Illinois, B-C, 1873-1997, Undated

Online content

To the old man his clocks had been almost human, but even he could not

have realized that they would point accusing hands at his murderer

BY BARRY STEPHANS

MIL LUTWITZ, a gas-meter reader for the Southern Illinois Gas

& Electric Company, paused to peer in the window of an old ram-
bling house on the outskirts of Springfield. For four years the old
clocks which had been crowded into a single room had fascinated him.
There were clocks of every description, ranging all the way from a great
grandfather’s clock down to a fine Egyptian model mounted in the
gaping mouth of a bronze lion’s head. The ponderous pendulum of the
grandfather’s clock swung back and forth so slowly that it always
_seemed about to stop, and the tick-tock sound it made was much louder

than all the others put together.
Three of the clocks reposed on the
mantelpiece above the huge fireplace
while the others were arranged on the
walls and on tables around the room.
All were of the pendulum type and struck
almost in a chorus on the hour and half-
hour. Sometimes Lutwitz found him-
self at the window just as the clocks were
striking and it always amused him to
note their varying chimes, each seeming
to do its utmost to outchime the others.
Thomas Brady, who lived in the house
and owned the clocks, was an expert
mechanic and kept. them in excellent
order..He would spend hours tinkering
with a clock because that was all he had
to do, and kept them so well regula-
ted that there was never more than a
few seconds’ difference in the striking

time. By the time the big grandfather’s ;

clock was through striking the hour of
- eight, for instance, all the other clocks’
would be striking, too.

Often when Lutwitz peered through
the window he would see Brady sitting
before one of his clocks, but on this hot
August morning the old man was no-
where in sight.

‘Brady was something of an eccentric,
but a lovable old man, who found time

to be friendly with everyone. Lutwitz
thought that possibly he had gone to the
little grocery store down the street to
purchase his weekly supply of provisions.

He looked at the old-fashioned time-
pieces and then glanced at his own watch,
for he frequently set it by Brady’s clocks.
By all of them it was exactly eleven, and
another glance at his watch told Lutwitz
that something was wrong. By his watch
it was only a quarter of ten.

He looked again and noted that the pen-
dulum of the great grandfather’s clock
was perpendicular. It wasn’t moving.

QUINTING through the pane he could
see the pendulums of the other clocks.
None of them was moving. All the clocks
had stopped at the hour of eleven on the
dot, which seemed very strange. Common
sense told him. that if all the clocks
were allowed to run down, they wouldn’t
all stop at the same moment. Some would
run longer than the others.
Lutwitz scanned the room. A bright

. beam of sunlight sifted through a cur-

tained window like, a golden finger: It
fell on the faded carpet and picked out
a single object—the pale veined hand of
an old man.

Lutwitz rapped frantically on the win-
dow but the hand' did not stir. A big

_leather chair stood directly behind -the

old man’s body.

He went to the front door and found it
unlocked. It creaked eerily as he pushed
it open, inches at a time. Brady was lying
on the carpet and the floor and corner
walls were smeared with flood.

Closing the door quickly, Lutwitz ran
to the neighboring home of John Ellis.
“Something’s happened to Old Man
Brady!” he announced in a voice that
trembled with emotion. “His clocks have
all stopped and he’s lying on the floor.
There’s a lot of blood all over the wall.”

Chief of Police Wilbur Morris arrived
on the scene twenty minutes later. Ellis
and Lutwitz met him in the yard of the
Brady home.

“He’s right in there,” Lutwitz informed
the Chief.

‘TY’ve known Tom for years,” Ellis
said. “It’s awful.”

“Let’s take a look inside,” Morris cut
him off.

The body was lying in the corner and
Morris asked Ellis to open the shutter
so there would be more light. He knelt
down beside the quiet form for a brief
examination. But one glance was enough
to tell him what had happened. Brady
had been beaten to death with an ax.
The bloodstained instrument of death
had been tossed into the opposite corner,

‘behind the door.

Not wishing to disturb the body until
the coroner arrived, the Chief got to his

- feet.

“Which one of you fellows found him?”
he asked.

“T did,” Lutwitz said. “I came to read

Every corner of the eerie, dim
lighted room was filled with
clocks—and on the floor...

the m*
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the meter this morning. I always set my
watch by his clocks and I noticed they’d
stopped. When I got my face up close to
the window I could see his body lying
before the chair there.”.

Morris looked around at the clocks.

on, “is how these clocks all stopped at
the same time, like they’d all run down.”

“Eleven o’clock, eh? These are all
eight-day clocks. They must have stopped
last night. That would mean the crime
happened day before yesterday,” Morris
deducted quickly.

“But the clocks wouldn’t all stop at
once, on the very same hour,” Lutwitz
pointed out. j :

“I guess you’re right at that,’ Morris
admitted thoughtfully. “That’s strange.”

“Looks like Brady stopped ’em for some
reason or another.”

“Funny thing about it,” Lutwitz went

LLUSTRATION BY OBROSEY

“Or the killer did,” Morris added.
“There must be some reason behind it.
Let’s see if he’s been robbed.”

’ A search through the old man’s pockets
revealed seven dollars in currency and
some small change. It brought forth also
a heavy, silver pocket watch which would
hardly have been overlooked.

“Robbery apparently wasn’t the mo-
tive,” Morris announced. ‘No, it was
something more sinister. Those clocks
mean something, but for the life of me I
can’t figure it out.”

He stood back and surveyed the ancient
timepieces. There were thirteen of them.
“You're right. Those hands wouldn’t all
have stopped at the same time. Somebody
stopped them.” :

Sunlight now poured in and the room
had lost some of its eerieness, yet Morris
felt more keenly (Continued on page 90)

and revivals, hoping it would keep you
straight. At one of these you met a girl
who was a charity worker—girl named
Cora Meredith.” ;

Waller’s eyes flashed for a single un-
guarded second.

“Go on, Jed—do you tell us or do we
tell you?”

“Okay. We met Cora at the mission,
She was a swell girl, and a good looker
in spite of the uniform, She got interested
in us after she found out we'd both done
time. I went out with her a couple of
times—it was all on the level. Then Frank
cut me out. He began seeing her. So I
didn’t figure there was any chance for
me.”

Morris staked everything on the next
question. “How did Frank Bryant learn
that Old Man Brady kept the money he
got from his folks on the real estate deal
in one of his clocks?”

“The old man was showing us the
clocks while we were there to eat one
night,” Waller rattled on. “We pretended
to. be looking at the clocks but Frank
spotted the roll of jack in the clock case.
He said on the way home that someday
he’d go back and stop Old Man Brady's
clock but I thought it was just a joke.”

“And one evening he went back only
to find two other girls from the charity
organization having dinner with the old
man, right? He waited a few weeks and
then he tried it on a quiet Sunday after-
noon in broad daylight. He killed Brady
with the ax and then got the money from
the clock. Go on—what made him stop all
the clocks at eleven, like the clock on the
lodge pennant you brought back from
St. Louis?”

Waller moistened his lips. “Frank was
in such a sweat to get the dough that he

busted the pendulum of the clock. Then .

he was afraid that would tip the cops
what time he’d been there and he couldn’t
alibi, So he figured he’d set the .clock
ahead and that business of the clocks at
the hotel that I’d told him about came to
mind, So he tried to throw the cops off
still more by stopp#mg all the clocks at
eleven.”

“Cora’s in Chicago, isn’t she? Frank’s
with her?”

“Yeah, he’s going to marry her.
They’re probably married already.”

Chief Morris jumped up and signaled
the turnkey to unlock the cell door. He
raced along the corridor to his office
where he sent a telegram. He had Cora
Meredith’s address from the office of her
organization and he lost no time in giving
it to the Chicago police with a request
that they inform her that her fiance was
wanted for murder. He cautioned them,
however, not to allow Sullivan—or
Bryant—to escape.

In Chicago the police went immedi-
ately to the private house where Cora
Meredith lived. While a detail of plain-
clothesmen staked it out, two uniformed
officers entered and were told that Miss
Meredith was in the parlor and that she
had company. The officers shouldered
their way in. The young couple broke
apart, the girl with a gasp at the sight of
the uniforms, the man with a snarl.

“You Frank Bryant? You're under
arrest for the murder of Thomas Brady.”

The girl’s hand flew to her mouth,
stifling a cry of fear. Her arms gripped
the handsome young hoodlum’s shoul;
ders, “Frank! Tell me that’s a lie.”

Without meeting her eyes he shook her
off. “Forget it, kid,” he ‘said from the
corner of his mouth. “Forget all about
it.” Then to the Officers, “Let’s go.”

On the parlor table was a bouquet of

flowers he had brought for the bride.
They were to have been married in a few
hours. On being questioned by police
later Cora stated that she had planned to
marry Bryant, knowing of his past
record, but thinking that she could per-
suade him to reform,

Bryant, returned to Springfield and
confronted with the evidence as well as
the story of his pal, Waller, admitted the
crime and verified Chief Morris’ recon-
struction of it in every.detail. Then he
decided to repudiate his confession and
stand trial. But this was only a stall.

One day an alert police officer heard a
sound coming from the outer door of the
jail where Bryant was confined. It was a
cautious, rhythmic rasp.

Frank Bryant had cut through his cell
door with a hacksaw blade which he had
hidden in the sole Of his shoe and was at-
tacking the bars of the outer door. He
was quickly returned to another cell,
minus the saw.

Jed Waller who had no direct con-
nection with the crime was sent back to
prison to finish his term, his parole
having been revoked by the Illinois board
of pardons and paroles.

At the murder trial the fury did not
take long to return a verdict of guilty.
And on December 18, 1908, four months
after his brutal attack on the defenseless
old man who had befriended him, Frank
Bryant paid for his crime on the scaffold
in 'the yard of Sangamon county jail.

Chief Wilbur Morris, who had prac-
tically pulled a solution out of thin air,
had the satisfaction of filing with the
closed cases the strange riddle of the 13
clocks.

(To protect the identities of persons innocently
involved in a murder investigation, the names
Jed Waller, Cora Meredith and Len Ollard as
used in the story are not real but fictitious.—Ed)

Mystery of Mission Mountain

Feather’s truck parked on the road be-
tween the tavern and the academy on the
night Old Vic had disappeared. A mys-
terious woman had been seen fleeing from
the truck. Sixteen months later, Stryker’s
bones had been found on George Eagle
Feather’s allotment.

The habits of the murdered man were
well known. As a rule he left the tavern
between 8:30 and 9 o'clock. The night of
his disappearance had been no exception
to this rule. Had the mystery woman been
waiting for him on the lonely academy
road? It looked very much that way. The
sheriff hoped the Indian would do some
further and much straighter talking.

But George Eagle Feather did no fur-
ther talking. Sheriff Taulbee told what
he had learned. The Indian listened with
stoic indifference, saying only, “I told you
that I was in Polson that night.”

“Our witness is no liar,” Taulbee said.
“Tf he says he saw your truck on the
road that night he saw it—and that’s what
he says.”

“IT am cafling no man a liar. I say I
was in Polson and I was in Polson,” the
Indian repeated.

“Did you drive your truck there?”

“IT did not drive my truck to Polson.”

“Look, George,” Taulbee said, “you are
in a jam. You should be able to see that.
You know something—that’s evident. If

you didn’t kill Stryker, you’ve got a good ©

idea who did. If you are trying, to protect
somebody else, you’re making a big mis-
take. You had better do some talking.”

[Continued from page 77]

George Eagle Feather shrugged and
calmly started building a brown paper
cigaret. His dismissal of the sheriff was
apparent and Taulbee saw in this a long
and hard investigation.

He said to his deputies, “There is one
other thing—a thing I’ve thought about
several times—and that’s Old Vic’s dog.
He hung around outside John Hedge-
cock’s house for a long time after Stryker
disappeared.”

“He hung around outside the tavern
also,” West said. “And sometimes he went
out to the academy for'a day or two.”

“I know all that,” Taulbee admitted,
“and to me that means he was looking for
his master in the places he was most used
to seeing him.”

“If Old Vic Stryker was picked up on
the road close to Hedgecock’s that might
account for the dog being seen around
Hedgecock’s house after Vic was killed.”
Deputy West argued. “The dog might
have been beating the brush when Stryker

was picked up and when he got back to.

the road, he couldn’t pick up the trail be-
cause the trail ended when Stryker got
into the truck. So the dog was puzzled
and he just waited at the nearest house,
waiting for his master to come back. Does
that make sense to you?”

“It makes sense enough,” Taulbee said,
“but let’s see Hedgecock—see if by any
chance he was home that night. We’ve got
to get something from somebody.”

John Hedgecock, another bachelor, was
located without difficulty on the Flathead

“Reservation late that afternoon. He said

that he had not been at his home on Fri-
day night, the fifth of April, 1940—or any
other Friday night for a number of years.

“Did Stryker ever visit you when you
were home?” Taulbee asked.

Hedgecock shook his head. “He never
did,” he said. “I knew Old Vic of course
and sometimes when I was home and he
passed on his way to the academy he’d
stop and we'd talk a little but he was
never inside my house. At least he was
never there that I know anything about.”

“Did you know his dog?”

John Hedgecock nodded. “I know
what you're getting at now,” he said.
“After Old Vic turned up missing that
dog of his hung around my place for
about a month, I don’t know why. He
just hung around, watching the house,
and every time I’d open the door he’d
wag his tail, then he’d look disappointed
when he saw me.”

The sheriff checked with the reservation
officials and learned that John Hedge-
cock’s account was true in every detail.

Disappointed in this lead, they went
to the home of the neighbor whose
brother had told them of seeing the
truck. He was not there but his wife was.
She knew nothing about what had hap-
pened that Friday night, she said, and her
brother-in-law had not mentioned seeing
George Eagle Feather's truck parked
near Hedgecock’s nor had he said any-
thing about the mysterious woman who
ran into the brush. :

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(Continued from page 35)

than ever a note of something strange and
bizarre. He turned to Ellis. “How long have
you known Brady?”

“Ever since I’ve lived in this neighbor-
hood. That’s about six years, near as I can
remember.”

“And he always kept these clocks run-
ning?”

“Every day. There’s never been a time
I can recall when they weren’t running.
Oh, he might be tinkering on one or two,
and those wouldn’t be running, of course,
but the others would be. He always kept
them in perfect order.”

“Where'd he get all of them?”

“Oh, here and there. A long time ago he
used to be a watch repairman and keeping
these old clocks running was his hobby.
He’d picked them up everywhere. I re-
member the day he brought that grand-
father’s clock in. It was five years ago
this Christmas. I helped him carry it in.
It came from the Smith home up on the
hill—that old place they tore down. Tom
bought it for twenty dollars. He said the
clocks kept him from being lonesome.”

“You don’t think Brady would have
stopped them for any reason, do you?”

“No, I can’t imagine him doing that. He
liked to keep them all going. He’d sit here

and listen to ‘em and if one didn’t tick just
right he’d tear it down and find out why.”

“When did you see the old man last?”

“J was over here day before yesterday at
noontime and he was okay then. He called
to me when I came home for lunch. Said
he wanted me to write a letter for him.
Lately his hand had been sort of shaky and
he didn’t write any too well. I’ve written
several letters for him in the past three or
four months.”

“That was Saturday. Had you seen him
since?”

“No, I didn’t. Yesterday, Sunday, we all
went to church and in the afternoon over
to my brother’s place. I didn’t notice his
light when we came home last night. He
always wound his clocks on Sunday night.
By winding them once a week, on the same
day, there was never any variance in the
time. They’d all run alike.”

The Chief was thoughtful for a few mo-
ments. “Then ordinarily he’d have wound
them last night. If my experience with
eight-day clocks means anything, they
wouldn’t all have run down so soon. Some
would still be ticking, even though they
hadn’t been wound. I’ve known these
eight-day clocks to run ten days or more.”

“Even if they did all run down, they
wouldn’t stop at the same hour,” Ellis again
insisted.

Having heard of the murder, the coroner
arrived a short time later. He said Brady
had been dead from twenty-four to thirty-
six hours. Death had been caused by sev-
eral blows on the head. The old man ap-
parently had been reading a newspaper
when it happened. He had got up from
the chair, probably as his slayer ap-
proached, or came through the door, and

“Make the first cup steaming hot and they haven't got time for a second cup!"

had retreated into the corner as the ax

blows fell.

There was much mystery about the crime,
but there was no mystery about Brady’s
life. He was seventy-nine and had been a
familiar figure about his neighborhood for
years. He had always dressed in thread-
bare black and although his clothes became
shiny from constant use he kept them
pressed and was always neat. Sometimes
he wore an old stove-pipe hat, which also
had become shiny, but mostly he went about
the streets bareheaded. He wore whiskers
extending from ear to ear around the chin,
but with the upper part of his face clean
shaven. The neighbors called them Puri-
tan whiskers. He was about six feet tall
and was a Well-known character around
the post office where he met his old cronies.
Although looked upon as eccentric, he had
nevertheless managed to retain a certain
dignity which everyone respected.

There was little about his life unknown
to his neighbors and friends. He was a
churchman but did not go to extremes
about his religion. In recent years he had
become interested in evangelism and had
declared that were it not for his advanced
years he would take up revivalist preach-
ing, for he believed that was the only way
to awaken people to the need of God.

The old Brady home, where he had lived
as a boy, had finally passed on to him fol-
lowing the death of his sister. Having
followed the carpenter trade he eventually
found he could no longer work because of
a slight heart ailment brought on by his
advancing years, so he had continued to
live in the old house. The bank had fore-
closed on a mortgage contracted at the time
of hi& sister’s death. This mortgage had
covered the Brady home and some property
in the business district. The estate finally
was settled by the banks taking over the
downtown property, from which Brady was
to receive a small income for life, and he
retained the home. Thereafter he had be-
gun: collecting clocks. Many of them he
repaired and sold, which increased his
meager income. But the most unique and
the oldest ones he kept for himself.

Chief Morris was as well acquainted with
Brady’s life as anyone, except that he hadn’t
known about the thirteen clocks. And hav-
ing gone as far as he could with his inves-
tigation, for the time being at least, he
closed the house and went down to the post
office where he met Lemuel Tulliver and
Mat Gerke, two of Brady’s old cronies.

Both were shocked to hear of the crime,
but they could offer little information the
Chief did not already have. They did re-
veal one thing, however. Brady’s heart
condition had been on the mend and lately
his health had been extremely good, so
that he was much spryer than he had been
for years. He had sufficient strength to
have defended himself against any ordinary
man, Tulliver asserted.

Gerke said Brady had ascribed his im-
provement in health to his strengthened
faith and had given liberally of hs ~cest
means to missions and various religious
charities. On one occasion, Tulliver re-
vealed, he had donated $200 to a home for
the aged.

“Why,” Gerke said, “I’ve seen him put
a five-dollar bill in the tambourine at a-
meeting of the Salvation Army. If this
country had more men like him, who have
little themselves perhaps but realize there
are others who have less, this would be a
much better world to live in.”

From the post office Morris went a few
blocks up the street to interview the attor-
ney who had served as Brady’s counsel dur-
ing the foreclosure proceedings, and from
there he sought out other friends. But it
was always the same story. No one knew
any reason on earth why anyone should
want to kill Old Man Brady. He had no
riches to speak of. for he gave away his

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Johnson County

Genealogical and
Historical Society

ILLINOIS

JOURNAL

Oldest Continuously
Used Courthouse in
Illinois — Built 1871

Volume 1

January 1997

Number 1

Johnson County — How Big Was It ?

We have had several persons ask us about the formation
of Johnson County—How big was it in past years? When
was it formed? What was it called before it was “Johnson”
County?

Today Johnson County is
contained within an area ap-
proximately 36 miles east and
west by 37/2 north and south.

In 1784, the area was un-
der the control of the state of Johnson
Virginia. In that year, it was County
surrendered to the new United in
States. In 1787, by an act of 1997

the government of the territory

al the pig sates the area
own as the “Northwest Ter-

ritory” was formed. Its area Lom

included what is now the

states of Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Michigan and part of Wis-

consin.

In the year 1790, two counties were formed—St. Clair
and Knox. The former was on the west of a line that ran
from Massac Creek, just east of Fort Massac, running north
by northwest to the Illinois River at mid-point of the now
county of Peoria. Knox County included all that part that
was east of the line, including all of the now states of Indi-
ana, Michigan and Ohio, plus the part of Wisconsin in-
cluded earlier and all area north of the Illinois River.

The line effectively
divided the area of
the current Johnson
County. The eastern
part, including the
area of current towns
of New Burnside,
Grantsburg, Simp-
son and Ozark were
in Knox County, In-

diana Territory, while the remainder of current Johnson
County was in St. Clair County.

In October 1795, the southern part of St. Clair County
was set apart as a new county named “Randolph.” The di-
viding line ran east and west approximately one mile south
of the current Randolph County line. The eastern part of
what is now Johnson County remained in Knox County
while the western part was in the new county of Randolph.

In 1801, the “Indiana Territory” was formed and in-
cluded the area that is now Illinois. The boundary lines of
the three counties of St. Clair, Knox and Randolph changed.
The western line of Knox County began at Cave-In-Rock,
running north to the east-west line that formed the northern
boundary of Randolph County, which was subsequently ex-
tended eastward to that line.

The enlarged county of Randolph, in 1801, included
the current counties or parts of counties of Randolph, Perry,
south Jefferson, Franklin, Hamilton, White, Jackson,
Williamson, Saline, Gallatin, Union, Johnson, Pope, west-
ern Hardin, Alexander, Pulaski and Massac.

The northern boundary of Randolph County changed
again in 1803 to include more area; and in 1809, it moved

(continued on page 2)

Also Included in This Issue

1876 Johnson County Map Offer
Rediscovered Cemetery Update
Bridges/Dunn Family Bible Records
Illinois Pioneers in 1835
Importance of Genealogy
Beginning Genealogy Suggestions
Ancestor Chart for Beginners

Johnson County — continued

eastward to include the remaining area of what is now IIli-
nois. In that year, Illinois was set apart from the Indiana
Territory and was known as “Illinois Territory.”

In that time, there were five major waterways that
formed natural boundaries and one road which was impor-
tant to land divisions. The waterways were the Mississippi,

eee

om commer mm ah

Ohio, Big Muddy and Cache Rivers, along with the Lusk
Creek in the Pope County area. The road which formed a
boundary was the “Miles Trace.” The “Trace” (using to-
day’s landmarks) began at Elizabethtown, running north-
west to the head waters of Lusk Creek, then into Williamson
County, passing just north of Marion where it ran west and
then again northwest where it crossed the Williamson-
Jackson County lines at about the Big Muddy River, contin-
uing on northwest then west to the Mississippi River.

By proclamation, on 14 September 1812, Governor
Ninian Edwards formed three new counties. Johnson being
one, while Gallatin and Madison were the other two.

The boundaries of Johnson County began at the mouth
of Lusk Creek, at the Ohio River, on the north side of Gol-
conda. It followed the creek to where its headwaters and the
Miles Trace joined. The boundary then followed the trace
to where it crossed the Big Muddy River, following its
course to the Mississippi River. The other boundaries were
the Mississippi and Ohio Rivers.

