, and to walk away from any machine that seems to have any sort of unusual problem. It is recommended that a card user frequent only a machine that has been observed to be in good working order from use by a previous customer. Cassidy, Butch (1866–1937?) outlaw leader Robert LeRoy Parker, alias Butch Cassidy, is without doubt the most romantic character to come out of the outlaw West. He combined the daring of Jesse James with the free spirit of Bill Doolin and, indeed, his Wild Bunch had much in common with the latter’s Oklahombres. What is most amazing about Parker’s appeal is that he never killed anyone, and American hero worship has usually been reserved for more efficient bloodletters. But Cassidy had other ingratiating qualities. He could prevent Kid Curry from shooting a resisting railroad express car guard by saying: “Let him alone, Kid. A man with his nerve deserves not to be shot.” In 1894, when Cassidy was convicted of horse stealing and sentenced to two years, he requested permission to leave his jail cell unescorted for the night before he was to be transferred to the state prison. “I give you my word I’ll be back.” Incredibly, permission was granted and sure enough the next morning Cassidy returned. He never revealed where he went or whom he visited; he simply turned in his guns and went off to prison. Born in 1866 in Utah Territory, young Bob Parker was raised on his Mormon father’s remote ranch. As a teenager he came under the influence of an old-time rustler named Mike Cassidy and rode with him in the early 1880s in Colorado. Later, he went to work for a mining outfit in Telluride, Colo., and fell in with bad company, taking up rustling and pulling small bank jobs. Strictly speaking, Cassidy’s Wild Bunch was not formed until his release from prison in 1896, although his earlier gang, which included the likes of Tom McCarty and Matt Warner, was cut from the same funloving mold. In 1896 Cassidy (Parker had by then adopted the name of his old mentor) turned up in a desperado haven called Brown’s Hole. There and in Hole in the Wall, he met many other young criminals who became part of the loosely-knit Wild Bunch. They included Kid Curry (Harvey Logan), the Sundance Kid (Harry Longbaugh), Harry Tracy, Matt Warner, Elzy Lay, Deaf Charley Hanks and Ben Kilpatrick. From the very first, Cassidy was regarded as the leader of the gang, com168 CASTELLANO, Paul Bolivian troops after being cornered following a robbery. In a variation of this story the Sundance Kid was killed but Cassidy escaped and eventually returned to the United States. Seibert identified two American bank robbers killed in Bolivia as Cassidy and Sundance. But his identification was rebutted in a 1975 book—Butch Cassidy, My Brother—by Butch Cassidy’s sister, Lula Parker Betenson, who insisted her brother came home and lived out a good life until his death in the 1930s. According to his sister, Cassidy visited his family on a number of occasions and rendezvoused many times with his old buddies Warner and Lay, who had mended their ways. She said Butch felt that Seibert had willfully misidentified the two bandits just to give him and Sundance another chance. Overall, the evidence appears that Cassidy did not die in Bolivia, but that he returned around 1910, married and spent some time in the Mexican Revolution as a mercenary, all under the name of William Thadeus Phillips. If Cassidy was Phillips, he died in Spangle, Wash. in 1937. See also: BROWN’S HOLE, HOLE IN THE WALL, KID CURRY, BEN KILPATRICK, ELZY LAY, ETTA PLACE, SUNDANCE KID, MATT WARNER. rackets were controlled by Salvatore Maranzano, a tough mafioso in his own right who aspired to the title of boss of bosses himself. Soon, the war for control of New York rackets broke out between the two groups. In the Masseria organization were such rising talents as Lucky Luciano, Vito Genovese, Frank Costello, Albert Anastasia, Joe Adonis, Carlo Gambino and Willie Moretti. Under the Maranzano banner were such future crime leaders as Joe Profaci, Joe Bonanno, Tommy Lucchese, Gaetano Gagliano and Joe Magliocco. However, few of these men owed much allegiance to their respective bosses, wanting only for the Castellammarese War, as the struggle was called, to be brought to a conclusion. Thus, while Masseria men killed Maranzano supporters and vice versa, a secret underground developed in the two camps, attracting men who realized that both leaders would have to be eliminated to achieve the peace needed to organize crime the way they knew it should be. The leader in this rebellion was Lucky Luciano, who developed a strong rapport with his young counterparts in the Maranzano organization, especially with Tommy Lucchese, who kept him informed of all secret developments. Finally, Luciano planned and carried out the assassination of Joe the Boss in a Coney Island restaurant. Luciano, then number two in command to Masseria, simply stepped into the men’s room just before four of his supporters, Vito Genovese, Joe Adonis, Albert Anastasia and Bugsy Siegel, loaned to Luciano for the operation by his closest Jewish confederate, Meyer Lansky, walked in and gunned down Joe the Boss. When the police arrived, Joe the Boss was dead, and Luciano, having emerged from the men’s room, was unhelpful. The standard report quoted in newspapers around the country was that Luciano said he had heard the shooting and “as soon as I finished drying my hands, I walked out to see what it was all about.” A bit of journalistic censorship was involved. Luciano’s actual comment was: “I was in the can taking a leak. I always take a long leak.” With Masseria eliminated, Luciano and his cohorts contacted Maranzano with a peace offering, one that was accepted with the clear understanding that Maranzano was now the boss of bosses. However, Maranzano was smart enough to realize that what had happened to Masseria would also happen to him unless he struck first. He therefore planned a series of assassinations that would eliminate not only Luciano and his second-in-command, Vito Genovese, but also many others, including Al Capone in Chicago, Willie Moretti, Joe Adonis, Frank Costello and Dutch Schultz, one of Luciano’s non-Italian associates. According to his battle plan, Maranzano would Castellammarese War Mafia power struggle During much of the 1920s the Mafia in New York was dominated by one man, Giuseppe “Joe the Boss” Masseria, who could quite logically be considered the “boss of bosses.” However, Masseria was a crude, obscene leader who was increasingly hated by the young, second-generation mafiosi around town. They resented what they considered his stupidity and insistence on putting personal power and the old Sicilian virtues of “respect” and “dignity” ahead of the quest for money. Like other old “Mustache Petes,” Masseria was violently opposed to working with the powerful, non-Italian gangs, even though the high profits of such cooperation were obvious. What these young rebels objected to even more was the needless and constant struggle for power within the Mafia. Under these old-time gang leaders, Mafia gunmen not only fought other ethnic groups but also warred among themselves, with Sicilians battling Neapolitans and, even worse, Sicilians battling Sicilians who had immigrated from other parts of the island or from other villages. By 1928 Masseria had become concerned about the growing power of mafiosi from the west coast Sicilian town of Castellammare del Golfo. Several of these Castellammarese rose to power in other American cities, especially Cleveland and Buffalo, but their main source of strength lay in Brooklyn, where many of the 169 CASTRATION as punishment Gambino’s sister. Everyone in all the crime families expected that the mantle would be passed to Gambino’s underboss Aniello Dellacroce, a tough, heartless killer who could prevent incursions into the family’s operations. Gambino, a master manipulator, knew that if Dellacroce fought for the top spot, Castellano would be destroyed. It is unclear whether Gambino knew that Dellacroce was already suffering from cancer (certainly Dellacroce’s allies probably did not know). What Gambino did know was that killing Dellacroce would solve nothing. The Young Turks under John Gotti, followers of Dellacroce, had the power to destroy Castellano, and Dellacroce was the only man who could keep them in line. What Gambino had to do was make Dellacroce Castellano’s life insurance policy. Gambino pulled that off by offering Dellacroce and his faction total control of the family’s Manhattan activities as a sort of crime family within a crime family. It was an offer Dellacroce could not refuse. Gambino sought further support for Castellano through his friendship with Funzi Tieri, who then headed the Genovese crime family. That group had been the number one family in the Mafia since the days of Luciano, Frank Costello and Vito Genovese, but Gambino had maneuvered his family to the pinnacle of power without alienating Tieri. Tieri promised Gambino he would not do anything to shake Castellano from power. He kept his word, but Tieri was a master criminal, and inevitably the Genovese family reasserted its top position among the mobs. In a sense Castellano presided over a decline of the Gambinos. However, Tieri died in 1981 and lesser, and perhaps divided, leadership weakened the Genovese family and allowed the Gambino mobsters to regain rackets and territories that the Genovese could not maintain. Over the next few years Castellano actually did start thinking he was the boss of bosses. But on December 2, Dellacroce died of the cancer wracking his body. Apparently Castellano did not realize how vulnerable he now was without the life insurance Gambino had provided him. One of the big knocks made against Castellano by other mobsters in the family was that he was weak, hesitant, didn’t go for the kill when it was required. A smart Mafia boss would have moved instantly and started killing the competition. It was as though Castellano thought he was in some sort of corporate proxy fight. He thought he could name the none-too-bright Bilotti his underboss and then start breaking up and isolating the Gotti crew. John Gotti had a different idea. Even before Dellacroce was buried, he or his representatives were meeting with other Mafia families in New York and emerge from such a bloodbath as the undisputed crime boss in America. However, Luciano and Lansky anticipated Maranzano’s moves, and on September 10, 1931, just hours before a psychopathic killer named Vincent “Mad Dog” Coll was to begin the Maranzano purge, four Jewish gangsters supplied by Lansky walked into Maranzano’s office in the guise of detectives and shot and stabbed Maranzano to death. The Castellammarese War thus ended with the two contending forces vanquished. The young rebels under Lucky Luciano took over. While Luciano made use of such terms as “Cosa Nostra,” or “our thing,” as a sort of Mafia carryover, the day of the Mafia was really finished. The new crime boss formed lasting alliances with non-Italian gangsters, and the national crime syndicate, or “organized crime,” was born, taking control and continuing to this day. See also: CHARLES “LUCKY” LUCIANO, SALVATORE MARANZANO, GIUSEPPE “JOE THE BOSS” MASSERIA, NIGHT OF THE SICILIAN VESPERS. Castellano, Paul (1915–1985) murdered “boss of bosses” Whatever may be said of Paul Castellano, the head of the Gambino crime family, he must be acknowledged to have enjoyed “great press.” This was never more obvious than at his death. When Castellano and his driver, Tommy Bilotti, were hit Mafia style in front of a steakhouse on New York’s East Side on December 16, 1985, the news made headlines around the country. “Big Paul” Castellano was hailed as the Mafia’s “boss of bosses,” and “the most feared don in America.” In fact, he was not the most feared don in America, although perhaps the most hated by other mafiosi, and he was never the so-called boss of bosses. That the 6-foot-2 Castellano actually believed he deserved the dubious distinction may explain why he was taken out more easily than any other crime boss. Despite all the buildup given Castellano, he never had total control of the Gambino family, but rather only of what was accorded him by his enemies. Castellano had come to power only through his connection to the previous and much heralded and respected boss Carlo Gambino. Gambino was a true power within the Mafia and rightfully could have been heralded as the boss of bosses. But like Lucky Luciano decades earlier, Gambino opted for de facto power rather than an ephemeral moniker. A sick man in his last years, Gambino settled on Castellano to succeed him, although he knew Paul was not the man for the job on the basis either of right or ability. What Castellano had going for him was blood; he was Carlo’s cousin, and in addition the husband of 170 CATANIA curse castration as punishment elsewhere, getting approval for what had to be done. The Gottis were smart enough to offer other mobsters a “piece of Paul.” It probably wasn’t necessary, considering the contempt in which Castellano was held. All the mobs had been stunned when they learned that Castellano had allowed his 17-room mansion on Staten Island to be bugged by the FBI. And when the tapes were revealed it was learned that Castellano had talked disparagingly about all of them. That was bad enough, but Castellano had blabbed about Mafia business with almost anyone who entered his home. He told Bilotti things that violated the mob’s need-to-know code. He even told his maid (and mistress) things she wasn’t to know. More important than that, it was clear that Castellano was even more of a menace, since he was under indictment on a number of racketeering counts. The boys had to worry if the 70year-old Castellano could take prison and the knowledge he’d never enjoy his twilight years as a free man. Under such circumstances a weak boss like Big Paul could start talking. Gotti moved with astonishing speed. Two weeks after Dellacroce died, Castellano came to Sparks Steak House on East 46th Street to meet three men and discuss family affairs and no doubt outline his future plans. At least one of the three men who was already there knew what was going to happen. As Castellano and Bilotti stepped out of their Lincoln limousine, neither of them armed, and not even accompanied by a backup car of armed gunmen for protection, three men wearing trenchcoats and fur hats approached, pulled out semiautomatic handguns and shot both men repeatedly in the face. One of the assassins stopped long enough to pump a coup de grâce into Castellano’s head. The gunmen walked rapidly away, one talking into a walkie-talkie. They got into a waiting dark car that quickly disappeared. John Gotti then was driven past the scene to make sure everything had gone as planned. It most certainly had, thanks to Castellano’s absolute lack of any semblance of precaution. Apparently he thought as the boss of bosses he could walk on water. As it was, only his car blocked his body from ending up in the gutter. The media promised their audience that the murder of the so-called boss of bosses was certain to trigger a family war as the Castellano forces wreaked their vengeance. There turned out to be no Castellano supporters. The transfer of power went smoothly, proving that in the Mafia at least, there was nothing like violence to promote peace. Castration is a much discussed and little-used method of punishment for criminality. There are no overall statistics available, and the best that can be determined is that during the 20th century it has been used several hundred times in California and less frequently in some other states. Because of new interpretations of existing law and malpractice, it is highly unlikely to be used much in the future, although one occasionally reads a newspaper item of a prisoner being offered or indeed suggesting the use of castration as an alternate to a long prison term. In California in 1975 two convicted child molesters, Paul de la Haye and Joseph Kenner, requested they be castrated instead of being given what was likely to be a life sentence. The sentencing judge readily agreed, but the operations were canceled when the urologist retained to perform them was advised by a group of colleagues at University Hospital in San Diego that he most likely would be open to a lawsuit for assault and battery and probably would not be covered by malpractice insurance. The county urological society gave the doctor the same advice. Aside from these legal restrictions there is a growing philosophical opposition to the practice, despite an occasional flamboyant outburst by an isolated jurist. The sentiment is probably best summarized by Aryeh Neier, executive director of the American Civil Liberties Union, in a book entitled Crime and Punishment: “But an overriding purpose of the criminal law should be to prevent citizens from committing physical violence against each other. It cannot be useful to that end for the state to set an example of violence against its own citizens. If prison is more barbarous to the victim, at least citizens cannot readily mimic the state by holding other citizens behind bars.” Of course when castration is tried, the results are not always what is hoped for. Fifteen years after convicted rapist Joseph Frank Smith agreed to “chemical castration” as a condition for probation, he pleaded guilty to new crimes in late 1998. Prior to that Smith had been celebrated as a “poster man” for the success of chemical castration. He had been convicted in San Antonio in 1983 for twice raping the same woman. Smith accepted an offer to be subjected to impotence-causing injections in exchange for probation. Smith moved to the Richmond area in 1984 and appeared on television’s 60 Minutes and stood as a logical example of how to treat rapists. According to officials at Johns Hopkins University Hospital in Baltimore, where he commuted for treatment at the time, it was reported that chemical castration suppressed the sexual appetite of offenders and made them more susceptible to treatment. 171 CATTLE Kate At the time of his latest two convictions, Smith, a 45-year-old truck driver, was said by authorities to have possibly been responsible for as many as 75 additional sex-related crimes since 1987. 1960s. The police suspected they had catman trouble after an epidemic of baffling burglaries. There were no signs of forcible entry, and insurance companies were balking at paying claims for so many burglary losses. At first, the heists looked like inside jobs. In three instances bookkeepers who had the combinations of rifled safes were fired. It struck the police as odd, however, that three trusted employees should all go bad at about the same time. Then one Saturday night, protective agency patrolmen answering an automatic alarm on West 28th Street came across an intruder on the 14th floor and raced after him down a corridor. Without hesitation the man crawled through an open window at the front of the building, hung from the sill for a moment and, to the officers’ horror, let go. The guards called for an ambulance and went to the street to help remove the gory remains. The only trouble was there were no remains— just a moccasin. When the police arrived a few minutes later, the only explanation seemed to be that the burglar had fallen 14 stories and walked away. The agency patrolmen swore they’d seen the man disappear from the ledge. The mystery was finally solved when the other moccasin was found on the 13th floor under a heavy pivot window that swung out from the middle of the frame. The thief had dropped to this open slanted window directly below and slid down it like a chute into the 13th floor hallway. While the guards were rushing to the street, the catman had blithely made his getaway over the roof. The next weekend the catman went into action again. Fifteen Persian lamb coats were stolen from the same building where he had put on his high-diving act. Unable to make off with all the loot in one trip, he stashed 10 of the coats under a water tower on the roof. The police found the coats and immediately staked lookouts all around, hoping to nab the thief when he returned for the rest of the haul. But the catman apparently surveyed the scene from another roof and spotted the police trap. After several futile nights the police gave up and returned the coats to the owner. The very next night, the catman struck and made off with the same 10 coats. Months marked by more improbable burglaries went by before the police got a break. Finally, they received a tip from the desk clerk at a hotel on 27th Street that a salesman guest was renting a top-floor room by the week but occupied it only from Friday night to Monday morning. The routine made no sense since salesmen don’t do any business in the garment area on weekends; moreover, if someone wanted a room for a fling on the town, he’d be more likely to rent space nearer the Times Square area. After obtain- cat burglar A general public misconception is that a so-called catman, or cat burglar, is an acrobatic daredevil who burglarizes private homes. Very few of these talented criminals would waste their skills on so pedestrian a target, even if it was the mansion of a millionaire. The cat burglar’s habitat is the urban skyscraper, which he climbs by means of ropes and scaling ladders. His targets are jewelry salesrooms, fur shops and cash-heavy businesses deemed safe from window-entry burglary because of their location on high floors. A catman of extraordinary ability was a character named Slippery Augie Smith, who plagued businesses and baffled New York City police in the 1950s and Rendering of the lynching of Cattle Kate and Jim Averill appeared in a publication sympathetic with the interests of the big cattlemen. 