The area of the new

county of Johnson (noted
on the map at left) in 1812
included all or parts of the
counties of Jackson,
Union, Alexander, Pu-
laski, Williamson, John-
son, Saline, Pope and
Massac.

Also included in its area
are the towns which now

exist of Carbondale, Mar-

ion, Golconda, Metropo-
lis, Anna-Jonesboro, Vienna, Cairo, and all those towns
within the area surrounded by these towns.

Randolph County bordered on the northwest at the Big
Muddy River while Gallatin County bordered on the north
and east at the Miles Trace and Lusk Creek.

January 10, 1816 brought the formation of Jackson and
Pope Counties. and the redrawing of the boundary lines of
Johnson County.

The north boundary line of Johnson County, in 1816,
ran along the current north line of both Johnson and Union
Counties. The east boundary line between Pope and John-
son ran through the north-south line that forms the bound-
ary between survey ranges three and four east as noted on

the map below. This placed the current Johnson County
Townships of Burnside, Simpson and Grantsburg in Pope
County. Also included in the new county of Pope, that are
now in Johnson, are the towns of Grantsburg, Simpson,
Ozark, and New Burnside.

1816
Johnson County

The 1816 boundaries remained until 1818 when Illinois
became a state. On January 2 of that year, previous to the
date of statehood of Illinois, the eastern boundary of John-
son County was moved eastward to its present location.
This placed the eastern three townships, that were previ-
ously in Pope County, under the control of Johnson County.

Union County was formed in 1818, with its present di-
viding line with Johnson County. The Johnson-Union
County lines extended south to the Ohio River.

1818
Johnson County

The area of Johnson County in 1818, included all its
present size plus that which lies directly south to the Ohio
River. Fort Massac was on the east of the boundary line,
while present day Metropolis was in Johnson County. _

Alexander County was formed on 4 March 1819 to in-
clude all that area south of the present Union County line
that was not included in Johnson County; thus giving John-
son County a new neighbor to the southwest. Williamson
County was formed from Franklin County which had been
our northern neighbors.

Johnson County remained the same as the map above
notes until 8 February 1843 when Massac County took its
present form leaving Johnson with its present area plus that
part of present Pulaski that was not included in Alexander
County. On 3 March of that year, Pulaski became a county
with its present size and area. This left Johnson County at
its present size and area.

Elvira was the first appointed seat of Justice in Johnson
County in 1812. Elvira was in the approximate center of its
geographical area at that time. When the boundaries
changed , Elvira, the county seat, was no longer in the cen-
ter of the county. Vienna was chosen as the approximate
geographical center of the county as it appeared in 1818.
This places the county seat slightly south of its present geo-
graphical center as it is today with no attempt to adjust its
seat of Justice since that date.

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Current Boundary Map of Johnson County

Map Offer

1876 Map of Johnson County
from Illinois Atlas

We have recently obtained several copies of the 1876
map of Johnson County. This map was made before most
of the current towns of the county were established. It is
excellent in quality and contains a wealth of information on
the county at an earlier time.

Printed on 11x17 card stock, this reproduction will
make an excellent wall display and conversation piece.

See our book offer sales list to order this map — a great
deal at only $1.00 plus postage.

Rediscovered Cemetery Update

In our last issue, we made note of a cemetery in section
25 of Cache Township that was recently re-discovered. At
that time, we referred to it as the “Jones-Hunter” Cemetery.

In checking the Honor Roll of Johnson County Veter-
ans, we found that Alexander Hunter (buried there) was
listed as being buried in the “Prevet” Cemetery. One of our
members, Ruth Ann Sistler, pointed this out to us also.

We are almost certain that the name “Prevet” is not cor-
rect. The Honor Roll mentioned has errors and we believe
this is one of them.

Two possibilities exist. The cemetery was previously
known as “Pruet” of was listed in records as “Private” when
the Honor Roll missinterpreted the name. Names written in
cursive script are easily miss-read.

We will be checking land records to find all previous
owners to this property and surrounding properties. Census
records reveal that persons named “Pruet” lived nearby but
we are uncertain if they had any connection to the cemetery.

Information regarding this cemetery is welcomed as we
investigate this mystery.

Premiere Issue of Heritage Journal

Johnson County Genealogical and Historical Society is
beginning a new era with this “Premiere Issue” of the Her-
itage Journal—a new publication with a new concept for a
growing and enlivened Society.

In the past, the Society has published only one periodi-
cal, the Echoes From Elvira. Published monthly in the be-
ginning, it was changed to bi-monthly last year. We felt
that with the Society’s new era of outreach, that two publi-
cations were warranted. Both the Heritage Journal and the
Echoes From Elvira will be published monthly beginning
with this issue.

Echoes will be a much abbreviated version of the old
periodical, containing news of the Society. The Heritage
Journal will dedicate itself to recording the history and ge-
nealogy of Johnson County.

In 1925, Mrs. P.T. Chapman published the first history
of our county, entitled A History of Johnson County. Since
that time (71 years), no organized effort has been made to
continue her work. The Heritage Journal will pick up
where Mrs. Chapman stopped her work, plus include items
of history and genealogy that were not included in her book
or that were not thoroughly discussed.

As this new era of the Society begins, we will bring to
the public, the opportunity to involve themselves in the
recording of the history and genealogy of Johnson County.
Beginning with this issue, a course for beginners in geneal-
ogy will be presented and continue through the year. It is
our hope that this will invigorate or instigate an interest in
our citizens to record the history of their personal families.

JCGHS has declared itself to be the custodian of the
history and genealogy of Johnson County and will so con-
duct itself. JCGHS is the only organized, state chartered,
non-profit organization dedicated to this responsibility.

Future issues of this publication will include, as space
allows, articles that will light the fires of curiosity in our
young and old alike. It will bring nostalgic remembrances
of times gone by and present itself as a forum for all the
people, all the time. We will discuss “Our Cultural Her-
itage,” along with helpful hints for those seeking their own
family roots.

Members of JCGHS, who read our publications and
contribute articles, live on the east coast, west coast and
even Canada. These are persons who have roots in Johnson
County and we value them dearly. This Society is dedicated
to those who live in far away places and to those who live
within minutes of our own homes. Wherever our members
find themselves, this Society considers you our “Johnson
County Cousins.”

Ed Annable—Editor and Publisher

Received also....

....a news clipping from Ann Laird on the 50th anniversary
celebration oF the 1912-13 Greenbriar School in Cache
Township. The article contains a photo of the 1912-13 class
and a photo of the students at the anniversary. We need an
original photo of each of these if anyone knows where we
can obtain them. All photos will be copied and returned to
the owners. We will publish when we locate these.

Genealogical Queries

All persons responding to queries will address their
mail to the Society at Johnson County Genealogical and
Historical Society (or JCGHS) — PO Box 1207 — Vienna,
IL 62995. Please note which query you are responding to
by using the name of the individual listed. We will forward
your information on to the person placing the query.

Seeking information on the family of Simmons.

Richard N. Simmons married Rebecca Morris on 7 April
1842 in Johnson County. Richard N. Simmons died on 1
March 1868. Rebecca Morris/Morse died on 29 Decem-
ber ee Any information on these persons will be appre-
ciated.

@ Mrs. Elizabeth Marsh — Maryland.

Seeking information on the families of Pirtle, Moss and
Cummins. Am especially interested in a D. Pirtle who
married Westly White Ca 1880.

e Virginia Mansker — Illinois.

Seeking information on the parents of Henry Vaughn who
married Lucy A. Wright on 27 December 1872 in Johnson
County.

@ Ann Laird — Illinois.

Researching family of Williams. Any info will be appreci-
ated.
e Peggy Walker — Illinois.

Researching the following families: Pearce, Cook, Hun-
saker and Jones.
@ Thelma L. Lunsford — Illinois.

Seeking information on the families of Reuben Lewis (aka:
Kilabrew Lewis) born in Wales, who married Sarah Bayes
in October 1849 in Union County, IL, Sarah Bayes was
born in 1802 in SC(?). Reuben Kilabrew Lewis was born
in Wales. Have found documents listing him as Kilabrew.
His Lewis clan moved from Wales to the Isle of Man due to
a clan dispute. He was educated in Holland and worked for
the Dutch Indies Trading Company. He jumped ship in
New York to enter the US. He stayed in NY for a while with
some of his family. He next shows up in Southern Illinois.
The only records found to show he was alive are listings of
his marriage to Sarah Bayes in 1849 and his purchase of
land in Franklin Co. IL in 1853. Kilabrew and Sarah had
a son, James Madison Lewis in July 1852 in Union Co. IL.
Kilabrew worked as a farmer in Vienna, IL and for the rail-
road as a surveyor. It is known that he was contracted to
help build the IC Railroad from Cairo to Carbondale. Three
days after he was paid for his work on this job, he disap-
peat His horse was found. About 10 years later a store
‘ped from Vienna, who knew him, says that he saw a man
in San Diego who looked like Kilabrew, but the man ran
away when he was approached. Sometime later, his son
: aines received a letter from Kilabrew inviting him to Cali-
ornia.

Sarah Bayes/Bays was listed on the marriage record
and in the 1850 census of Union Co. IL. She was noted as
being 48 years old with three males (David, Francis,
James) living with her. It has been stated by an older rela-
tive that Sarah lived with James for a long time after Ki-
labrew left, then married a professor at the university (SIU)
late in her life.

Reuben Kilabrew and Sarah’s son James had a farm
near Alto Pass, IL on Cedar Creek sometime around the

Depression. James and his wife, Nancy, moved to Granite

City and are both buried at St. John’s Cemetery there.
Nancy Ann (Harris) Lewis was born in Jackson Co. IL

on 1 August 1858/59. Parents: Jesse & Elizabeth

(Hancock) Lewis. Elizabeth born in IL.

@ Ted Lewis — Utah.

Please try to keep queries as short as possible and be as
specific as possible. All queries are free of charge. Queries
concerning Johnson County history are also welcome.

Family Bible Record

We have received another Family Bible Record. One of
our members, Martha Dever Pullium, sent this to us. The
Bible is in her possession. She notes that it is the record of
Benjamin Franklin & Cynthia Alice BRIDGES DUNN

family of Johnson County.
The Bible is The Self-Pronouncing Sunday School

Teachers’ Bible, copyright 1895, by J.R. Jones.

Page one of record:
Presented to Mrs. Adline Bridges by Alfred Bridges,
Charles Bridges, Logan Bridges and Earl Horn.

Page two:
Mrs. Alice Dunn

Page three—Family Register, Parents’ Names:
Husband: Calvin Bridges, born: April 5, 1831,
died: Sept. 10, 1874, age 43 yrs 53m 5 da
Wife: Adaline Bridges, born: June 26th 1826,
died: Dec 8th, 1904, age 78 yrs 5 mo 12 da

Page four—Children’s Names:
James Bridges
George Bridges
Elizabeth Ann Bridges
Alfred Bridges
Young Bridges
Alice Bridges
Logan Bridges
Frank Bridges
Charlie Bridges
Calvin Bridges
Edith Bridges
[Ira/Iva] Bridges

Page five—Marriages:
Frank Dunn married to Alice Bridges [1884]
Frank Dunn born [????]
Alice Dunn born Apr 26 [18??]
Otis Dunn born [???] 27th [18??]
Ward and Walter Dunn born February 24th 1889
Radie and Sadie Dunn born January 25th 1893*
*The number 4 is written above 3 in 1893.

Page six:
Levi Dunn born Oct 8, 1832, died March 20, 1882
M.E. Dunn born March 25, 1838, died Aug. 14, 1902

JCGHS Wishes You a Happy New Year

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348 The Chicago Crime Book

work. If I don’t the company and the neighbors wilk be here
asking questions.’ ’ Carpenter eyed the truck driver and then
said slowly, “Go ahead, but don’t forget your wife and kids
are here with me. I wouldn’t do anything foolish if I were
you. Understand?”

Powell nodded and left at six-thirty. He was hoping that

Carpenter would leave that night and knew he could not get
far before the police were informed. During his lunch break
the truck driver phoned his home to hear his wife y all was
well.
_. Carpenter slept.a few hours during the day and then had a
meal. Afterwards he shaved off his moustache. He could see
that Mrs. Powell was terrified of him and knew he was safe.
When her mother called that afternoon Carpenter hid in the
children’s bedroom until she had gone.

Powell returned from work tense and anxious and Car-
penter grabbed his newspaper to read the “‘latest news’ about
himself. He fully realized his danger and said, “I can't leave
here for at least two days. I won't trouble vou at all unless
you become awkward and Ili send you some money later to
make up for my stay here.”

Mrs. Powell got dinner ready, and because the children
were shy about eating in front of a stranger the gunman took
his plate of hamburgers and vegetables into the front room.
Over their méal Powell and his wife held a whispered conver-
sation and then the truck driver joined the intruder in the
other room. He told him that every evening his wife and the
kids were accustomed to going downstairs to sit in front of the
house with her parents and that it would be as well if they

=
went that night. Carpenter shrugged his shoulders and said it »

would be all right for them to do so. a
Some little time after they had Jeft Powel! told the gunman
that he had remembered that he had a business deal to talk
ever with his father-in-law and that if she didn’t go down
sane old man would certainly come up. - oe es
“Make it APP Y: . ee Carpenter. “ cn ome bark

Mama's Boy 7 : 349

here in ten minutes, and don’t forget your wife and kids

down there on the porch are in gun range.”

Once out of his apartment Powell tore down the back

Stairs, got out into the back and signalled to his wife to take

the children and her parents to safety. Mrs. Powell had

expected him and she was ready and knew what to do. Powell
_raced down the street and as he went he yelled to the

children he saw playing, “Get out of here quick and into
your homes. There’s a gunman about.”

We received Powell’s telephone call that evening exactly at
one minute after nine o’clock. Frank O'Sullivan, Deputy

Chief of Detectives, said to him, “Sit tight, we’re on our

way.’ Radio messages were immediately issued to thirty
police cars and they began to converge on the Powell apart-
ment. A few minutes later I heard aes Micklas calling:

“Carpenter . . . Carpenter: . . . Come’ out ‘with your
hands in the air. We've got you covered. You haven't a
chance.”

Carpenter appeared at a window, fired a Bie at the caller,

and then ducked out of view.

Micklas shouted to the people in the building to lie on the
floor for safety as the police were going to shoot it out with

the gunman. By now there must have been at least 2,000

spectators in the streets, and again Carpenter pulled a fast
one. From one of the rooms of the Powell apartment he

jumped into an open window of an adjacent building, four
feet away. He cut his hands and face and trod on the prone
occupants of the room, who were too scared to move. He
raced out of the apartment, up the stairs to another, the decr

of which had been left open when its family fled to safety.

The gunman took a peek out of the window to see what
as- happening and at once a fusiilade of police shots
shattered the glass and woodwork. Within a few. seconds |
squad officers were in the building and they. found Sree
the’ floor of the room. “‘It’ s ROL me you want,’ he said, '
here. 2 :

> ©

346 The Chicago Crime Book

apn

Carpenter held a gun in his hand, the one he had taken — |

from Policeman Bosacki in the tavern four months before.

Mrs. Powell heard voices and came into the kitchen. Her
husband said quietly and simply, “Darling, don’t get excited.
This man is Carpenter and he says that if we do as he asks he
won't shoot and no harm will come to us. Don’t scream.”

Bobby turned up the television set in the living-room.
Carpenter heard the voices, ‘Who else is here?”

“Just our two children. Bobby is watching TV but he will
soon come to say good night. Why don’t you put your gun
away and we will*tell him you are a friend, just a little under
the weather. He will believe it and cause no trouble. If you
scare him, he may cry and yell.”

When Bobby came in, Carpenter kept the gum qut of sight
and spoke slowly and drunkenly. Bobby suspected nothing
when he left for bed.

Carpenter asked for a glass of water and drank a second
one. He ordered Mrs. Powell to give him a bandage for his
leg. Powell offered: to go to the drug store to buy antiseptics
but was told to stay—“‘or else.”’

Carpenter then undressed and bound up his wounded
thigh. Kerr’s first bullet had gone through the flesh but the
second had hardly scratched him. He got Mrs. Powell to
prepare toast and coffee, but ate very little.

As the gunman and the Powells sat in the living-room
watching television, the program was interrupted to bring
bulletins about Carpenter’s latest exploit. The newscasts
mentioned the case in detail. Carpenter grinned wolfishly.

@Powell was a sturdy truck driver, six feet four inches, and

weighing a good sixty pounds heavier than Carpenter. As if °

the killer had a radar mind, he sensed Powell's thoughts and
said, menacingly, “Don’t try it. Think of your wife and kids.”

Carpenter was on guard, though he was tired. Finally
Powell suggested the lights should be turned off in order to
avoid suspicion among the neighbors. Carpenter told him-to

Mama's Boy 347

draw the venetian blinds and shades—and soon the room
became like an oven.

Police cars were searching the neighborhood and _ their
sirens could be heard in the distance. ‘I guess you don’t think
much of me,” said Carpenter as if talking to himself. “I just
want you to know, I was not the first to shoot, but I don’t
care anything about it anyway.”

He listened intently to the television news to find out if
Kerr still lived. Then he went on talking. ‘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. Either the cops will kill me or I'll go to the chair, but I
hope I can see my mother before I die.”

The truck driver tried to be friendly: “I think you could
be a nice fellow, and I am sorry you are in such a terrible
mess.” :

It was the right psychology to use. Carpenter loved sym-
pathy and at once eased up, exclaiming “I'jl stay here tonight
and tomorrow night as weil. Then, when it’s dark, I'l] make a
move. Ihe cops will have gone by then. ‘They’!! be looking
for me in some other place.”

Carpenter wanted to sleep on the floor of the children’s
bedroom, and, with wicked emphasis, said the youngsters
would then be his hostages. Mrs. Powell, though, with a
mother’s desperation, pleaded with the gunman and said that

if her little girl awoke and saw a stranger in the room she

would certainly scream in terror. The young hoodlum recog-
nized the sense of this, and so the Powells and the intruder

_ Spent a miserable enclosed night together in an airless room

which became hotter as the hours went by.

Carpenter kept his gun in hand. He had washed the blood

-from his underwear and slacks and had wrapped a towel
round him. He sat in a chair sleepily watchful, with his face
- drawn and fiercely fighting the urge to close his eyes.

Early next morning Powell said to him, “I have to go to

Os,

en.

CARPENTER, Richard, Illinois

pT awe

THE DESPERATE
HOURS |

He’d killed one cop and wounded another. Now he was trapped in the middle of
Chicago’s biggest dragnet. Wild-eyed, he barged in on a little family, swore

he’d kill them all if they didn’t hide him. Thus began the desperate hours. .. .

eee oe

setae ener ome

The Powells: For 23 hours they lived in terror, a killer and his revolver never more than a few short feet away.

TNETNE PMP ;
INSIDE DETECTIVE, November, 1955

by P

CHICAC

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‘350 The Chicago Crime Book

He was hustled down the stairs and even tried to dull his
gun, but this time there was nothing doing. As he was taken
out into the street, pinioned and struggling still, the crowd
surged forward yelling, “Kill the murderous rat.”

We bundled him into a police car and a few minutes later
he was in the charge room being searched. His possessions:
Two guns, six .38 cartridges, a packet of aspirins, wrist watch,
five keys, two five-dollar bills and eighty cents in change.

At his trial Carpenter was carried into court with his legs
and hands strapped and a thick leather restraint fastened to
his belt. He looked a sorry sight, unshaven, uncombed and
wearing an ill-fittimg jail fatigue uniform. During the hear-
ing he carried on a conversation with a woman relative. It
was garbled and made little sense, but the State prosecutor
asserted that he was legally sane and called a number of
psychiatrists to prove that he knew right from wrong and was
capable of co-operating with his counsel.

Nobody was surprised when Richard D. Carpenter, mama’s
boy and cop-killer, was sentenced to die on March 16th, 1956,
in the electric chair for the murder of Detective William
Murphy.

LeRoy F. McHugh e THE

-PEACOCK
CASE

THE PEACOCK murder case
created more than average interest in Chicago, for good reason.
Adl the ingredients of a superb murder mystery were. present—
mysterious phone calls; a victim with a past that was too spotless;
and hints of women in the good doctor’s sogal life.

Mr. McHugh tells a corking story, and we follow the twists and
“kickers” as the scents and false scents are run down. The case,
to this editor, possesses the peculiar qualities often found in
Chicago crime—inventiveness, daring, and crass and brutal
stupidity.

A veteran newspaperman, now retired, Mr. McHugh in the
old days labored in the press room on the third floor in the City
Hall on Randolph Street in the Loop. Smal] and witty, perhaps
the most beloved journalist in Chicago newspaper history, he was
voted the ig65 Chicago Press Veteran of the Year by the Chicago
Press Veterans Association.

A friend of the greats of a bygone journalistic era, McHugh
was the McCue in Ben Hecht’s and Charles MacArthur's popular
play, “The Front Page.” These two rollicking authors gave Me-
Cue (McHugh) the superb opening gambit of the big-hit drama,

_ with McCue on the phone, saying: “Is this the home of Mrs. F. D.
Margolis? . . . This is Mr. McCue of the City News Bureau .. .-

Is it true, Madame, that you were the victim of a Peeping Tom?
-.,: Now that ain't the right attitude to take, Madame. All we
-want is the facts. | mean, for instance, would you. say he iooked

=" Tike a college professor? . . . Just a minute, Madame, Is it true,
_. Mrs. Margolis, that you toak the part of Pocohanias in the Elks’
Pageant seven years ago? . . . (To the others.) She hung up.”
~~" Unlike “The From: Page,” “The Peacock Case” was no comedy.

The little Milquetoast of a man got.
halfway out of his chair. His eyes:

widened, and his breath began to come
in quick pants. “Where'd you hear
that?” he whispered. “Where? Did
they tell you that?”

“Did who ‘tell- me?” The post-
master’s eyes_ narrowed.

“The women. Paula’s relatives. Did
they write you”

“No, they wouldn't. . .” The post-
master paused slightly embarrased.
“But Paula’s diamonds and, ah, her
estate. It’s, ah, none of “ business,
but that left you quite a bit, I hear.”

Frank Craig turned and looked out
the window. “Did it?” he whispered,

his hands gripping ‘the table. “Did it?
I ain’t got it. I-ain’t got ‘the diamonds,
or money or anything. I don’t know if
they're mine or not. They won't tell
me, and I can’t find out. I-don’t know
when I'll know. Maybe never. Maybe

they'll never tell me. ‘Do you think ©

they'd do a fring like that? Do you
think if she them to me y
wouldn’t tell me?” ‘

He paused and wiped a trickle of
saliva from the corner of his li s; and
the postmaster took a deep Gebath after
listening to the long wail. “Oh,” he
said,“Isee. But...”

“I think I'll go home now,” Frank

said. His body was trembling and there,-

_ was a faraway look in his eyes, “I think

I'll take a nap or something. I don’t
_ jvery well. I don’t know when I

will.
“Yes,” said the postmaster, “why

good. ‘

He moved aside ‘to let the little clerk
past and then sat down while Frank
walked out of the post office. He could
see the afternoon sunshine on the back
of his coat while he stepped into the

center of the little mountain town—.

where, even today, nobody knows what
happened to the money Paula Craig

guarded so closely,
By STEVE CLAY

POINT OF
- NO RETURN
Cont'd from page 17

10:15 P.M,

The killer came tottering to the door
with his revolver in his, hand. Sweat
was streaming down his face, and blood
was pouring from his right pants leg,
where Kerr had wounded him. There
was sid ao. oe his eyes, and he
cou slightly before speaking.

a think you know who I am,” he
said.