172 CENTER Street ing a search warrant, police entered the hotel room. A fast check indicated they had found their catman. The room contained a cache of ropes, ladders and stolen loot, including those elusive Persian lamb coats. When Slippery Augie, a 23-year-old ex-sailor, strolled into the room a few hours later, he found himself under arrest, with no chance to make a fast break to the window. Realizing he faced a long prison stretch, Augie talked, not without an air of pride. He said he got his thrills suspended high above the street. He also explained how he had been able to make his safecracking robberies look like inside jobs. “Most of these businessmen were so sure nobody could get into their places except through the door, which was protected by burglar alarms, they would leave the safe combination around someplace handy,” he said. “Some pasted them in the upper left-hand drawer of their desks. Others filed the figures under S.” Catania curse the fact was that Catania had been marked for death when his father died. It was a Mafia custom that members of a family were supposed to avenge killings of their kin. Joe the Baker, therefore, was supposed to kill his father’s assassins. On the other hand, when someone in the Mafia had cause to eliminate Joe the Baker for reasons unrelated to his father’s killing, in this case his hijacking of certain bootleg whiskey trucks, they found ready allies among the kin of old Joe Catania’s murderers. Cattle Kate (1862–1889) prostitute and alleged rustler Ella Watson, known as Cattle Kate, was an enterprising young prostitute from Kansas who settled in the Wyoming cow country. With a partner of sorts, Jim Averill, she did a thriving business in cattle, which was the coin of the realm for cowboys paying her for services rendered. It would of course have been highly unusual if the cowboys limited their payments to cows they held clear title to. For a time, Cattle Kate was tolerated by all, including the big stockmen, who understood that men on the range needed certain diversions and cattle losses of this sort were merely the price of doing business, that era’s equivalent of cheating on expense accounts. However, the blizzards of 1888 thinned out the herds, and the big stockmen felt they could no longer stand such losses. One July day in 1889 a wealthy and arrogant cattleman named Albert Bothwell and 10 others decided to do something about the matter. They kidnapped Cattle Kate from her cabin, picked up Averill, who had become something of a spokesman for the small homesteaders fencing off the wide-open range, and threatened to hang them. It appears there was no real plan for a lynching but rather just a desire to frighten the duo. Unfortunately for them, neither Cattle Kate nor Averill took the threats seriously, even when nooses were put around their necks. They were then shoved into space, apparently just to carry the scare tactics a step further. But as the pair slowly strangled, no one made a move to cut them down. The lynchings stirred up an outcry from citizens that Bothwell and his friends had not anticipated, but Bothwell’s fellow stockmen hastily came up with a new justification for the act. Stories were planted in the friendly Cheyenne press that Cattle Kate was a mean, gun-toting bandit queen and Averill her business manager. They were accused of systematically looting the range, with her red-light activities a mere cover for their crimes. Cattle Kate became a criminal adventuress worthy of front-page coverage in even the Police Gazette. The Cheyenne Weekly Mail observed that the lynchings indicated the time had come “when men would take the law into their own hands.” The fate of Mafia victim’s family A Sunday supplement phrase invented to describe the sorry plight of the Catanias, father and son, who met the same fate at the hands of Mafia executioners 29 years apart, it nevertheless reflects the primitive law of survival pervading that criminal organization. Joe Catania was a Mafia capo who ran the southern Brooklyn docks area in 1902. This position made him extremely valuable to New York’s first Mafia family, the Morellos, in their counterfeit money distribution setup. The bogus money was printed in Sicily and then concealed in olive oil shipments that were sent to Catania’s piers. From there the bills went to Pittsburgh, Buffalo, Chicago and New Orleans, where they were passed by Mafia organizations. The only threat to the arrangement was Catania himself, whose increasing addiction to the bottle weakened his sense of discretion. When his saloon remarks became too open, Catania was subject to a special Mafia trial—one that the defendant knew nothing about—and his execution was ordered. His body was found near the Gowanus docks inside a barrel, his throat slit from ear to ear. He had also been so savagely beaten that all major bones in his body were broken, a clear Mafia signal for all to maintain silence. At the time of his father’s assassination, Joseph “Joe the Baker” Catania was only a babe in arms. He grew up in the rackets, as was his right since he was related by blood to the Morello family. On February 3, 1931, just after he kissed his wife good-bye, Joe the Baker was gunned down in the Bronx by Joe Valachi and the mysterious “Buster from Chicago.” Much was made about Joe the Baker being a victim of the Masseria-Maranzano war for control of New York, but 173 CERMAK, Anton J. whitewash, the cattle barons soon saw, was effective enough cover for them to launch a major attack on the homesteaders in Johnson County, Wyo. Others were accused of running rustling operations similar to Cattle Kate’s and, it was said, would have to be dealt with. Thus, the lynching of a 26-year-old prostitute provided the rationale for what was to become the Johnson County War. See also: JAMES AVERILL, JOHNSON COUNTY WAR. convict local citizens for cutting a few animals out of a big ranchman’s stock. Many alleged rustlers died of “hemp fever” for no other reason than that they had arrived on the scene at the wrong time. Just a few years earlier the very men now doing the “stringing up” had been committing the same crimes; in fact; that’s how they had gotten started in the business. In the end, cattle rustling was stamped out by these extreme measures. “Range detectives,” who were often no more than hired guns, barbed wire fences, and the forceful closing of the range put an end to this traditional method of breaking into the ranching business. See also: JOHNSON COUNTY WAR, WET STOCK. cattle rustling The principal business of the American West was cattle raising, and, quite naturally, the number one crime was cattle rustling. Actually, the Indians did much of the early stealing, mainly because they realized that if the white man could not keep his cattle, he could not occupy the Indian hunting grounds. Many Indians also felt that stealing cattle made up in some small way for the newcomers’ slaughter of the buffalo. In due course, it became the main illegal activity of many outlaws. Mexican bandits frequently raided the Texan and later the American side of the Rio Grande and, according to official claims made to the Mexican government, rustled 145,298 cattle from the King and Kennedy ranches. Turnabout seemed fair play. Numerous Texas stockmen built their vast herds by stealing animals from Mexican-owned ranches on either side of the border. Often going to Mexico on a “buying trip” meant stealing great herds and swimming them across the Rio Grande at night. Such herds, in fact, came to be called “wet stock.” Having so accumulated much of their herds, these same stockmen were nonetheless enraged by the relatively insignificant losses caused by other American rustlers. Yet, cattle rustling never provoked the venom that horse stealing did. The stealing of one neighbor’s stock by another, however, was universally condemned, unless the other was a hated absentee owner, in which case the prohibition did not apply. A small rancher often would start his herd using a “rope with a wide loop,” an accepted practice when restricted to unbranded animals. As Bill Nye wrote in his Laramie Boomerang in 1883: “A guileless tenderfoot came to Wyoming, leading a single steer and carrying a branding iron. Now he is the opulent possessor of 600 head of fine cattle—the ostensible progeny of that one steer.” The great cattle wars were essentially fought by the hired guns of big ranchers out to eliminate thefts by smaller ranchers and cowboys “to get a start in the business.” This type of conflict was epitomized by Wyoming’s bloody Johnson County War, which took place in an area where local jurors simply would not cave-in-rock pirates The great commercial route that opened the frontier in the early 19th century was down the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers to the port of New Orleans. The two rivers teemed with pirates who falsely marked the channels so that rafts and keelboats would run aground or crash into the rocks. When this wasn’t practical, the boats were attacked from skiffs and canoes. The most treacherous stretch was on the Kentucky shore of the Ohio from Red Bank to Smithland, where the king of the local pirates was Bully Wilson. A Virginian, Wilson set up his headquarters in a cave near the head of Hurricane Bars. Beckoning thirsty travelers to shore was the following sign: WILSON’S LIQUOR VAULT and HOUSE FOR ENTERTAINMENT The unwary who paused there rarely resumed their voyage. Wilson’s place was known as Cave-in-Rock, and the only visitors who could stop there in safety were pirates, robbers, slave stealers and murderers. And if they were alone and were known to have a hoard of loot with them, they were not particularly safe either. But the main purpose of Cave-in-Rock was to prey on river traffic, and Bully Wilson always had 80 to 100 men ready to swoop down on helpless vessels. Whenever a craft was taken, all aboard were killed, and the boat, manned by a pirate crew, would sail on to New Orleans to sell its goods. The river pirates dominated the waterways until the mid-1820s, when the boatmen organized to fight back. In July 1824 the crews of about a dozen flatboats, about 80 men in all, hid in the cargo box of a single boat and floated down the river. The boat was soon attacked by a force of about 30 pirates, coming out in canoes and skiffs. As the pirates swept aboard the flatboat, the hidden men stormed out of the cargo box. 174 CHAMPION, Nathan D. Ten pirates were killed and another 12 captured. They were blindfolded and forced to walk the plank in 20 feet of water. As the helpless men surfaced, crewmen armed with rifles stood on the cargo box and shot them. The end result of such punitive expeditions finally broke the power of Bully Wilson and other pirates, so that the waterways were relatively free of piracy and safe for commerce after 1825. See also: COLONEL PLUG, PIRACY. Center Street won’t hurt you if you keep quiet and remain perfectly still.’” Cermak lingered for three weeks. From his deathbed the mayor expounded a theory, long held by some historians after his death, that he, not Roosevelt, was the intended victim all the time. Judge John H. Lyle, probably as knowledgeable as any non-Mafia man on the subject of Chicago crime, stated categorically, “Zangara was a Mafia killer, sent from Sicily to do a job and sworn to silence.” It was not an outlandish theory, the concept of the sacrificial hit man having a long history in the annals of the Mafia. In theory, Cermak was a great reformer, but that must be measured in light of what constituted reform in Chicago. Born in Prague and brought to America when he was one year old, Cermak went into politics at an early age and soon won the nickname Ten Percent Tony, since that figure was said to be his standard skim in kickbacks and other deals. By the time Cermak had served three terms in the state legislature, he was worth $1 million. Before he took office as mayor, his net worth was $7 million. In the words of a contemporary writer, Cermak was guilty of using “surreptitious means such as wire taps, mail drops, surveillance and stool pigeons to ferret out information concerning the weaknesses and foibles of administrative and political friends, taking great pains to learn the identities of his enemies.” Cermak did not attempt to purge Chicago of gansterism but only of the Capone element, which he sought to replace with others who had supported his campaign, headed by Gentleman Teddy Newberry. Some writers have claimed that Cermak moved to take over all crime in Chicago after the imprisonment of Al Capone. Later court testimony indicated that the mayor had dispatched some “tough cops” to eradicate Frank Nitti, Capone’s regent during his absence. Nitti was searched, found to be unarmed and was about to be handcuffed when an officer leveled his gun at the gangster and shot him three times in the neck and back. The officer then shot himself in the finger. Nitti was taken to the hospital to die, and the police announced he had been wounded while resisting arrest, as the officer’s injured finger proved. Unfortunately for the mayor, Nitti recovered and a full-scale war ensued, one of the early victims being Cermak’s favorite gangster, Newberry. At the time, Cermak was taking the sun in Florida on a rather extended vacation, said to have been so arranged to keep him away from the Capone gangsters. Cermak had left Chicago for Florida on December 21, 1932, and he was still there February 15, 1933. Some cynics suggested that the mayor was seeking the protective wing of the president-elect to New York vice district For many decades the site of New York Police Headquarters, Center Street had an unwholesome history. Its creation traces back to the financial crisis of the winter of 1807–8, when business virtually ground to a halt because of the weather. The out-of-work elements were near starvation, and because of mob riots for jobs and food, the city began its first public works program to create employment. Large work gangs were set to draining and filling a pond and marshland known as the Collect. When the work was finally completed and the earth settled, the area was opened for settlement. The first street created was called Collect Street; later, it was renamed Rynders Street for Capt. Isaiah Rynders, the corrupt political boss of the Sixth Ward and protector of the gangsters that inhabited the Five Points section. For well over half a decade, the street was known as one of the wickedest in the city and contained virtually nothing but saloons and brothels. Even with a determined effort to rid the area of vice, unsavory elements remained when most of the worst dives were closed and the name changed to Centre Street (later altered to Center). But the real cleanup was not made until police headquarters was situated there and the criminals decided to move a few blocks away. Cermak, Anton J. (1873–1933) Chicago mayor and murder victim Mayor Anton J. Cermak of Chicago was with Franklin D. Roosevelt in Miami on February 15, 1933 when Joseph Zangara attempted to assassinate the presidentelect and fatally shot Cermak instead. Cermak became a martyr. At the time he was shot, Cermak cried, “The President, get him away!” He told Roosevelt, “I’m glad it was me instead of you.” Roosevelt, who cradled the wounded mayor, said: “I held him all the way to the hospital and his pulse constantly improved. . . . I remember I said, ‘Tony, keep quiet—don’t move—it 175 CHAPIN, Charles E. The hoax was simplicity itself, being so outrageous that it was never questioned. Certainly, no one was going to approach Carnegie for confirmation. The Chadwicks now traveled frequently to Europe and, when they were in Cleveland, entertained lavishly. Mrs. Chadwick was also a leading public benefactor. In less than a decade, it was later estimated, she took banks and private lenders for upwards of $20 million. The bubble burst in 1904, when the Cleveland Press heard of a Boston creditor who had become dubious about getting his money back. The newspaper checked on Mrs. Chadwick’s background and found out her real name was Elizabeth Bigley, a convicted forger who had been pardoned in 1893 by Gov. William McKinley of Ohio. When the news came out, Charles T. Beckwith, president of the Citizens National Bank of Oberlin, to whose institution Mrs. Chadwick owed $1.25 million, promptly keeled over from heart failure. There was a run on the bank and on scores of others that were found to have made loans to the woman. Mrs. Chadwick, who was in New York on a spending spree when the unpleasantness surfaced, was arrested and extradited back to Cleveland, where she was tried and sentenced to 10 years in prison. She died there in 1907. It was believed at the time of her death that many of her victims had still not come forth, some individuals hoping to avoid ridicule and the banks to avoid runs. Remarkably, there were still those who firmly believed that Mrs. Chadwick was indeed Carnegie’s daughter and that he would in due course make good on her debts. All of which made Cassie Chadwick’s swindle among the most enduring ever concocted. stay alive. Others contended that Cermak was merely cementing relations with the incoming administration and just possibly talking to Roosevelt’s campaign manager, James J. Farley, about an indictment said to be pending against him for income tax evasion. Zangara, who had been overwhelmed by guards and the crowd after firing the shots, died in the electric chair on March 21, 1933. He insisted Roosevelt was the man he had meant to kill. See also: JOSEPH ZANGARA. Cero-Gallo case wrong man case In one of the most-twisted “wrong man” cases in history, Gangi Cero, a young Italian seaman was found guilty of murder in Massachusetts and sentenced to die in September 1928. Cero’s sympathetic employer, Samuel Gallo, provided his own lawyer, who unsuccessfully tried to save the defendant. On the night scheduled for the execution, a witness was found who identified the murderer as Gallo. Cero was granted a reprieve. Gallo was then indicted, and both he and Cero were brought to trial together. Cero was quickly found not guilty, but Gallo was convicted. Gallo, however, won a new trial, and after the main witness against him left the country, he too was acquitted. Chadwick, Cassie (1857–1907) swindler One of the most audacious swindles ever worked in this country was accomplished in the 1890s by a Canadian woman and incorrigible thief, Mrs. Cassie Chadwick, who married into Cleveland society. She was, she hinted, the illegitimate daughter of Andrew Carnegie, the steel magnate. In fact, she did more than hint—she flashed all sorts of promissory notes supposedly signed by Carnegie and then deposited some $7 million worth of allegedly valid securities in a Cleveland bank. She told the banker to keep her secret, which meant, of course, that the news spread like wildfire throughout the banking community and soon among the city’s social set. Clearly, Mrs. Chadwick was somebody, and she was invited to the best functions. Bankers too volunteered their services without asking. Yes, Mrs. Chadwick acknowledged, she might be able to use a little loan or two against future payments from her tycoon father. She took a few small loans, all under $100,000, and repaid them promptly by taking out other loans from different banks and private lenders. She then went whole hog, borrowing millions. Mrs. Chadwick paid high interest, but with all that Carnegie money behind her, she seemed good for it. chain gangs The use of chain gangs for convict labor was not, as the public now generally believes, an invention of the Southern states; the custom was practiced in both the North and in England during the 18th century. The Southern states, having used the method to some extent in antebellum years, embraced the custom wholeheartedly in the post–Civil War era as an important source of revenue during their financial distress. Convicts were turned over to leasees, who not only chained a prisoner’s two legs together but chained him as well to several other prisoners, lessening the chances of escape. Public protests against the inhumane treatment of chain gang convicts led to a sharp reduction of the practice. However, the advent of the automobile and the need for many new roads led to a great resurgence of chain gang labor; by the early part of the 20th century, a major part of the prisoner force in several states 176 CHAPMAN, Gerald labored in road gangs. Exposés of conditions became common, the most potent being that written by an escaped convict, Robert Elliott Burns, who authored I Am a Fugitive from a Georgia Chain Gang, a bestselling book that was made into an important movie in the 1930s. Reform pressures no doubt forced some states to reduce greatly or discontinue chain gangs, but in truth, their virtual elimination was due to a form of “automation.” New road-making machinery simply rendered chain gang labor obsolete. In the late 1940s Georgia became the last state to eliminate the practice, although in later years it was still reported to exist for small details of brief duration. See also: ROBERT ELLIOTT BURNS, CONVICT LABOR SYSTEM. had died, but so had two of the invaders and several others were wounded. During lulls in the battle Champion kept a diary of his ordeal. One entry read: “Boys, there is bullets coming like hail. They are shooting from the table and river and back of the house.” Another went: “Boys, I feel pretty lonesome just now. I wish there was someone here with me so we could watch all sides at once.” The final entry was made that evening, about 12 hours after the first attack. “Well, they have just got through shelling the house like hail. I heard them splitting wood. I guess they are going to fire the house to-night. I think I will make a break when night comes, if alive. Shooting again. It’s not night yet. The house is all fired. Goodbye, boys, if I never see you again.” Champion signed his pathetic diary and then charged out the back door, firing two guns. How many bullets cut him down could not be determined because his dead body was strung up and used for target practice. Later, 28 bullets were removed from the body. Champion’s slayers also pinned a card on the body— “Rustlers beware.” The killings of Champion and Ray were the opening shots in the Johnson County War, one in which the cattle barons’ mercenary army would go down to ignoble defeat. Because a reporter accompanying the stockmen’s hired army found their victim’s diary, Nate Champion was to emerge as the folk hero of the struggle. See also: JOHNSON COUNTY WAR, RED SASH GANG. Champion, Nathan D. (1857–1892) victim of Johnson County War Even today in some quarters of Wyoming, the name of Nate Champion is a hallowed one, that of a man killed solely because he defied the great cattle barons. Others regard him as a cunning rustler, the head of the notorious Red Sash Gang that allegedly stole thousands of head of cattle. Whatever the truth may be, it is certain that he was on a “death list” composed by the executive committee of the Wyoming Stock Growers’ Association on the basis of “nominations” received from members. Champion, a powerfully built man, had been a trailherder for several years until the early 1880s when he collected his pay after a drive and settled in Johnson County. Similar to many others, Champion became a homesteader and built up a little herd of cattle, thus earning the enmity of the cattle barons, who wanted an open range for their huge herds. These absentee cattlemen sent Pinkerton agents onto the range and were assured by them that there was organized rustling of their stock in Johnson County, mainly the work of the Red Sash Gang bossed by Nate Champion. Other observers believed that the charge was a self-serving lie and the only connection Champion had with any mythical Red Sashers was the fact that he, like a great many other homesteaders who came up from Texas, wore a vaquero-type red sash. In the early morning hours of April 11, 1892, a small army of about 50 gunmen, most hired for the occasion, attacked Champion’s cabin, which he shared with a cowboy named Nick Ray. Ray went outside in the snow to chop some wood and was cut down by a hail of bullets. Champion rushed out and hauled the severely wounded Ray to safety. He then kept up a barrage of fire that held off his attackers. By afternoon Ray Chapin, Charles E. See ROSE MAN OF SING SING. Chapman, Gerald (1892 or 1893–1926) robber and murderer The term “Public Enemy No. 1” was first coined by a newspaperman to describe Gerald Chapman, the most popular criminal in the country for a time in the 1920s. When his picture was flashed in movie newsreels, the audience responded with thunderous applause, a phenomenon not repeated until Franklin D. Roosevelt was perceived by moviegoers in the 1930s as the savior of the nation. Even the New York Times, on April 7, 1923, editorialized under the heading “Something Almost Heroical”: It is getting to be rather difficult to keep in mind that fact that Gerald Chapman is a thoroughly bad man, whose right place is in jail. The difficulty arises from the fact that in his battle with the law he shows qualities— courage, persistence, ingenuity and skill—which it is impossible not to admire. The result is that unless one is careful one finds one’s self hoping that he isn’t caught, 177 CHAPMAN, Mrs. James and, so great are the odds against him, that the struggle seems somehow unfair. . . . The temptation is strong to lament that such a man should make of his abilities and peculiarities such miserable employment as devoting them to theft. There must be some explanation of that, however, and the probability is that he is defective. But it does seem hard that his punishment for his crimes should be increased because of his attempts to evade it. That he hates imprisonment is only human, and that he takes desperate risks in his efforts to get out is rather to his credit than his discredit—from every standpoint except the safety of society. they had expected on the ground 75 feet below. There was no spread-eagled body. Gerald Chapman might have escaped had not a detective noticed a cleaning woman in a building across the street frantically pointing to one side. Chapman had stepped onto a ledge and wormed his way down to another open window. He was captured four offices