Len Powell shifted his weight. “I got
a good idea,” he replied.

e ores intruder more ae

at him. “I’m cemepier,: e iy
tT just shot another policeman. If you
behave, you. won't get hurt. If not, I'll
shoot you. Now let me in.”

Inside the little a artment, three-
year-old Diane Powell was acefully
asleep. Plump, seven-year-old Bobbie
was watching TV. And Stella Powell
was making sandwiches for her hus-
band’s feark the following day.

When the gunman éntered the living.
room, Bobbie was sent to bed. An

Stella was sent to a bureau drawer to °

get bed sheets that Carpenter quickly
tore into strips to bandage his wounded
right leg.

The gunman sat easily on the edge
of the couch while he made a tourni-
‘quet with his belt. ‘His revolver’ lay
— him, and at first he talked
vi le. a

bout midnight he wandered into
the kitchen and ate two bananas. When:
he came back, he started chatting with
the Powells about the shootings. Stella
Powell would say later that he acted’
like a “little God,” ‘bragging that he
was smarter than the cops and saying
he’d beaten Murphy to the draw. -

As the night wore on, however, he

more and more soli. but still
no one ‘slept. Sometimes he got up
on paced back and Ba besser oh the
iving room, ping down giant ses
of milk and water. Twice he told
Stella Powell to make sandwiches for
i. but, when she did, he. didn’t eat

em. . a

room. The children, s

Toward dawn he stood up again. He
almost seemed talked out. “I wouldn't
last four hours if I went out on the
street,” he whispered. “Those coppers
wouldn’t give me a chance.” -

He paced back. and forth, ra
Slightly from his wound. “But if
could get to the South Side .. .” he
mused. “I got a stolen car parked

- there.”

' He whirled and faced Powell. “You
gotta car?” he asked. .

The huge truck driver eyed him nar-

rowly. “No,” he lied.

Om gg: rubbed his hand on his
pants leg. “I've got to stay here,” he
said. “This is the only. place I’m safe,”

“Powell,” he said more loudly, “what
time do you to go to work?”

“Seven o'clock.”

“You. go to work like you always do.
Otherwise they'll worry, realize you live
near the theater and put two and two
together. I'll stay here. Don’t try any-
a | if you.want your wife and ki
safe.

An hour later, Len Powell left for
work. At eight a.m., he called home
to see if Stella and his children were all
tight. His wife was ae in the livin

unaware 0
ter’s identity were playing in the
yard. And the gunman was lying on
top of the bed in the big front bed-
room, reading newspaper accounts of
the all-out manhunt for him. He was
also listening to news flashes from the
radio. He could tell the cops were all
around him, getting closer, and he
drank a lot of water while he listened.
Stella Powell wondered if he had a
fever.
But as the day wore on, as one

o'clock passed, Dickie Carpenter began |

to talk again. Now he tells Stella

Powell of the thin Chicago doesn’t

know about him—of his sorrow: over
the grief he’s causing his family, of
his love for the opera, of ‘his fear of
cops, of his feeling that he has nothing
to give. oe ey
e pleasant-faced, dark-haired wom-
an listens patiently, too terrified to do
anything but pray. Her husband calls
again in the afternoon, and she assures
him that -she and the children are still

safe. She says Dickie Carpenter is “a .

gentleman.” ;
After her husband hangs up, she be-

gins to prepare dinner. It is hamburger,
mashed potatoes ‘and lima beans, and,

+ Sen time Len Powell gets home, it
the apartment with a rich, pleasant
odor,

Carpenter tells her to bring some
into the bedroom, but, when she does,
he doesn’t touch it, only lies atop the
bed and stares out the window. After
dinner, Len Powell asks him when he’s
going to leave.

‘Dickie Carpenter twists on his bed.
“I'm staying here until it cools down,”
he says.

Len Powell looks at him and feels
fear knot his gut. He thinks of another
day with the gun-crazy fugutive threat-
ening his family, and sweat breaks out
on the back of ‘his neck. It is nearly
eight o'clock, and he stalks back into
the living room.

A few minutes later, he returns to
the bedroom and tells ter that
his wife and children visit his in-laws
downstairs every evening. “They'll
think something’s funny if the children
don’t play in the yard,” he said.

nter pauses and nods. “Okay,”

. he says, “but warn ’em to be careful.”
Ten minutes later, Len Powell in- -
forms the intruder that he usually oe
e

down to visit his father-in-law in
evening. “I ought to go,” he says.

“Oh, no.” ter's eyes narrow.
“You pg Serpe oe
“But he'll come up here if I ‘do.

He'll want to know what's wrong. Then
he'll want me to come down and sit in
the yard with him.”

Carpenter’s fingers drum nervously
on the bedspread. Then he sits up.
“Okay, “okay,” he says, “but you get

here within an hour. Tell him
you're tired or something if he wants

you to stay. And remember, I’m going °
_to keep my eye on you.”

Len Powell leaves the apartment

; neh His plan is working, but inside
him bu

tterflies tickle his stomach. Out

in the yard, he takes his time approach-

ing his wife. When he gets to her, he

aiiniect hurriedly. “Take the kids and
get out of here.”

Stella Powell gets up. Gingerly she

Steps across the yard,

calling softly ‘to

the two children to follow her. Her.

husband watches them move out of the
yard and down the street, and he
ickly ‘slips into a gangway where
arpenter can’t see him. -.
It takes him only a second to leap the
fence. Then his feet begin to pound
the pavement. It is now nearly nine

don’t you, why don’t you? It'll do you -
ood.”

‘ o'clock, and, y

booth at Divis
lice. His vo
en he han;
the back of the
In the stat
listens to the
Then he radi:
Cars cruising |

side. “Man is

the building a
armed.”
Six minutes

' toward the ho:

sirens muted.
picked up and
a: crowd ins
And Dickie
thing is wrong
below, and he |
ducks back belt
In the stati
radios more sc
The cops on
that the fugitiv.
end of the line
In the Pow
quick back an
esperation beg
he may. only h:
He looks ou
again. Below
pone. And on
ear the soft,
proaching cop:
murmur of the
He looks ac:
only chance. (
the building the
one ‘next to it.
Suddenly he
Below him, a c
hundreds gasps
foot space, 25
For a split secor
spotlights.
Momentum
screen in the |}
railway car in
dining room.
friends, and the
at the blood-spa
crazed, wild loo
“Get out of
He shoves Stan
across the dinin
ing through the
rooms, searchin;
When he «
Sciblo and Kuc;
of the kitchen.
eal ip has
Powell apartmer
the .dining room
from the bathtul
He tears into
two families flec
the stairs and ji
tells the police
The crowd ir
bers well over 2
are racing back :
up the stairs. Be
begin pouring
pistol and shotg:
ing. And then t
nter is t
the apartment.
= enclosed thir:
ide its apartme:
ing to Al Krolik

CARPENTER, Richard, white, elec. Chicago, IL, December 19, 1950.

: HEADQUARTERS DETECTIVE, Januar 1956
u ; 9 9

/ .

POINT OF NO RETURN

Climax of Chicago's biggest manhunt since-John Dillinger. >

Police in U. S. Navy he

i) Pa? f
Hero
bed. He spotted killer,

cop Clarence Kerr manages

wa - - : oeerteretrene «rennin

fea e iotoe-

arrested him and was sh

ot.

licopter hover over theater
area searching rooftops in effort to spot Carpenter.
Arrows indicate where he wounded cop and fled.

smile from hospital

Dickie was a crook, a kidnaper

" _and acop killer who: started

gx Chicago's fiercest manhunt!

In Chicago, the city’s biggest manhunt in 21 years—
__ the biggest since the sultry night of July 22, 1934, when.
John Dillinger was shot down outside the Biograph Theater—
spins crazily onward in the afternoon heat. .

The object of the hunt is a dark-haired; 26-year-old, gun-
crazy killer named Dickie Carpenter, and everyone in Chicago
is looking for him: ;

The Mayor has pleaded for’ the help of the whole city in
tracking him down. For the first time in Chicago's long history
of manhunts, a special police message center has been set up
to receive-tips and clues from the public. Some 5000 police
circulars have been slapped on walls and billboards, stuck
in bars and restaurants so people can recognize him, and the
Sun-Times has offered $5000 for information leading to his
arrest.

Lt. James Lynch—the cop who heads the search—is hover-
ing over the Northside. in a helicopter borrowed from the
Glenview Naval Air Station, ‘scanning rooftops and radioing
instructions to his men below. Some 500 detectives and 60
police squads are probing every section of the city, and cops
are working 12 and 13 hours at a stretch, sometimes longer.
How long they will have to work depends on how soon they
spot the man they are looking for. , be.

He stands five feet, eleven inches tall, weighs 190 pounds,
wears his hair in a short crew cut and sports a thin mustache.
His left hand bears a gold ring with an oval-shaped red stone,
and, when last seen, he was wearing a tan sport shirt, blue
sport coat, blue trousers and soft, crepe-soled shoes. In his
pocket he has a snub-nosed, .38-caliber revolver.

Nevertheless, he will be hard to spot. He is quiet and
reserved and never stands out in a crowd. He ‘runs. with the

r Is Two P.M,, Thursday, August 18, 1955.

- speed of a trained athlete, and he never drinks to excess.

The last man known to have seen him is a rookie policeman
named Clarence Kerr, and Kerr now lies quietly in St. Mary’s
Hospital, bullet wounds in his chest and right lung. He has
been. given nine blood transfusions, but doctors still aren’t
sure he will live. gz meee

It was Kerr who spotted Carpenter late last night, seated
in the center section of the Biltmore Theater, six seats in from

the right, watching a picture entitled “Call Me Lucky.” It’

was Kerr who took his wife outside and then told her he had’

to go back in, he’d just seen the man everyone was looking
for. And it was Kerr who placed him under arrest, directed.
him outside the theater, then fell to the floor of the lobby
in a bloody mess when the gunman whirled, pulled out. his
revolver and fired three times before fleeing through a fire exit,
' Before Kerr spotted him, the last man to have seen Car-

- penter was. a 67-year-old, retired Commonwealth Edison

employee named Charles Koerper. Koerper had been parked
near the entrance to the Roosevelt Road subway on ‘Monday
night, August 15, when Carpenter leaped into Koerper’s car
‘and told him to drive to Madison and Dearborn Streets.
Before he'd left him and told him to keep driving, Car-

‘penter had quietly shoved his revolver in the back of Koerper’s

heck. “Look straight ahead,” he’d whispered. “Don’t make a

bad move. I just shot.a policeman, and I’d just as soon shoot

TREE os

= 1 eae

gy Marana ee

SEPP

OE aE aE

RISER er sre eet ee

IEEE Te RRND Ree REE oer Te tres

you.”
The poli
‘year-old vetv.au vs

detectives. In the
his badge, number
lay his revolver, fr:

Murphy had k
evening when he r
was.to kill him. F
ever know. Later
the subway car the
position to deny t)

The detective h:
string’ of robberies,
least 60. Chicago’
who was responsib]
over a two-year pe

And ‘now, at twc
finally seems he w:
are learning about

He was reared ir
757 Schiller. His f
any real. work. So
spoiled brat who w
who desired popula
the kids in his |
comic books all the

>’. But he got good
Army when he wa
year later that he t

Although the chz
arrested for carryir
after that, he woun

’ against him for that
Mrs. Carpenter said
that discharged acc’
any trouble.

But he received .
she later charged, a:
of cops. Anc (
finally had it j
his $8 haul he was

Soon after he w:
1953, and he neve)

Shortly after he
hit the city’s Nort]
victims picked him

"strange stories of h

He often had a g
over. a bar he was pl:
took his glass with h
He once duped a cat
of one of his holdup

. with >another wom:

accomplice.

That is what Chi
the city still doesn’t
rest of it right now
detectives walk throu
tops, only blocks aw:

For it was from L
manded help after h
driver—an athletic
pounds—was just p
door of his second-!
penter suddenly appe

TT sone

‘idnaper
started

anhunt!

55.

at in 21 years—
22, 1934, when.
graph Theater—

26-year-old, gun-
eryone in Chicago

the whole city in
cago’s long history
or has been set up
Some 5000 police

billboards, stuck
stize him, and the
tion leading to his

ch—is hover-
orrowed from the
ftops and radioing
detectives and 60
the city, and cops
sometimes longer.
on how soon they

veighs 190 pounds,
‘ts a thin mustache.
il-shaped red stone,
in sport shirt, blue
soled shoes. In his
evolver.
_ He is quiet and
_ He-runs. with the
drinks to excess.
s a rookie policeman
quietly in St. Mary’s
right lung. He has
doctors still aren’t

te last night, seated
ter, six seats in from
Call Me Lucky.” It

‘hen told her he had’

veryone was looking
nder arrest, directed.
e floor of the lobby
irled, pulled out his
1g through a fire exit.
in to have seen Car-
mmonwealth Edison
‘per had been parked
| subway on Monday
ed into Koerper’s car
vearborn Streets.
+o keep driving, Car-
back of Koerper’s
. “Don’t make a
1a just as soon shoot

-year-old veteran of the city’s police force and one of its finest

”

you. :
The policeman he’d shot was William J. Murphy, a 34-

detectives. In the subway, beside the detective’s body, lay -
his badge, number 7438, and on the tracks, near the platform,
lay his revolver, from which three bullets had been fired.

Murphy had been on his way to his stationhouse that
evening when he recognized and tried to arrest the man who
was.to kill him. Precisely what happened next, no one may
ever know. Later Carpenter would say that just as they left
the subway car the detective fired at him, but Murphy is in no
position to deny the statement. }

The detective had wanted Carpenter for questioning in a
string’ of robberies, stickups and burglaries that numbered at
least 60. Chicago’s cops were sure Carpenter was the man
who was responsible for a wave of holdups that had extended
over. a two-year period.

And‘now, at two o’clock on a Thursday afternoon, when it
finally seems he will be caught, the city’s newspaper readers
are learning about him and what he is like.

He was reared in a flat in a frame, ramshackle building at:
757 Schiller. His father died when he was 14. He never did
any real-work. Some of his neighbors remember him as a
spoiled brat who was pampered by his mother and as a boy
who desired popularity so much that he bought candy for all
the kids in his block. Others remember that he read
comic books all the time.

But he got good marks in school, and he enlisted in the
Army when he was 18. And it wasn't until he returned a
year later that he began to get into trouble.

Although the charge against him was later dropped, he was
arrested for carrying a concéaled - weapon. Several months
after that, he wounded his mother with a pistol. The charge

- against him for that offense was also dropped, however, when-

Mrs. Carpenter said he’d been showing her a souvenir weapon
that discharged accidentally. She said he’d never caused her
any trouble.
But he received a severe beating while being investigated,
she later charged, and he developed a lasting fear and hatred
of cops. And the following year, in 1951, Dickie Carpenter
finally had it. He held up a taxi driver at gunpoint, and for
his $8 haul he was sentenced to a year in county jail.
Soon after he was released, he left home. That was in
1953, and he never came back. ,
Shortly after he left, a wave of armed robberies began to
hit the city’s North and . Northwest sides. Several of his
victims picked him from police photographs, and they told
"strange stories of his cleverness.
He often had a glass of beer or ginger ale while he looked
over.a bar he was planning to rob, but when he left, he always
took his glass with him so there wouldn’t be any fingerprints.
He once duped a cab driver into speeding him from the scene
of one of his holdups by telling him his wife had caught him

_ with -another woman. He was careful never to use an

accomplice.

That is what Chicago reads about Dickie Carpenter, but
the city still doesn’t know his whole story. He jis telling the
rest of it right now to a woman named Stella Powell, while
detectives walk through alleyways and tramp ‘over sooty roof-
tops, only blocks away from his hideout.

For it was from Leonard and Stella Powell that Dickie de-
manded help after he fled the Biltmore Theater. The truck
driver—an athletic man of six-feet-two, who. weighed 230
pounds—was just putting the latch on the kitchen screen
door of his second-floor flat at 2040 Potomac when Car-
penter suddenly appeared. That was (Continued on page 92)

d to cops, Carpenter shows signs of
fter kidnap ordeal.
called the police.

Above, manacle
the battle. Below, Powell family a
Leonard Powell outwitted killer,

SOUVENIR OF EFFINGHAM, ILLINOIS.

under whose skilled and effi-
cient management with a sct of me-
chanics 4f unsurpassed character,
each of whom caught the spirit of
their foreman, the Effingham
equailed, in point of the character of
the turned oul, the best rail-
road shops of the West. Ie re
mained in charge until remoyal
of the atter the management
of the Vandalia passed under the con-
the Pennsylvania Central in

men,

shops
work

the

shops,

trol of
1806,
Temporarily this was followed by
great depression, which was not how-
eyer peculiar to Effinghan: alone, brut
was general throughout country.
Many of onr best families, the skilled
mechanics and. others,
nelled to seek other
shops were being operated, for em-
ployment. Much ~ property was
thrown .upon the market at greatly
reduced prices, and of consequence

the

com
where

were

places,

a new epoch in its history as one
of the acknowledged leading business
centers otf Southern Illinois; and as a
site of art, literature. culture and
learning is drawing students and pat-
ronage not only from all parts of our
but. from almost every State
Union and from every part
world. The present. is char-
fit measure of
fuiure is full of
things.

Strate,
in the
ol the
acterized by a
and the
promise of still

pros-
perity, the
better

> -

‘Only Execution.

Mflingham County has been remark-
abls from erime ever
since its organization. Few murders

been committed in the councy,
and there has been but
legal execution of a murdcrer in the
and that was a murder case
from Fayette county. In
1874 Nathan Burgess mur-

free serious
have
never one
county,
bronght
the fall of

The first uecount of the Burgess
case ig noted in The Democrat ot
March 18th, 1875 in the Fayette Court
notes which stated that alter indict-
ment the case against Burgess had
been changed from Fayette to Hffing-
ham county on a change ot venue,
In the March 25th, 1875, in
the proceedings of the Circuit, Court
of this appears the following
account of 3urgess case:

“The People vs. Wim. jurgess,
murder-—-On a change of venue from
Irayette county. State’s Attorneys
Asheratt and Gillmore for the people.
Campbell of Fayette, and Rinehart of
Effingham appeared for the defense
by appointment of the Court. This
was a case of much importance, and
was Jong and tedious, and involving
as it did a question of life and death,
point was duly considered in
‘he progress of the trial. It was be-
eun on Thursday by an opening state-

sue of

county
the

every

f Gin aut.
pee OE pean iw mato Wn BR

A VIEW OF

there was a great falling off in gem
coral Husiness.

But establishment of Austin
Collerve, proved a marvel of
success, under most adverse circune
and the location of the
(Hinois College of Photography, un-

the indomitabie cnersy of
Bissell, with students from

France, Scotland, Sweden, Ja-
Honduras, and Porto Rico, as
from nearly Strate in
the Union, the enlargement of
the Boos & Meat Factory
which is finding sales for its goods in
the having re
orders Australia
and Africa; also American
Condensed Milk Co.,, and Ieffingham
Tank Company, the loss of the shops,
detriment occasioned hy
emoyval, have long been
forgotten, and the city of Effingham,
at the beginning of the second half
century of its existence, enters upon

the

which

stances,

Presiden
Italy,
pan,
well as every
and
Co.'s Block

every part of globe,
filied

somtin

contly from

ihe

and the

their since

--pHE ILLINOTS COLLEGE OF

Joseph watehman
Vandalia bridge east of Van-
Ife wag indicted by the Fay-

Cireuit Court and the case was

Effingham Cireuit
venue, He

term, 1875,

hanged, the exe:

tlered Robbins, a
on the
dalia.
ete
brought to
Court on a change of
tried at the March
wag sentenced to be
cution taking place in this
June th, IST, An illustration of
the crowd around the Court Tlouse on
the day of the execution appears iere-
with, The most complete history of
appears in the

days,

the
was
and

city on

existence
Democrat. ol
the following account at
from those

ease in
The
take
trial

this
files of
and

the

those
we
and execution
files.

Several other have
in the county, but in no ease
execution of a murderer yol-

Short accounts of these mu

murders oc-
enrred
hag an
lowed.
dors will be found in another part of
this volume under the heading of
the “Story of the Files.”

PHOTOGRAPHY.

State’s Attorney Ashcraft,
he no doubt canyineed the
it the evidence proved to
be what he stated Burgess must be
found guilty. The statement Was
Incid and to the point.

‘Then the opening by the defend-
ant’s counsel, Campbell, was made.
This wae rather a tame effort, all the
wind doubtless being taken out of it
confessions of the
Then the evidence was
introduced showing many confessions
of the defendant, some of which were
after having been warned by
prosecuting attorney not to say
criminate himself, as it
would be used against him. The evi-
dence was overwhehning that ihe de-
rendant killed Joseph Robbins in cold
with malice and aforethought.
The evidence for the defense simply
showed that there was no defense,
The opening argument was made by
State's Attorney Gillmore, and was 4

ment by
in which
jury that

hy the numerous

defendant

made
the

anvthing fo

Hlood,

Bae ee ¥

Be er enc Tote rane eens eee

See,
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EXECUTION

SOURCE

rmanf NeWwrON OFFICE BSUPRLY—OOTHAN

FIFTIETH ANNIVERSARY

SOUVENIR

EFFINGHAM. ILLINOIS

1853-1903.

Being a Brief Review of the City from Date
of Founding to the Present.

ILLUSTRATED.

PRICE, TWENTY-FIVE CENTS.

The EreiNGHAM DEMOCRAT,
May, 1908.

clear statement of the evidence
the case. He was followed by Robert
Campbell, for the defense, Who made
a short and well directed speech. .
N. Rinehart then followed and made
an elaborate and logical argument for
the defendant. State’s attorney
Ashcraft, who closed the cease, made
a very clear argument. The jury
then retired and returned in about
two hours with the following verdict:
‘We, the jury. find the defendant
guilty as charged in the indietment,
and fix punishment at death.’