away. Both men were convicted and sentenced to 25 years in the Atlanta Penitentiary. Chapman refused to testify, but one of his lawyers, Grace F. Crampton, reported later: Chapman’s philosophy of life excused his crimes. He told me that he did not believe it as sinful to hold up a mail truck or rob a store as it was to speculate on Wall Street and probably steal money from widows and orphans and poorly paid teachers. “At least we do not take money from poor people,” he said to me. “What we steal hurts nobody. Everything that is sent by mail or express is fully insured and in the end the sender loses nothing. The man who comes out the winner on Wall Street is respected, and he is envied for his yachts and cars and homes, while we are hunted and despised. I think I am the more honorable of the two. Thus did the Times come down on the side of law and order, but it was a close decision. Gerald Chapman had that way about him. An accomplished criminal a dozen or so years older than Chapman, Dutch Anderson, similarly impressed with young Chapman when both were doing time in New York’s Auburn Prison, taught him all he knew about committing crimes and was eventually to become his willing underling. When the pair got out within two months of each other, they teamed up as con men and made about $100,000 trimming suckers in Chicago with varied swindles. They returned to New York City to live the high life, with their hotel suite a parade ground for showgirls, whores and impressionable young things. In 1921 they got together with an old Auburn crony, Charley Loeber, and robbed a mail truck in New York City in a daring escapade with Chapman jumping from a moving car onto the running board of the truck and, gun in hand, forcing the driver to stop. The trio made off with five sacks of registered mail containing $1,424,129 in cash and securities, the greatest mail theft up to that time. Chapman and Anderson fenced the securities slowly while living the good life, but Loeber proved incapable of handling the fruits of such a big-time heist and was caught disposing of his loot. When he was nabbed, he implicated Chapman and Anderson, and unaware of any danger, they were easily captured. The pair had been on a jaunt upstate, robbing five banks just to stay in shape. Taken to the main post office building for questioning, Chapman made his first electrifying attempt at an escape. In the midst of the interrogation of Anderson and himself, Chapman, in the middle of a yawn, leaped from his chair, said “Sorry, gentlemen”, and dashed to a window, stepped over the sill and disappeared. “He’s jumped,” someone yelled, and everyone rushed to the window. However, they did not see what After seven months in Atlanta, Chapman escaped. He feigned illness by drinking a disinfectant, overpowered a guard and went out the window using bedsheets for a ladder. He was free only two days before being cornered by a posse and shot in the arm, hip and back. One bullet had penetrated his kidney. He was taken back to the prison hospital for a real reason this time. Yet, though it was feared he might die, Chapman escaped the same way six days later. The authorities were sure they would find his body shortly, but Chapman made a clean break. Two months later, Dutch Anderson tunneled out of Atlanta, and the team was back in business as two of the most wanted men in the country. The Times was not the only publication having difficulty managing restraint in its admiration of Chapman. Meanwhile, Chapman, separated for security reasons from Anderson, made the mistake of teaming up with one Walter J. Shean, the black-sheep son of a wealthy hotel owner and a fledgling criminal. They attempted to hold up a department store in New Britain, Conn., on October 12, 1924, and in the process one of the bandits shot and killed a police officer. Shean was captured and, with some pride, proclaimed, “My pal was Gerald Chapman.” Finally, Chapman was caught in December in Muncie, Ind. and returned to federal prison under incredibly tight security. For a time the government 178 CHAPPLEAU, Joseph Ernst refused to turn over Chapman to Connecticut for trial, fearing he would escape, but finally it relented. The trial was an event that had the country going haywire. Chapman fan clubs sprang up, and at least four or five bouquets arrived each day at the front door of the prison where he was kept during the trial. It didn’t help Chapman, nor did his claim that he had never been in New Britain and never even met Shean. He was found guilty and sentenced to death. Meanwhile, Dutch Anderson was going off his rocker. Convinced that Chapman had been betrayed by a man named Ben Hance, who had once shielded the pair in Muncie, Anderson killed Hance and his wife. He then tried to assassinate Shean, but he was too well guarded and Anderson could not get near him. Anderson was finally recognized by a policeman in Muskegon, Mich. Both went for their guns at the same time, and each killed the other. Chapman’s execution was postponed a couple of times. In his death cell he whiled away the time writing epigrams (“The more we learn, the less we discover we know”) and poetry (his favorite poet was Shelley). A poem of his, “Reward,” was released by one of his lawyers, who said, “I do this because I don’t want people to think Chapman was merely a bandit with nothing in his head.” It read in part: much of it was stained with blood and powder, but the handwritten name and address had only been torn apart. These scraps were turned over to John F. Tyrrell, then considered the country’s number one examiner of questioned documents. Tyrrell reassembled the writing, which read, “J. A. Chapman, R. I, Marsfilld, [sic] Wis.” From this tiny scrap of evidence Tyrrell reached a startling number of conclusions. The writing was stilted, as though the writer had deliberately attempted to disguise it. Tyrrell studied the spacing, slope, alignment, pressure and rhythm of the script and determined this was not the case. It had been written the best its author, who was not used to writing very much, could manage. The misspelling of the town name indicated the writer had simply spelled it phonetically. Tyrrell concluded the writer was a foreigner, most likely a Swede. There was only one Swede in the community, John Magnuson, and he had a long-running dispute with Chapman concerning a creek drain. Tyrrell had only begun to make conclusions. He also determined the writing had been done with a medium smooth-pointed fountain pen. The ink was an odd mixture, mostly Carter’s black ink with a slight trace of Sanford’s blue-black fluid ink. When postal inspectors armed with a search warrant inspected the Magnuson home, they found that the man’s daughter had a fountain pen with the very point Tyrrell had described. She always used Sanford’s ink but had loaned her bottle of ink to a schoolmate who, when it ran dry, had refilled it with Carter’s black ink, producing the exact mixture Tyrrell had discovered on the death package. Then the iron-bomb remnants were turned over to two professors at the University of Wisconsin, who polished them and matched their tell-tale properties with metal found in Magnuson’s barn workshop. Fragments of the wood portions of the bomb were sent to Arthur Koehler, a wood expert who was to give vital testimony in the Lindbergh kidnapping. He identified the wood as elm. On the floor of his workshop, Magnuson had elm lumber and wood shavings with the same cellular structure as the scraps from the bomb. The jury convicted Magnuson on the very first ballot, and given the mound of scientific evidence, it was hardly surprising that the high court of Wisconsin saw no reason to set aside his life sentence. Comes peace at last! The drums have beat disray, No armistice of hours, but ever and ever The slow dispersing legions of decay, Under the muffled skies, tell all is over. Returns the husbandman, returns the lover, To reap the quiet harvest of alway, The bright-plumed stars those wide fields may not cover Though wings beat on forever and a day. . . . Chapman was hanged on April 6, 1926. Chapman, Mrs. James (1874–1922) murder victim When on December 27, 1922 Mr. and Mrs. James A. Chapman opened a package they thought was a Christmas present arriving late in the mail, the parcel exploded in Mrs. Chapman’s face, fatally injuring her and crippling her husband. Thus began a case that the Winconsin Supreme Court, in rejecting the convicted murderer’s appeal, was to call unrivaled for being “so replete with scientific presentation of actualities.” And indeed, the bomb murderer, John Magnuson, never did have a chance, as one clue after another, developed in brilliant scientific fashion, blared his guilt. The wrapping paper that the dynamite package came in had been burst apart in the explosion and Chapman, John T. (1832–?) train robber A respected resident of Reno and superintendent of a Sunday school, John Chapman, together with Jack Davis, masterminded the robbery of the Central Pacific’s Train No. 1 on November 4, 1870, the first train holdup in the Far West. 179 CHARLESTON Street Gang Chapman’s arrest for the robbery, which occurred near Verdi, Nev. came as a shock to the good folks of Reno, who never suspected him of being anything other than a pillar of the community. True, it was known that he was often in the company of a deadbeat and gambler named Jack Davis, but it was assumed he was out to save the soul of that sharper. The facts were the other way around; Davis had introduced Chapman to a number of hard cases ready to make some money in any logical six-gun manner. When Chapman unveiled a plan to hold up a train, something the Reno gang had pioneered just four years earlier in Indiana, they all agreed enthusiastically. Since such robberies were not common at the time, the gang had little trouble. They boarded the train just as it was about to pull out of Verdi, overpowered the conductor and engineer and forced their way into the express car after uncoupling that car and the engine from the rest of the train. The messenger in the express car gave up without a struggle, and the gang broke into treasure boxes containing $41,600 in coins and escaped with their loot. Chapman and Davis hadn’t counted on their accomplices acting like cowpokes at trail’s end, spending money so fast that they had to attract the attention of the Wells Fargo detectives. Under intensive questioning, two of the gang confessed and led detectives to some of the buried loot. Davis and Chapman were arrested, stunning Reno. Chapman put on a defiant front, denying all, but Davis saw that was useless and confessed. Davis got 10 years, but Chapman was given 20. On September 28, 1871, nine months after he had gone to prison, Chapman led three of his men in a prison break; however, he and two of the others were recaptured after a brief period and given an extra year for their escape. The former Sunday school superintendent served his entire sentence. Upon his release he advised the current crop of train robbers to cease their wicked ways and find God. With that, he dropped from sight, although he was named as a likely suspect in several train holdups, including two in widely separated places within eight hours of each other. See also: JACK DAVIS. apartment building, where the singer and his wife, Yoko Ono, lived. He had come prepared for the weather, wearing two pairs of long underwear, a jacket, an overcoat and a hat. He also carried a .38-caliber Charter Arms revolver. Chapman had been living in Honolulu since 1977, arriving there from Decatur, Ga., his home state, and had apparently been afflicted with John Lennon fantasies for a considerable period. Lennon’s wife was Japanese, and although Chapman’s wife was not Japanese, she was of Japanese descent. In the fall of 1980 Chapman decided to “retire,” at the age of 25. After all, Lennon was retired. Later, a psychiatrist would testify that the more Chapman imitated Lennon, “the more he came to believe he was John Lennon.” He eventually began to look upon Lennon as a “phony.” In September 1980 Chapman sold a Norman Rockwell lithograph for $7,500, paid off a number of debts and kept $5,000 for a “a job” he had to do. He contacted the Federal Aviation Administration to inquire about the best way to transport a revolver by plane. He was advised that he should put the gun in his baggage but was warned that the change in air pressure could damage any bullets. When Chapman left his job as a security guard at a Honolulu condominium development for the last time, he scrawled the name John Lennon on the sign-out sheet. On October 29 he flew to New York, taking a gun but no bullets. Frustrated in New York by an inability to obtain bullets for his weapon or to gain access to Lennon, Chapman left on November 12 or 13 to return to Honolulu. After his arrival there he made an appointment at the Makiki Mental Health Clinic for November 26 but didn’t keep it. On December 6 he flew back to New York. Two days later, Chapman waited outside the Dakota for Lennon to appear. About 4:30 P.M. the singer and his wife left the building. When he saw the couple, Chapman held up his copy of Lennon’s recently released Double Fantasy album, and Lennon stopped to autograph it. After the Lennons departed, the doorman asked Chapman why he lingered, and he said he wanted to wait to get Yoko Ono’s autograph as well. At 11 P.M. Lennon and his wife returned. Chapman stepped out of the darkness and said, “Mr. Lennon.” As Lennon turned, Chapman fired his revolver five times. Four bullets struck Lennon, killing him. When the police arrived, Chapman was reading his copy of Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger. A few weeks later, John W. Hinckley, Jr. recited into a tape recorder: “I just want to say goodbye to the old year, which was nothing, total misery, total death. John Lennon is dead, the world is over, forget it.” In March Chapman, Mark David (1955– ) murderer of John Lennon The murder of 40-year-old rock star John Lennon, a former member of the Beatles, on December 8, 1980 by Mark David Chapman was a long time in the making. Chapman had waited all that wintry day and evening in front of the Dakota, a celebrated New York 180 CHEROKEE Bill women and children for ransom. In the 1860s the Charlton Streeters found the pickings on their side of Manhattan slim because the Hudson piers were reserved for ocean vessels and shippers kept an army of watchmen on duty to protect their property. With looting in the immediate city area not very rewarding, gang leaders were forced to cast their eyes upstream. It is doubtful if their ambitions would ever have become as grandiose as they did without the inspiration of an attractive but deadly haridan named Sadie the Goat. She convinced them in 1869 that to be successful river pirates, they had to have a first-class sloop of their own, one that could outrun pursuers. The gang promptly went out and stole one. The gang flew the Jolly Roger from the masthead, finding that its appearance frightened residents along the Hudson from the Harlem River to Poughkeepsie and tended to encourage flight rather than resistance. The Charlton Streeters soon had a lucrative enterprise going, looting farmhouses and mansions. Learning that Julius Caesar had once been held for ransom by pirates, Sadie involved the gang in kidnapping. She cut a sinister figure pacing the deck, issuing orders. According to the sensationalist press of the day, Sadie on several occasions made men walk the plank in proper piratical style. After a number of murders had been committed, the desperate riverside residents finally organized vigilante posses to battle the pirates. Their ranks thinned by a number of musket battles, the Charlton Streeters returned to their home base and restricted their activities to more ordinary urban crimes. Sadie the Goat left the group in disgust with its timidity. See also: GALLUS MAG, PIRACY. 1981 Hinckley attempted to assassinate President Ronald Reagan. Chapman pleaded guilty to the Lennon killing. On August 24, 1981, appearing in court with what looked to be a bullet-proof vest underneath his T-shirt, evidently to protect him from possible retribution by distraught Lennon fans, he was sentenced to 20 years to life. Under New York S tate law he would have to stay in prison for 20 years before becoming eligible for parole. Chappleau, Joseph Ernst (1850–1911) murderer Joseph Chappleau was the first man sentenced to die in the electric chair, but he escaped that fate in 1889 when the new-fangled instrument of death was not completed in time for his execution, and his sentence was commuted to life imprisonment. In his memoirs, the famous warden of Sing Sing, Lewis E. Lawes, later credited Chappleau with doing more to shape his philosophy of modern penology than any other man. While Lawes was a rookie guard at Clinton Prison in New York in 1905, Chappleau was credited with saving his life in a prison yard melee. A New York farmer, Chappleau had been found guilty of the murder of a neighbor named Tabor over some poisoned cows. The real motive for the murder, according to local gossip, was not the poisoning of the cows but an affair between Tabor and Chappleau’s wife. Once his sentence had been commuted, Chappleau became a prisoner uniquely popular with other convicts and the guards. None regarded him as a true criminal but rather a man trapped by fate. Lawes came to regard Chappleau as the perfect example of a murderer not likely ever to commit another crime and perhaps the best possible argument against capital punishment, a penalty Chappleau had escaped for purely technical reasons. When Chappleau died in the prison hospital at Clinton in 1911, guards and prisoners alike declared their happiness that he had been released from the burdens of his life. See also: WILLIAM KEMMLER, LEWIS E. LAWES. check passing Not long ago a professional check passer, a forger who writes worthless checks, in New York, was asked why he only passed his rubbery works of art in bars and taverns. Paraphrasing Willie Sutton, who supposedly said one robs banks “because that’s where the money is,” the check passer declared, “Because that’s where the crooks are.” The check passer’s technique was simple enough, relying as it did on human greed. He would enter a saloon, appearing well bombed, and hoist a few. Then he would produce what appeared to be his paycheck drawn on the account of a well-known local firm and in an apparent stupor, ask the bartender to cash it. Normally, the barkeep would be reluctant to cash a check for an unknown party, but since in this case the customer could barely stand erect, he would find it too appetizing to pass up. The bartender would cash the check and invariably shortchange the purported drunk Charlton Street Gang Hudson River pirates In early New York virtually all pirate activity was restricted to the East River, where the prime loot was the stores of relatively small craft. On the West Side, only a daring bunch of ruffians called the Charlton Street Gang worked the Hudson River, but they did it with a vengeance, actually flying the Jolly Roger and making forays as far upriver as Poughkeepsie, attacking riverside mansions and even kidnapping men, 181 CHERRY Hill Gang $10 or $20, figuring he was too far gone to notice. The check passer would hoist one more and stagger out of the place, heading for another bar to repeat his routine. The check passer stated he generally could cash eight to 10 bad checks an evening and get turned down in no more than two or three places. He had found a new wrinkle to make one of this country’s most common and easiest crimes even easier. Check forgery is so common, in fact, that no one really knows how extensive it is. Spokesmen for surety companies have put the losses at $400 million to $1 billion, and those estimates are probably too low, since a great many businesses have one to a dozen had checks tucked away unreported. With the value of checks written annually now totaling a few trillion dollars, the bogus-check business is currently the most lucrative field available to a smooth-mannered con man, or even to people with a lot less finesse. In Washington, D.C. a few years ago, a 14-year-old boy walked into a small store and made a few inexpensive purchases with a government check that eventually bounced. It had been stolen, but the shopkeeper had no one to blame but himself. The rightful recipient was an 83-year-old woman, and the check had been clearly marked “Old Age and Survivor’s Insurance.” Once, in Cleveland, Ohio, the story goes, a badcheck artist handed a bank clerk a check to cash after signing it “Santa Claus.” He got his money. Another comic check passer liked to sign his phony masterpieces, “N. O. Good.” No one ever caught on— in time. And a Bedford, Ind. grocer, who was not too quick, accepted a check signed “U. R. Hooked.” Funloving check passers have used bum checks drawn on such institutions as the East Bank of the Mississippi. The interesting fact about all these cases is the ridiculous chances the bad-check writer will take, so sure is he that the sucker will bite at his bait. Not all forgers are so cocky and contemptuous of their victims, but these incidents do point out what check passers have learned: with the proper approach and in many cases, without, a person can have far less trouble cashing a bad check than a good one. The professional operator runs into absolutely no trouble 95 percent of the time as long as he has a gimmick to distract suspicion. A California forger cashed 200 bad checks by pretending to be a physician. He found that by passing checks that carried such corner notations as “In Payment for Tonsils” or “Balance over Blue Cross,” he was seldom questioned. In big cities he often entered a store dressed in a doctor’s white coat in order to give the impression that he had just stepped out of his office in a nearby building to get a check cashed. One of the most prolific bogus-check passers was Courtney Townsend Taylor, who was most active in the 1940s and 1950s. In Chicago he once went down a certain street and cashed a check in every other store the whole length of the street. On the return trip he hit all the stores he had missed. Caught once in Mobile, Ala., he pulled a fountain pen from his pocket while he was being frisked for a weapon and said: “This is the only gun I need. I can get all the money I want with it.” Nobody knows how many rubber-check artists are operating, but one estimate placed the figure at around 2,500 full timers. Roughly two-thirds of all phony checks sent to the FBI are quickly identified as the work of known forgers by examining a file of about 60,000 current fraudulent check signatures. The rest are the product of amateurs. Check passing is the type of crime that gets into a practitioner’s blood. Rapists and muggers may slow down over the years and quit by the time they start graying at the temples. Check passers simply mellow. Their dignified look turns into a plus. Although in his seventies, Joseph W. Martin had no trouble separating thousands of dollars from gullible check cashers until his arrest in 1952 by the FBI. An actor, Martin had actually played in more than 500 motion pictures during more honest times, including a 1932 film in which he portrayed President Warren Harding. As a check passer, he simply carried on acting. His favorite technique was turning up at bar association meetings and cashing checks with his “colleagues.” He was arrested in New York while posing as a lawyer from Nebraska attending a meeting of the American Bar Association in the Waldorf-Astoria. Experts consider the late Alexander Thiel the most accomplished forger of modern times. Also high on the list is Frederick Emerson Peters. However, the greatgranddaddy of all check chiselers clearly was Jim the Penman, who was born Alonzo James Whitman in 1854. He dissipated an inherited fortune, amassed an illegal million, became a state senator in Minnesota, received an honorary degree from Hamilton College and was almost elected to its board of