“The defendant's counsel then en-
tered a motion for anew trial, which
has not yet been argued, The prob-
ability thal Burgess must suffer

The jury, after listening to the eVvi-
dence and the arguments, returned a
verdict of guilty. It was the only one
in justice they cowd make. Anything
than that wonld have raised a
storm of indignation in this
and wherever the details
inhuman act are known. If
Nathan ic not a murderer of
the coldest kind, an abandoned and
deliberate villian, the evidence given
in the case, his manner and gencral
appearance during the trial, have
done him a fearful injustice. The
jury is heartily sustained by the pub
lic in thus inflicting the just penalty
upon the blackest criminal ever tried
in this court.”

less
perfect
community,
ot the

3urgess

SOUVENIR OF EFFINGHAM, ILLINOIS.

following jury was impanneled, and
sworn to try the case: J. W. Olinger,
George Flowers, Charles Troy, Peter
Harrison, Wm. Homan, George Secree-
ton, John H. Loy, August Schroeder,
B. M. Claypoole, Wm. Evans, John
Thompson and Joseph Kroeger.
“The State’s Attorney from Fayette
county opened the case for the peo-
ple, and Robert Campbell for the de-
fense. The evidence was then given
on the part of the prosecution, which
was substantially 4s follows:
“Joseph Robbins was emplored by
the Vandalia to watch the bridge just
east of Vandalia, and while in the
discharge of his duty in the house
prepared for the bridge watcher, he

Se a

eee SET NIH PY ST

ae acai

ELT

SCENE AT ‘THE

the penalty of the law,
deth man’s blood, by
blood be shed.’ ”

In the same issue ol The Democrat
appeared the following comiumnica-
tion, signed by R, and addressed to
the Editor of The Democrat:

“The termination of the murder
trial brought from Vandalia to this
Court has been watched with great
interest. Every one who Was fa-
miliar with the preliminary oxamin-
ation of culprit, and heard
acknowledgment of the foul crime,
was satisfied he was guilty. A Jarge
number of citizens from Vandalia
were in attendance at the trial, and
watched the proceedings vith that
interest that only a community who
has seen an honest citizen shot down
in the most heartless manner ean.

‘Whoso shed-
man shall his

the his

HANGING OF NA THAN BURGESS,

In the following issue dated April
Ist, 1875, appears a more extended
account of the trial and history of the
crime as given evidence.
foliows:

“During the present
Circuit Court th trial
jurgess, On a Change of verte
county, for the murder
Joseph Robbins near Vandalia,
attracted much attention. \ ow
and incidents of the trial will
no doubt be of interest. On Thurs-
day, the 18th day of .Mareh, the
came on for trial E. M. Asheratt,
State’s Attorney for Fayette county,
and Wm. H. Gillmore, State’s Attor-
ney for this county, appeared for the
people, and Robert Campbell and. !.
N. Rinehart for the Aiter
much time having been consumed, the

term oOlL

of Nathan
from
fayette ol

has

facts

case

derense,

JUNE 18, 1875.

about nine
He was soon
medical treat
from the

was shot by syme one
o’cluck in the evening.
found and put under
ment, but subsequently
shot.
“Burgess
quest, and
istrate, contessed

died
the coroners in-
before the convicting mag-
that he had shot
It was also shown
shot gun had been
and it was interred that this
gun did the foul deed. State’s Attor-
ney Asheraft informed that
whatever confessions he made would
be used against him, — Still with this
warning before him, he said he must
contess, as the face ot the murderéd
man haunted him yet. Burgess also
confessed to the Rey. Harris that he
was guilty of this inhuman crime.
“The evidence for the defense was

before

Joseph
that Robbins’
stolen,

Robbins,

purgess

Volume VII
Number I

January 1997

Newsletter of

Johnson County Genealogical & Historical Society

PO Box 1207 — Vienna, IL 62995

1997 Officers Elected

New officers elected for 1997 at the Decem-
ber 15 business meeting are as follows:

Shirley Wolfe: president

Delbert Brown: vice-president

Janet Hacker: secretary

Jane Vinson: treasurer

Gary Hacker: director for 1997/98
Aline Upton Stone: director for 1997/98
Ed Annable: director for 1997 (one year)

Jack Perkins, elected for 1996/97, continues
his term as director.

Committee chairperson appointments are in
the process of being made at the time of this writ-
ing.

December Meeting
Summary of Minutes

Meeting held at Jolly Red Pig restaurant preceded
by a meal at 1:00 p.m. Meeting called to order at
2:00 p.m. Many attended that have been unable
to in the past.

Excerpts from minutes are as follows:

Lou Robinson resigned his position as direc-
tor for the term 1996/97, stating that his work
hours did not allow him to attend meetings.

Attorney Bill Rudert was present and made
note that the Society could proceed to implement
the use of the Paul Powell house as a meeting fa-
cility and museum.

A committee for the purpose of investigating
the full use of the Paul Powell house was ap-
pointed, consisting of Terry Choate, Delbert
Brown, Gary Hacker and Shirley Wolfe.

Alice Lewis made note that recipes for the
Society’s cook book were coming in slowly.

Rachel Kline, historian for the Society, re-
ported the possibilities for recording the history of
some of the older buildings around the public
square in Vienna.

A budget committee was appointed as fol-
lows: Jane Vinson, Delbert Brown and Alice
Lewis.

Meeting adjourned at 3:05 p.m.

Treasurer’s Year-end Report

1996 Expenses:
Newsletter publication...................... $485.71
| k0)) Fr 376.64
Publications (additional inventory) .....108.89
Miscellaneous Expenses. ..................... 508.27
Total Expenditures for 1996 ............... $1479.51
Balance on hand Jan. 1, 1996............. $3008.87
Total Receipts for 1996.....................004 4087.05
Total Expenditures for 1996 ................. 1479.51

Balance on hand, Dec. 15, 1996 ......... $5616.41

It should be noted that our inventory of books
on hand is getting low. The majority of receipts
for 1996 was from book sales that were not re-
placed.

January Meeting

The January 1997 regular meeting will be
held at the Paul Powell house on Vine Street
(Highway 146) in Vienna on Jan. 19 at 2:00 p.m.

A meeting of the executive board will be held
at 1:00 p.m. —same location and date.

Thanks to our Members....

We thank our many members for their coop-
eration throughout 1996 and add a special thanks
to all those who joined us during the year.

Many changes have taken place over the past
twelve months and we are anticipating more to
come during 1997. It is our hope that as we all
work together, we can make this a better Society
for the enjoyment of all.

Please address all correspondence to:

Johnson County Genealogical
& Historical Society

(JCGHS)
PO Box 1207 — Vienna, IL 62995

Wanted to Buy

Borrow to Copy

Old Photographs
of

PEOPLE.....

.....PLACES.....

.... THINGS

OF JOHNSON COUNTY
Gary Hacker
PO Box 1392

Vienna, IL 62995
Phone: 618-995-2068

PAID ADVERTISEMENT

Johnson County

Pope County
Books

Ed Annable Publishing Company
PO Box 186 — Cypress, IL 62923

Johnson County Journal - Vol. 4 - 1877
Cache Township - Johnson County - 1812-1870
1880, 1900 & 1910 Census - Cache Township
Jim & Mrytle (Lowery) Greer - Johnson Co Years
Cypress Illinois - 1895-1995
Pope County Forgotten Records
Pope County Probate Records - 1816-1835
Pope County Landowners - 1820

Coming Soon!
Johnson County Illinois Public Land Sales
Pope County Probate Records - 1836-1845

Write today for details !

PAID ADVERTISEMENT

Editorial Opinion

Johnson County, like all political entities, has bound-
aries. Along the north, east, south and west of our county
are lines drawn for governmental purposes.

Those people living along those lines recognize the bor-
ders only on election days and when business draws them to
their respective seats of government.

Historically, this has always been so. Even communi-
ties, in past years did not recognize these boundaries in their
associations to friends, family and churches. Schools dis-
tricts, however, did make this distinction. Community
cemeteries are often close to these political boundaries but
those who buried their loved ones there did not recognize
these borders.

It is the opinion of this member that, as a historical or-
ganization, we should extend our investigations and record
keeping beyond these borders. Many persons living in
Johnson County associated themselves with communities
and churches that were not within the political boundaries
of this county but, yet, they were and are a part of us.

Consider this proposal. We should include within our
focus, those areas that lie within a one mile corridor beyond
the political boundaries of Johnson County. Persons in
older times often conducted their activities within a one
mile radius of their homes. Our heritage will be much
richer if we include these areas.

We would like to hear from our members on this subject
and other subjects of interest. This is your forum—please
take advantage of it.

Ed Annable

Past Issues of Echoes From Elvira

The Publication Committee is in the process of repub-
lishing past issues of Echoes From Elvira, the newsletter of
the Society, established in 1991.

These past issues will be bound in volumes for conve-
nience and will be offered for sale as a regular publication
of the Society. We are studying what type of indexing will
be published along with these, if any.

We have received notice that some of our members who
joined in mid-year, and were entitled to receive all back is-
sues, may not have received those. We are processing those
at this time and they will be mailed shortly.

1937 Flood

Bonnie Johnson, one of our members from Wisconsin,
noted that this is the 60th anniversary of the 1937 flood in
Southern Illinois. We appreciate her watchfulness and will
try to present an article to our readers as soon as possible.
Information will be welcomed. Thanks Bonnie!

New Members

_ It is our intention to recognize new members as they are
added to our Society but at this time, we have not put to-
gether a complete list of those joining since our last publica-
tion. We will, however, include these next month.

JOHNSON COUNTY

GENEALOGICAL AND HISTORICAL

SOCIETY
1997

Membership Data Form
—— TO BECOME A MEMBER
Date joining JCGHS Send this form along with membership
fee as noted at bottom of page, to:
Membership to begin JCGHS
PO Box 1207
Amount paid. Vienna, IL 62995
Name:
Add:
City: State: Zip:
Phone (optional):

Member privileges

All members of the Johnson County Genealogical and Historical Society will enjoy the privileges

that current members are accorded.

All members will receive the Society newsletter.

Queries (questions of all types) are free and unlimited.
You may submit your articles to be included in the Society newsletter.

id tae bl

Member dues schedule listed below. If you join in mid-year, your dues are prorated.

Members will receive a 10% discount on all publications produced by the Society.
You are invited to participate in our monthly meetings as an active voting member.

Month Begins JAN | FEB | MAR | APR | MAY | JUN | JUL | AUG | SEP | OCT

NOV

DEC

Pay This Amount $10.00} $9.25 | $8.50 | $7.75 | $7.00 | $6.25 | $5.50 | $4.75 | $4.00 | $3.25

$2.50

$1.75

Neiaciechacig

BURNS, John ne ae ieee

"Paris y- Til. ~ June al, 1878-John Burns was “hanged here
at one o'clock this afternoon for the murder of Elijah
Burdwell on the 20th of: October last. Burns was reckless
and ha rdened and met his death with a coolness amounting ©
to bravade. He was pronounced dead seven minutes after
the fatal drop."

_ MIDDLETOWN VALLEY REGISTER, Frederick Coe, Mde, 6-28-1878

Burns was a member of a notorious band of horse thieves

and Bridwell was a member of a posse in pursuit of then,
The posse came upon Burns in a deserted cabin and he shot |

Bridwell through the abdomen, producing a fatal wound,
At his execution, he cooly mounted the scaffold, smoking

ree ee ee eee ee . 5 r - ’ . —
{
|

a olay | and then kissed the hand of a young lady who had
befriended him during his imprisonment and accompanied
te to the gallows. She then left the ene ieee

NATIONAL POLICE GAZEITE, June 29, 1878 (2-h)

Bs jal Bee aE
Oh ALF

ee |

i anand Reese Meet
sath on Gallows.

be t ocpupied the death cell
“anty jalljlast night. He was
of the three con-

failed to get a re-
t few weeks. The
Campione and John
on the gallows yes-

fig

FRANK CAMPIONE

HESE,

aicte
eer murder ag well,
‘nel Polidaris Serdakis off and_

wivaad” he told the Jury. “ And
mt, I croaked unother fellow

ie tight.”

Khsel, Attorney Gene!
watt! making efforts to get!
wv yong distance from ‘Lieut.
Q "~ i |
ager Hordek Brought up a/
: Eee sandwich.

ind a little game of}

4 it on the game of chon and |
Mower his success,
s then 12:30 us Tock’ in’ the |

fie el

file catted up. Attorney Moran.
wotdyet, Frank,” he said. |
@'s have; another game,”. aug: :
ae the pridoner. \
me o'clock, Frank,” said one of
n deputy sherjffs detailed to:
gin. | f
@ if there's any word yet from
eld. |
i informed his lawyer wae still
the perators at Springfield |
Fagar smiled ad renewed the |

ff Peters heard. of the efforts of |
to gdt in touch with Lieut. |
Dglesby and waited at the jail:
midnight, but the caulk. didn't,

Two Die at Same Time.

wus Father Shields who attended
ge Camplon:, member of the noto-:
peCardindila gang, the night He: |
Campione and Reese, a Negro |
yer, plunged through the trap |
the first double hanging in
three years.

he two men stepped upon the,
Campione nearly collapsed.

# et me go, please,” he sobbed,
he white surpliced priest sought
f hte courage. His black shirt |
eee. Asplaying a scapular dung:
the chest. His halr was tous:
ms even whut, ag if to blot out
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f Wes taken, months ago, to the.
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the examiners, “It is only through this
that I have found the strength to go on.
I have decided whatever there is left
of my life, I will dedicate it to the work
of the Lord.”

Pendergast underwent questioning,
with the machine recording his reac-
tions to the answers, until five o’clock
in the morning. The test was stopped

“at that time because he became so

exhausted he could not continue.

A second session was started at noon
and lasted until four in the afternoon.

O'Connor announced to the press at
the conclusion of the tests: ‘His story
is consistent. But we feel we’ve made
progress. It is my duty as a police offi-
cer to narrow down the number of
suspects.” Ki

Pendergast answered questions for
reporters following the polygraph
examinations. He told them: “Under
the circumstances, I wanted the lie-de-
tector test. I believe in the lie detector.
This is my witness next to the Lord.
And as I have God as my judge, the
truth will come out, and no one else
knows the truth.”

Gardella said he would need at least
twelve hours to evaluate the findings on
the machine.

THAT afternoon a long-distance call

came in for O’Connor from Sergeant
Robert Schaeffer of Irondequot, New
York. He reported he had read press
dispatches of the slayings in El Cajon
and a description of the missing Har-
rison.

“I recalled a missing-person report
we had here on a sixteen-year-old boy,”
Schaeffer said. ‘“‘He just about fits the
description of the fellow you’re looking
for, only his name is Carl A. Eder.

“I called his folks and the parents
recognize the description of the suit-
case and the gear the kid had in it. I’m
pretty sure this Harrison you want is
really Carl Eder.”

“Do you have a picture of him?”

“I’m making arrangements now to
have it sent to you by wirephoto.”

Carl Eder, a sophomore high-school
student, had disappeared from the
home of his parents in Irondequot, a
new suburb of Rochester, on October
26, when he stuffed a dummy into his
bed and climbed down a rope from the
second-floor window. Friends of the
youth later told the parents Carl had
been fearful of a meeting between them
and school officials because he had
forged their names to an unsatisfactory
school report card.

“The kid has never been in trouble
around here,” Schaeffer said. “I’ve
talked to his friends and they just can’t
figure him in this kind of a mess.”

“Is the boy normal?’” O’Connor
asked.

“Everybody seems to think so. Even
his school teachers say he was bright
but lazy. Of course, he ran away from
home, but a lot of young boys do that.”

As soon as the wirephoto arrived, it
was shown to Pendergast. ‘That's
Charlie,” he said without hesitation, al-
though the photograph showed Eder
with long hair instead of the crew cut.

The scar on Eder’s right hand be-
tween his thumb and index finger
clinched the identification.

An artist, aided by Pendergast, re-
touched the photograph to show Eder
with a crew cut and pimples on his face.

OC CONNOR gave the picture to the
newspapers and television stations
with a request for anyone who had seen
the youth to advise the police. It re-
sulted in a flood of new calls.

All day on Monday prowler cars
screamed to various sections of El
Cajon and San Diego. Several reports
came from Tijuana that Eder had been
seen there.

Early in the evening Robert McGuire
was working on a new home he was
building on the ocean front at Mission
Beach, near San Diego, when he saw a
youth sauntering along the seawall. The
“half-mast” trousers being worn by the
boy attracted McGuire's attention.

McGuire went to the nearby home of

enter saemenenakees

Police Officer John Donohue. The offi-
cer, who was off duty, was there with an
off-duty lifeguard, Richard Heyl.

“I think I saw that kid the cops are
looking for walking up the street,” Mc-
Guire told them.

Donohue and Heyl jumped on
bycycles they had at the house and
took off in pursuit. They came upon
the youth a few blocks away.

TH young man seemed completely

unperturbed at being stopped and
calmly gave them his name and a Mis-
sion Beach address.

“I guess I do look like that guy whose
picture was in the paper,” the youth
said. “Some of my friends have told me
that already.”

“What’s your telephone number?”
Donohue asked.

After a moment’s hesitation, the boy
gave a number with an Academy prefix.

“You're lying about that,” Donohue
accused him. “There aren’t any Acad-
emy numbers in this area.”

“Maybe I got it wrong.”

Heyl and Donohue escorted the youth
to the lifeguard station at the museum-
8 center and obtained a telephone
book.

“It’s no use,” the youth told them.
“You've got me. I’m Carl Eder.”

At headquarters in El Cajon, Eder
gave a complete confession to the ‘five
slayings, according to Chief O’Connor.
He quoted the youth as saying:

“I did it because Diane was scream-
ing.

“Mrs. Pendergast told me to put the
little girl to bed. The kid kept jumping
up and down on the:bed and wouldn’t
be quiet. I lost my temper and threw her
on the floor and she cut her head.

“Mrs. Pendergast came in and took
Diane into the bathroom. She told me to
call a doctor because she was hurt bad.

“I knew something had to happen, so
I went out in the garage where I knew
the gun was and came back to the
house. Mrs. Pendergast saw me as I
came into the hallway and shouted:
‘What are you going to do?’

“I shot her.

“She fell on the floor and I put the
gun up against her head and pulled
the trigger again.

“The kids were in the bathroom. I
used a knife on them.”

DER went on to say, according to the

police, that he had pulled Mrs. Pen-
dergast’s body into the bathroom, placed
it on top of the dead children and
waited until Thomas and David came
home from school.

“I wasn’t going to kill them,” O’Con-
nor quoted the youth as_ saying.
“Tommy asked where his mother was,
and I told him she and the other kids
had gone out.

“Then David saw the blood running
out from under the bathroom door. He
screamed, and I took after him with
the knife. I got him in the bedroom.

“Tommy tried to run out, but I
caught him in the garage. He put up
the best scrap of all of them, and I had
to cut him up a lot before I could get
a hold of him and cut his throat.”

Pendergast was brought to headquar-
ters to view Eder for an identification.
He stared at the youth he had be-
friended and asked: “Why did you do
it, Charlie? They were all I had in the
world.”

As for his own future, Pendergast
said: “I think I will devote my life to
social work. To helping boys like Char-
lie. I was bitter against him at first,
but I can only feel pity for him now.”

District Attorney James Don Keller
has requested juvenile authorities to
relinquish jurisdiction over Eder and
have him tried on murder counts as an
adult. He pointed out that because Eder
is under eighteen years of age, the most
severe penalty he can receive if con-
victed will be a life sentence.

At the present time Eder is being
held pending further legal proceedings.

Donohue received a personal letter of
commendation from J. Edgar Hoover
for the capture.

Roy Olson liked to pen a verse, now
he's penned for life and may get worse

’

ALIFORNIA’S poet-cook, Roy Victor Olson, accused of tak-
-ing two lives, had his own spared when a jury found him
guilty of second-degree murder for the knife-slaying of TV and
radio announcer Ogden Miles in Sacramento last September.
Olson still faces the possibility of another trial in Seattle,
however, where he has admitted the fatal stabbing of John
Weiler. Second-degree murder carries a five-year-to-life sen-
tence in California; Olson could get the death penalty yet if
extradited to Washington and convicted.

The disappearance of Miles, the handsome announcer, the
subsequent finding of his body and the search for his killer
were the subjects of a story in the Januafy, 1959, issue of Orrt-
cIAL DETECTIVE STorigs, “The Channel 10 Killing.”

A life sentence was recommended for Kenneth N: icely,
21-year-old Kentuckian who pleaded guilty to murder
in: the fatal shooting of Prescott, Arkansas, Patrolman
Ed Verden. Verden had. arrested the youth for a traffic
violation, not knowing he was fleeing a murder rap. For,
like Olson, Nicely has an additional trial to look forward
to. He also has been accused of the fatal shooting of auto-
mobile dealer Tony Brown in Kentucky prior to his flight
to Arkansas.

The story of the three-state hunt for Nicely and the
detective work which finally resulted in his arrest in
Texas, also appeared in the January, 1959, issue, under
the title, “Over Those Dead Bodies.”

Another cop-killer, object of a city-wide manhunt in Chi-
cago in 1955, was Richard Daniel Carpenter, who killed Detec-
tive William J. Murphy on a subway platform, then wounded
Clarence Kerr, a rookie patrolman, in a theater two days later,
and held a family terrorized for 24 hours before his capture.
Carpenter finally, after three years, has paid for his crimes with
his life. (“Take Him—But Take Him Alive,” November, 1955.)
He was executed in Cook County’s electri¢ chair.

And, despite all efforts of his lawyers, his family, the
opinion of a district judge and sworn statements by the
jurors at his trial, William Francis Rupp finally was put
to death in the San Quentin gas chamber for another
older crime, the slaying of fifteen-year-old Ruby Ann
Payne.

Claiming that Rupp was mentally deficient, his lawyer
accused the state of California of “participating in an
inhuman act” in executing him. (“Yorba Linda’s Great
Manhunt,” October, 1952.)

A trio of Philadelphia youths has been cleared of murder
charges growing out of the front-porch shooting of Miss Martha
White. Jerome Hill, eighteen, was brought to trial on the
charges, only to have them dismissed. Similar charges against
his companions at the time, Ronald E. Danzler and James
Shannon, both‘eighteen, have been nolle-prossed.

Hill admitted firing several shots at random as he fled a
teen-age rumble. However, witnesses were unable to identify
him as firing the one shot that pierced Miss White’s heart while
she sat peacefully on her front steps. Hill still is being held in
bail for carrying a concealed deadly weapon and wantonly
firing it. (“Between Teen Guns,” January, 1959.)

CARPENTER, Richard, white, elec. Chigago, IL on December 19, 1958.

int

| 50

TRUE DETECTIVE, November, 1959

HOW KILLERS DIE

#18 in series

°> YEARS
AND phd J STEPS

He had terrorized Chicago. “I don’t want to kill you,”

he always said, “‘but if you make a wrong move | will.’’

E ELECTRIC CHAIR was
Hl just 22 steps away from his
Death Row cell in Chicago’s
Cook County jail—so they had
told him. But it was three years
and one month since that date,
November 12th, 1955, when seven
bailiffs had dragged him, in hand-
cuffs and leg irons, fighting and
howling, into the courtroom to
hear Judge Gibson E. Gorman
sentence him to death. His first
date with the chair had. been
March 16th, 1956, but his at-
torneys, Daniel Ahern and James
P. O’Malley, had so far success-
fully postponed that last walk.
But now, on December 18th, 1958,
time was running out. His only hope
now, the two attorneys had told him,
was an executive order from Illinois
Governor Stratton, granting another
stay of execution. The governor had
just granted a 30-day stay to another

BY PAT CLAUSEN

Death Row prisoner awaiting execu-
tion. Would he do the same for Rich-
ard Carpenter, cop killer? If not; then
he would walk those 22 steps in the
early hours of December 19th. He did
not want to die. But the thought of
spending the rest of his life in prison
was almost as hateful to him.

Actually the period of his confine-
ment in Death Row had been longer
than his entire career in crime. In
1951 he had served a year in jail for
robbing a cab driver of $8. He was 18
years old then. After his release he
had promised his mother he would be
good. And he had been, for a while.
He had worked at various jobs, none
lasting very long. At one time he had
been a cab driver, earning as much as
$80 a week.