trustees. He also passed thousands of bad checks. During his career, Jim the Penman was arrested 43 times, indicted 27, convicted 11. Once while doing a stretch in Auburn Prison, he was assigned to teach in the prison school—until it was discovered he was teaching forgery. See also: FREDERICK EMERSON PETERS, ALEXANDER THIEL. Cherokee Bill (1876–1896) holdup man and murderer It was often said that the man Hanging Judge Isaac Parker most enjoyed sending to the gallows was 182 CHICAGO fire looting although Cherokee Bill did kill a prison guard, Lawrence Keating, the father of four children. The escape effort roused Judge Parker to a fit of anger. He blamed the guard’s death on the U.S. Supreme Court and told reporters that the High Court’s obsession with the “flimsiest technicalities” was allowing the 60 “murderers” then in his Fort Smith jail to fight off their executions—Cherokee Bill among them. Parker brought the outlaw to trial for the guard’s murder without waiting for the outcome of his appeal on the previous conviction. The judge found Cherokee Bill guilty of this second charge and sentenced him to death, but again the execution was forestalled by appeals. Finally, though, the first appeal went against the defendant, and on March 17, 1896, with Judge Parker watching the execution from his office window, Cherokee Bill mounted the gallows. Asked if he had any last words, the young murderer replied, “I came here to die, not to make a speech.” Cherokee Bill paid for his 13 murders, but it appeared later that he was responsible for one more. Ike Rogers, one of the men who betrayed him, was murdered. The crime was believed to have been the work of Cherokee Bill’s young brother, Clarence Goldsby, in an act of vengeance. If Clarence was the killer, he was never brought to justice. See also: ISAAC C. “HANGING JUDGE” PARKER. Convict-author Caryl Chessman (left) appears in court in 1957 in a futile attempt to win a new trial. Crawford Goldsby, a part-Cherokee, part-white, partMexican and part-black murderer better known as Cherokee Bill, who killed 13 men before his 20th birthday. Goldsby came to live with a foster mother at Fort Gibson, Okla. when he was seven years old. The woman imbued the boy with the credo: “Stand up for your rights. Don’t let anybody impose on you.” When he was 18, he followed her advice. He shot a man who beat him up at a dance. The man lived, but Goldsby fled to Indian Territory and soon joined the outlaw band of Bill and Jim Cook. In June 1894 the Cooks and Goldsby shot their way out of a posse trap after Goldsby killed a member of the law party, Sequoyah Houston. After that, the killings came fast, and Goldsby became known and hunted as Cherokee Bill. The young killer had a dozen notches on his gun before he was betrayed by a couple of supposed friends while he was paying a courting call on a young girl. The duo, Ike Rogers and Clint Scales, clubbed him unconscious and collected $1,300 in reward money. Cherokee Bill was speedily tried before Judge Parker for just one of his crimes and sentenced to be hanged. However, his lawyer succeeded in delaying the execution through several appeals. While the murderer was still being held in his prison cell, he somehow got hold of a gun and attempted to make an escape. The attempt failed, Cherry Hill Gang Gay Nineties criminals A vicious bunch of thieves and killers, the Cherry Hill Gang were the “dandies” of the New York underworld in the 1890s. Members of the gang were seldom seen in other than dress suits and often carried walking sticks, metal-weighted of course. Disguised in the height of fashion, they found it easy to get within striking range of a well-heeled gentleman and attack before their victim had a chance to be alarmed. The Cherry Hillers were also responsible for provoking others to crime out of envy. Other gangs often tried to match their sartorial splendor and would go to any lengths to do so. When the Batavia Street Gang announced plans to hold a ball at New Irving Hall, the Cherry Hillers announced they were obtaining new wardrobes for the occasion. As hosts, the Batavians felt required to match or surpass the Cherry Hillers in dress. To raise funds the night before the gala social affair, the gangsters smashed a window of Segal’s jewelry store on New Chambers Street and carried off 44 gold rings. They sold them the following morning, but more than a dozen of the gangsters were caught by police as they were being fitted for new suits at a Division Street tailor shop. On the night of the big event, the leading lights of the Batavia Street Gang languished 183 CHICAGO May in the Tombs while the elegant dandies of Cherry Hill were once again the hit of the ball. tied and he would not save Chessman. By then Chessman had survived eight scheduled dates of execution, some by only a matter of hours. On May 2, 1960 he entered the gas chamber at San Quentin. At that moment federal judge Louis E. Goodman granted Chessman’s attorneys a delay of at least 30 minutes to argue their case. He asked his secretary to telephone the warden at San Quentin. As the prison number passed through several persons, a digit was inadvertently omitted. After being verified, the number had to be redialed. By the time the call was put through, Associate Warden Louis Nelson said the cyanide pellets had just been dropped. Inside the gas chamber, Caryl Chessman had turned to a female supporter who was there as a witness, and his lips formed a final message: “Take it easy . . . It’s all right . . . Tell Rosalie [one of his attorneys] goodbye. . . .” After the pellets dropped, Chessman managed to strain at the binds in order to see if his message had been understood. The woman, a reporter, nodded. Chessman half-smiled and winked. Chessman had one more signal to give. Just before he lost consciousness, he turned to reporter Will Stevens of the San Francisco Examiner. He had agreed to give the newsman a signal if a gas chamber death was a form of agony. Chessman moved his head up and down, staring at Stevens. It was the signal that death in the gas chamber was agony. One news account of the execution started, “Sexterrorist Carol Chessman ended his 12-year fight for life today with a wink and a smile.” Chessman, Caryl (1921–1960) executed sex offender During the 1950s the case of Caryl Chessman produced one of the most intense anti–capital punishment campaigns in history. Certainly no case since that of Sacco and Vanzetti produced such furor. Protests came from all levels of society. Millions of persons in Brazil, 2.5 million in S˜ao Paulo alone, and thousands more in Switzerland signed petitions pleading for his life. The queen of Belgium made a special plea for Chessman, as did Aldous Huxley, Pablo Casals, Eleanor Roosevelt, Dr. Karl Menninger, Arthur Koestler, André Maurois and Franc5ois Mauriac. Added to those names were Max Ascoli, Harry Elmer Barnes, Ray Bradbury, Norman Corwin, William Inge, Norman Mailer, Dwight MacDonald, Clifford Odets, Christopher Isherwood, Carey McWilliams, Billy Graham, Harry Golden and Robert Frost. In January 1948 Chessman, then 27, had been on parole for just six weeks from California’s Folsom Prison when he was arrested in Los Angeles as the suspected Red-Light Bandit. This marauder approached victims parked in lonely spots, flashing a red light resembling that of a police car. He would rob the driver and sometimes drive off with the woman and force her to perform sexual acts with him. Chessman made a confession, which he later said had been extracted from him by police torture. He was found guilty under California’s “Little Lindbergh” law, which provided for the death penalty in cases of kidnapping “with bodily harm.” Chessman had killed nobody and had held nobody for ransom. Since the jury brought in a verdict of guilty without a recommendation of mercy, he was automatically sentenced to death in the gas chamber. There were many who thought Chessman’s punishment was excessive for a felon who had not murdered anyone. Chessman was sent to death row at San Quentin, and his first execution date was set for March 28, 1952. Then began the famous drama of Cell 2455, Death Row. That prison address became the title of a best-selling book by Chessman, which sold a halfmillion copies and was translated into a dozen languages. It was one of four he would write, often smuggling out manuscripts after he had been forbidden to publish any further. With the success of his first book, Chessman retained a group of lawyers to help him with his appeals, which previously he had handled on his own, having “read or skimmed 10,000 law books.” The fight went on for 12 years. It finally ended in defeat when Gov. Edmund G. Brown, a stated opponent of capital punishment, insisted his hands were Chicago amnesia discouragement of witnesses During the gang wars in Chicago during the 1920s, successful prosecution of murderers and other lawbreakers often proved almost impossible. The gangsters themselves never would impart information to the police, even when dying. Despite the fact that a number of eyewitnesses might step forward initially to do their civic duty, by the time of the trial these witnesses almost invariably had been “reached” by bribes, threats or outright attempts on their lives. As a result, some witnesses even had trouble remembering their own names on the stand. Gang leader Dion O’Banion, an accomplished practitioner of the art of witness discouragement, observed puckishly: “We have a new disease in town. It’s called Chicago amnesia.” 184 CHICAGO Times Chicago fire looting stock that could conveniently be made away with, and then slouch off in search of further booty. The promise of a share in the spoils gave them the assistance of rascally express-drivers, who stood with their wagons before doors of stores, and waited as composedly for a load of stolen property to be piled in as if they were receiving the honestly-acquired goods of the best man in town. . . . The scenes of robbery were not confined to the sacking of stores. Burglars would raid into the private dwellings that lay in the track of the coming destruction, and snatch . . . anything which their practical senses told them would be of value. Interference was useless. The scoundrels . . . were inflamed with drink, and were alarmingly demonstrative in the flourishing of deadly weapons. Sometimes women and children, and not infrequently men, would be stopped as they were bearing from their homes objects of especial worth, and the articles would be torn from their grasp by gangs of these wretches. Without question the greatest rampage of criminality sparked by an American disaster occurred during the 24 hours of the Great Chicago Fire on October 8–9, 1871. The Chicago Post perhaps best set the scene: The people were mad. Despite the police—indeed, the police were powerless—they crowded upon frail coigns of vantage, as fences and high sidewalks propped on wooded piles, which fell beneath their weight, and hurled them, bruised and bleeding, in the dust. They stumbled over broken furniture and fell, and were trampled under foot. Seized with wild and causeless panics, they surged together, backwards and forwards, in the narrow streets, cursing, threatening, imploring, fighting to get free. Liquor flowed like water; for the saloons were broken open and despoiled, and men on all sides were to be seen frenzied with drink. . . . Everywhere dust, smoke, flame, heat, thunder of falling shouts, braying of trumpets, wind, tumult, and uproar. Besides the looting, which the authorities were unable to thwart, trouble developed from a new source. By the time the conflagration was burning itself out on the night of October 9, firebugs took to the streets trying to start new blazes, some for the thrill of it and others because they had seen how fire created opportunities for looting. Seven men were shot after being caught setting fires and another was stoned to death by an angry mob, his body left on the street as a warning to others. For the next 13 days Chicago was patrolled by 2,400 regular and special policemen, six companies of state militia and four companies of U.S. Army troops, all under Gen. Phil Sheridan, who placed the city under martial law. Perhaps the most significant comment on the aftermath of the Chicago Fire was a historian’s observation that “no part of Chicago was rebuilt more quickly than the saloons, brothels, gambling-houses, and other resorts and habitations of the underworld.” And into this human cauldron the criminals swarmed. Hoodlums, prostitutes, thieves hunting alone or in packs snatched all they wanted from drays and carriages. They broke into stores and homes and stuffed their pockets with money and jewelry. Men ran about wearing as many as a dozen women’s rings and bracelets. They broke into saloons and guzzled down liquor to fortify their criminal daring. “They smashed windows with their naked hands,” the Post reported, “regardless of the wounds inflicted, and with bloody fingers rifled till and shelf and cellar, fighting viciously for the spoils of their forage. Women, hollow-eyed and brazen-faced, with filthy drapery tied over them, their clothes in tatters and their feet in troddenover slippers, moved here and there—scolding, stealing, fighting; laughing at the beautiful and splendid crash of walls and falling roofs.” When the courthouse caught fire, guards released 350 prisoners from the basement jail and then watched helplessly as they descended in a single horde on a jewelry store and looted every stone, every watch in the place. William Walker, a Chicago reporter, added his eyewitness account: Chicago May (1876–1935) Queen of the Badger Game May Churchill Sharpe did not invent the badger game, whereby a gentleman is invited to a lady’s room to be “done for” and ends up being “done out” of his money through blackmail or simple robbery, but she was its most accomplished practitioner in the 1890s. Born in Dublin, Ireland in 1876, May Sharpe spent six years in a convent school before running off to America, with 60 pounds from her father’s strongbox as traveling money. Within a year after arriving in New York in the spring of 1889, she was living the fast life as the mistress of Dal Churchill. Churchill eventually married her and took her west. He was “a robber, high- As the night wore on, and the terrors aggregated into an intensity of misery, the thieves, amateur and professional, dropped all pretense at concealment and plied their knavish calling undaunted by any fear of immediate retribution. They would storm into stores, smash away at the safes, and if, as happily was almost always the case, they failed to effect an opening, they would turn their attention to securing all of value from the 185 CHICKEN Ranch “I’m sorry, dear lady,” he said, “but I’m off to Washington in the morning and then am going West for an extended period.” Chicago May was crushed. However, the real crusher came when Twain got up to leave. He kissed her hand and whispered to her: “May I thank you, my dear lady, for a most amusing time. Of course, I don’t believe a word of your story that you are an English noblewoman.” Such defeats were rare for May, especially after she formed a business relationship with Sgt. Charles Becker, New York’s notorious cop-crook who was to die in the electric chair for murder. Becker fed May victims and took a 25 percent cut of the revenues. A few years after the turn of the century, Becker advised Chicago May to pull out of New York because of an impending reform wave, and she moved to London, where she met the accomplished bank robber Eddie Guerin. She helped him rob some $250,000 from the Paris branch of the American Express Co. However, the couple had a falling out and were eventually caught by French police. Eddie Guerin was sent to Devil’s Island, from which he later made a sensational escape. May did a short stint in an English jail for transporting the American Express loot to London and then was kicked out of the country. She returned to the United States, but she was pushing 40. Hard-living had left her with wrinkles, puffs and rheumy eyes. There was no way she could be the Chicago May of the badger game. The road the rest of the way was down. There were a number of arrests and convictions for various thefts, even petty larceny. For a time, May’s fortunes picked up. She ran what she called a “nice house” in Philadelphia, where she used to entertain the prostitutes with tales of her exploits as Chicago May. However, a reform movement put her out of business. Rather belatedly, May came to the conclusion that crime did not pay and wrote her autobiography in 1928. In an amused air, she noted: “My old friends, in the police write me letters of encouragement. Christians feel called upon to send me platitudes. Reformers insist upon drawing their pet theories to my attention. Professional crooks berate and praise me. Beggars importune me. Sycophants lather me with adulation. The rich . . . and others . . . patronize me.” But May was actually trying to live in her past. Her real life was nothing like that. The last newspaper clipping about her tells the whole story. She was arrested in Detroit during the early 1930s for soliciting male pedestrians, asking the bargain price of $2. She died a few years later. wayman, safecracker, cattle rustler and general allround crook,” according to May, and also a member of the Dalton gang. May was sublimely happy for an exciting year. Then Dal fouled up a train robbery and ended up hanging from vigilantes’ rope near Phoenix, Ariz. Widowed at 15, May went to Chicago, where with her looks she became the Queen of the Badger Game. At first, she operated as a loner, choosing her victims from hotels, night spots and other places where goodtime Charlies congregated. Because of the publicity involved and the resultant effect on their families, most of the men who took her to a hotel wouldn’t dream of going to the police after she had robbed them. May would also steal a sucker’s valuable papers and write him, asking if he remembered the gay time they almost had together and wondering if he wanted his papers back. She would threaten, if ignored, to take the matter up with the wives. The tactic got results, and the errant husbands would give the money to an underworld pickup man sent by May. She would then deliver the papers. She never double-crossed a sucker a second time. She took him in the badger game and then once with a spot of blackmail, but then she let him off the hook. Later, May took to using male accomplices and an older woman posing as her mother. The “mother” would catch May and her gentleman and shriek for help, which would come in the form of a hulking relative or neighbor. There would be no escape for the unfortunate victim until he paid. By her 16th birthday Chicago May had made $100,000, and by 17 she had run that up to $300,000. Deciding the really big money was in New York, May transferred her operations there in the early 1890s. She frequented a famous criminal hangout, Considine’s, which was also a slumming spot for sportsmen and literary and theatrical personalities. One evening she spotted a bushy-haired man with a drooping mustache. Thinking of him as a likely victim, she inquired about his identity and learned he was the celebrated author Mark Twain. May immediately started boning up on her Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn, and one night, done up in finery, she strolled over to Twain and introduced herself as Lady May Avery of England. She said she so admired Twain’s work and had to meet him. The next evening Lady Avery dined with Twain and amused him greatly. It was well known that Twain was highly appreciative of the spicier things in life, and May expected him to jump at the bait when she invited him to visit her in Connecticut. Twain’s eyes twinkled, but he shook his head. 186 CHINESE riots managed to get all they wanted through a thriving black market, although the price soared to thousands of dollars. Chicago Street Gazette Chicago Times sensationalist newspaper If any one 19th-century newspaper can be singled out as the most devoted to the coverage of crime news, it would have to be the Chicago Times, which was founded in 1854 to promote the political career of Sen. Stephen A. Douglas, a role it continued to fulfill until it was sold to Cyrus H. McCormick, the reaper manufacturer, in 1860. A year later, McCormick sold the newspaper to Wilbur F. Storey of Vermont, who made it into an antiwar publication upon the issuance of the Emancipation Proclamation, which Storey regarded as a deceitful act because it switched the war’s aims. To silence Storey’s blasts at President Lincoln, Gen. Ambrose Burnside seized the Times, provoking one of the great civil liberties controversies of the Civil War. Mobs formed at the Times to support the army action, while Copperhead forces swarmed around the Chicago Tribune office and threatened to burn down that newspaper’s building unless the Times was allowed to publish. Tempers were dampened when Lincoln revoked Gen. Burnside’s order of suppression, and the Times appeared again. However, it was after the war that the Times emerged, under Storey, as one of the great muckracking and crusading newspapers, carrying on a steady fight against crime and political corruption, exposing the growing accommodation between the underworld and politicians and identifying reputable citizens who allowed their property to be used for immoral purposes. Storey’s staff reporters originated or popularized many phrases that were to become criminal vernacular. The word racket appears to have been born in the Times on October 24, 1876, when the newspaper carried a story that noted, “big thieves are boldly traversing our streets by day, planning their racket.” The Times headline style on criminal matters was certainly colorful as well as prejudicial. When on September 10, 1872 a notorious hoodlum named Christopher Rafferty was found guilty of the murder of Patrolman Patrick O’Meara, Storey’s paper turned nearly poetic with the following headline: Scandal sheets of the 19th century constantly fanned public opinion against the Chinese by depicting their alleged corrupting influence on young white females. Chicago piano See SHANG ANDREWS. tommy gun The Chicago piano, or tommy gun, first gained underworld acceptance in the Chicago gang wars of the 1920s. Some historians insist its first use came in the shooting of Jim Doherty and Tom Duffy, gunmen of the O’Donnell gang, and William H. McSwiggin, an assistant state’s attorney, on April 27, 1926 in front of the Pony Inn in Cicero. Supposedly, Al Capone handled the weapon personally. However, the likelihood is that the Chicago piano was introduced by the Polish SaltisMcErlane gang that controlled the Southwest Side of Chicago. After Joe Saltis and Frank McErlane demonstrated the Chicago piano’s awesome potential, every Chicago gangster wanted one. And it was easy to see why. The weapon was light, weighing only 81/2 pounds, easy to operate and could fire up to a thousand .45caliber cartridges a minute. Furthermore, it cost a mere $175 by mail order. When the federal government slapped controls on the sale of the guns, gangsters still SHUT OFF HIS WIND A Satisfactory Job for Jack Ketch at Last. The Hangman’s Rope Awarded to Christopher Rafferty. 