But early in 1944 he was enjoying
a more lucrative career. Wearing a
pair of shabby slacks, the two revol-
vers stuck in his belt covered by the
shirt hanging down over them, he
would go into a tavern just about clos-
ing time. Before anyone knew what
was happening, he would have them

covered with his swiftly-drawn guns.

“T don’t want to kill you,” he would
say. “But if you make a wrong move,
I will.”

No one argued with the guns. His
take ranged from $50 to $300 a night.
Stuffing the money into his pocket, he
would run, swiftly, soundlessly, in his
rubber-soled shoes. He could run in-
credibly fast, could scale a wall higher
than his head without slowing down.
And where he holed up, no one knew.
He always worked alone.

But gradually, from various victims,
police got a good description of the
gunman. He was 5 feet 11, weighed
around 175 pounds, had dark crew-
cut hair and deepset dark eyes. It was
Dickie Carpenter, they agreed. They
went to his home. But Dickie was not
there. He hadn’t been living at home
for some time, his mother said.

She reproached the police for pick-
ing on Dickie. Because he had been
in trouble once, it didn’t mean he was
responsible for all those holdups, she
argued. When he lived at home he
was thoughtful and generous with

ae"

pleaded desperately, “Don’t shoot! I live here! I live here!”

ae oe

his younger sisters and a girl cousin of
their age. He bought them pretty
dresses, took them to the movies,

“He took us roller skating, too,” the
little cousin put in. “He didn’t skate,
but he didn’t want us to be out on
the streets alone at night, so he always
took us to the rinks and brought us
home. He was a good brother to all
of us.”

“He never spent money on himself,”
his mother added. “Never bought good
clothes. The only thing he bought for
himself was records. He loved to
listen to classical music on a cheap
wind-up gramophone he had, or listen
to the Philharmonic on the radio.”

But they couldn’t say where Dickie
might be now. He never had had
any friends with whom he might be
staying. He preferred to be a lone
wolf. He had brought home a couple of
revolvers when he got out of the army,
his mother conceded. So did a lot of
the fellows. He hadn’t been in the
army long. They released him after
a year. The officers knew, though the
mother didn’t, that Carpenter had been
discharged as undesirable, after a year
which he had spent either AWOL or in
the guardhouse.

They were sstill looking for him
when, at 1:45 a.m. on April Ist, 1955,
just 15 minutes before closing time, a
tall, slender, dark-haired young man
of 22, wearing an old pair of slacks
and a sport shirt hanging down outside
them, strolled into the Wrightwood

Inn on the Northwest side of Chicago.

“What’ll you have?” the bartender
asked. “Just time for a quick one.”

For answer the youth pulled two re-
volvers from beneath his shirt, cocked
them with a loud click. At the end of
the bar Medard Bosacki, a rookie pa-
trolman in civilian dress, sneaked his
service revolver from its holster.

_The youth saw it. “Slide that gun
down the bar to me,” he ordered.

The rookie officer hesitated, but the
tavern owner urged. “Do what he says.
I don’t want anybody killed here. I’ll
give him the money.”

Looking at the other ‘customers,
standing in frozen silence along the
bar, the young patrolman obeyed. He
couldn’t gamble with their lives, how-
ever valiantly he might risk his own.
The gunman pocketed the revolver,
still holding his big .38 menacingly.
“Give me the green stuff,” he said
tersely to the owner behind the bar.

The cash register clanged open. The
owner took out its contents, $60, and
handed it across the bar. On swift,
silent feet the bandit fled. The rookie’
officer pursued him, but lost him when
he ducked between parked cars and
vanished in an alley.

“I never saw anyone run so fast in
my life,” Officer Bosacki reported later.

Lieutenant Frank Pape of the rob-
bery detail was discussing the case
with his detectives. “Carpenter again,”
he said bitterly. “He’s pulled about
70 jobs since the first of the year, We’ve

d, the gunman had vanished

been looking for him for 15 months
now.”

They’d had reports on him from
various parts of the city. He usually
said to his victims, “Keep calm, I
don’t want to kill you, but I will if you
make a wrong move.”

Once he had robbed a saloon owner
of $300 and some 25 customers in the
Place did not know what was happen-
ing until he had gone. Another time,
pursued by a fleet-footed bartender, he
leaped into a passing taxi, telling the
driver, “I was out with a woman and
her husband just caught us. Get me
out of here.” And the cab driver inno-
cently helped him escape. But usually
he operated on foot.

“He will kill someone before long,”
Detective William J. Murphy said now.
“He hasn’t shot yet, but he will if he’s
cornered,”

It was a prediction that was tragi-
cally to be fulfilled. Within five months
Detective Murphy was dead, a bullet
through his heart from the gun of
Dickie Carpenter,

But meanwhile Lieutenant Pape and
his detectives pursued every possible
angle in their search for the elusive
gunman. By now they knew more
about Carpenter than he knew of
himself—everything except where he
holed up. Every prisoner brought into
Cook County jail or the Chicago House
of Correction was shown a picture of
Carpenter, questioned about him. Ex-
convicts, dope pushers, call girls, pros-

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er look. His eyes were averted long
enough for Carpenter to pull a gun
and fire a single round into the offi-
cer’s heart, killing him instantly. The
crowd at the subway station pan-
icked. People were running and
screaming. The cop-killer leaped the
turnstile, scooted up the concrete
stairway and hopped into a passing
car, driven by Charles Koeper, a be-
spectacled businessman. ‘

“T’ve just killed a man,” Carpen-
ter calmly told him. “Unless you
want to die, drive within the speed
limit and keep quiet.”

The terrified man drove him to the
corner of Madison and State, where
he hopped out and became swal-
lowed up in the crowd. At the near-
est police station, Koeper almost
fainted when he learned his passen-
ger was the dreaded, Richard Car-
penter.

If a man can get away with killing
a police officer, then no one is safe.
It not only arouses law enforcement,
but the population at large. So
Richard Carpenter became a walk-
ing death certificate. Newspapers em-
blazoned his picture across front
pages stressing the $5,000 reward of-
fer. The feds swarmed into Chicago
to lend a hand. The biggest dragnet
in Chicago’s history was on.

In less than a week after the shoot-
ing of Detective Murphy, Carpenter
killed again. Policeman Clarence
Kerr took his wife to a downtown
air-conditioned movie. He heard

someone snoring and turned around »

to wake the annoying fellow up. Im-
mediately he recognized the pest as
Richard Carpenter. He sent his wife
out into the lobby. Then he shook
Carpenter awake.
“I’m a police officer,” he whis-
pered. “I know who you are. Follow
me into the lobby.” The sleepy-lid-
ded theatergoer got up and slowly
walked to the lobby, a gun trained
on his back. But in the darkness Kerr

‘ didn’t see Carpenter reach for his

heater.

Carpenter whirled and shot the of-
ficer in the chest. As he went down,
Kerr fired. A projectile ploughed in-
to Carpenter’s leg, but he managed
to clear the theater and disappear in-
to the outside crowd.

His life was rapidly ebbing away.
“It was Carpenter!” Kerr gasped.
Rushed to the hospital, the dying of-
ficer was saved by Dr. Edward A.
Avery, world-famous surgeon, who

said, “The bullet had come within a
hair’s breadth of his heart. One mil-

‘ lionth of an inch to the right and he

would have been a goner.”

The question was, how far can a
man get with a bullet in his leg
even if his name is Richard Carpen-
ter? Police alerted every hospital and
doctor in the city to be on the look-
out for a man limping in with a bul-
let wound. .

Leonard Powe]l was a hard-work-
ing truck drivef who lived on West
Potomac Avenue with his ‘wife and
two kids. The day Officer Kerr was
shot happened to be the Powells’
ninth wedding anniversary and his
family and friends had planned a
gala celebration.

The Powells lived in the upper por-
tion of a comfortable two-story
wood-framed house. His in-laws
lived downstairs. The last guest had
gone home when Leonard heard a
rap on the back screen door. When
he answered, there stood an empty-
eyed man waving a gun. His trous-
er leg was blood drenched.

“I’ve just shot a policeman,” he
said. “Do as I say and I promise I
won’t hurt you. Now, open the door
and let me in.”

As they stepped into the kitchen,
Mrs. Powell entered. “Sweetheart,”
the big man said, “This is Richard
Carpenter, the man the cops are look-
ing for. Don’t get excited and don’t
do anything foolish. He promised not
to hurt us.”

Mrs. Powell remained cool. She
convinced her bleeding guest to put
away the guns so that he wouldn’t
frightened the kids. Leonard Powell,
who stood 6’ 5” tall, and outweighed
the bandit by 60 pounds, promised
Carpenter that he wouldn’t try to get
the drop on him. For the sake of the
kids Carpenter was treated as a
friend of the family who had suffered
a hunting accident. Mrs. Powell ban-
daged his wounds and Carpenter
stayed there for 72 hours.

Leonard went to work and said
nothing to arouse suspicion that his
family were being held hostage at
gun point. The second night Leonard
suggested that his wife and kids go
downstairs to visit his in-laws else
they would be coming upstairs to see
what was wrong. Carpenter said
okay, and while they were gone
Leonard decided to try the. psycho-
logical approach. “You seem like a
nice fellow he told Richard, “and I’m

sorry you’re in such a fix.”

“I’m sorry about one thing,” the
teary-eyed cop killer said. “Either
the cops will get me or I’ll die in the
electric chair. I wish that I could
have done something to make Mom-
sie proud. I hope I can see her one
more time before I die.”

It was completely out of character
for Carpenter to let his guard down,
but he did. Believing that the Pow-
ells were sympathetic to his plight,
he allowed them to go outside for
some fresh air, while he watched the
news on TV. Once outside, the fam-
ily zigzagged diagonally up a hill to
a neighbor’s house: “Call the cops,
there’s a crazed killer in our house!”

Within minutes a dozen police cars
cordoned off the area, and Sgt. Mick-
las shouted over the bullhorn, “Come
_out Carpenter. We’ve got you sur-
rounded. You haven’t got a chance!”

From inside, two pistols opened up,
firing blindly through windows and
doors. Automatic shotgun blasts
ripped through the tinder-box house
and Carpenter, slithered and bleed-
ing from splintered glass, dragged
his gimp leg to the attic. From the
attic window and from outside, gun-
fire roared. When police burst
through the door, the cop-killer was
stretched on the floor. “I live here,”
he lied. “It’s not me you want.” They
knew better.

‘As they hustled the blood-drenched
killer though the crowd, people
yelled, “String ‘um up!” At the po-
lice station he was charged with the
deliberate murder of Detective Mur-
phy.

Interviewed routinely by Chicago
police, Carpenter broke down and
admitted he killed Detective Murphy.
He was quickly tried and condemned
to death. During his agonizing stays
of execution he constantly cried:
“Momsie! I want Momsie!” And she
was there, just as she was minutes
before he was sent to the electric
chair on March 15, 1956. *

-* DISCOVER ©
AMERICA

during his spectacular
and unaided, he man-
uccessful holdups, pil-
515,000. This by no
ed him into the.same
Dillinger, or Bonnie
it their risks far sur-

10 doubt that police
or Richard Carpenter -
:scribed him as 5’ 11”,
eyes and brown crew
ounds, very calm with’
iice. His clothing var-
» job, but everyone no-'
crepe-soled shoes. He
a sport shirt or jacket
susers, which hid two
in a belt. !
Jifference that the po-
they were looking for.
ar formula; the cashier
him the money. He =
walk out the door and’
city’s populace. Police.
r the area but. get:
vas downright embar-’
eo
stantly staked out the’
use, knowing his love:
‘s and his mother, but
too smart to fall into’

never came home to the ©
cherished, although he:
\other’s picture around *

nself to sleep many a

talking to her photo-»
‘e he went to sleep he.
2r photograph and say,
Momsie.” And when he ©

the morning he’d say,
ag Momsie.”
i no bad habits, so po-

would do no good to”

ons, gambling dens, or’

. Unlike Dillinger, there ©
»pies in his life, ‘so it*

iikely that they could

one call from a unhap-»

2 drove no car, ‘so wit-

vt geta miake or a li-
2r to trace. He was a
ruled out affiliated in-

age te Gea

vas.as relaxed as a pair:

.penders when commit-

y, and police rated him —

.e average stickup artist. '

casion, just after he®

owner of $300 and was:
the door, a cop walked
jammed a gun into his
! him of his pistol, and
want to kill you, but if

|’ both guns. “That’s smart,”

you try to follow me, you’ll get it in
the guts.”

Reporters were beginning to hear
the name Richard Carpenter. When-
ever there was a robbery they rushed
to the telephones. By morning it was
sloshed across front pages throughout
Chicago: TWO-GUN CARPENTER
STRIKES AGAIN. POLICE FAIL
TO CATCH SLIPPERY GANG-
STER. ©:

Suddenly he was America’s most
wanted fugitive. And just as sud-
denly he was everywhere at once:
“Carpenter Robs Bar in Chicago
Heights,” “Carpenter Holds Up Gro-
cery Store in Cicero,” “Carpenter
Seen in Arlington Heights.”

. Overnight he became a household

word, and the entire police force was
determined to get him.

Police couldn’t prove it, but they
reasoned that Carpenter was secretly
sending money home to Momsie and
the girls. The house took on a new
paint job, and delivery trucks were
constantly lugging in new furnish-
ings and supplies. When questioned
by authorities, a member of the
household would shrug it off by say-
ing, “We work and save our money.”

There are many stories of Carpen-
ter’s slippery escapes from the law,
but none were as intriguing as the
night he held up a bar on Wright-
wood Avenue in an armpit section of

‘ Chicago’s North Side. On April
Fool’s Day, 1955, he approached the

bar, stuck two guns in the face of
bartender Martin Chowanski, and or-
dered, “Give me the money!” An off
duty policeman named Medard Bo-
sacki happened to be therein civilian
cloths. When Richard saw him eas-
ing toward his gun, he said calmly,
“You draw that gun and someone
will-die here tonight!”

The bartender told the officer, “Put
that thing away. I don’t want no
killing here. It’s only money.”

Carpenter cocked the hammers of
he said.
“Now, you, slide that heater down
the bar with your left hand.” The po-
liceman, not wishing to risk the life
of the bartender, did as he was told.
Carpenter scooped up the cash and
darted out the door. The officer wait-
ed a few seconds, then scooted out
after him. Later, he told his superior,
Lieutenant John Flannagan, “That
guy disappeared faster than anyone
I’ve ever seen.”

Carpenter always operated solo.

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One night he nursed a single beer for
hours until “last call.” The propri-
etor informed the police: “Talk about
cool. He took $350 off me and my
customers didn’t even know it.”

Another time after the robbery of

‘a liquor store, Carpenter darted down

a dark alley and into the street with
the portly clerk hot in pursuit. Car-
penter hopped into a cab. The star-
tled cab driver refused to budge
when he heard the man yelling,
“Help! Police.”

“You gotta help me, pal,” Carpen-
ter begged. “I didn’t know she was
married and her husband’s gonna kill
met”

The cabbie grinned and floor-
boarded it. His good deed got him
nowhere. Outside of town Carpenter
held him up and took $25.

A picture and description of the
holdup man was run off and dis-
tributed to every law enforcement of-
ficer in the city. Teams of officers
fanned out, asking questions at taxi
garages and every roominghouse and
motel where they figured the elusive

bandit might be holed up. Following
a tip from one of his victims that
Richard looked sun-tanned, every
health club and gymnasium in town
was visited, along with beaches in
and around Lake Michigan. In all his
derring-do holdups, Carpenter had
never used his guns. But police knew
that sooner or later someone would
try to be a hero and they wanted to
collar him before it was too late.

One of the detectives who had at-
tended all the police conferences
concerned with trapping the evasive
gunman was a fellow named Detec-
tive Bill Murphy. In August of 1955
he sat across from the fugitive on a
subway train. As the train ap-
proached the station at Roosevelt and
State Streets, Murphy calmly slid
next to Carpenter. Flashed his badge,
the officer told Carpenter that he was
under arrest.

Then he made one tragic mistake
when Carpenter told him, “You got
the wrong man,” the detective
reached inside his coat pocket to pull
out the wanted poster to take anoth-

scan on the morning af Sen-
vr 2A © The -ftarneve hod
anpointed by Jndve Somers
ing Announroment that
‘s had no funds, ¥
nas’ nien of guilty was en-
at 9:40-hv S. DD. Wise, one
‘gs atternevs after he had
‘roueht into the court room
“elock.

xa Somers had ‘just’ called
ise to trial when Mr. .Wise
and stated the defendant
i to withdraw a preliminary
f not guilty and enter a plea,
ilty, :

sa Somers than called the
lant. before him and explain-
at his plea of guilty carried
t, asking the young man if
lerstood it al, Chesnas re-
that he did. The court
retest hin to be grated
in enlled for evidenee he-
iissing sentence on Ches-

:, Unsell. widow of the slain |
vas the firet witness and she’
bed the shooting. Sheriff,
was the next witnesk, and |

* Jackson, Md Fasley. Inez,
nu, Coroner MeCormack and
Metealf testified in the or-
aumed, Dr, J, C. Lightner
f the autopsy eqnducted by
'Poand De MeCaemael N,
‘ivan and Bob Pearce, neigh-
f the Unsell familv testified
1© court then took the naon-
djournment,

en court convened at 1:30
, James Cozart was the first
:s. He told of heing the
o reach the bedside of Mr.
‘ after the shooting. Claude
ns wag the next witness for
‘ople and the defense then:
need witnesses. the ‘first be- |
hief of Police Walter Jack-,
who told of conditions at
sme of Chesnas. Rvron Da-
1 charge of Good Will Cen-
West Harrisburg also ae

te’s Attorney Charles T.
made the closing argument,
» case on behalf of the Ying
{f the State of Tilinois.

‘er, and more able he!

robably never heard in anv}

room, Despite the crowded
room and the.many in the
‘ys supreme qufet reigned
shout his argument:as if ev-
ne present were more. than
us to hear every syllahle of
‘ue. Baid. = The following are
pts from his argument:

it Please the Court: ;

one appreciates more than’
magnitude of the burden!

1 this defendant has placed)
the shoulders of your honor,
your shoulders and yours
rests the burden of deter-
* what punishment shall be
| out to him for his . foul
It is the province of
honor and none other to
mine this question. Thus hae
od oanr lawmakers, and
1er wisely so or not is’ not
ur eonsideration, What has
said or what I may say here
t determine this question,
an but state our views in the
‘rv. In doing so, I realize full
‘ow easy it is for those whose
it is not, to say what that
‘hment shall be. No matter
may be the decision of this
, there will be those who will |
that they would have done.
and so-had.they been the’
», but there is no such re-;
sibility resting upon’ them!
vere ig upon your honor, Andi
are not vested with the anu-
ity, as is this court, to pass
nee upon this defendant. His
sel cannot do that and neith-

in I. TI do not know what the

ion of this court will be, but
ow, whatever it is, I shall be
fied with it. It takes a
oman, a man of courage and

_Colt’s. revolver and

(Continued. on page six),

Berle Clie dar pee AAG vad eda
rob him, byt ug that if
he helped rob him that..Mr,
and: Mus, Unsell would know
him. Joe Ingram suggested
that Alfred Dixon and I rob
him, ‘We all three went down:
to the house after . nine
o’clock at -night. Alfred and-
I stayed ontside and Joe,went
in the house and talked to, Mr.
and Mrs, Unsell and then he
came out and told us that
everything was alright.. »’Al-
fred Dixon and I them went in
Mr. Unsell’s house and robbed
Mr. ‘Unsell and took $6,00 from
him, Alfred Dixon went in and
got the $6.00 out of’ Mr. Un-
sell’s pockets while I stayed in
the other room with- Mrs. Un-
sell. Alfred Dixon had a re-
volver, and made: Mr, Unsell.,
thrd® up his diac,
have any gun. Wo thew left’
Mr. Unsell’s house and came
out and all three of us, namely,

Joe Ingram, Alfred Dixon and >
I, went away together and: we:
divided the $6.00 that we had |

gotten from Mr. Unsell in the
following manner, Joe Ingram
got $2.00, Alfred Dixon got
$2.00, and-I got. $2.00, the
money being divided equally
between us, We later’ separat-
ed and each went to his: own
home,

On Sunday night, kage
Sth, 1926, I had been to Shaw-
neetown that afternoon and
after I got back to Harrisburg
I went down to my home about
dark and got. my. .38 caliber
it was
loaded all around; I then went
from my home to Tony Castle’s
place and went from there
sometime between: the hour of
nine o’clock and twelve o’clock
down to Mr. William ‘Unsell’s
home, the same place and the
sume man that I had. helped
to rob on Thursday night. be-
fore. I stayed out in the yard
awhile and watched him. He
came out on the back porch and
then went into the house and-
then in about thirty minutes
the lights went ont. pee

I then went up to the house

and took the screen off of the,

window in the back part of
the house and crawled into Mr,
Unsell’s house through ~ the.
same window and «went ‘into
the front part of the house and
saw Mr,*Unusell lying there in
bed and I shot once at him
and then ran back out of the
houge,. The pistol I shot him
with was the thirty-eight Colt’s
revolver which I had with me.
After the--shooting L went to
Tony Castle's place-of business
and saw Tony Castle and told
him what I had done and gave
him the pistol I had shot. Mr,
Unsell with. | Tony. took the
pistol and went toward his
father’s house. ‘A few minutes
later Tony came back to Tony’s
stand, He and F went to sleep
together. The next morning
which ,was Monday morning,
August 9th, 1926,- Tony. told
me he had gone to his father's
house and got the pistol’ and
had wrapped-it up in paper and
hid it along the red picket
fence by his stand, I have not
seen the pistol since I gave ‘it
to. Tohy. :

The reason I shot Mr, Unsell
was because Alfred Dixon had
already been arrested for the
robbery and had been identi-
tied by Mr. Unsell and I was
afraid that I would be identi-
fied also’ by either Mr. Unsell
or Mrs, Unsell and I was afraid
that we would both: be sent to.
the penitentiary for the robbery.
that had happened Thursday
night before,

Dated this 9th day of August, ‘

A, D, 1926.

L . JOR CHESNAS,

Taint).

P Oontee, Joe Chesnas, y ~athtul killer of “Ynele Billy” Un

life today; above, left, Cir
John Small of. Saline Cony
Dixon and Tight, Joe sr

Coolidge At Work
+» In A School Room

RAPID CITY, S. D., June 17—
(United Press).—President Cool-
idge went to work, today. in a
schoolroom with — blackboards.
around the walls.

+ ‘Ordering the White House mo-
tor car early, the chief executive
rode down from the hills top the
new. two-story high school build-
ing where his offices have been

set up, and ‘prepared to handle the

business of the nation.

The dim outlines of crayon maps
still clung to the walls as he sat
down at a mahogany desk and op-
ened his own mail: It was far re-
moved from the: round room in
the White House but Mr. Coolidge
accepted it as if he had been work-
ing there all of his life.