187 CHINESE riots Thorpe, a crusading reporter with an American flag necktie. In 1978 the Small Business Administration ordered an auction of the ranch’s fixtures. A bag of brass tokens bearing the legend “Good for All Night” sold for $30. Now, Do Not Reprieve Nor Pardon Him. Nor Give Him a New Trial. And, in the Name of All That’s Decent, Don’t Commute His Sentence. The Jury Concludes, in Just Twenty Minutes, To String the Ruffian Up. Perhaps an even more colorful headline, one still quoted in journalistic circles, appeared on November 27, 1875; it read: Chinese riots When the Chinese first arrived in this country in about 1850, they were greeted warmly, especially in San Francisco, where they worked for very low wages as household servants and menials. Within a year or two, as their numbers increased, the Chinese became one of the most hated ethnic groups because they allegedly took jobs away from “Americans,” mostly other ethnics who had also come to America from foreign shores. The wanton killing of Chinese probably was even less hindered by legal sanctions than the slaughter of Indians or Mexican “greasers.” The saying “not having a Chinaman’s chance” had a very awesome meaning for a “chink,” “heathen,” “celestial,” “coolie,” “moon face” or “slant-eyes” meeting a white man with a gun. Riots became common, with particularly bloody ones occurring in Los Angeles, San Francisco, Denver, Seattle, Rock Springs, Wyo. and Pierce City, Idaho. Cities like Tacoma, Wash. expelled their entire Chinese populations. The main opposition to the Chinese was economic, since such employers as the Union Pacific preferred to hire Chinese because, besides being docile, they worked for low pay and were satisfied with a bowl of rice. However, their large numbers and their insistence on maintaining their own customs—an attitude not really different than those of all other ethnic groups—became an added irritant. Not surprisingly, the Chinese were unmoved by efforts to Christianize them, one missionary observing, “They were unable to distinguish between our mobs and our Christian workers and could not be expected to favor or tolerate our religion. They had no way of knowing that Christianity was a religion of love, not one of bowie knife, insult, and the worst oppression the world has yet seen.” Henry Ward Beecher’s comment was more sarcastic: “We have clubbed them, stoned them, burned their houses and murdered some of them; yet they refuse to be converted. I do not know any way, except to blow them up with nitroglycerin, if we are ever to get them to Heaven.” It would probably be impossible to try to estimate the hundreds or thousands of Chinese who were murdered by whites in this country during the 19th century since most newspapers did not regard the killing of a Chinese as newsworthy. Diaries of 49ers in California constantly refer in passing to the killing of a “chink” JERKED TO JESUS Four Senegambian Butchers Were Wafted to Heaven on Yesterday from Scaffolds. Two of Them, in Louisiana, Died with the Sweet Confidence of Pious People. While Yet Two Others, in Mississippi, Expired Exhorting the Public to Beware of Sisters-In-Law. Sometimes Storey’s outspoken attitudes on crime and morality got him in deep trouble. When the noted burlesque actress Lydia Thompson appeared at Crosby’s Opera House with her troupe of “English Blondes,” the Times denounced the young maids for “capering lasciviously and uttering gross indecencies.” The Times added that Miss Thompson was not much better than a common strumpet and that Chicagoans would do well to run her out of their city. When Storey refused to retract the statements, Miss Thompson caught him in front of his home on Wabash Avenue and beat him severely with a horsewhip. Chicken Ranch the best little whorehouse in Texas A Texas institution that was around almost as long as the Alamo, the Chicken Ranch was never a ranch during all its 129 years of existence, although chickens sometimes pecked around its front yard. Its last and most famous proprietor, gun-toting Miss Edna Milton, called the establishment in La Grange a boarding house. The boarders were all very attractive young women in cocktail dresses, and their guests included any man who happened to have $10. The Chicken Ranch was closed down in 1973 after a television newsman from Houston publicized what many people in Texas knew it to be, and the “exposé” eventually forced the governor to order it shuttered. The Chicken Ranch went on to live again in a highly successful Broadway musical called The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas, with Miss Edna acting as an adviser for the show and doing a short walk-on part. The newsman whose story doomed the ranch, Marvin Zindler, was portrayed on Broadway as Melvin P. 188 CHOWCHILLA school bus kidnapping stoned streets with a rope around their necks until they died. Perhaps the most shocking killing, one that drew international attention, was that of an elderly Chinese doctor named Gene Tong. When caught by the mob, he pleaded to be spared and offered several thousand dollars he was carrying in exchange for his life. The rioters just laughed and hanged him anyway. As the old man was choking to death, several women in the crowd stepped forward and ripped off his trousers to get at his money. Someone also severed his ring finger with a bowie knife when a diamond ring would not slip off readily. The death toll in the 1871 massacre was placed at 20 to 25, with many more injured, and it was estimated that the rioters had robbed and looted every room, every strongbox, every trunk in all Chinatown. A grand jury investigation condemned the mob for “disgracing our city” and charged that the authorities had failed to perform their duty properly, but not one person was ever brought to trial. Not surprisingly therefore, a few years later, after the first initial shock and revulsion had passed, Anti-Coolie Clubs began to spring up in the city. Finally stung by charges of intolerance, the officials of Los Angeles did something: they changed the name of Nigger Alley to Los Angeles Street. here or there. Practically no white man was ever convicted of killing a Chinese; the crude Texas judge Roy Bean once dismissed a case because he said he found no statutory restriction against the activity. Lawmen in general showed no inclination to ascertain the facts in the violent death of any Chinese. Perhaps the 19thcentury attitude in the West is best summed up in a ballad still popular around the turn of the century: Old John Martin Duffy was judge of the court In a small mining town in the West; Although he knew nothing about rules of the law, At judging he was one of the best. One night in the winter a murder occurred, And the blacksmith was accused of the crime; We caught him red-handed and give him three trials, But the verdict was “guilty” each time. Now he was the only good blacksmith we had And we wanted to spare him his life, So Duffy stood up in the court like a lord And with these words he settled the strife: “I move we dismiss him, he’s needed in town”; Then he spoke out these words which have gained him renown: “We’ve got two Chinese laundrymen, everyone knows; Why not save the poor blacksmith and hang one of those?” PIERCE CITY, IDAHO TERRITORY Compared to some anti-Chinese massacres, the slaughter at Pierce City, Idaho Territory was, as one participant put it, “small potatoes.” However, it is most illustrative of the brutal and inhuman attitude of whites toward Asians. On September 10, 1885 the body of a white merchant, D. M. Frazier, was found “chopped to pieces in his own store.” A vigilante mob was formed quickly and on no apparent evidence, deduced the crime had been committed by two Chinese merchants who were in competition with the victim. The Chinese partners were seized and tortured until each accused the other of committing the crime. The verdict was that both should be hanged, and as long as they were hanging them, the vigilantes thought it would be a good idea to get rid of three other undesirable Chinese—a gambler, a barber, described as “hard featured,” and a “parasite,” meaning a local camp prostitute. Cooler heads among the mob convinced the others that the five should be turned over to the law so that they could be tried formally before being hanged. That night when a half-dozen lawmen set out with the prisoners for the county seat, they were stopped by a large mob of masked men who abducted the five. It seems some discussion among the vigilantes had led to the conclusion that the three additional prisoners would most likely not be hanged for Eventually, anti-Chinese violence petered out, although not for any commendable reason. First, President Chester A. Arthur signed a bill suspending Chinese immigration. Second, the focus of bigotry shifted to newer immigrant groups, such as the Japanese. See also: ROY BEAN. LOS ANGELES One of California’s bloodiest and most barbaric mob actions occurred on October 4, 1871, when a huge group of whites—men, women and children—rampaged through Calle de los Negros, or “Nigger Alley,” which had become the city’s Chinatown. Ostensibly, the reason for the riot was to avenge the death of a white who had been killed in the cross fire of fighting between two rival Chinese gangs, or tongs. But it was clear that this was little more than a rationale for an explosion of racially motivated violence. On the day of the riot, hundreds of people charged through Nigger Alley smashing windows and battering down doors. Any Chinese seized was beaten or stabbed. When one Chinese man broke free of his tormentors and tried to run away, he was shot down in the street. Having thus tasted blood, the crowd grabbed another Chinese and hauled him through the streets to a corral, where they hanged him. Other victims were pulled over the cobble189 CHRISTIE, Ned shacks. One white miner’s diary recalled, “Bullets followed the fleeing Chinese and sixteen of them were killed brutally, while the other casualties met an even more horrible fate the same evening when some of the citizens satisfied their murderous instincts and inhumanly slew the few remaining Chinese for the money which their victims had hidden on their persons, after setting fire to the buildings to hide their crimes.” The entire Chinatown section was burned to the ground and “the smell that arose from the smoking ruins was horribly suggestive of burning flesh.” Overall, the death toll was put at 50, or 10 percent of the Chinese community. The Rock Springs Independent put out an extra edition the following day and sided with the anti-Chinese forces. It especially complimented saloon operators for shutting down during the riot: “It cannot be said that a ‘drunken mob’ drove out the Chinamen. Everyone was sober, and we did not see a case of drunkness. All of the stores in town were closed, and men, women and children were out watching the hurried exit of John Chinaman and everyone seemed glad to see them on the wing.” the murder and that perhaps the confessions extracted from the two merchants by torture might also be disallowed in a courtroom. Direct action would solve that problem, and all five were hanged, if somewhat inefficiently and slowly, from a pole placed between the forks of two pine trees. The incident triggered wholesale expulsions of Chinese from a number of Idaho towns with the tacit approval of high government officials. When news of the lynchings spread, the Department of State received a protest from the Chinese government, but it was six months before the territorial governor E. A. Stevenson, arrived in Pierce City to launch an investigation. The “investigation” consisted solely of talking to anti-Chinese elements and announcing he had failed to discover the identities of any perpetrators of the lynchings. He did express regret at the hangings but added, “The Chinese hanged were the identical parties, who so cruelly, shockingly and brutally murdered without the least provocation (except jealousy) one of the best citizens of Idaho.” The governor also insisted that deportation was the only solution to the Chinese problem, since “their low, filthy habits, their highbinder piratical societies, together with their low dens of infamy, prostitution and opium smoking, have disgusted our people.” After the Pierce City affair a prodeportation movement seemed to be gaining ground in Washington, but by this time a new wave of immigrants, this one from Japan, had started to arrive and hostility was shifted away from the Chinese to meet this new menace. Deportation of the Chinese was forgotten, and they went on to become one of the most law-abiding ethnic groups in America. ROCK SPRINGS,WYOMING TERRITORY As terrible as the slaughter was in the Los Angeles Chinese massacre of 1871, it did not compare with the mob riot in Rock Springs, Wyoming Territory in 1885. When the main line of the Union Pacific was completed in 1869, many of the Chinese laborers settled in the railroad town of Rock Springs. In 1885 there were 500 Chinese in Rock Springs, the great majority working in the Union Pacific coal mines. In fact, the Chinese were the majority in the mines, and this led to friction as unemployment grew in the white community. When on September 2 a white miner and two Chinese got into an altercation underground, the fighting soon spread in the shaft among other miners, leaving one Chinese killed and three others severely injured. Word of the battle was passed above ground, and a heavily armed mob of white miners formed for the destruction of Chinatown. The Chinese had no reason to expect an attack and were easily routed from their dugouts and Photograph of the lifeless body of Indian outlaw Ned Christie nailed up to an old door became the most popular pinup in the Oklahoma Territory during the 1890s. 190 CIMARRON County Seat War Chowchilla school bus kidnapping Because of demands by the Union Pacific, federal troops were called in and took over the task of feeding the destitute Chinese wandering about the countryside. Many of the men involved in the massacre were identified; instead of being prosecuted, they were paid off by the railroad, given train tickets and “strongly advised” by the commander of the troops to leave the state. The federal troops remained on duty in Rock Springs for the next 13 years, finally departing at the start of the Spanish-American War in 1898. The greatest kidnap for ransom plot in terms of numbers of victims in the United States took place on July 15, 1976 near the town of Chowchilla, Calif. By blocking the road with a van, three stocking-masked armed men stopped a school bus containing 19 girls and seven boys returning from a summer school session. While one of the three masked men drove the bus off and hid it in a dried-out creek bed, the 26 children and the bus driver were herded into the van used for the blockade and a second van driven up from a hiding place. The driver and the children, who ranged in age from six to 14 years, were driven around for more than 11 hours and finally brought to a rock quarry near Livermore, less than 100 miles from the kidnap site. There they were all transferred to a large moving van that had been buried in an isolated section of the quarry. Tarpaulins were stretched from the two small vans to the roof of the buried van so that the prisoners could not see where they were. A hole had been cut in the roof of the buried van, and the children were forced to climb down a ladder into their underground prison. Before each child was transferred, his or her name and age were recorded and a personal item or bit of clothing was taken, obviously for proof later that the kidnappers indeed held them prisoner. The bus driver was given a flashlight and ordered into the moving van, which was then sealed off with large sheets of metal, plywood, dirt and other debris. The van, 25 feet long and 8 feet wide, had been well furnished for accommodation of the prisoners, containing a portable toilet and supplies of water, bread, potato chips and breakfast cereal. There were a number of matresses, and ventilation was provided by 4-inch rubber tubing, with air pumped in and out by two battery-driven fans. Later that day a police air search located the abandoned school bus, but there was no trace of the children, and terror gripped the Chowchilla area. Twenty-four hours went by without a ransom demand from the kidnappers, who were apparently determined to fuel the parents’ anxiety further so that the state would be forced to make payment immediately. However, the kidnappers’ plans went awry when, 16 hours after their imprisonment in the large van, the driver and some of the older children managed to dig their way out. When all the children were pulled free, the group walked toward lights in the distance. They found a quarry employee, who immediately called the police. The Chowchilla children’s ordeal was over. It took the authorities 12 days to round up the three kidnappers involved. The day before the kidnapping a woman had jotted down the license number— 1C91414—of a small van near what was to prove to be Chivington, John M. (1821–1894) leader of massacre The minister-soldier who commanded the infamous Sand Creek Indian Massacre in 1864, John Chivington was court-martialed but acquitted. To escape further military justice, he resigned from the army. Most authorities on Chivington say that he was hated the rest of his life, unable to escape the stigma of his deeds, unable to find employment. The truth, however, was that the man once tried for the wanton slaughter of 450 Indian men, women and children later became a lawman. For many years until his death, he held the job of undersheriff in Denver, Colo., where he did his duty, so it is said, with honor and fairness and was respected by all those who worked with him. Choctaw legacy, the con game Fleecing Indians became a major sport for con men during the 1930s. Most of these swindles were based on telling the victims that under old treaties Indians were entitled to $1,000 each for their deceased relatives and that the only thing needed was to get an enabling act through Congress. The Indians could finance the lobbying necessary to pass the act for a mere $5 apiece. A notorious sharper, Odie Moore, worked the scheme to perfection in Neshoba County, Miss., promising the Indians great rewards due them because of the breaking of the Dancing Rabbit Treaty of 1839. Since there had been wide intermarriage between whites and Choctaws over the decades, thousands of white suckers added their $5 contributions. Moore’s fanciful association managed to come up with a slogan, promising “$1,000 for every dollar.” A number of young whites even sought out girls with traces of Choctaw blood in them to get on the promised gravy train. Moore’s victims gave and gave from the time he started his swindle in 1930 until his death in 1945, and even after that, many remained sure their promised windfall would soon be forthcoming. 191 CINCINNATI riots and the cannon balls had the disconcerting habit of bouncing back at the besiegers. Twenty-four hours of battle had not added up to a day of glory for the law. Finally, the attackers used dynamite to breach the walls. Although shellshocked, the Indian came out fighting, riding hard and pumping away with his Winchester. With some 20 guns trained on him, Ned Christie was blasted off his mount, full of holes and dead. The killing of Oklahoma’s most wanted Indian desperado deserved special artistic commemoration. His body was allowed to harden somewhat into a pre–rigor mortis pose, propped up against an old door with his rifle cradled in his hands, and then his picture was taken. Ned Christie became the most popular pinup in Oklahoma during the 1890s. See also: HECK THOMAS. the site of the abduction. She had become suspicious of the van’s occupants. The school bus driver underwent voluntary hypnosis and was able to recall the license number of one of the vans—1C91414—and all but one digit of the other. The numbers were eventually traced to an Oakland car dealer, and the large buried van to a Palo Alto firm, which had sold it to one Mark Hall. Employees at the Palo Alto and Oakland firms identified the purchaser from photographs as Frederick Newhall Woods, IV, the son of the owner of the rock quarry. Some of the children recalled hearing their abductors use the names Fred and James, and since Woods was known to be close friends with two brothers named James and Richard Allen Schoenfeld, sons of a prominent Atherton podiatrist, warrants were issued for them as well. Richard Allen Schoenfeld surrendered to authorities on July 23, and his older brother was captured on July 29. On the same day, Woods was arrested by Royal Canadian Mounted Police in Vancouver. The defendants chose a court trial rather than a jury trial, feeling that jurors would be hostile because the victims had been children. Evidence indicated that the trio had worked on the details of the kidnapping for an entire year before setting it in motion. All three were convicted of 24 counts of kidnapping and three of kidnapping with bodily harm. Richard Allen Schoenfeld got life imprisonment, and brother James and Woods drew life with a stipulation barring parole. Cicero, Ill. mob-controlled Chicago suburb In the heyday of the Capone mob, Cicero was known as the syndicate’s town. Al Capone’s private guard in Cicero totaled about 800 gunmen, while the town’s police force numbered about 50. Any officer who considered standing up to the Capone gang thought twice because every official from the major down to the dogcatcher was believed to follow Capone’s orders without question. Once when the mayor dared to displease Capone, the mob chieftain knocked His Honor down on the steps of the town hall and kicked him unmercifully in the groin. A Cicero policeman watched the entire procedure, reportedly looking quite embarrassed. In 1924 the Democrats dared to put up candidates opposing the Klenha slate, which with bipartisan backing had ruled the town for three terms. The Capone forces sent in hundreds of gangsters to guarantee the proper election results. On the eve of the election, William F. Pflaum, the Democratic candidate for town clerk, was roughed up in his office and the place was totally wrecked. On election day gangsters in sevenpassenger black limousines patrolled the streets, terrorizing the citizenry. Persons known to favor the Democrats were beaten. Capone men walked up and down lines of voters asking people how they intended to vote. If they gave a wrong answer, their ballots would be snatched from their hands and marked properly by the mobsters. Then a Capone hood, fingering a revolver in his coat pocket, would stand beside the voter until he or she dropped the ballot into the box. Honest poll watchers and election officials were simply kidnapped and held until the polls closed. A Democratic campaign worker, Michael Gavin, was shot through both legs; policemen were blackjacked. Terrified Cicero citizens appealed to the courts for aid. Cook County judge Edmund K. Jarecki deputized Christie, Ned (1867?–1892) Indian outlaw Along with the Apache Kid, Ned Christie, a fullblooded Cherokee, became one of the most wanted Indian outlaws in the West. A bright youth, Christie served in the Cherokee tribal legislature, but in 1885 he became an outlaw in a big way. For some unknown reason, he killed Deputy U.S. Marshal Dan Maples and vanished into the Cookson Hills of the Oklahoma Indian Territory. In that area he functioned as a horse thief, rumrunner, bandit and murderer, although there is no doubt that, as was the case with the Apache Kid, just about any crime committed in the territory by a young Indian was pinned on him. It took Hanging Judge Parker’s deputies seven years to catch up with Ned, who was cornered by U.S. marshals Heck Thomas and Paden Tolbert in a log fort near Tahlequah on November 1, 1892. Finding Ned and flushing him out were two different matters, however, as the fort was close to impregnable. The marshals sent all the way to Kansas for an army cannon and then set about the task of blasting out the Indian outlaw with the aid of about 20 reinforcements. They pumped an estimated 2,000 bullets into the fortress that did no damage at all; the cannon proved even less helpful. The logs held firm 192 CIVIL War gold hoax 70 Chicago patrolmen, nine squads of motorized police and five squads of detectives and sent them to the beleaguered town. That afternoon and evening pitched battles were fought between gangsters and police. Frank Capone, Al’s brother, took aim at officers piling out of an unmarked black limousine and squeezed the trigger of his automatic, but it clicked on an empty chamber. Before he could pull the trigger again, two lawmen blasted him with their shotguns. When Al buried Frank a few days later, he could at least console himself with the knowledge that his brother had not died in vain. The Klenha slate carried the election by a huge margin. See also: AL CAPONE, FRANK CAPONE, HAWTHORNE INN. telegraph lines, reaching their noted brother, Bat Masterson, in Denver. He immediately wired Cimarron warning the townspeople to release the trio or he would lead an army of gunfighters to level the town. It was no idle threat. Bat commanded the loyalty of scores of noted gunmen, such as the Earps, Doc Holliday, Luke Short and others, men whom ordinary citizens could never stand up to. Thus, the following morning the trapped trio was allowed to leave town under a flag of truce. By its forceful action, Ingalls did indeed become the county seat and held on to this honor until 1893, when it was passed back to Cimarron following another election. On this occasion there was no warring, however. Hard economic times had punctured the land bubble. Within a few years the populations of both Cimarron and Ingalls dropped to a few hundred souls each, and the bitter struggle had proved meaningless. See also: COUNTY SEAT WARS. Cimarron County Seat War While the Cimarron County Seat War in Kansas in 1889 may not have been the most murderous of the struggles of this kind, it has often been cited as the prototype of the county seat wars that bloodied Kansas and several other states during the land boom era, especially in the 1880s. In October 1887 Cimmaron had been voted the seat of Gray County, a decision that did not please Asa T. Soule, a leading citizen of Ingalls, the town that had competed with Cimarron for the designation. Soule had invested heavily in Ingalls real estate and knew that if Ingalls became the county seat, his holdings would soar in value. At the time, custom dictated that the possession of the county court records established the legal location of the county seat. Promising a $1,000 reward, Soule got Sheriff Bill Tilghman to deputize a gang of hired guns and go after the records. Tilghman and more than a dozen gunfighters, including Neal Brown and Jim and Tom Masterson, arrived in Cimarron in the early hours of January 13, 1889. While several stood guard outside, the two Mastersons and Brown broke into the courthouse and began hauling out the records. They had almost completed the job when a Cimarron resident spotted them and sounded the alarm. The awakened Cimarron citizenry pushed guns out of scores of windows and opened fire. Four Ingalls invaders went down in the fusillade. Their bodies were tossed into a wagon loaded with the court records and the invaders fled. The Mastersons and Brown were left trapped inside the courthouse. A gunfight consumed the entire next day, with more than 200 armed men keeping the trio pinned down. Talk of lynching filled the air after a resident died and three others were badly hurt, but in the end, nothing happened. By that time two of the trapped men had been identified as the Mastersons, and the news of their plight went out over the Cincinnati riots A common public perception in 19th-century big-city America was that enforcment agencies and the courts were corrupt and that criminals could often buy their freedom or mild sentences. This view, hardly unjustified, led to the organization of many vigilance committees and to frequent and bloody riots. One of the worst of these took place in Cincinnati, Ohio in 1884. The public had been outraged by the action of the criminal courts, which in the previous year had sentenced to death only four persons out of 50 convicted of capital crimes. On March 28, 1884 a huge mob stormed the jail where two youths who had been let off with manslaughter convictions were being held. They lynched the pair and were finally dispersed by a militia company. The following night mobs formed again to perform additional acts of “instant justice.” Stores were looted of guns, the jail attacked and the courthouse set afire and almost totally destroyed. The rioters were eventually driven off after a pitched battle with troops. Violence continued the third day, a Sunday, and that night the mobs, which now contained large numbers of criminals protesting for law and order and looting stores at the same time, again battled the militia. Soldiers were rushed in from all parts of the state and streets were barricaded to isolate the mobs. Vicious fighting continued for three more days before the barricades could be removed and street-car service restored. The death toll in the rioting was at least 45 persons with 138 more badly injured. Despite the riots, Cincinnati retained its reputation as a wide-open city during the immediate ensuing years. 193 CLAIBORNE, Billy circus grifting one to be perhaps a clown and the other to work, say, at the refreshment stand. Circus grifting was an accepted practice in virtually all circuses until the 1880s and in all except Ringling’s up to 1900. By as late as 1930, only the large circuses were free of grifting. The change did not come about as a result of a sudden reformation of the circuses or because public officials were less willing to take bribes or due to any growing sophistication among the customers. In earlier years a circus changed its name frequently so that it could return the following year to a community that it had angered on a previous trip. But as circuses grew, their very name became more of an asset than the revenues brought in by grifting. Faced with the necessity of making a choice, the bigger outfits, reluctantly, gave up grifting. See also: CARNIVAL GYPS, SHELL GAME, THREE-CARD MONTE. Compared to circuses in other countries, the American version has relied much more on criminal enterprises and fake exhibits and less on talented performers. A prime source of revenue in 19th-century circuses was gambling, particularly such crooked pastimes as the shell game, three-card monte and eight-dice cloth. Some seemingly ran independently of the circus management, but all paid a certain percentage of their take for the right to operate on the circus grounds. For these circus cons to thrive required four basic ingredients: grifters, victims, a dishonest circus management and public officials open to bribes. None were ever hard to come by. The arrival of a circus in a community meant that within the next day or two many residents would find themselves swindled out of much of their ready cash, just as several church sermons the previous Sunday had warned. What the gambling grifters didn’t take, circus shortchangers and pickpockets would. As late as 1900, many of the small circuses that traveled about the country still made each ticket seller pay up to $35 a week for the job because shortchanging the excited “rubes” on ticket sales was so easy and profitable. The pickpocketing franchise was sold to professional thieves, and to assist them in their chores, the master of ceremonies would make it a point to warn patrons about pickpockets. As a result, most men would quickly feel their wallets and thus reveal to the watchful crooks in which pocket they carried their cash. When a circus pulled up stakes, the grifters would ride out in the “privilege car,” one lined with steel to protect them from angered rubes taken by the gambling grifts. Criminologists have attributed the dishonest inclinations of the American circus to its more mobile existence compared to its European counterparts, especially the English circus, which stayed rooted in one place for much longer periods of time. The footloose lifestyle of American circuses encouraged a criminal business thrust. Many circuses in early years were ideal fences for stolen horses. Knowing they would be gone from an area the next day, circus employees became notorious for stealing from farms, barns and clotheslines. Any one-shot method for improving profits would do. Balloon sellers typically hired an assistant to blow tacks at balloons in order to create an instant demand by howling children for a second or third sale. Many of the exhibits were outright frauds, particularly in small circuses, which used grifters because they could be paid far less than, for example, talented acrobats. Thus, the “Siamese twins” were simply two individuals held together by a flesh-colored belt while on display. As soon as that exhibit closed, the twins could hurry off, Ciucci, Vincent (1925–1962) murderer The Ciucci case is often cited by critics of the court system as an example of justice delayed. Vincent Ciucci of Chicago was found guilty of having murdered his wife and three young children because he had fallen in love with an 18-year-old girl and wanted his freedom. He chloroformed his wife and three children on the night of December 4, 1953 and then shot each in the head. After the killings he set his apartment ablaze, apparently in the futile hope that the flames would eradicate all evidence of the shootings. Although the case seemed open-and-shut and the jury quickly found Ciucci guilty, the wheels of justice moved slowly. Ingenious appeals and constant applications for commutation kept Ciucci alive for almost nine years until his execution in 1962. While these delays did not equal the 12 years on death row served by California’s Caryl Chessman, the Ciucci case was criticized from all sides, by those who felt constant appeals were making a mockery of the death penalty and by opponents of capital punishment who condemned a system of justice that could make any defendant go through such a long ordeal. The Ciucci case contributed to the public’s disenchantment with capital punishment in the 1960s, an attitude not reversed until the mid-1970s, when the death penalty once more became regarded as the cure-all for crime. Civil War gold hoax Perhaps the most audacious illegal money scheme of the Civil War period was perpetrated by a professional newspaperman, Joseph Howard, city editor of the Brooklyn Eagle, who concocted a false proclamation 194 CLARK, Douglas family” and his only guilt was “the hope of making some money.” Finally, after the culprits had been confined for less than three months, Lincoln ordered their release. The freeing of the gold hoaxers many not have been as magnanimous as it appeared on the surface. Ironically, when the report of the phony proclamation was published, an as yet unreleased proclamation lay on Lincoln’s desk. It called for the draft of 300,000 more men. When Lincoln saw the adverse effect of the bogus report on the people and on the financial markets, he postponed all call-up plans for an additional two months. by President Abraham Lincoln. The hoax, in the words of one witness, “angered Lincoln more than almost any other occurrence of the war period.” Working with a reporter named Francis A. Mallison, Howard forged an Associated Press dispatch of the supposed proclamation that began, “In all seasons of exigency it becomes a nation carefully to scrutinize its line of conduct, humbly to approach the Throne of Grace, and meekly to improve forgiveness, wisdom, and guidance.” The document, recounting the military stalemate in Virginia and disastrous news from Louisiana, called for a national day of “fasting, humiliation and prayer” eight days hence, on May 26, 1864. The real crushing news in the proclamation was the drafting of an additional 400,000 men. Howard realized such a doleful pronouncement would shake the financial community to its roots, upset the stock market and undoubtedly cause a rise in price of gold. Days before he and Mallison unleashed their hoax, Howard bought a considerable amount of gold on margins, much of it apparently under other names, so that the best estimate of his profits could only be put at “many, many thousands of dollars.” The schemers used young boys to deliver the bogus AP dispatch to various New York newspapers. The news was so startling that several of the publications decided to confirm the facts before printing the story. However, two papers, the World and the Journal of Commerce, were pressed by deadlines and tore down their makeup at the last moment to get the story out. Quite as Howard had expected, the stock exchange “was thrown into a violent fever.” The price of gold instantly shot up 10 percent. Fortunes were made and lost before the hoax was exposed. Incensed by the false story, President Lincoln, Secretary of State William H. Seward and Secretary of War Edwin M. Stanton ordered the two newspapers seized. Only two days later, on May 20, the trail led to Howard and Mallison when it became apparent that the newspapers had been the victims rather than the perpetrators of an act that in Stanton’s words “distinguished [them] by the violence of their opposition to the Administration.” The clearing of the newspapers led to a firestorm of protest against President Lincoln’s initial seizure of them. Lincoln, locked in a battle for renomination and reelection, found the charges of suppression of the free press particularly embarrassing. Almost forgotten in the controversy were the culprits, Howard and Mallison, who were confined in Fort Lafayette. Finally, Howard’s father, an elder of Henry Ward Beecher’s church, prevailed upon the famous minister to petition Lincoln for mercy. Beecher told Lincoln that the 35year-old Howard was “the only spotted child of a large Claiborne, Billy (1860–1882) gunfighter and rustler Billy Claiborne is most noted as a survivor of the gunfight at the O.K. Corral. Claiborne was a young gunslinger who insisted on being called Billy the Kid after the death of the more famous bearer of that name in July 1881. It is recorded that each of the three men who laughed in Claiborne’s face over that pretension paid with his life. The last doubter to die was Jim Hickey, and Claiborne was arrested for his murder. Incarcerated in San Pedro, Arizona Territory, Claiborne, a member of the Clanton gang of rustlers, was busted out of jail by Ike Clanton and the McLowery brothers on October 22, 1881. At the time, a showdown was fast approaching with the Earp forces, and Ike Clanton undoubtedly wanted all the guns he could get. Claiborne’s two guns proved of questionable value. The gunfight at the O.K. Corral took place four days later, and as nearly as can be determined, Claiborne got off one or two wild shots in the general direction of Virgil Earp and then fled for the sanctuary of C. S. Fly’s photography studio. Ike Clanton himself had little ground for complaint since he also sought shelter there while his brother Billy and the McLowery brothers were being gunned down. It was a while before Claiborne again insisted on being referred to as Billy the Kid. While drunk in Tombstone’s Oriental Saloon on November 14, 1882, he made the same demand of Buckskin Frank Leslie, a pitiless gunfighter who may well have killed more of the Clanton gang than the Earps ever did. Leslie, then serving as a sort of combination barman and bouncer, stepped outside on the street with Billy the Kid, II and shot him dead. Claiborne had managed to live to be one year older than his selfproclaimed namesake. See also: BUCKSKIN FRANK LESLIE, O.K. CORRAL, ORIENTAL SALOON. 195 CLARK, James G. cattle, continuing to operate without trouble from the law until the new sheriff of Apache County, Commodore Perry Owens, led a posse that trapped the Clanton rustlers at their camp on the Blue River. Finn Clanton was captured and received a long prison term, but Ike fought to the end and was killed. See also: WYATT EARP, O.K. CORRAL, COMMODORE PERRY OWENS. claim jumping Few crimes in the mining communities of the West were considered more reprehensible than that of claim jumping, stealing another man’s goldfield property before he had a chance to record it officially. Filing a claim was not really the legalistic ritual it might seem. The district recorder was often a merchant or saloon keeper, and once a man had filed his claim, he still had to protect it. A typical sign read, “CLAME NOTISE—Jim Brown of Missoury takes this ground; jumpers will be shot.” If by chance Brown or a counterpart did shoot a jumper, a miners court would readily clear him and most likely set up a bottle for him at the local saloon. Claim jumpers were not treated leniently. A frequent punishment called for a jumper to have his ears cut off so that, said one miner’s diary, he would “not hear about no more strikes.” When a stranger showed up in gold-strike country, he would not be welcomed if he had a reputation as a claim jumper. “Preventative hangings” were not unheard of in such circumstances. Overall, however, it must be said that the miners and their courts generally settled claimjumping problems in a fair and equitable manner. When the law became fully established years later, few miners court findings were ever upset. See also: SOAPY SMITH. Clanton, Newman H. “Old Man” (?–1881) outlaw clan leader A Texan of a hazy but definitely bloody past, Newman “Old Man” Clanton settled his family in the 1870s on a ranch at Lewis Springs, Arizona Territory, which was stocked with a constantly changing supply of stolen cattle. Old Man Clanton directed the lawless activities of the family and numerous hangers-on. The Clanton gang swept into Mexico and Texas to undertake robberies of stagecoaches and bullion pack trains. Besides his three sons, Ike, Finn and young Billy, important members of the gang included such cutthroats as Johnny Ringo, Curly Bill Brocius and the McLowery brothers, Tom and Frank. Clanton also maintained a spy network on both sides of the border that advised him on potential victims. One of the Old Man’s worst depredations was the Guadalupe Canyon Massacre in July 1881, in which he and his men slaughtered 19 Mexicans escorting a mule train loaded with $75,000 in silver bullion. That vicious act made Old Man Clanton just about the most hated of all gringos. But about two weeks later, a large posse of Mexicans ambushed the old man and five of his gang as they were driving a herd of stolen cattle through the same Guadalupe Canyon. Only one of the gang, a man named Earnshaw, got away. See also: GUADALUPE CANYON MASSACRE. Clanton, Joseph Isaac “Ike” (?–1887) outlaw Son of the notorious Old Man Clanton, Ike became nominal head of the Clanton gang following the death of his father in July 1881, but he was not that strong a personality and ranked no better than second in command to Curly Bill Brocius. While Ike Clanton hated the Earps and others of the “townie/gambler” element and plotted against them, he never really sought a confrontation with them. In the noted gunfight at the O.K. Corral on October 26, 1881, Ike aligned with Billy Claiborne, the McLowery brothers and his younger brother Billy against the Earps and Doc Holliday. Ike begged that the shooting be stopped and then fled, leaving Billy Clanton and the McLowerys to be killed. A few months later, Ike was involved in the plan to kill Virgil Earp, and although it failed, the shooting left Virgil maimed for life. While Ike was not present when Morgan Earp was murdered in March 1882, there is little doubt he was in on the planning. After the Earps left Tombstone later that same year under considerable pressure from the citizens, Ike Clanton and brother Finn became scarce in the area as well, and rumor had it that Wyatt Earp must have killed Ike. Within a year, however, Ike was back at work rustling Clanton, William (c. 1865–1881) outlaw The only Clanton to die at the O.K. Corral, young Billy Clanton was considered by many the bravest of the family. While the Earp supporters always sought to claim that Billy was 17 or 19 at the time of the O.K. Corral fight, the anti-Earps have tended to set his age between 13 and 15 at most and thus claim that Wyatt Earp killed a “baby.” Billy Clanton was deserted by his brother, Ike, and Billy Claiborne, and the McLowerys staggered off as they were hit. His right hand shattered by a shot, Billy shifted his gun to his left hand and kept fighting alone. He shot Virgil Earp through the leg. Then Wyatt Earp put the sixth bullet in Billy Clanton, and he went down. Billy worked his way up to his 196 CLUM, John P. knees and tried to level his .45, allegedly pleading, “Just one more shot, God, just one more shot.” Finally, he fell back to the dirt, and the Earps and Holliday all held their fire. Billy Clanton’s reputed last words were: “Pull off my boots. I promised my mother I’d never die with my boots on.” See also: O.K. CORRAL. murderous involvement with Clark, a liquored-up Carol let too much slip out about Clark and their doings. Murray said he might well go to the police about it all, a prospect that threw Carol into a panic. On August 5, 1980 she set up a midnight rendezvous with Murray in his van near the bar where he was doing a gig. She shot him in the head. Murray’s body turned up four days later with nine stab wounds and deep slashes across his buttocks. The head was missing, removed by Carol and Clark to prevent any ballistics identification. Two days after the discovery of the corpse, Carol sank into a state of depression, crying out on her job to another nurse, “I can’t take it anymore. I’m supposed to save lives, not take them.” Her coworker reported her comments to the police, who arrested Carol and in a search of her home found shocking pictures involving Clark and young girls. Clark was arrested at his job, where police found a pistol that ballistics tests linked to five of the known victims of the Sunset Slayer. According to Carol, Clark claimed he had killed at least 50 young girls both before and after meeting her and that he hoped to hit 100 before he inevitably was caught. At his trial, Clark tried to shift the Sunset Slayings to Carol and victim Murray, claiming it was they who were ardent fans of Ted Bundy. The jury believed otherwise. Clark was sentenced to death and joined the Clark, Douglas (1959– ) the “Sunset Slayer” Perhaps the most infamous serial killer of recent years, Ted Bundy left his mark in the chronicles of serial killings in many ways, particularly as an inspiration to “copy-cat” criminals. It is apparent that a sometime factory worker named Douglas Daniel Clark—the “Sunset Slayer”—had been much impressed by Bundy’s murder spree and sought to imitate it. His murders, often in company of his lover, Carol Mary Bundy (no relation of Ted Bundy), began in 1980 and were far more ghoulish than those of his role model. Calling himself the “king of the one-night stands,” he dated either women older than himself or young girls between ages 10 and 15. However, sexual liaisons, even kinky ones, hardly sated his desires, which ran to dark reflections on rape, mutilation, murder and necrophilia. In 1980, Clark met Carol Bundy, a vocational nurse in Burbank, who at age 37 was a halfdozen years older than he, and she became his willing accomplice in his gruesome activities. When their game turned deadly, Carol cruised the Sunset Strip looking for prostitutes—with a strong preference for blonds— for Clark to murder and then engage in depraved sexual acts. Clark and Carol committed about 10 known murders in this fashion; at times, the heads of their decapitated victims were stored in a refrigerator for later gory fun and games. In one case, Carol later confessed to making up one face with cosmetics, saying, “We had a lot of fun with her. I washed her up like a Barbie with makeup.” Typical of Clark’s killings were those of two half sisters, 16-year-old Cynthia Chandler and 15-year-old Gina Narano, who vanished from a beach. They were later found on the side of the Ventura Freeway in Los Angeles, each shot in the head. Gleefully, Clark described to Carol how he had had forced sex with the girls before killing them. Carol clearly had become a murder slave for Clark, a fairly common occurrence among female consorts of serial killers, but she was also responsible for his eventual capture. In the past, she had had a romantic attachment with an apartment house superintendent and part-time singer in country and western bars, John Robert Murray. On a date with Murray after her John Clum poses with some of his highly regarded Indian police. 