- Six windows in a’row, on one
side, looked out over-the rolling
hills. It was a plain room bure of
pictures and other adornments.
There was only the large table and
about a half dozen chairs in the
room. ;

: After he had attended to all of
the business that demanded - his

immediate attention the president,

pecam panied by Mrs, . Goolidge. set

od to come back next —
afternoon at 2 o’clock sharp. So
many were late last
that spoils the stories, Next Sat-
urday the program will be much
‘longer,

friends with you.
send your children early enough
so that they will not spoil the ef-
fect of the story by interrupting.

gie public library. They are urg-
Saturday

time and

Come and bring all your little
Mothers please

We are trying very hard to

make this time interesting for the
children and feel that as the sum-
mer goes forward they will like
it more and more. Next Saturday
afternoon promptly at 2 o’clock
in the basement of the library.

HARRISBURG, PA.— A’ steel-

gray monoplane, believed to have
been the Spirit of ‘St. Louis in
which Colonel Charles Lindbergh
is flying to St. Louis was sighted
south of Harrisburg at 9:22 a, m.,’
Standard Time, two escort planes
were acnomnenying the. mono-
pigner:

aes Sy piel Shatigian whoa

Miren attended the |.
story hour at-the Mitchell-Carne-

who |
* Juage A. I, Somers who ‘sentenced Ches:
below, left, Ex-Chiet Police Walter Jackson
, Chesnas’ buddies.

Deen cwpegere— ay

—

‘Morning and Re-.

CHESNAS,-Joe, white, hanged Harrisburg, IL on

me’

‘<tra

LISHED 1904.

OF GUILTY CAUSED VERY
ART TRIAL IN CHESNAS CASE

Plea of Guilty On

Sentence of Death
lowing.

TION WAS
TED BY COURT

¢ First Granted a
‘¢, Then Supreme
‘eviewed the Case

t the execution of Joe
‘urred over ten months
Ine wae-rammitted. the
eansed by a renrieve
‘woof his ease bv the
‘urt, the trtal wag ane
test of its kind in, the
Saline county courts,

- Wis arrest on the
‘fandav, Anenat 9 and
indietment an Wriday
Chesnre entered the
‘hres attornevs. S. TD.
ns Gustin and Srerjat
nthe morning of Sen-
The sttarneva had
ited by Jndea Somers
announeement that
i no funds, i
niea of guiltv was en-
10 bv S. D Wise, one
ernevs after he had
t into the court room

mere had just called
frial when Mr, Wise
stated the defendant
ithdraw a preliminary
cuilly and enter a plea.

ners than called the
‘fore him and explain-
plea of guilty carried
ing the young man if
«i it all, Chesnas re-
he did. The. court
hija LO-. Tee syated
‘Hed for evidence be-!

sentence on = Ches-

\l, widow of the slain
‘ first witness and she
‘© shooting. Sheriff,
he next witness, andj
son,’ Rd. Fasley.. Inez,
oner MeCormack and|
'{ testified in the or-
Dr. J. C. Lightner
1utopsy cqnducted by
Ne WMeOnarmack N.
ud Bob Pearce, neigeh-
‘'nsell familv testified
{ then took the noon-
nent, ,
et convened at 1:30
‘» Covart was the first
’ told of heing the
1 the bedside of Mr,

| Chesnas’ Own
Story of Murder

I, Joe Chesnas, make the fol-
lowing statement voluntarily
without any! promises’ of re-:
ward or immunity and after
having been informed by K,
C, Nonalds, Assistant Attorney
of Saline County, Illinois, that
any statement [ might make
relative to the killing of Mr,
William Unsell in Harrisburg,
Illinois, Sunday night, -August
8th, 1926, might be used
against me, and with that un-
derstanding I make the follow-
ing statement. voluntarily;

On Thursday night, August
5th, 1926, Joe Ingram, Alfred
Dixon, and I went together to
Tony Castle’s place of business
and. Joe Ingram told Alfred
/ Dixon and I th77>—~\knew
-William ("+ d about
two block . y arom Joe In-
gram’s house, and he usually
had about $200.00 in hig
house, and Joe Ingram _sug-
gested that we go down and
rob him, but told us“thatedf
he helped rob him.that Mr,
and Mrs. Unsell would know
him. Joe Ingram suggested’
that “Alfred Dixon and I rob
him, ‘We all three went down
to the house after . nine
o'clock at night. Alfred and
I stayed outside and Joe.went
in the house and talked to, Mr.
and Mrs, Unsell and then he
came out and‘ told us that
everything was alright. ‘Al-
fred Dixon and F then went in
Mr. Unsell’s house and robbed
Mr. Unsell and took $6.00 from
him. Alfred Dixon went in’and
got the $6.00 out of! Mr. Un-
sell’s pockets ‘while .I stayed in
the other room with Mrs. Un-
sell. Alfred Dixon.had a re-
volver;,and. :made, Mr,...Unsel, J

“have any gun, We ‘thetieft’
Mr. Unsell’s house and came
out and all three of us, namely,
Joe Ingram, Alfred Dixon and
I, went away together and we

gotten from Mr. Unsell in the
following manner, Joe Ingram
got $2.00, Alfred Dixon got
$2.00, and I got | $2.00, the
money being divided equally
between us, We later’ separat-
ed and each went to his own.
home, , ¥"

On Sunday night, August
8th, 1926, I had been to Shaw-
neetown that afternoon = and.
after I got back to Harrisburg
I went down to my home ‘about
dark and got my .88 caliber
“Colt’s revolvor and {t was

jtirow up his diane, | “Thulin 't, He

divided the $6.00 that we had |

Principals in Saline’s Second Hangin.

eae
~~ Center, Ja

Dixon and Tight, Joe Ingram,

John Small of Saline County!

‘eo shooting, Claude!

londed all around, T then went
eT ae

Pisce thie enn sd- Be tein

« ‘emp ey eee '

eto

‘

ue Ak oe

e Chesnas, youthful killer of “Uncle Billy” Unsell, who ; paid |
life today; above, left, Circuit. Jucge A; KE, Somers who ‘sentenced Chesnas;

below, left, -

Chesnas’ buddies,

Case of Nathan Burgess, sinors (8 7F

FIFTIETH ANNIVERSARY

SOUVENIR

EFFINGHAM. ILLINOIS

1853-1903.

Being a Brief Review of the City from Date
of Founding to the Present.

ILLUSTRATED.

PRICE, TWENTY- FIVE CENTS)
Clan Mabe

6 ae “hy aioe FE re
ee flings aM. iN. Mey SOT Ir,
| :

. PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY

THE EFFINGHAM DEMOCRAT,
MAY, 1903.

et Ae ee ae ee

ees EE PSC OPER he RRP Ter Teen

;

SOUVENIR OF EFFINGHAM, ILLINOIS.

G. W. Barcus, Rev, G. A. Pollock and
Rev. C. McAnally, with all of God’s
people in heaven.

At 1:28 the sheriff started from
his cell, Burgess following, tollowed
by Sheriff Jennings of Fayette coun-
ty, Deputies Nuxoll and Dobbs. and
the three attending ministers, Bros.
Pollock, Barcus and MeAnally. When
Burgess appeared he was calm and
composed, steady and firm, Ifo ar-
rived on the platform, Rev. G. A.
Pollock prayed fervently for . the
doomed man. At the conclusion of
the prayer, the Sheriff read ihe or-
der of the Court to him and asked
him what he had to say. ffe said,
“T have nothing to say but that Iam
innocent of the crime with which I
am charged. God knows that IT am
innocent.” The sherif€ gave him 10
minutes in whieh to say anything.

THE DEMOCRAT’S NEW HIGH GRADE PRESS.

He said nothing, but near the cid of
the 16 minutes he callel Charlies
Houseman to him and said, “You are
the only man who swore the truth
that swore against me.” Houseman
said, “I swore the truth.” During
the interview with Houseman was
the only time he evineed the slightest
emotion. The 10 minutes passed and
the sheriff, with the attendants, put
on the cap, tied his hands, adjusted
the rope and in a moment, at 165
minutes before 2 o’cloeck, he swung
off into eternity. For a few mo-
ments no muscular signs were no-
ticed, but soon a violent quivering
was seen and then all was quict. At
14 minutes his pulse was very slight:
at 16 minutes entirely gone. At the
end of 20 minutes Drs. Eversman,
Groves, LeCrone and Scott pro-

nounced him dead and he was cut
down and placed in his coffin,

Hie was carried out through tle
crowd to the street, where he was
sat down and the cap taken off, and
the excited thousands permitted to
gaze on the remaing of a man who
had paid the severest penalty of the
law, After all had seen him, a
statement prepared by him was read
by Owen Scott at his request.

The exeention was almost perfect-
ly done, no excitement oeceurring to
shock those present. C. Nolte super-
intended the erection of the gailows
and everything was as well done us
could be desired. Although the act
is horrible to contemplate, all the of-
ficers who were required to do this
did their duty with that accuracy and
firmness which characterize men of
capacity and courage.

At Dae cnsiasnriowheal

A Notable Trial.

One of the most notable criminal
trials in the city was that of U. G.
Russel, Robert Russell, William Stal-
cup, Jacob Bougher and Clark Howell,
for the murder of David AL.. Shephard
at the Ilemsburg bridge in Union
township on the night of November
t, sed, Shepherd and the Russells
got into a dispnte over forty acres
of Jand and on the night of November
Ith Shepherd was murdered. The
above named persons were arrested
and indicted for the crime. The ac-
eused were taken to Shelbyville for
safe keeping, our jail not having
been built at that time, and in De-
comber, 1864, they were indicted at
a special term of cirenit court pre-
sided over by Judge Constable.

While the jury was being impanneled
Constable took sick and B. I’. Kagay
presided by appointment. When
eight jurors were selected Constable
died. Hiram B, Decius was elected
to snueeced Constable and in January,
tS66, the trial was again taken up.
S. S. Whitehead and John Schoificld
of Marshall, O. B. Ficklin of Charles-
ton and H. B. IWwepley prosecuted
whilé Benson Wood and W. B. Coop-
er of this city and James W. Connally
of Charleston defended. Atter a
trial running through three weeks the
accused were convicted and sen-
tenced to be hanged March 16, 1866.
Two days before they were to be
hanged their attorneys got a siay of
proceedings for the supreme court to
examine the case, and on the night
of June 13, 1866, the defendants broke
jail. Joshua N, Doyle, under indict-

ment for a murder committed in Et
fingham, escaped at the same time.
A reward of $1,000 wag oftered for
the capture and return of the murder-
ers, Dnt - they were never recaptured.
The trial wag a very notable one and
the court room was crowded during
the whole time. For some time there-
after it was the chief subjeet of dis-
cussion in every gathering in he
county. A

—

First Criminal Case.

On Christmas eve, 1856, Mningham
had its first criminal case. On that
night HM. 0. Smith's store on the
northwest corner of the square Was
broken into, the safe Uroaken open

-and $600 in money stolen. On the

account of the amount ot m. ney se-

then introduced, but showed no ma-
terial answer to the charges and
proof, The theory was, however,
that Burgess feared a mneb, and con-
fessed under this apprehension. But
after hearing all the evidences and
arguments of counsel,. and being in-
structed by the Court the jury re
tired, and about midnight on Friday
night they returned the following
verdict: “We, the jury, find the dc-
fendant guilty as charged in the in-
dictment and fix the punishment at
death.”

The prisoner, who all along had wn-
bounded confidence in his acquittal
here completely broke down under
theh verdict of the jury. On [friday’
the 27th day of March. the motion for
a new trial was argued fully by the
counsel, and on Saturday morning

following the Court overruled the mo-
tion and pronounced the
which was substantially as follows:
‘Nathan Burgess, what have you to
say why sentence should not be
passed upon you according to the ver-
diet of the jury?’ No response.
‘The jury has found you

murder, and your punishment at
death, I admonish you to banish all
thoughts of pardon or reprieve, and
during the hours that remain that you
prepare for the death that surely
awaits you; that you put your trust
in God. who through, his son has
power to forgive your sins, who for-
gave the thief upon the cross. JT here
present with this book from = @
ininister of the Gospel, and it now
only reriains that the sentence of the
Court e passed, which is, that you
be taton hence to the county jail,

sentence,

gniliv of

you

SSS S TIRE TTT NET RT CN

SOUVENTR OF EFFINGHAM, TLLTNOIS.

and there confined until the 18th day
or June next, to be taken lroii thence
by the sheriff of this county to the
place of execution, between the hours
of 10 a, m., and 4 o’clock p. Ti, On
said day, and there hanged by the
neck until dead; and may the Lord
have merey on your soul.”

The execution of Burgess took
place on Friday, June 18th, 1875.
Win. C. Baty was the sheriff of the
county at that time, and had charge
of the execution. We reproduce the
account of the execution herewith
which appeared in The Democrat of
June 24th, 1875, and which was as
follows:

“Nathan Burgess, who at the March
term of the Fiffingham County Cir-
cult Court was convieted of the mur
dev of Joseph Robbins, and sentenced

INDEFS~CO ST. he

BOOS BLOCK FACTORY.

to be hanged on Friday, the 1Sih day
of June, 1875, paid the extreme pen-
alty of the Jaw in accordance with his
sentence Friday ai about half past
one o'clock.

“Tho murder was committed ahout
one mile cast of Vandalia, at
bridge near the Okaw River, on the
sth day of October, 1874. he was
indicted at March term of the Van-
dalia Cirenit Court, and on a change
of venue he was brought to Effing
ham Cirenit Conrt, Counsel was ap
pointed by the Court. to defend him.
ably defended by Messrs
Campbell of Vandalia, and 1. N. Rine-
hart. of [Eflingham.

“A petition numerously signed was
sent to the Governor, appealing for a
commutation of the sentence to im
prisonmont for life failed, the Gover
nod deciding the law should take its

the

He was

course, ‘without executive inter-
ference.

The following sketch of his life is
chiefly in his own words:

“Nathan Burgess was born in
Pique, Miama Connty, Ohio, on the
tth day of May, 1847. He says his
parents were good and kind to him
from infancy and taught him to be
honest and upright, and sent him to
Sabbath, School. Being very poor
were not able to give him a
very good education, he having at-
tended school only about 18 months
in his life. He writes a fair hand,
and is able to read intelligently. He
worked with his father until he was
old enough, then spent 23 months
learning the blacksmith’s trade. Not
liking this he abandoned it and went
to common labor.

they

Ife came to Illinois 7 years ago next
fall, lived in Richland county two
years, and then moved to Vandalia,
where he lived ever since.

{fe stated just a few hours before
his execution that he felt he had been
a sinner, but had forgiven all his
and had no feeling toward
any man but one, and that was Min-
i tlarris. who he stated swore

isely against him. He then said:
“{ hope to meet all my friends and
relatives in heaven. I feel that T
am going to heaven. I am happy.
i forgive all my enemies. I feel that
ihe spiritnal advise has been a great
blessing and comfort to me. 1 feel
that through the means that God has
ordained for the restoration of man-
kind L have been blessed with the
peace of regeneration. My desire is
to mect my spiritual advisers, Bros.

enenues,

SOUVENIR OF EFFINGHAM, ILLINOIS. 39

men, under whose: skilled and effi-
cient management with a set of me-
chanies of unsurpassed character,
each of whom caught the spirit of
their foreman, the Effingham shops
equalled, in point of the character of
the work turned out, the best rail-
road shops of the West. He re-
mained in charge until the removal
of the shops, after the management
of the Vandalia passed under the con-
trol of the Pennsylvania Central in
1896,

Temporarily this was followed by
great depression, which was not how-
ever peculiar to Effingham alone, but
was general throughout the country.
Many of our best families, the skilled
mechanics and others, were com-
pelled to seek other places, where
shops were being operated, for em-
ployment. Much property was
thrown upon the market at greatly
reduced prices, and of consequence

a& new epoch in its history as one
of the acknowledged leading business
centers of Southern THlfnols; and as:
site of art, literature, culture and
learning is drawing students and pat-
ronage not only from all parts of our
State, but from almost every State
in the Union and from every part
ot the world. The present is char-
acterized by a full measure of pros-
perity, and the future is full of the
promise of still better things.

Only Execution.

IfMfingham County has been remark-
ably free from serious crime ever
since its organization. Few murders
have been committed in the county,
and there has never been but one
legal execution of a murderer in the
county, and that was a murder case
brought from Jayette county. | In
the fall of 1874 Nathan Burgess mur-

The first account of the Burgess
case ig noted in The Democrat of
March [S8th, {875 in the Fayette Court
notes which stated that after indict-
ment the case against Burgess had
been changed from Fayette to Effing-
ham county on a change of venue.
In the issue of March 25th, 1875, in
the proceedings ot the Circuit Court
of this county appears the following
account of the Burgess case:

“The People vs. Wm. Burgess,
murder—On a change of venue from
Fayette county. State’s Attorneys
Ashcraft and Gillmore for the people.
Campbell of Fayette, and Rinehart of
Iflingham appeared for the defense
by appointment of the Court. This
was a case of much importance, and
was long and tedious, and involving
as it did a question of life and death,
avery point was duly considered in
the progress of the trial. It was be-
sun On Thursday by an opening state-

ote #,

tae ae papas 202 Dee
2 Ret ST

A VIEW OF THE TLLINOTS COLLEGIO OF PHOTOGRAPILY.

,there was a great falling off in gen-
eral business.

But the establishment of Austin
College, which proved a marvel of
success, under most adverse circum-
stances, and the location of the
Illinois College of Photography, un-
der the indomitable energy of
President Bissell, with students from
Italy, France, Scotland, Sweden, Ja-
pan, Honduras, and Porto Rico, as
wel] as from nearly every State in
the Union, and the enlargement of
the Boos & Co.’s Meat Block Factory
which is finding sales for its goods in
every part of the globe, having re-
cently filled orders from Australia
and South Africa; also the American
Condensed Milk Co., and Effingham

Tank Company, the loss of the shops,
and the detriment occasioned by

their removal, have long since been
forgotten, and the city of Effingham,
at the beginning of the second halt
century of its existence, enters upon

dered Joseph Robbins, a watchman
on the Vandalia bridge east of Van-
dalia. He wags indicted by the Tfay-
ette Circuit Court and the case was
brought to the Effingham Circuit
Court on a change of venue. He was
tried at the March term, 1875, and
was sentenced to be hanged, the exe-
cution taking place in this city on
June 18th, 1875. An illustration of
the crowd around the Court House on
the day of the execution appears here-
with, The most complete history of
this case in existence appears in the
files of The Democrat of those days,
and we take the following account at
the trial and execution from those
files.

Several other murders have oc-

curred fn the county, but in no case
hag an exeeution of a murderer fol-

lowed. Short accounts of these mur-
ders will be found in another part of
thig volume under the heading of
the “Story of the Files.”

ment by State's Attorney Ashcraft,
in which he no doubt convinced the
jury that if the evidence proved to
be what he stated Burgess must be
found guilty. The statement was
lucid and to the point.

“Then the opening by the defend-
ant’s counsel, Campbell, was made.
This was rather a tame effort, all the
wind doubtless being taken out of it
by the numerous confessions of the
defendant. Then the evidence was
introduced showing many confessions
of the defendant, some of which were
made after having been warned by
the prosecuting attorney not to say
anything to criminate himself, as it
would be used against him. The evi-
dence was overwhelming that the de-

fondant killed Joseph Robbins in cold
blood, with malice and aforethought.

The evidence for the defense simply
showed that there was no defense.
The opening argument was made by
State’s Attorney Gillmore, and was a

FROM THE ARCHIVES

Murder In Paris

By Sergeant Ronald C. Van Raalte (Ret.)
Arlington Heights Police Department

The date that Elijah Birdwell arrived in Paris is not known, nor is much known of his early
life. However, it was his death in Paris that drew national attention. Whilst the reader may
have visions of international intrigue, spies and counterspies, or perhaps the debauchery of
a foreign femme, our Illinoisan did not die in Paris, France.

The setting for our villainous deed was the town originally known as Edgar Courthouse,
seat of Edgar County, until January 11, 1826, when it was changed to Paris. When it was
incorporated as Paris on February 10, 1853, the city was populated by persons who had
emigrated from the New York and Pennsylvania area. No doubt Birdwell and his family were
among those emigrants.

In mid-October a man named Procise and another, Charles Francis (alias John) Burns, had
committed several larcenies at Greencastle, Indiana, and were being sought by authorities
there. Ona Saturday, Indiana authorities elicited the aid of Elijah Birdwell, Paris city marshal,
to assist in the arrest of the wanted men. During the attempted arrest at the home of Procise,
Burns shot and killed Birdwell and fled across the state line.

Two days later, Burns was captured while enjoying the favors of a soiled dove in a Terre
Haute house of ill fame. He was returned to Edgar County for trial. Charles Francis Burns was
born in New York State in 1849, and like Birdwell’s family, came to Illinois and settled in
Edgar County in 1874. He was previously arrested for burglary and served two years in the
state penitentiary.

Although he pursued his plea of innocence, claiming self-defense, Burns was found guilty
and was sentenced to be hanged by the neck until dead. His attorney filed affidavits with the
governor requesting clemency, all of which were denied. Burns’s last hours were spent
listening to the erection of the scaffold in the ward adjacent to his cell. At 1: 15 onanafternoon
in June, the trap dropped and 30 minutes later, Burns was declared dead. By virtue of his
execution, the murder of Paris City Marshal Elijah Birdwell had been paid for.

Birdwell’s ultimate sacrifice is as forgotten in Paris as the Greyhound buses that no longer
stop in the town. And while the Paris Police Pistol Range is dedicated to Carter Metcalf, a
police chief who died of natural causes, there is no memorial for Elijah Birdwell.

(Editor's note: The author does not tell us the year or decade when the above events took
place, but because of the details surrounding the murderer’s life, we believe it was in the late
1870s or early 1880s, or about 110 years ago. We would have followed up with our writer,
but he was on vacation at the time and faxed us this story from the Avis Rent-A-Car office at
O'Hare Airport, Chicago.

The above story is among hundreds of case histories of law enforcement officers killed in
the line of duty discovered by Sergeant Van Raalte through his work with the Law Enforcement
Research Project, now the Law Enforcement Memorial Association [LEMA], of which, Van
Raalte is president. LEMA is an organization governed by survivors and current and former

law enforcement officers.)

24/COMMAND MAGAZINE, SEPTEMBER 1992 OFFICIAL PUBLICATION OF THE
ILLINOIS ASSOCIATION OF CHIEFS OF POLICE

BURNS, Johnk white, :

hanged Waris, IL, on 6/21/1878

wcow wees nee

toaee On the 22d of October last, while
ya ; Sees boa SRA TY eta a tine ee staying with a man named Procise,

er:

Soe te Se ire waieerere Steentes SooSe) who was wanted by an Indiana. officer
Ae: anes ecw mecauian ene : 1p - for burglary, he strot and kitled officer
ae yeas ye sen be " FlJah Birdwell, who had ridden to the
eds nee an Rann peace . . house of Procise to arrest its owner.
1a apectl Despetch te The Denville Xews. * se ~ Burns went to the door, dnd fired sev:
fe ccoata 6 June 21.—The execution i." eral shots at Birdwell, from : which he
( Baers { died that night. ; Burnes fled at once,

‘but was arrested: two‘ days. after’ at
Terre Haute in # “house: of 1) fame. ””
i On the oth of April last. Burns’ was
arraigned sbefore the cireuit. -court,

pen ay me Tees Mite ea Judgé Nelson presiding; on his trial

nia 30 o'clock notice was fiven af °

[ ekee that the doomed “man was wo be Jod Lo ee for, the murler., Hon. Andy J. Iun-
<0? the ‘waffold. , ye ney Dan ter defended the prisoner, After an

7 Son thereafter he came; preceded & ‘able defense by Mr;‘ Hunter, in which

i he tried to show that the shooting was
«-. 7 done in self-defense, a verdict of guil-
x.ty. wos } rendered, and he was sentenced

oe » by Sheriff Molly aud Deputy Willard,
, and supported on one side by Rev. Mr.
é ewes and on the other by Mrs. Wik!