197 CLUTTER family murders sailors, which banned them from the streets after 8 P.M. without a written pass from their owners or commanding officers. With the official takeover by the United States on December 17, 1803, these new laws-by-posse became permanent. growing list of condemned prisoners waiting for years for execution with the restored California death penalty. Carol first claimed insanity but then admitted her part in some of the slayings, including that of John Murray, and she was sentenced to a total of 52 years in prison. Cleary, Katherine (1954–1973) “Looking for Mr. Goodbar murder” Clark, James G. (1924– ) sheriff and smuggler Using electric cattle prods on demonstrators during the Selma, Ala. desegregation protests of the 1960s, Sheriff James G. Clark of Dallas County became a symbol of resistance to black voting rights. Following passage of the Voting Rights Act of 1965, Clark was defeated for sheriff. After that, he himself got into trouble with the law. In 1978 he was charged with marijuana smuggling after officials confiscated about three tons of the drug aboard a DC-3 that had landed in Montgomery, Ala. in May of that year. The marijuana, valued at $4.3 million, had been flown in from Colombia. Pleading guilty to the charge, Clark was sentenced to two years in federal prison. At the time of his sentencing in December 1978, four charges of fraud and one of racketeering were also pending against him, in an unrelated case in New York City. Clark’s Battalion This was, in a sense, the murder of an era, when the sexual revolution was increasingly embraced by young people. Twenty-eight-year-old Katherine Cleary was haunting Manhattan’s Upper West Side looking to find a man for some casual sex. In Tweed’s bar, she met Joe Willie Sampson, who had a sexual hang-up: trying to go “straight” despite a homosexual orientation. Cleary invited Sampson back to her apartment. When Sampson proved unable to perform sexually, Cleary derided him. In a rage Sampson beat her to the floor and, seizing a carving knife, stabbed her several times until the knife broke. He jammed a candle into her vagina and left. Taken into custody, the following May Simpson hanged himself in his cell. The protagonist in Judith Rossner’s novel Looking for Mr. Goodbar was patterned on Simpson. New Orleans posse Clifton, Dan (?1865–1896?) outlaw In 1800 Spain, which had held New Orleans and the rest of the Louisiana province for 30 years, ceded the area back to France. However, the French were slow taking possession, the reason becoming clear with the purchase of Louisiana by the United States in 1803. During that three-year period, and especially in the final year, law and order crumbled. The Spaniards remained in nominal control but had lost all interest in maintaining the peace. On November 3, 1803 Spanish troops sailed for Havana, leaving the city with no organized protection and facing the likelihood of full-scale rioting and looting by the lower and criminal elements. To fill this vacuum, the American consul, Daniel Clark, organized a battalion of 300 men, Americans living in the city and Creoles. The battalion had no clear legal code and in effect meted out posse justice to offenders, utilizing pillories located on Chartres Street. Major offenders were warned they faced the American hangman as soon as full authority was established. With a few French officials, Clark supervised the imposition of several regulations that were in keeping with American law and provided residents with a foretaste of U.S. rule. Among the ordinances adopted were ones outlawing profanity and the driving of carts on Sunday. Other regulations established curfews for slaves and Better known as Dynamite Dick, Dan Clifton was a small-time Oklahoma Indian Territory safe blower, holdup man and rustler who hooked up with the Doolin gang in 1892. He was involved in all the gang’s jobs from then on and had three fingers shot off during the Doolins’ famous battle with the law at Ingalls, Okla. in 1893. A reward of $3,500 was put on Dynamite Dick’s head, and he became the most “killed” outlaw in America, as reward-hungry posses kept trying to pin his identification on any shot-up corpse. Some overlooked the matter of the three missing fingers, while the more knowledgeable would simply cut three off, alas often the wrong three. In all likelihood, Dynamite Dick was tracked down in 1896 near Blackwell, Okla. and shot dead. While there were three fingers missing on the corpse, considerable speculation arose that the dead man was still not Dynamite Dick but another outlaw named Buck McGregg. Cline, Alfred L. (1888–1948) bluebeard One of the most successful criminals at marrying and murdering widows for their money was Alfred L. Cline, until the law cut off his career in California in 1945. 198 COHEN, Mickey His modus operandi remained constant, and he is known to have killed eight unfortunate wives after he had convinced them to will their estates to him. Cline would take his brides on a lavish vacation and in some smart hotel get them to drink a glass of buttermilk that he had laced with a heavy amount of a sleep-producing drug. He would follow this up a few hours later with a fatal dose of the drug, but in the meantime he would call the house physician and inform him that “Mrs. Cline has had another heart attack.” When he resummoned the doctor shortly thereafter, his wife would be dead, and the doctor, prepared for that event, would not be suspicious and would issue a death certificate, citing heart failure as the cause. Eventually, many of the facts about Cline’s crimes surfaced, but the law invariably foundered on one key element. Cline always had his wives’ bodies cremated, a process that destroyed all evidence of the poison he had used. However, the authorities were able to prove that he had used forgery to get his hands on his wives’ money, and for this he was sentenced to 126 years in prison. Cline died in California’s Folsom Prison in 1948. See also: WYATT EARP, INDIAN POLICE, TOMBSTONE EPI- TAPH. Clutter family murders In Cold Blood case The Clutter family murders in 1959 were a brutal, senseless affair that became the subject of Truman Capote’s best-selling book In Cold Blood. The Clutters were sought out, robbed and killed by two ex-jailbirds and vagrants named Richard E. Hickock and Perry E. Smith. Hickock had learned of the Clutters while sharing a prison cell with a convict named Floyd Wells, who had once worked for Clutter, a well-to-do wheat farmer in Holcomb, Kan. Hickock pumped Wells about Clutter’s wealth and whether he kept a safe in his home and how much money he was likely to have on hand. When Hickock was paroled from the Kansas State Penitentiary, he hooked up with Smith, and the two headed for the Clutter home. They invaded it on November 15, 1959. After terrorizing the family, the pair killed Clutter and his wife, Bonnie, both 45, daughter Nancy, 16, and son Kenyon, 15. Clutter’s body was found in the basement of his home with his throat cut and shot in the head. His wife and two children had been killed with shotgun blasts at close range. All the victims were bound by the wrists. When news of the murders reached the penitentiary, Wells went to the warden and told him of Hickock’s interest in the Clutters. This put the police on Hickock’s trail, and he and Smith were captured in Las Vegas. Both men made confessions, each trying to shift more of the blame on the other. While they had expected to find $10,000, they had netted less than $50 for the four murders. Smith said of Clutter: “He was a nice gentleman. . . . I thought so right up to the moment I cut his throat.” At the trial the jury was urged by the prosecuting attorney not to be “chicken-hearted” and to find them guilty of first-degree murder. The jury did so, and after a number of appeals, Hickock, 33, and Smith, 36, were hanged in April 1965. Clum, John P. (1851–1932) Indian agent and publisher One of the most colorful men of the Old West, John Clum was born near Claverack, N.Y. At the age of 23 he was an Indian agent on the San Carlos Reservation, where he is generally credited with developing the concept of the Indian police. The principle of giving Indians armed authority was not one that came easily to many whites, and Clum and other Indian agents who tried it found themselves involved in many imbroglios with the power structure. Of all the agents, Clum, not surprisingly, had the most effective Indian police force. He resigned from the Indian Service in 1878 because of the government’s hardening line toward the Indians. In 1880 in Tombstone, Arizona Territory, he founded one of the West’s most colorful and outspoken newspapers, the Tombstone Epitaph, which became known as the town’s pro-Earp publication. Publisher Clum was often a more worthy citizen than the elements he supported at times—Earp and Doc Holliday, for instance, were little more than corrupt lawmen and murderers—and there is little doubt that his newspaper did much to bring law and order to the area. Selling out his interests in the Epitaph in 1882, Clum left the area after the death of his wife and daughter to become assistant editor of the San Francisco Examiner. He died in 1932, two years after making a sentimental return to Tombstone. cockfighting A generally illegal but much practiced sport, cockfighting was imported into the United States from the Spanish islands and Mexico. During the 19th century it became a common weekend entertainment in many parts of the South and West. Some cocks were armed with steel spurs to make their battles more bloody and furious. Cockfighting has never been stamped out, and secret matches are still held in large cities for big-money prizes. Not long ago, police in Los Angeles broke up a cockfighting gambling ring and freed some two dozen cocks that had fought in matches for stakes of up to 199 COLVERT, Chunk were being cheated at the Alamo’s tables while Hickok looked the other way; the marshal charged in turn that Coe ran a crooked game. The tension was further heightened by what became known as the Shame of Abilene. Coe and Thompson had the front of their establishment painted with a huge bull, with even larger genitalia. If some considered the representation offensive, Coe and Thompson found it boosted business greatly. Within weeks, reports of the Shame of Abilene were even being carried in the Eastern press. Finally, Hickok, prodded by the more genteel elements as well as the other gambling interests, ordered Coe to remove the painting or at least reduce the size of the more offending parts to scale. When Coe refused, Hickok, armed with paint can and brush, did the job himself, revealing perhaps some overlooked talents. There has been much speculation that the argument over the bull painting was the cause of the Hickok-Coe gun duel, but it appears more likely that the showdown stemmed from Hickok’s desire to win control of the lion’s share of Abilene’s gambling business. The trouble came to a head on October 5, 1871, at a time when Ben Thompson, whose skills with a gun more closely approached Hickok’s than did Coe’s, was out of town. Coe was bidding a liquid farewell to a bunch of Texas cowboys. They wound up in front of the Alamo, where Coe fired a shot from his gun. Hickok hurried out of the saloon, there being an ordinance against carrying firearms inside the town limits. Putting away his weapon, Coe explained that he had just shot at a stray dog, and Hickok reprimanded him. Some anti-Hickok observers have suggested that Coe’s explanation only infuriated Hickok more, since as marshal he collected 25¢ for each stray he killed and Coe was thus threatening to cut the marshal’s paycheck. What happened next is a matter of dispute. The Texans all insisted that when Coe turned away, Hickok whipped out a pair of derringers and shot him. The other version was that Hickok did not shoot until Coe pulled his gun and fired point blank at him. In any event, Hickok’s image as a gunfighter was soon tarnished by a charge that he was “trigger-happy.” As Coe fell mortally wounded, Hickok heard loud bootsteps behind him and, thinking he was being attacked from behind, whirled and fired again. He shot his own deputy, Mike Williams, who was rushing to his aid. Williams died a few minutes later stretched out on a poker table in the Alamo, while Hickok continued to curse the dying Coe. One rather maudlin pro-Hickok recorded of the events added: “Tears are the safety valves of a woman’s soul. Without them she could not survive. Sometimes they and strong men also. ‘Jesus wept.’ declares the Gospel. So did Wild Bill.” In reality, there was little doubt Hickok was $10,000. Similar arrests have been made in Chicago and New York, where vacant buildings in deserted slum areas have been turned into exhibition halls. Cockfighting has outlasted dogfighting because it is easier to maintain secretly and because much of the action takes place in barrios, where police investigation is generally unpopular. While local laws generally ban cockfighting, proposals in Congress have called for action on a federal level, which has brought protests from congressmen representing Mexican-American areas. A Texas congressman denounced a successful House vote to ban interstate transportation of birds and the use of the mails for the promotion of cockfighting, citing “the ethnic and cultural background of some of us.” Coe, George Washington (1856–1941) gunfighter A sidekick of Billy the Kid, George Coe took part in most of Billy’s battles during New Mexico’s Lincoln County War in the late 1870s, barely escaping death when severely wounded in the gunfight at Blazer’s Mill. He accepted amnesty when it was offered by the new governor of the territory, Lew Wallace, and thereafter lived a long and peaceful life, becoming the last survivor of that great commercial conflict for the wealth and riches of New Mexico. In 1934 Coe had his reminiscences ghost-written in a book called Frontier Fighter, which offered a rather cleaned-up portrait of Billy the Kid. One observation said Billy was as fine as any “college-bred youth and with his humorous and pleasing personality got to be a community favorite. In fact, Billy was so popular there wasn’t enough of him to go around.” Coe, Phil (?–1871) gambler and Wild Bill Hickok victim A Texas dandy, Coe was the Hollywood prototype of the western gambler, handsome and elegant with neatly trimmed beard, gold-headed cane and derby hat. His killing by Wild Bill Hickok tarnished the latter’s reputation as a fair gunfighter more than any of Hickok’s other shootings. Little is known of Coe’s origins because “he told as many stories about his past as there were cards in a deck,” but he was a fixture on the gambling circuit of the 1860s and early 1870s and prospered. In 1871 Coe turned up in Abilene, Kan. with a vicious gunfighter named Ben Thompson, and they opened the Bull’s Head Tavern and Gambling Saloon. The establishment thrived, and this put the partners in conflict with Wild Bill Hickok, who, as town marshal, was also the protector of the Alamo, the leading gambling emporium in the town. Coe charged that his fellow Texans up on cattle drives 200 COLL, Vincent “Mad Dog” From the time of its first appearance in America during the 19th century, the Mafia has been most inventive in the ways it disposes of the bodies of murder victims; a great many are finally listed in official records as missing, instead of dead. Some victims have been fitted with “concrete overcoats” or ground up in garbage shredders. Top New York mafioso Tony Bender is believed now to be either part of a large Manhattan skyscraper or of the recently crumbling West Side Highway (an injoke in certain Mafia circles is that “dagos make lousy roads”). Perhaps the quaintest of all body disposal devices is the “double-decker coffin.” A murder victim is taken to one of the mob’s cooperative undertakers who constructs a special panel in a coffin he has ready for an about-to-be-buried corpse. The unwanted murder victim is placed in the bottom of the coffin and a panel is put over the body. Then the right corpse is placed on top. After a properly mournful funeral, the two corpses are buried together. No undertaker has ever been convicted as a result of this method because he can always claim the mob must have dug open the grave after burial and put in the extra corpse. The undertaker cooperating with the mob on such a matter is assured of the proper financial reward because the crime family will see to it that he gets a good deal of their regular business thrown his way. no man that in the first place didn’t deserve killing by the standards of our way of life.” When asked to name the California politicians who had once protected his gambling interests, he refused, stating, “that is not my way of life.” Cohen wasn’t any more communicative when he appeared before the Kefauver Committee’s hearings on organized crime in 1950. When asked by Sen. Charles Tobey, “Is is not a fact that you live extravagantly . . . surrounded by violence?” Cohen responded “Whadda ya mean, ‘surrounded by violence’? People are shooting at me.” When pressed on how he had obtained a $35,000 loan without putting up collateral from a Hollywood banker, Mickey quipped, “I guess he just likes me.” In 1958 Cohen, ever the publicity hound, gave the newspapers love letters written by actress Lana Turner to Johnny Stompanato, her gangster lover and a former Cohen bodyguard who was stabbed to death by Turner’s teenage daughter. What upset Mickey was the fact that he had been struck with the bill for Stompanato’s funeral. The Internal Revenue Service nailed Cohen twice for income tax violations. He served four years the first time and did 10 years of a 15-year term the second time. Released in 1972, he announced his intention to go straight. Cohen didn’t have too much choice in the matter since he was partly paralyzed as the result of a head injury inflicted by a fellow convict in the federal penitentiary at Atlanta in 1963. In 1974 Cohen attracted attention by campaigning for prison reform and, later, by stating he had been in touch with people who knew the whereabouts of kidnap victim Patricia Hearst. Cohen died of natural causes in 1976. Cohen, Mickey (1913–1976) gangster Colbert, Chunk (?–1874) gunfighter and outlaw One of the most shot-at gangsters of the 1940s and 1950s, Mickey Cohen was the gambling czar of the West Coast, succeeding to that position after the underworld execution of Bugsy Siegel, Cohen’s mentor, in 1947 by “persons unknown.” Those unknown persons were members of the national syndicate. Cohen later did battle with them, especially the syndicate’s Los Angeles representative, Jack Dragna, refusing to turn over a cut of the proceeds from his bookmaking operations despite a series of attempts on his life. Cohen lived in a mansion surrounded with an electrified fence and spotlights. On two occasions his home was dynamited. While he survived both times, he bemoaned the loss of much of his 200-suit wardrobe in one of the blasts. Noted for his colorful and fiery comments, Cohen told television interviewer Mike Wallace, “I have killed Chunk Colbert was a gunfighter credited with killing seven men, but he is best remembered for taking part in one of the most famed gun duels in the history of the West. The man Colbert challenged in an obvious effort to become known as one of the truly great gunfighters was an accomplished duelist and outlaw named Clay Allison, whose own killings eventually totaled somewhere between 15 to 21. Colbert rode from the Colorado to the New Mexico Territory just to face down Allison. Once there he invited Allison to dine with him at the Colfax County Inn. As the duel was immortalized by Hollywood and John Wayne, the pair, eyeball to eyeball, stirred their coffee and whiskey with the muzzles of their six-guns. Each reholstered their piece, still eyeing the other carefully, and started to eat. In a telltale sign, Colbert reached determined to kill Coe; he simply got more than he bargained for in the process. See also: WILD BILL HICKOK, SHAME OF ABILENE, BEN THOMPSON. coffin, double-decker Mafia body disposal method 201 COLLEGE Kidnappers for his coffee cup with his left hand. Below the table he was moving up his gun with his right hand. Allison detected the move and went for his own gun. Desperate, Colbert fired before his gun had cleared the table top and the slug plowed into the wood. Allison shot him directly over the right eye, and then, the story goes, calmly proceeded to finish his meal as his foe’s body was being removed. Later, Allison was asked why he had sat down to eat with a man he knew was determined to kill him. “Because,” he said, “I didn’t want to send a man to hell on an empty stomach.” See also: CLAY ALLISON. pleted Tombs prison, a punishment much applauded by a public who still knew the victim only by the name of the Pretty Hot Corn Girl. Coll, Vincent “Mad Dog” (1909–1932) gangster and murderer Alternately known as Mad Dog and the Mad Mick, Vincent Coll stands as the best remembered of the socalled baby-faced killers of the 1930s. On another level, he was typical of the latter-day Irish gangsters who resisted the growth of organized crime, fighting a bloody war for an independent existence. Some have described Coll as at least half-demented, with no regard for human life. Others have said he had no regard for even his own life, exhibiting a death wish as he invaded the far stronger gangland empires of Dutch Schultz, Legs Diamond and Owney Madden. With mindless nerve, he even accepted a commission to assassinate Lucky Luciano, Vito Genovese, Frank Costello and Joe Adonis. He was hired by Salvatore Maranzano, then the Mafia’s “boss of bosses,” who wished to rid himself of the young Turks he knew were plotting against him. Maranzano wanted the killings done by a non-Italian so that he could insist he was above the bloodshed. Coll drew a $25,000 advance and was on his way to Maranzano’s office, where a trap was being laid for Luciano and Genovese. Luciano learned of the plot and had Maranzano killed first. When Coll got there, he found he had lost his murder contract, but being ahead $25,000, he walked off content. Vince Coll emerged from the Irish ghetto of New York’s Hell’s Kitchen, where criminal activity was an accepted mode of behavior. In his early twenties, he and his brother Peter hired out as rumrunners to Dutch Schultz at $150 a week each. As he told his brother, the job was merely a way of learning the ropes before they either started up a bootleg empire of their own or simply took over the Dutchman’s. Within a short time, Coll was demanding a cut of the action from Schultz, a proposal that was angrily rejected. The Coll brothers then started laying the groundwork for their own organization. As the fate of Vincent Barelli, a Schultz hood, and Mary Smith, Barelli’s girlfriend, proved, Vince Coll was prepared to use gratuitous violence to accomplish his goal. The Coll brothers and Mary’s brother, Carmine, had attended the same Hell’s Kitchen grade school, and on the basis of this connection, Mary got Barelli to attend a meeting with the plotting brothers. When Barelli refused to desert Schultz, Coll shot him and Mary. Schultz was unaware of the scheming and still regarded the Coll brothers as being in his stable. After Coleman, Edward (?–1839) murderer A fierce New York gangster, Edward Coleman became one of the city’s most hated murderers for killing one of New York’s favorite street characters. The Hot Corn Girls of the early 19th century were the predecessors of the hot dog and peanut vendors of today, but they also had a certain aura of romance about them. Appearing mostly in the Five Points section of early New York, the Hot Corn Girls sold hot ears of corn from wooden buckets that hung from their shoulders. All successful Hot Corn Girls were of striking beauty; they had to be because of the intense competition. They strode through the streets barefoot in calico dresses and plaid shawls singing: Hot Corn! Hot Corn! Here’s your lily white corn. All you that’s got money— Poor me that’s got none— Come buy my lily hot corn And let me go home. The young bloods of the city would vie for the favors of a Hot Corn Girl. Many duels were fought over them. The more artistic suitors celebrated their beauty in story and verse. If a man had an aversion for work and a handsome wife, he could live a life of leisure by sending her forth with a cedar bucket full of corn. Such a husband, however, might find he would have to trail behind her to fend off the blades who tried to flirt with his Hot Corn Girl. Edward Coleman wooed and won a truly beautiful member of this elite group, one so fetching that she was called the Pretty Hot Corn Girl. He married her after winning battles with about a dozen other suitors. The marriage was a short one, though. Coleman became enraged when he found her earnings were less than he had expected. He beat her so badly that she died. He was arrested, convicted and, on January 12, 1839, became the first man to be executed in the newly com202 COLLINS, Dapper Don College Kidnappers Vince was arrested for violating the Sullivan Law aginst carrying weapons, Schultz put up $10,000 bail. He became duly incensed when Coll promptly jumped bail; as a moral lesson, the beer baron had Peter Coll murdered. This launched the bitter Coll-Schultz war, in which at least 20 gunmen were killed. An exact count was impossible since the Castellammarese War for control of the New York Mafia was raging at the same time and the police had difficulty figuring out which corpse resulted from which feud. Even though he had less firepower, Coll held his own against the Schultz forces. Constantly pressed for cash, he raised it in desperate fashion by kidnapping mobster kingpins attached to the Legs Diamond and Owney Madden gangs and collecting huge ransoms for their freedom. Thus, Coll was soon being hunted by a large portion of the New York underworld. In July 1932 Coll won his sobriquet of Mad Dog when he tried to gun down several Schultz gangsters on East 107th Street. Riding by them in a car, Coll cut loose a machine-gun blast that missed the gangsters but hit five small children, aged five to seven, leaving them writhing on the ground, some shot as many as five times. Five-year-old Michael Vengalli died, most of his stomach blown away. The public was indignant, and orders went out to the police to bring in Mad Dog Coll dead or alive. Realizing he would be caught sooner or later, Coll kidnapped yet another Owney Madden aide and collected $30,000 in ransom. He used this money to hire the top lawyer of the day, Samuel Leibowitz, to defend him. Remarkably, Coll was acquitted of the murder charge after the masterful Leibowitz somehow seemed to make the eyewitnesses, rather than his client, the defendants. The Mad Dog was back on the streets. Later, the underworld put a $50,000 reward out for the trigger-happy youth. Schultz gunners almost cornered Coll on four occasions but he fought his way to safety each time. Then one day late in 1932, Coll was in a drug store telephone booth talking to Owney Madden, threatening to kill him unless he was given money. Madden kept talking to him while the call was traced. Coll was still in the phone booth when a black automobile pulled up outside the drug store. One man stood outside on the street and another just inside the door. A third with something bulging under his overcoat strode toward the phone booth. Coll saw him as the man leveled a tommy gun at him. In his cramped position Coll was unable to react as the man squeezed the trigger. At the autopsy 15 steel-jacketed bullets were removed from Coll’s face, chest and stomach. See also: SAMUEL S. LEIBOWITZ, OWNEY “THE KILLER” MADDEN, SALVATORE MARANZANO. Chicago gang During the early-1930s heyday of the kidnapping gangs, one combine that operated in unique fashion was the so-called College Kidnappers of Chicago. They specialized in snatching only underworld characters, who not only could afford to pay but also were not likely to complain to the police. The gang got its name because most of its members were college graduates; the leader, Theodore “Handsome Jack” Klutas, was an alumnus of the University of Illinois. The modus operandi of the gang was to pick up gossip in underworld circles about who had made a big “score.” They would then kidnap the individual and release him only when they received a slice of the loot. Quite often, members of the Chicago mob were their victims, a pattern that earned the College Kidnappers the enmity of the Capone operation. But Klutas and his men had little fear of organized crime and continued their onslaughts, reportedly pulling in more than $500,000 dollars in ransom money between 1930 and 1933. In 1933 a hot rumor, later proven to have some basis in fact, spread that the College Kidnappers had merged the Dillinger gang into their operations. Faced with this disturbing news, the Capone forces decided to try to buy off the kidnappers and persuaded one of the kidnappers, Julius “Babe” Jones, to approach Klutas to arrange a deal. Klutas told Jones he would consider it but, as soon as Jones left, ordered his assassination. The attempt was made by first stealing Jones’ car and then faking a telephone call, allegedly from the Joliet police, to tell him that his car had been found and could be picked up at a local garage. Jones, an old hand at College Kidnapper tricks, was suspicious and drove by the garage dressed as a woman. As he expected, he spotted two gang members parked in a car opposite the garage, ready to gun him down when he appeared. Now trapped between the College Kidnappers and the Capones, Jones could only turn to the police, informing them about a number of the gang’s hideouts. One was a brick bungalow in Bellwood. When two squads of detectives stormed the bungalow, they captured two wanted criminals. One was Walter Dietrich, one of 10 convicts Dillinger had helped to break out of the Michigan City Prison. Dietrich refused to say where Klutas was or whether he alone or the rest of the Dillinger gang had joined the College Kidnappers. Meanwhile, acting on Jones’ information, the police rounded up several other gang members, but not Klutas. Later that same day a stakeout at the Bellwood bungalow paid off. A car pulled up, and Klutas boldly strode up the walkway. As Klutas pushed open the door, four police officers trained guns on him, including Sgt. Joe Healy’s machine gun. Healy said: “Hands up. Police officers.” 203 COLLINS, John Norman $1,000 from each of them, but now the “law officers” confiscated the rest of their personal fortunes as a payoff for not taking them into custody. Because Collins was fearful of overlooking some of their money, he even had his men take all the victims’ luggage with them to search at their leisure. While he bossed many of these grandiose schemes, Collins could not pass up even the smallest take. For a time, he headed a “punch mob” on Manhattan’s West Side that specialized in looting nickels from pay telephones. One of his extraordinary cons occurred in 1920 during the hunt for a Railway Express agent who had skipped out of his job with $6,000. While police hunted the agent, Dapper Don came across him first. He immediately turned copper and swindled the thief out of his haul in return for letting him go free, appropriating as well the man’s watch, ring and tiepin. While Collins occasionally did time for various capers, he usually beat the rap for his blackmail exploits because his victims refused to testify against him. He retained the Great Mouthpiece, Bill Fallon, to defend him on a number of charges and usually went free. The pair were constant companions on Broadway. According to Gene Fowler in The Great Mouthpiece, when Fallon was asked why he chummed with such a notorious individual, he replied: “Because he is a philosopher as well as the Chesterfield of crime. He performs in a gentlemanly manner. This first bit of philosophy he ever dropped in my company made me laugh and made me like him. We were discussing whether any man is normal; precisely sane; and what sanity consists of. Collins said: ‘Between the ages of sixteen and sixty, no man is entirely sane. The only time any man between those ages is sane is during the first ten minutes after he has concluded the supreme love gesture. Fifteen minutes after, and the old insanity creeps back again’!” Part of his success with the ladies stemmed from his reputation as the biggest spender and fashion plate on Broadway. It cost him plenty. What Collins netted from one gullible but adoring lady one day he might blow the next on another lady. Once Collins set up a Maryland matron and took off to Atlantic City with her. He was then to guide her to Washington for the kill. Instead, he stayed in Atlantic City for a week with her. At the end of that week of bliss, he kissed her good-bye and went to Washington alone. He had four confederates in this operation and had to pay them $350 apiece for a caper that was intended to net a $10,000 profit. In 1924, with the police hunting him for a number of capers, Dapper Don transferred his operations to Europe and seduced several women in Berlin and Paris. Klutas, who had always vowed never to be taken alive, reached under his overcoat for a gun. Healy loosed a burst of machine-gun bullets into the gangster’s chest. Klutas was thrown clear off the bungalow porch to the sidewalk. He was dead, and the College Kidnappers were finished. Collins, Dapper Don (1880–1950) confidence man The archetypal smooth operator who uses his charms to seduce women and defraud them of their wealth, Dapper Don Collins was a notorious rogue who, by his own admission, “could never pass up a score,” large or small. He swindled women by reversing the old badger game, so that they were extorted when he was “arrested” by confederates posing as law officers. The police impersonators would say he was a Mann Act violator or suspected procurer for white slavers. To protect the honor of the woman, usually upper class and perhaps married, he would give the bogus officers all his cash, only to be visibly shaken when they announced it was not enough. The panicky woman, facing sure ruin if the case was publicized, could be counted on to contribute her money, jewelry and furs. Born in Atlanta, Ga. as Robert Arthur Tourbillon, he affected a number of aliases for his various cons but became best known as Dapper Don Collins, because according to his confederates, he was a dandy who could “sweet talk a lady” or anyone else for that matter. He often used a phony police badge and pretended to be a police officer, one who, of course, was always open to a bribe. Dapper Don first arrived in New York around the turn of the century after an unrewarding circus career riding a bicycle around in a cage full of lions. He gravitated to the notorious Broadway poolroom of Curly Bennett, where he befriended most of the metropolitan underworld. Dapper Don soon became a gang leader, forming the first of his blackmail rings for extorting money from women. Besides his various confidence games, he masterminded train robberies and drug-smuggling and alien-smuggling operations and later, with the onset of Prohibition, was a top bootlegger and rumrunner. Collins often used a luxury yacht for rumrunning and bringing in aliens. In one of his more audacious exploits, he once entrapped a society woman aboard the yatch by having phony law enforcement raiders seize him on Mann Act violation for transporting the woman from Connecticut for “illicit purposes.” They shook the woman down for $7,000 in cash and diamonds. Before the raiders left the yacht, they seized three aliens Collins had brought into the country from a ship offshore. Dapper Don had already collected 204 COLOMBO, Joseph, Sr. Mafia boss Joseph Colombo, Sr., holding umbrella, pickets FBI headquarters in 1971 as part of his Italian-American Civil Rights League activities. In the French capital, he took up with Mrs. Helen Petterson, former wife of Otto Young Heyworth, and extracted money from her under a number of ruses. Moreover, during a New Year’s party at the Hotel Majestic, he flipped her out of a third-floor window. She broke her leg in the fall, and Collins was hustled off to prison for that offense and failure to pay his hotel bill. Undaunted, Mrs. Petterson limped from her hospital room at Neuilly to visit Collins, announcing, “We are going to be married.” However, some New York police officers were in France to pick up a suspect in another case and spotted Collins in the prison. They promptly arranged for his extradition to the States on a robbery charge. Dapper Don was brought home in grand style aboard the steamship Paris, sharing a fine stateroom with a New York detective. Passengers knew that one of the two was a crook, but most believed the detective was the guilty party. 205 Back home, Collins beat the rap but later did short stretches on a couple of other charges. Dapper Don then got involved in a liquor-smuggling operation with another top confidence operator, Count Victor Lustig, supplying the notorious Legs Diamond with booze. They worked a label-switching dodge that enabled them to cheat the gangster out of thousands of dollars. Eventually, Diamond found out about the swindle, and the pair had to go into hiding. For a time, Collins left the country again, but in 1929 he came back and was caught swindling a New Jersey farmer out of $30,000. He was sent to prison for three years. When he came out, a lot of the old Dapper Don was gone, as indeed was the pre-Depression era that nurtured him. He was over 50, paunchy around the waist and looking tired, perhaps having lost some of his self-confidence. He told the press he was reforming. That was impossible; he was plain tired. In 1939 Dapper Don, then a drug addict, was far gone, and his COLONEL Plug swindles were petty. Long ago, Collins had learned the danger of going after small potatoes. Unlike big people, little victims scream. He swindled an immigrant woman out of a few hundred dollars by pretending to be an immigration official and threatening to deport her husband. For this unimportant caper Collins drew the longest sentence of his career, 15 to 30 years. The newspapers reported that Dapper Don started off on his train ride up the river as light hearted and debonair as ever. But that was newspaper hyperbole. Collins was old and beat. “The only way I’ll ever come out again,” he told the officer escorting him, “is feet first.” He was right. He died in Attica Prison in June 1950 and was buried in a pauper’s grave. No one attended the funeral. trial in Ann Arbor in 1970. He was convicted and given a life sentence. Collins, Walter (1919–1928) kidnap and murder victim Nine-year-old Walter Collins suffered the sad fate of being kidnapped and murdered by a maniac on March 10, 1928, although his body was not found until the following year. However, it was his widowed mother’s fate rather than that of the unfortunate child’s, that made Walter’s case so bizarre. When Walter disappeared, a nationwide search for him was launched, and some five months later, a boy who looked exactly like him was picked up in Lee, Mass. The boy was a runaway and readily identified himself as the missing Walter Collins. In the period before he was turned over to Mrs. Collins, someone, whose identity was never learned, coached him so that he could pass himself off as Walter. This meant knowing little details that allowed the boy to discuss Walter’s past with relatives and friends. It took Mrs. Collins three weeks to become suspicious that the boy was not Walter. She then measured his height and found he was an inch and a half shorter than her son had been before he disappeared. Convinced she had an impostor on her hands, Mrs. Collins went to the police, demanding that this strange boy be taken away. The police promptly committed the woman to a psychopathic institution for observation. Mrs. Collins was kept there almost a week before doctors became convinced she was sane and released her. Finally, the boy confessed his impersonation. Mrs. Collins sued the authorities who had had her wrongly committed and was awarded $10,800. Collins, John Norman (1947– ) Michigan co-ed murderer For a time it appeared that the murders of seven co-eds in the Ypsilanti area between August 1967 and July 1969 would never be solved. The victims had been shot, strangled or beaten to death and then sexually mutilated. There were no clues, and even the importing of Peter Hurkos, the Dutch “psychic detective,” failed to provide any fruitful leads. With the seventh murder, that of 18-year-old Karen Sue Beckemann, the police had what appeared to be a logical suspect in 22-yearold John Norman Collins, an Eastern Michigan University student and motorcycle enthusiast. Karen Sue had been seen with him shortly before her disappearance, and other students told of hearing things Collins had said that hinted he might be the Michigan co-ed killer. Collins was arrested but soon released because there was no solid evidence against him. Like so many other suspects, he seemed to be just another odd character caught up in the investigation. The eventual case against Collins resulted from a discovery made by a relative, his aunt, Mrs. Dana Loucks. Mr. and Mrs. Loucks had gone away on vacation and let Collins use their home. When they returned, Mrs. Loucks found some dark stains in the basement. She pointed them out to her husband, who was a member of the Ypsilanti police force. The stains proved to be blood, of the same type as that of Karen Sue, who had been killed while the Loucks were away. The police then searched the basement and discovered some male hair clippings, which matched hair clippings found on Karen Sue’s underwear. It developed that Mrs. Loucks cut the hair of her two boys in the basement. Based on the hair clippings, the blood stains and Collins’ admission that he had used the Loucks’ basement during the time they were on vacation, Collins was brought to Colombo, Joseph, Sr. (1914–1978) murdered mafioso There were those in the underworld who said that Joe Colombo, the head of one of the Mafia’s biggest crime families, had to come to a bad end. He was a lightweight in a killers’ world. Colombo’s rise to power had been achieved through neither muscle nor brain power but by the simple expedient of being what was regarded as a “fink.” When Joe Bananas made a powerful push in the 1960s to take over the whole New York Mafia, he planned the murder of the entire top echelon of the crime syndicate’s ruling board. Bananas gave the assignment to his ally Giuseppe Magliocco, who had fallen heir to Joe Profaci’s Brooklyn crime family, and Magliocco in turn ordered his ambitious underboss, Colombo, to carry out the hit contracts. Colombo was probably too frightened to make the hits and also judged Magliocco a sure loser, so instead, he betrayed the plot to the leading would-be New York victims, Carlo Gambino and Tommy Lucchese. Eventu206 COLT, John C. ally, the old guard won the ensuing Banana War, and Colombo was rewarded by being put in charge of the Profaci family. Colombo soon found he had his hands full trying to deal with an insurrection led by the upstart Joey Gallo and his brothers. At the same time, Colombo went off on an illconceived program to improve the image of Italian Americans by forming the Italian-American Civil Rights League. Colombo’s idea was that this organization would make Italian Americans proud of their heritage and that in unity they would be able to fight the authorities’ alleged victimization of them. The league was also intended to fight the Italian gangster stereotype. Other Mafia leaders looked upon Colombo’s efforts with distaste. They had long ago learned that denying the existence of the Mafia was another way of calling attention to it. Ignoring their displeasure, Colombo went ahead with a giant rally on June 29, 1970 at Columbus Circle. It was a smashing success, with 50,000 persons in attendance. And it was too powerful a demonstration to be ignored by the politicians. Even Gov. Nelson Rockefeller accepted honorary membership in the league, despite its Colombo imprint. Joe Colombo came out of it appearing, to himself at least, a hero. He laid new plans for extending the league’s power. Meanwhile, some of Colombo’s lieutenants fretted over the declining revenues of the family while the chief spent ever more time pushing the league instead of minding criminal business. These men approached the other families who were upset by Colombo’s activities, and they agreed that he had become more than a mere tribulation. The leading voice among them was Carlo Gambino, whose life had been saved by Colombo’s finking. Gratitude was one thing and business another. It was decided to let the Gallo forces have a shot at Colombo. Joey Gallo jumped at the chance. The second Unity Day rally of the league was set for June 28, 1971. Gallo knew he and his men could not get close enough to kill Colombo, but he had other sources of strength. Of all the Italian racketeers, Joe Gallo was the only one who had genuine power in the black gangster movement in Harlem. On the morning of the 28th, Joe Colombo showed up early at the rally, as the crowd was just starting to form. A black man, Jerome A. Johnson, wearing a newspaper photographer’s badge neared. When he was within a step of Colombo, he pulled out a pistol and fired three quick shots into the gang leader’s head. Instantly, Colombo’s bodyguards gunned down the assassin. Johnson died on the spot. Colombo did not, but he suffered such brain damage that he turned into a vegetable. He died seven years later in an upstate hospital. See also: BANANA WAR, CRAZY JOE GALLO. Colonel Plug (?–1820?) river pirate With Bully Wilson, Col. Plug was one of the two most important pirates who preyed on boat traffic along the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers. A bewhiskered giant whose real name was Fluger, Col. Plug boasted he had been a colonel in the American Revolution. Plug’s modus operandi was to hide aboard a flatboat that was tied up for the night. When it got going in the morning, he would dig out the caulking between the planks and bore holes in the bottom. Col. Plug would time his work so that the boat would be scuttled opposite his hideout. His gang would row out to the flatboat in skiffs, supposedly coming to the rescue. The only person to be rescued would be Col. Plug, of course, along with the cargo; the crew and passengers would be left to drown, or, if they resisted, to be shot. Col. Plug was active for many years until, according to the legend, he bored too many holes one day and the boat he was sabotaging went to the bottom before Plug could climb out of the hold. At least, so the story was told in pirate circles, presumably accurate since suddenly Col. Plug ceased to be a scourge of the rivers. See also: CAVE-IN-ROCK PIRATES, PIRACY. colonial punishment Punishment for crime tended to be less severe in colonial America than in the countries from which most colonists had come. The New England colonies and the Quaker settlements in West Jersey and Pennsylvania had punishments that in general were less harsh than those used in New York and the South. In New England the main thrust of punishment came in the form of humiliation; thus when Mary Mandame of Plymouth became the supposed first female sex offender in 1639, she was required to wear a badge of shame on her left sleeve. Had she failed to do so, she would have been branded in the face with a hot iron, but the mere threat of this punishment brought compliance in almost all cases. Vagrancy brought punishment in the stocks, while the ducking stool was held ready for the scold. More serious crimes brought stricter penalties. Murder and witchcraft called for hanging, and burglars were branded. The same crime called for far different punishments in various jurisdictions. Theft in New York was punishable by multiple restitution and whipping, but 207 COLT .45 rifle. At 22 John was tall, slim and handsome, with curly blond hair and steel gray eyes. The darling of society, he fancied