Pes

are ti ond is aa, He pa: eee ye *.
MB re “ms tie DAYR
me -'Bince ‘iid upetsonmnent, nothing has
f “seemed to soften his “hardened nature.

>The ‘appeared tgadealy coul, and rap-
= =saty" asccadeu the avers of the scaffold re
: —s acigar. ° ies y
vig: « The death warrant was road, and &S
then Burns bad a. prepared . statement ;
| adel tem the aarp ee:
ed closed by saying: ©". “3
i. #] fool as well Unis afternoon us ever
“ta mylife.”” °°)
"And in the manuscript 46 passage
“ot s was underscored:*:
% ae “I do not fear death; lam not guilly
“» of murder; I bid you all farewell. ig
“7 - Atter which, the deputy read a re-
~ quest from Biine-tbat his body be de-
- cently parle, an not handed over for
os. During this ‘ume. “Burns .was calm

card-playlng. f: Ho was ‘an {ignorant
ange St: bravo,” and assumed an Intense air’ of

is * te my

“5 me
See

chap:

See, in. ‘Hatentag. tothe qreciicn’ of
«his: *scaffold—every sound of which
Pe wad lke a, grim tap upon’ his coffin,
aa emo jbim, ito be ‘Prepared. Ie

« undoncernedly smoked: his pipe,. and
cf Played seven-tp,: guring, as be. was,
SJ into his grave.<+: yt RN ve

ek aul cool, smoking and apltting at in- eats XO, MERCY,

ee tervals,
oh. Prayer followed, “after which Burns
t aes ‘shook bands with all present. Ills
hands were then pinoned, and the cap
"gor and poose adjusted.
S27 Ab 116 o'clock the trap. ceunped, and
E30 minutes ‘thereafter he was declared ,
“dead 2°" : yt ened ea
“There was no struggle ; o te [ite seed
a 3 The tragedy was ‘witnessed by about H AEN oral
160 within theinclosure, and the house: Rs geile os he 2.
= tops facing the opening In the scaffold preter , >: .
+S enclosure were ‘covered by men, boys, be aH
“ girls, and women, to gratify a horrible o :
“Ss and morbid curlosity. . The whole af-
"os. fale was admirably managed and exe-
4 cuted 5

. Tahn allae on galak Lranata VWiscwwa

als from’ ‘ppcinek: We. whither he

Sad BoA Lo Tatetell fwith-Gor.: Cul-

: thetsentence “The

x Oi ie he age tat ot +

¢ ease ‘was’ ful, SA Mdavits
t Jala befo orf the Governor’ plating

sites 7
%
yee

vag

So) >

e
a!
3

See Fy Pee ee : Sing) oe eee Ra eas ree
pate tie ta eo. Peyages te She Se Aes Jean ay a3 a
= ya Me & Ce on Ss. 2 gts ES = 2
cate Bi > - if tee . = atoe CES sai? pele ca
she ne seat male es : : : * ert ; 2
2 5 > : é ak nd gilt aw fe
ah : ik ant HAS n 9
ae PS Ae

Or Ta ap

Dd nt ae
ee
-
ch

WEEKLY MEWS,
AMauyrl Lhe Le
peer ZF, ISTE

From File Box 260, Criminal Court Records, Edgar County, Illinois

shu lini 2M
aurrdhac, Khagiraggms ¥
WAN, Sitictio , tuYomdwr

bl pet ux [Cos

Dari ha ngh 4. pseu

yte

He Wlllar

“mn hl Ws:
VW. Ja td ote nai LUV “
b>)
f
K
t

Compiuint, Negro Says. |

standing tAlLand. amiding be-
@ ftven white-man, scemed al-
al nt. 4

A ]
M ging to rest,” he sald in a!
™, “I have no complaint to
G54 Almighty will take care of

4 /
one's andwer was a gibbering |
: : knees swayed beneath him :
ter Shields tried to make him |
‘At thryer. |
. tet them hang me,” he {m-
rease save: me."
ex Pe Wax placed about Reese's |
bee turned his head toward '
ith a half compassionate,
a erin,
ar the death mask was ad-
me Alone continued his whim- |
mets. Then the trap was
m2 two white forms shot
wall was quiet save for the
Fr’ happier prisoner in 9 far

#” Surpliced priest made the
Toss. The doctora crowded.
ting to pronounce the mur-
The state's penalty had

AY, AuousT 19, 1955.

Ae ete Rt aes an me ec

(ee cemmvcenrae ater —e

Aseqciated Press Wirephote

leraijled at Russell, age (cross on map)

an express
1 down the
d the river
t the Bas-
iroad main
ie rushing

remaining
aped injury
by bus ta
t scheduled

section of
itral’s Lake
bound from

The
is separated

Chicago ¢ a New York.
Boston .

from the New York train
at Albany Ne Boston and
Albany i pecare line to

the Ncw work Central.

In Boston,! Boston and AIl-
bany offi ials'gaid W. F. White,
enginecr, ; and Staley Galka,

fireman, iwere reported safe. |

Later westhound trains from
Boston rerouted west /of
Worcestef on the Boston and
pag dag Ge:

Troy, N nstead of Albany.

aad. They will goto .

BS QUELL RIOT
N SH PRISON

8 Hurt as Guards, Troopers

ue Convict Mutiny
t Great Meadows

COMSTOCK, N. Y., Aug. 18
(UP)—+Armed state police officers
and guards charged into a mob
of convicts at the Great Mea-
dows! State Prison today and
broke up a ten-hour sitdown
strike in a thirty-minute battle
that jleft eighteen reese in-
jured

One state trooper; was hurt
seriously in the bloody exchange
with jstones, fists and|clubs, One
trooper accidentally fired a gun-
shot.| ©

‘Fourteen prisoners, |two troop-
ers and one guard 8 fered su-
perificial injuries,

“It} was a pitched battle,” de-

clarefi Joseph Sayera of Troy,
N. Yj, state police inspector who
led the 248 police and guards|”
when they moved with ma-
ching guns, rifles night-
sticks on the 174 strikers. |

“The prisoners didn’t vield an
inch. It was 8 wild, swinging

ers punching and kicking. They
determined to fight to, the

ans J. McHugh, State Cor-
ions Commissioner. rushed to
the ; prison seventy-five’ miles
northeast of Albany. He or-

dered the convicts massed in the
recreation yard to: end their
mutiny.

Suspe

Family of 3 Captive

, Aug. 18 fis
of ederal

ation spond a
ohe of Chicago's largest man-
hunts tonight. They captured
Richard Carpenter, 26 years, did,
who was wanted for the murier

P, M...on
apartajent! building on the near

sae pub

Mor n twenty shots and
tear : artridges were fired
into the
penter; had held captive a family
of three for twenty-three hours.

Latd 1 night he had seri-
ously wounded: Policeman Clar-
ence Kerr, The policeman was
shot whil
penter; inja movie theatre.

Thoge
Stella | Powell, 30, and her two
u-|ehildrgn,

ment where Car-|

trying to arrest Car-,
‘The police
ld prisoner were Mrs. ‘into this

descin) vp Tee ew vere Ths

dow a
way

| staggered

vert 7, a Diane, 3.;a policem@gn.

if an att
‘notify the! police,

went to his job as
driver ang did came ll the
i police.

| He retuyned from we rk and
found Ca enter still in the flat.
Then, und

into! another

Q,
or 23 Hours

Leonard |Powell, 30,| truck
U| driver, also! was there n Car-
penter forged his way) into the
apartment, Under threqts that
Carpenter would kill hi family

pt were»

a pretext,» . Pow-

~narrow
ap rtment.

fired tear R

out into .the

Be
‘ es :

_[meeting was prelimin

b JUSTICES DIVIDED
/ON JONG VERDICTS

iNew Hampshire Jurist Favord
Terse Opinions—Viewpoint
Opposed at Bar Session

Special to The New York Times.

T; Pe ad Se

Two chief justices disagreed toe
day on whether judicial opinions;
should be short or lang:

They debated at the opening
session of the seventh

conference of chief justices of
the nation's supreme courts. The

seventy-eighth annual fyeeting
of the American Bar. Associac
tion, opening here Monday. -

Chief Justice Frank R. Kente

3 shells son of New Hampshire came out

for short opinions, Chief Justi¢®-
|A. Cecil Snyder of Puerto ea

ce QUITS

signed from the State
ice Commission, pav-
ing the way for Democrats te
take cpnt#ol of the three-member

in the $13.700-a-vear
post ran fo Feb, 1, 1959. He was
Y\ presidentiof the commission dur-
ing the agministration of former
Governor} Dewey. The resigna-
tion Will ftake effect Aug. 31.

Governpr Harriman hag not
yet appoiited’a successor.

Mr. Taylor said that he had

“just 'dedided to quit.” He add-

eA thd? Whe hat on enectfic lace,

yester di ty
avoidable.

He beg
lustrator
Dispatch.
The Fort

CARTOONIST KILLED

ctim Was Creator of

favored long ones.

Justice Kenison said:

“Judges regard their lengthy
opinions with more satisfactiog
than the lawyers who must reag
them, who must find office spacg

MIAMI, (7)-— A,
72-year-ol ho died
after having been st
policeman oi 'y va
‘dentified jtoday 8
of the Nineteen aay , Hagry

er created the comid
ping Up; With the
hd “Babbling! Bess.”
n his work 4s an il;
or the St: Lofiis Posts
Later he worked for
Wayne (Ind. News+

was listdd as un

“Every survey and stud
has ever been made indicat
that lawyers want shorter op|m
ions than they are now rec

ing.”’ te |

Justice Snyder said that ‘gb.
viously a statement, rearrang
“In colorfully descriptive narra
Tive form, of only the highlight
lof the case. will hold tho intere
and save the time of -“ whe
reads as he runs.’

The National A seociaticn of

TlWomen Lawyers also is meeting

here.

PITCH CHAIN AECING

PHILADELPHIA, Aug. 18 ‘

to thé-

to store them, who must pay.a® ”
increasing amount of ney t@
procure them. .

CARPENTER, Rqchard, white, elec, Cook County Jail,Ill, on December 19, 1958,

(NEW YORK TIMES)

“Mr. Crawford qaid that tite TY
: |hook-up would include the Pres{-
>| dent's pauper headquarteds
at Gettysburg, Pa.. and’ that he
hoped the President would ‘ad-
dress the diners, But ‘the pro-
posal for a Pre gidential talk \s
i {still tentative, he explained.

putti ngUnited ‘Sta
x a“ oft of Duhiness.”
He MeGnwhile, Mr. Whi
LRich-|Serte¢y sinte 1952 cott
has igfreaged about 4
: ost intensive ope, 66 per cen :
‘sentenced’ today: per-¢ent in see An

ec i hair March\cao_ punt ries.

ing:the same p
a (Unruly and |ton

ot! New York sand New. Jersay

Policeman| “D8 iod.
d States|Republicang will jom at Mad-

eage in the Uni

resent- -ydar-old gun-|has n fteduced 35 per ceat,!|son Square Garden -for a bax
as fepresent: + | Bho! sh he adged. if} ctsupper. A. quota of _ tick-
weeen times at(Gibson ‘EX !Gotmgn pf Criminal) =7—+—* $a ———r

dourt tc i hear |hiq attorneys ot =e a ae
sib, "he ‘added, lead fo#ia n ttial. Judge!'@ = } i : 2
.or which Sen-|Gorm Sénied a new trial and & ¢! } i |
papeaker Rays] set the: g¢cution, date. 2 “
to be pre-| aa ae ae

1e end. | sea ge oe BAS soo
Senators were ji ric P
sposition, Sen- aia ae am i fel ele Veale U ace . es MUTUAL AG
added, and a ; eS fo
prospect that
‘ecruits before
ae.
neon Plan pes:
e gas. school oF
voll tax issues. ; i fal
vurn program: fal

1
S :
:

costs 20% an FIRE INSPRANCE
: can the ail t de vou re He 4 be. a q
gad to teal: ‘yoy cle BY obligatiog, 2

Diamonds, -
peas of _ al pilverwate, | :
ch@s,

‘

j ’
i ‘ 2 ;
| 2 : : : ! ’

Benen tom ie ‘Je lr eKamTon ||| | . | :
15 gaits “to a USS Ys Wate (fl pov | i sire
1 S Stamps, Fars, a ! alt ‘sie |
eetagaitbed | al | Cains Cameras, ¢ ete. :
‘GEat shed i f@
Be =
buyer of |g
products
cs? See
ISING
CES
iy Monday |(@)" r. ond Wi .
cork Times ; i
page with ‘} ! : i | :
‘tising and cy !
} 1 7
- | MuruA :
= ieee
[eet att the bcs Ty ae
"Sckawanna 4
a |

“Yes.”

“All right, run upstairs.and get it-out’-
’. On ithesradio to-all squads , = on ‘the’

teletype to.all stations.” He can’t have
gone far.”

Detective Haberkorn raced back to a
phone on the first floor of Headquarters
and called the message in to the Central
Complaint Room.

Moments later, the description Schur-
ko had given was being received on.
squad-car radios throughout Chicago
and on teletype machines and radios in
every district station. ;

ND then, ‘as Haberkorn was about
to go back downstairs, word came
from Captain Phelan: Surgeons at St.
Luke's Hospital had worked feverishly
to find some flicker of life in Detéctive
Murphy, but they finally had to aban-
don their efforts. He had died, they
said, before he reached the hospital.

When the news was relayed to Chief
O'Sullivan, the color drained from his
face and he did not speak for a moment.
Murphy, he knew, was in his sixth year
with the Chicago police and had been
at the Detective Bureau for two years,
Married and the father of two young
daughters, Murphy had disregarded
many brushes with death and more
than once had tackled a vicious gunman
in the line of duty.

Murphy had given his life to protect
the citizens of Chicago.

O'Sullivan said angrily, “Get that out
on the radio, too. We’re not looking for
fad another gunman. He’s a dangerous

er.” ‘

News that Detective Murphy had
been slain spread rapidly. Detectives

* and uniformed patrolmen in cruising
cars dropped everything else to search
for the bareheaded man. ;

On the street near the subway en-
trance, meanwhile, a large crowd had
gathered. While a circle of officers held
them back, detectives moved among
them asking questions:

Were you on the subway platform
when the shooting occurred? Did you
hear the shots? Did you see the gun-
man? Did you see anybody running
away from the exit who might have been
the killer?

From most of the spectators, the de-
tectives drew only blanks. But here and
there they found a man who said he had
been on the upper level on the way to

the platform below when the shots were

‘fired Altogether, eighteen persons said
“they had heard ‘the shooting. But none
would admit that he had been on the
lower level or had witnessed the actual
gun battle. .

“I was just walking up to the ticket
booth when the shooting started,” one
man said. “Half a minute later, people
came running up the stairs. The firing
had stopped and people were yelling
that a policeman had been shot.”

“What about the killer?” Smicklas
pressed. ‘““Didn't you see him when he
got away?”

“Maybe I did, but I didn’t know who
was the killer,” the man replied. “He
could have been any of a dozen men
who were running up the stairs: I
couldn't tell which one.”

This was the gist of what they all
said. Everybody had_ fled the scene,
either from fear or because he didn’t
want to get involved. The killer un-
doubtedly had been among those run-
ning for the exits, but only Schurko
had spotted him..

The detectives were about to give up
when they found their first important
witness, a man who had been walking
in State Street, north of the police
building. Aside from automobile traffic,
the street had been quiet. He didn’t
recall seeing any other pedestrian be-
tween him and the subway station en-
trance.

It was an hour when policemen work-
ing the four-t6-midnight shift were out
in the districts cruising. Only a few
squads begin work at eight o’clock and
all eight-o’clock men but Murphy had
reported to their units. No. one was go-
“ing either in or out of the Headquarters
entrante.”* Si ek My

The witness said he had heard strange
sounds and became aware of some com-
motion in the subway station. Then
people came rushing out of the station.

One man in particular had run up to
a car that was waiting for a stoplight.

“He yanked at the door handle, but
the door was locked,” the witness re-
lated. “Then he grabbed at the window
and took a gun out of his belt. The
driver opened the door then and the
man slid in. The car went north in
State Street toward the Loop.”

“Did you get a good look at the gun-
man?” O'Sullivan asked.

“No. When the car passed me, he

ety,

When tear-gas shells smashed th:
window at far left, a desperat:
man leaped across this areaway

) fees
P et

‘had his back ‘turned—tz guess he y

keeping his gun on the driver.”
The witness said he had been so «
cited that he didn’t know what kind
car it was and he didn’t get the lice:
number,
“That driver's in real dange
he ata said. “He might be kill

This latest development was added
the information already broadcast a
now being repeated every few minut:

For the moment, the search for t
car-was concentrated in the Loop, Cl
cago’s downtown district. Men on fo
patrol, on traffic duty and on watch d
tails were ordered to take posts at i
tersections and look for a car, ma)
and model unknown, with an elder
man—undoubtedly looking frighten:
—at the wheel and a man in a blue co:
beside .him. Despite the frenzied e:
citement, the task was comparative
easy: Rush hour was over and tl
heavy after-theater traffic hadn
started yet.

The big question, of course, if }
should elude this fast-spreading searc)
was: Who. could he be? ‘Why had }
shot and killed Murphy?

“Either it’s a stickup Murphy inte:
rupted—somebody sticking somebod
else up on the subway platform—c

For a m8 and a day, Leonard

Powell, his wife and children
lived under the fugitive's gun

Even handcuffed, the cop-killer
wouldn't stop struggling until
he was completely overpowered

it’s a man Murphy recognized and tried
to bring in,” Captain Phelan declared.

“Let’s get our records out,” suggested
Smicklas. “I figure it’s a man Murphy
wanted to pick up. A stickup in a crowd
at eight in the evening is unlikely.”

He and Duffy and Bosquette went
back to the Robbery Detail offices and
the voluminous records kept there. A
dozen men were wanted, for a dozen
different robberies. Had one of them
been the killer of Detective Murphy?
Which one? How could the detectives
pick him out?

MEANWHILE, though, the search for
the man in the blue coat took a sud-
den change.

A car pulled up, its brakes squealing,
in front of the Police Headquarters
building, facing in the wrong direction
and stopping directly in the middle of
a “No Parking” area,”

Two uniformed officers moved toward
the car which so blatantly disregarded
traffic rules. But as they approached,
an elderly man leaped out, obviously
highly excited.

“Take me to your captain!” he
cried. “I just saw the man who killed
Pom He made me drive him to the

Pp w”
The motorist, who identified himself

as Charles A. Koerper, was taken to
Chief O'Sullivan, to whom he gave this
account:

He just had entered his car, parked
near the subway entrance, rolled the
windows down and started it when a
young man came running up the sub-
way stairs and tried to yank open the
door on the right side. It was locked
and Koerper tried to roll the window
up. :

Before he could, though, the stranger
grabbed the top of the window with his
left hand. In his right hand he held a
gun, which he pointed at Koerper.

“Let me in!” he demanded.

Carpenter brought tragedy to his
oe left, and near death to
Patrolman Clarence. Kerr, below

a “oy nl y an

Faced with the snout of the snub-
nosed revolver, Koerper reached over
and opened the door. The gunman
leaped in, pulled the door shut and
aimed the gun at Koerper.

“Look straight ahead,” he ordered.
“Don’t make a bad move. I just shot a
policeman and I got no objection to
shooting you.”

“Okay,” Koerper agreed. “What do
you want me to do?”

“Drive up State Street. I'll tell you
where to go.”

Realizing that he was in great dan-
ger, Koerper made no attempt to get
help. Instead, he followed the other’s
instructions. The gunman turned his
back to the window and kept the gun
pointed steadily at Koerper, but at
enough distance so that Koerper had
no chance of lunging for the weapon.

“Don’t drive too fast,” the man said.
“We don’t want to have some dumb cop
pinch you for speeding. Just keep go-
ing like you would if I wasn’t here.”

They rode in tense silence, with only
an occasional comment from the gun-
man as he gave directions. Finally, at
Madison and Dearborn, a block from
the Madison-State intersection that is
called the world’s busiest corner, Koer-
per stopped for a traffic signal.

“I’m leaving you here,” the stranger

said, reaching for the door handle and’

waving the revolver. “Keep driving and
don’t look back. Remember, one bad
move and I’ll kill you.”

tae he opened the door and slipped
out, .

Koerper drove straight ahead for a
block, then turned and raced back to
Police Headquarters. .

“Can you describe this man?” O’Sul-
livan asked.

“T’ll try to.”

This was the description Koerper
gave:

Twenty-five to 30 years old, five feet
ten inches tall, stocky, dark chestnut
hair, regular features with bad teeth,
deeply sun tanned. He wore blue slacks
and a blue sports jacket over a white
T-shirt.

“The white T-shirt hung down below
his belt, outside his pants,” Koerper
concluded. .

Koerper said he was sure he would be
able to identify the kidnaper if he were
caught.

“We'll have to impound your car for

awhile,” said O’Sullivan. “If he grabbed
the window, he probably left -finger-
prints.”

“Keep it as long as you need to,”
Koerper agreed. “Anything at all to
help catch that killer.”

The car was turned over to Crime-Lab
technicians, who went to work on it at
once, dusting for prints and searching
for any other clue that might point to
the killer’s identity.

-The new, more complete description
went on the radio and the teletype to
stations. “This man was riding the sub-
way once—he might do it again, figur-
ing that’s a good way to escape,” said

. O'Sullivan.

E SENT for Detective Haberkorn.

“Take the Outer Drive up to Wil-

son Avenue. Stop all trains there and
look for the character.”

Other detectives were sent to 63rd
Street, the other. end of the line,
on the chance the killer had doubled
back and gone south.

“If he’s so deeply tanned, that may
mean he spends a lot of time at the“
beaches,” O'Sullivan said. “During this
rss weather, he may even be sleeping
there.” ‘

On the hot wire, he advised Park Dis-
trict police and asked them to cover the
vast stretch of beaches along Lake
Michigan. Under a plan recently insti-
tuted by Mayor Daley, all Chicago police,
calls now are received by Park District
squads. Selected squads spread out to
cover the long stretch of waterfront.

Meanwhile, in the Robbery Detail
office, Smicklas, Duffy and Bosquette
were trying to find one name among
the many of men wanted for robbery.

“It must have been somebody Murph
recognized,” Duffy said. “Who could
that be?”

“Anybody,” Smicklas replied. “He
had an eagle eye. It could be somebody
who hasn’t been active for years.”

The records were spread out, hun-
dreds of them. If the immediate search
for this slayer should fail, each of the
men on the Detail’s wanted list would
be found and questioned and viewed by
the witnesses. Smicklas, Duffy and Bos-
quette were trying to-pick out the most
likely suspects, to be questioned first.

But it was too tedious,. too long-
drawn-out for Detective Bosquette, the

(Continued on Page 50)

° - I

te |

a scenes

~ ONT ITN C4 ape a
UAVS IuIN ‘I uth 9 1g Cc na ra »

“eae *

white, electrocuted

: telephone ‘the activities of the ‘various

was that mag Se Wil-’ squads. Wilson listened for a few min-

Pree time, art ‘the pati iinet

liam Murphy—had been 5
’, death on a subway platform. ©. :
“~The detectives of the Robbery Detail:
“at Chicago Police Headquarters are ac-
-customed to emergency calls, but ‘not *
catquite like the one that first brought:
m the news. ;

».° Sergeant Emil Smickias ' and a mem- rt

Array) Ray Duffy, were in the
~ Detail office.. So was Detective John
~’ Bosquette, waiting for his partner, Bill
/Murphy. They were scheduled to begin »
“Thtess at eight p.m. that Monday, August

Pine Shaad rang end’ it was answered
by Detective Charles Wilson, who man-
“ages the office routine, receives com-
plaints

and.coordinates by radio, and

shot. to, Utes and when he hung up his face was

-¢pale and his voice excited
“A detective’s been shot!” he an-

“nounced. “Downstairs tairs in’ the subway
station!"

._ Smicklas whirled around in his chair.
“Who is it?”

“They don’t know yet.”.~
-Bosquette was on his feet. “Where’ ‘8

Murphy?” he asked. “He should have

been here ten minutes ago—and he
rides the subway!" ~~’:
“Let’s gol” Smicklas: called and he

_Sprinted for the door;*:

The others needed no prodding—
they were at his heels. They ran‘ to
the bank of elevators and Smicklas im-
Patiently jabbed the, down’ button.

be Soe ee seinen

cron cupped in bis

CopKiller, a

Before’ nee car arrived, i, Deputy | Ch ef
of Detectives Frank O’Sullivan and

~Lieutenant James Lynch, commander -.

of the Burglary Detail, rushed up. ‘They.
too, had heard the news.

Though only a few seconds passed, 4t
seenied to be hours before the operator:

opened the door of his cage During;
those moments, kaleidoscopic recollec- .

tions flashed through the mind of De.
tective Bosquette. Bill: Murphy. Did
they get him at last? H "

Less than a year before, on October

21, 1954, Murphy, Bosquette and a third.

member of: their squad, Detective
Charles Annerino, had cornered a gun-
man named Gus Amedeo, a vicious’

criminal suspected of a seriee' of stick-\"* ;

ups. They had found him ot a bar, ee

OFFIEG (AL

VACA FECT WE

SGONIZS

{Vo Ea bER, C 7ST

A Killer Was: on "he. looteus

And 1 Bandit With ° Three Guns, . ~ ee

‘A Cold-Blooded Criminal Who © + 5;
Would Kill. Again’ and Again. | mee ot
‘And, These’ Orders Went. Out es

To Every Policeman Involved: -

; on the ber: Unsuspecting, Annerino had”

“door. Murphy had lunged at him and
(grabbed eo Pgannyd but lost his grip when as

officers who had blasted him down in‘
-& gun. battle ashe emerged from. ay

Lone-Wolf. Thug:

“cyte Lidia a eae: =

tapped him on. the shoulder . and: 5
Amedeo had whirled, his gun out, firings”
He had pumped two shots into Anner-"*
ino, killing him; then leaped for. the...

he stumbl] 2

‘Amedeo had fired a parting shot that ‘
grazed Murphy’s face, then he had es8- >
caped, only to be traced. Detectives ~~
Murphy and Bosquette were among the,

On that ion Mi phy bad mniaged

nm that occas: are:

death by inches. ag of
And now— $i:

As Sergeant Bmicklas race ‘ahead of. i
the others, a stream of p! plainclothes

All they knew at first was that a detective had :
nee ~ been: shot down on the crowded miwey Platform ca tae

and uniformed officers. tumbled out of
Police Headquarters toward the subway
entrance, only a few yards away.

Chief O’Sullivan paused long enough
to shout. out some orders. :

“Block ‘all the- exits!” he ordered ‘
crisply... “Don’t let anybody in or out.
except palicemen. And question the
people on the street. Try to find some
witnesses.”

Led by Smicklas, the detectives hur-
ried down a flight of stairs, vaulted the
exit barricades, ran past the ticket -
booth and down another flight to the
subway platform. O'Sullivan stopped
at the booth, telling the agent: “We.
want all trains held up until further ©
notice.” -

ON THE ieee level, Captain Kyran
Phelan, ‘commander of the Central
District, bent over the prone figure of
@ man sprawled on his back, his head
resting near the edge of the platform. °
Blood spurted from two wounds, one

in his chest, the other in his shoulder. .

He was unconscious

-A few inches from his outstretched
left hand was. Police Star No. 7438.

- Bill Murphy.

~ Captain Phelan stood up as two husky
officers carrying a stretcher hurried
down the stairs. They lifted the wound-
ed man onto the stretcher and took him.
back up to the street level, where an!
ambulance was waiting. © |:

Phelan followed, yelling to Deputy
Chief O'Sullivan, “T don’t think he’ 's got
a SHADES, but Py go to the hospital, just. ~
in case.”.....

“Inside the ‘ambulance, Captain Phelan -
sat next to the wounded detective in the -

hope that he would talk, even in delir- .*

ium, or somehow mumble the name of.
his assailant. But on the trip he didn’t ©
regain consciousness. At the hospital,
where ‘physicians already had been.
alerted, he was: rushed to the emergency,
room,*.’«:

Back on the minoay platform, mean- e
while, Chief O’Sullivan said: “All we
know is that Murphy was shot. We've:
got to find somebody who can tell. us.
just what did happen,” © .

Smicklas had been prowling up and >
down the platform, searching for some
physical evidence. Retelion was on his

way to work—that much we can be sure
of. He was scheduled to‘report at eight
o’clock and we were upstairs waiting for
him, What’s more, he lives on the
Northwest Side and was on a south-
bound train.

*“Maybe when he got oft he spotted

somebody we’ve been looking for. Or on:
the train, even. Anyway, they had a gun .
battle—see the bullet-holes in the wall

over there?” ”-:
“But where's Murphy’ 'sgun?” O’sulli-
van asked.

“Maybe it’s on the tracks. If we could
stop the trains,I’d like to have a look.”

“T’ve already stopped shen, ” O’Sulli- .

“van said. .
Sergeant © Smicklas: and Detective
\Bosquette eased themselves over the
edge of the platform and dropped to the
track space below. While Smicklas bent
over and searched the track, Bosquette
stepped carefully past the third rail,
carrying live current, to have a closer
look at the wall. -
Cinta his gun!’’. Smicklas cried,
inting to a police revolver lying be-
aide the inner rail:

Detective Bosquette pointed to the
wall. “Two bullet holes,” he said. “At
least two shots went wild.”

- The two men continued their search
but couldn’t find anything else.. They
‘climbed back up to the platform and

technicians from the crime laboratory
replaced them, to dig the bullets out of
the wall. =

“Three bullets are ‘missing from Mur-

phy’s gun,” Smicklas said. “Only two
‘shots went in the wall, so maybe Mur-
phy hit somebody with the other one.”
“We can notify the hospitals to watch
for anyone, O'Sullivan, said, “But who?
ore :

D Erlor qu ae a pe cgiitir fen ‘the car he
pcommandasred=—48 police aes a killer 24 name.

-“Looks like it’
.... @ropped out of his hand when he fell.” .

By Peter a :

Special eves: uaee for

RRC AIMS I NADA AL 2

Man or eanan The long platform
was deserted except for police officers.

“I wonder where everybody went. This §
time of night there’s always a few.: &

people down here waiting for trains.

Surely somebody must have seen this.” ©
The subway agent, who had followed -
them, answered: that. “They scattered: ‘

when the shooting started,” she said.
“At least fifteen people were down here.
They all ran up to the street.”
“Did you. see what happened?”.
“No..I heard some shots—at least

four. Then it was like a stampede when :
- these people ran up the stairs.” noe
“Maybe they’re in the crowd outside,” is

O’Sullivan said hopefully. ; -::
+ The officers who had been che
for. witnesses soon reported. “We've

questioned. everybody we could find,” a

Detective. John Haberkorn declared.

“Nobody will admit seeing the shooting. |. &

‘This man is the only one. who can tell
us anything.”
The man was Rudolph Schurko, ‘who

=said he had been on his way down the .

stairs to board a southbound train when
he heard the sound of. gunfire. Then

people scooted up both stairways, past ..
him. The last one was carrying a gun. :

“He dashed up the stairs past me,”
Schurko related. “And he still had the
gun in his hand.” .

-“Did you ‘see which way he went?” U9)

O’Sullivan asked eagerly:.

“Yes, he went up the stairs toward i
the southeast exit,” Schurko replied. |

“That sort of surprised me because it’s
the closest to the police building.” .. ..

O'Sullivan called Smicklas, Duffy and
Bosquette over. “Get up there and see-.
if you can find anybody who saw him.” ©
And after they had left, “What did. this :

fellow. look like?”

‘s a

‘ ‘Schurko said. “At the time I thought h

“hadn't seen the pistol and if he hadn't -_
"practically pushed me off the pairs. 8.405 :

ra “Vaguely.. He was a bareheaded” an
_. kind of white shirt without a tie.” ::

“taking the steps three at a time.” cba

a EEE EB 9-0 hr i TEER IE ee ih REESE STE OE NN SS LO NATE

Ercan te ieaibldtadpianpsiinicistsniedoi)

‘Detective Murphy:
s bulet dle ‘missed

him ene :

* "He was young, around twenty-five,

was nice-looking. ._He was maybe five’
feet ten or eleven inches tall. I wouldn't Bs
have noticed him particularly if I /

“had dark hair and a blue coat and. some

O'Sullivan « turned

‘ to. Haberko!
‘Have you got.all that?

: gun stores an

.al buyer, would pick the

aortly after being shot.

brain of the proprietor. He couldn’t
afford them; he just liked to look.
Momsie’s little boy first became
acquainted with guns during his brief
stint in the army at eighteen. He
learned how to use them and take
care of them and he practically slept
with them. When his chums went on
liberty, Richard stayed in the bar-
racks alone, oiling and polishing his
guns. He could take them apart and
put them back together, blindfolded.
Richard was discharged as an un-
desirable simply because he couldn’t
take the discipline. At home, when
he was fired from a job, he would
whine to “Momsie,” about his boss
and she would soothe him and as-
sure him that it was the boss’s fault.
In every case, and there were many,
Momsie would cradle her son in
her arms.and convince him that his
employers were too demanding, or
unreasonable, and the next time he

would meet up with a boss who ap-
preciated him; but he never did.
But in the army, there was no
Momsie to comfort his every
grievance, or tell him his sergeant
was a bully and he should stay away
from him. He spent more time on K.
P. than he did in the chow line. He
was miserable, and cried so much
that his bunk mates nicknamed him
“Momsie’s Baby.” The army had no

Every time he

got lonely or was in a jam,
he'd cry for his mama. When he was older
and on the lam, he'd kiss her picture each
night before he went to bed. And when they
strapped him in the chair, her face was the
last one he saw.

went berserk many times.

time for cry babies. They kicked him
out.

So Richard went back to his old
job as a cab driver. One night while
he was cleaning his gun it went off,
ricocheting off the kitchen stove and
piercing Momsie. Police arriving to
survey the scene saw that Momsie
wasn’t seriously hurt.

Richard’s next run-in with the law
was more formidable. His income
skimpy, in 1951 he posed as a cus-
tomer, brandished a gun, and robbed:
a rival Chicago cab driver of $8. In a

ee i

got a job driving a hack. During a time wh
ployed, he took care of his mother, his sic
ters—his father had flown the coop.

Richard was protective if not pos-
sessive of his sisters, often accom-
panying them if they wanted to go
out after dark. Once he broke a fel-
low’s nose for casting glances at the
oldest sister.

He was also a music lover. He usu-
ally managed to put enough money
away to buy a new record now and
then. Richard went for music the

Mama's little killer, Richard

ae oe

by BILL KELLY

ichard Carpenter dropped out of a Wisconsin school after his father died and

way some guys go for sports and he
could rattle off the name of the song,
composer, singer, and orchestra.

Everyone who. knew Richard would:

attest to his uprightness and purity.
If a fare asked to be taken to a bor-
dello or a gambling house, he would
tell him: “Find yourself another cab,
sir, I’m no sinner or pimp.”

He lived his life for his “Momsie,”

Carpenter. Patrolman Clarence Kerr shortly after. being shot.

en most of the country was unem-
kly grandfather, and two younger sis-

and his sisters, and never failed to
bring his sickly grandfather a Cigar

very night , even if he had to go

without eating, which he often did,

If Richard was. one of those hu-
mans who loved his family and mu-
sic, he was equally fond of firearms.
He bought all the gun books. He ‘fre-
quented the gun stores and, posing
as a potential buyer, would Pick the

rh ey, Bi } ’ :

brain of the p:
afford them, hi
Momsie’s lit
acquainted witl,
Stint in the ai
learned how t.
care of them a:
with them. Wh.
liberty, Richa:
racks alone, oil
guns. He coulc
put them back
Richard was
desirable simp|-

take the discip

he was fired f;
whine to “Mor.
and she woulk
sure him that it
In every case, ;

Momsie wou
her arms and c
employers wer
unreasonable, ;

matter of hours he was picked up

with the gun and the loot. A stern

judge sentenced him to a year in
| prison.

His only visitor during this stretch
was Monsie. She brought him home-
baked cookies and cake every visi-
tor’s day. She wrote letters to the
authorities, complaining that her son
had been framed. In her eyes,
Richard could do no wrong.

After his parole, Richard returned
to driving a hack on Chicago’s south-
side. Money was coming in regular-

‘: ly and every dime went to the wel-
fare of his family. Nothing was too
good for Momsie and the two girls.
By now, his sickly grandfather had
crossed the great divide.

But if Momsie and the girls con-
sidered Richard the salt of the earth,

| his co-workers didn’t. Behind his
back, they called him a cheapskate
and “cry baby.” As time went by
Richard remained the same; his
Monsie, the girls, his record.collec-

tion and guns were his favorite pas-
times.,

Suddenly, in 1951, a seething, un-
controllable anger overcame Richard
Carpenter that blitzed him on a life
of crime to the point of no return.
On December 4, he swiped a car,
held up a grocery store and escaped
with $100, The Carpenter house was
already, under surveillance when he
returned. Someone had recognized

-him. Not wishing to involve his fam-

ily in any police problems, he took
it on the lam.

For the next 18 months Richard
Carpenter went on a solo rampage,

robbing delicatessens, saloons, mo-

tels, gas stations and laundromats.
His procedure was always the same.
Working under the cover of darkness,
he would saunter into a place of
business brandishing two guns.
“Now take it easy and don’t get
excited. Give me the greenbacks, and
don’t bother with the silver,” was a
familiar monotone. Chicago police

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estimated that during his spectacular
rampage, alone and unaided, he man-
aged seventy successful holdups, pil-

‘fering some $15,000. This by no

means Catapulted him into the same
category with Dillinger, or Bonnie
and Clyde, but their risks far sur-
passed his.
There was no doubt that police

were looking for Richard Carpenter -’

witnesses all described him as 5’ 11”,
brown deepset eyes and brown crew

cut hair, 165 pounds, very: calm with’

soft spoken voice. His clothing var-
ied from job to job, but everyone no-
.ticed the same crepe-soled shoes. He
usually wore a sport shirt’ or jacket
outside his trousers, which hid two
pistols tucked in a belt.

It made no difference that the po-
lice knew who they were looking for.
It was a regular formula; the cashier
would give him the money. He
would calmly walk out the door and
melt into the city’s populace. Police
would scour the area but get

nowhere. It was downright embar-’

rassing.

Police constantly staked out the
Carpenter house, knowing his love
for his sisters and his mother, but
Richard was too smart to fall into

that trap. He never came home to the -

women he so cherished, although he

| carried his mother’s picture around

and cried himself to sleep many a

night while talking to her photo-.

graph. Before he went to sleep he
would kiss her photograph 4nd say,
“Good night Momsie.” And when he
awakened in the morning he’d say,
“Good morning Momsie.”

Richard had no bad habits, so po-
lice knew it would do no good to

stake out saloons, gambling dens, or -

bawdy houses. Unlike Dillinger, there

were no chippies in his life, so it»

would be unlikely that they could
count on a phone call from a unhap-
py female. He drove no car, so wit-
nesses couldn’t get a make or a li-
cense number to trace. He was a
loner so that ruled out affiliated in-
formers.

Carpenter was.as relaxed as a pair

of broken suspenders when commit- > °
‘ting a robbery, and police rated him

a cut above the average stickup artist.
On one occasion, just after he
cleaned a bar owner of $300 and was
strolling out the door, a cop walked
in. Carpenter jammed a gun into his
belly, relieved him of his pistol, and
said, “I don’t want to kill you, but if

you try to follow m:
the guts.”
Reporters were b«

_ the name Richard C

ever there was a rob
to the telephones. B:
sloshed across front |
Chicago: TWO-GU:
STRIKES AGAIN.
TO CATCH SLIP
STER.

Suddenly he was
wanted fugitive. A
denly he was ever:
“Carpenter Robs
Heights,” “Carpente
cery Store in Cice
Seen in Arling

. Overnight he beca
_ word, and the entire

determined to get h
Police couldn’t p
reasoned that Carpe
sending money hom
the girls. The hous
paint job, and deli\
constantly lugging
ings and supplies. \
by authorities, a
household would sh:
ing, ‘““We work and s
There are many st:
ter’s slippery escapx
but none were as i/
night he held up a
wood Avenue in an ¢

‘ Chicago’s North §

Fool’s Day, 1955, he
bar, stuck two guns
bartender Martin Chi
dered, “Give me the
duty policeman nan
sacki happened to be
cloths. When Richa:
ing toward his gun,
“You draw that gu:
will-die here tonight
The bartender told
that thing away. |
killing here. It’s onl:
Carpenter cocked |

* both guns. “That’s :
» “Now, you, slide th

the bar with your lefi
liceman, not wishing
of the bartender, did
Carpenter scooped u
darted out the door. 7

_ eda few seconds, th

after him. Later, he t:
Lieutenant John Fle
guy disappeared fas
I’ve ever seen.”
Carpenter always

cS ae RAREST MR Stipa id Seb pe

“Don’t move, Wiele!” he yelled.

“You're covered!”

Friedrich Wiele and Gabriele lay nak-
ed on the badly rumpled bed and, as the
sergeant leaped into the room, Wiele sat
upright and thrust his hand under the
pillow. An .80 automatic lay on the night
table, but he did not reach for that.

The sergeant’s leap carried him com-
pletely across the room and his very con-
siderable weight landed on top of the
naked couple while his hands clamped
onto Wiele’s wrist before he could
withdraw his hand from under the pillow.

There was a muffled report and

- feathers flew from the pillow. Then, the

sergeant drew Wiele’s hand out. It was
still holding the 9 millimeter automatic,
but the pressure on the wrist was such that
he was unable to pull the trigger a second
time. ete

An instant later, Inspector Ungeheuer

and his detectives poured over the bed, -

pinned Friedrich Wiele, tore the gun
from his hand and snapped handcuffs
over his wrists. ;

“If you will allow me, Madame,” said
the sergeant gallantly, removing his bulk
from the naked woman's stomach and
draping the sheet over her. “Line of duty,
you understand.”

Gabriele Wiele stared in astonishment
at the dozens of officers in helmets and
bullet-proof vests who were now engag-
ed in carrying Friedrich Wiele out of the
room and burst into hysterical laughter.
She was unharmed, but it would be
months before her nervous equilibrium
was restored.

Friedrich Wiele is now back in the

prison at Celle, serving the remainder of
his original 20-year sentence. Sometime
later this year, he will also stand trial for
kidnaping, rape and threats with a deadly
weapon. The sentence will presumably
be life, but, as previously remarked, it is
seldom that a life sentence is served out in
Germany today.

And Friedrich’s interest in his sister-in-
law has not diminished in the least. His
only request since returning to the prison
has been fora picture of her to hang in his
cell. nee amma

-EDITOR’S NOTE:

In order to comply with German
police regulations the following
names, as used in the foregoing story,
are fictitious: Karl Kreidemann, Willi
Froebes, Leo Ungeheuer, Guenter
Sinnlos and Hardy Wolf.

“Turn Left for the Chair”

had been evacuated of everyone except
the holed-up gunman.

Carpenter was ordered, through a
bullhorn, to come out and surrender. He
was told he was completely surrounded
and didn’t have a chance. A volley of
shots was the desperado’s only answer,
but none found their mark. When the
gunman ignored a second warning, a
police barrage was laid on the target
apartment.

Meanwhile, squads of heavily armed

officers had entered the apartment house _

and taken up strategic positions in the
hallways and on the roof. Carpenter
might have held his besiegers at bay for
hours, even days, but he made his big mis-
take when he left the apartment where
he’d been hiding and tried to make it to
the roof, probably hoping to escape over
the rooftops. In making his move, he
walked right into the police trap.

Even as they grabbed him, he was
pleading with them not to shoot, claiming
he lived there, but at the same time he
tried to grab a cop’s gun. Someone belted
him out with a flashlight. Taken to the
West North Avenue Police station, he
tried again to snatch an officer’s pistol
and it took half a dozen burly cops to put
an end to his struggles. _

On his person, they found six rounds
of .38 ammunition, a box of aspirin, a
wrist watch with no band, some loose
keys, and $10.80. Later, in the apartment
where he had held the family hostage,
they found the revolver, fully loaded,

(from page 49)

that he had confiscated from the rookie
cop in the bar heist months before. .

Carpenter, after being taken to a
hospital to have his wounds treated, was
returned to jail. The next day, after inten-
sive grilling, he admitted killing Detec-
tive Murphy, wounding Officer Kerr, and
offhandedly conceded he had pulled off

“between fifty and a hundred robberies.” :

His statement was transcribed, but then
he refused to sign it.

During the weeks while he was
awaiting trial, Carpenter continued to be
a recalcitrant and obstreperous prisoner,
and his behavior seemed to bolster the in-
sanity plea advanced by his attorneys. He
refused to bathe, shave or have his hair
cut. He railed and ranted noisily.

When his trial began before Judge
Gibson E. Norman incriminal court early
in November, 1955, he refused to eat. It
took seven bailiffs to bring him into court
in handcuffs and leg irons. Once he in-
terrupted the testimony of a witness by

leaping to his feet, screaming: me

“I didn’t sign any confession! They
don’t know what they’re saying!

Before the trial ended, he was forcibly
bathed, shaved and given a haircut, but
the jury deliberated only an hour and 10
minutes before reaching their verdict.
They found The Kid guilty of the murder
of Detective Murphy and recommended
death in the electric chair.

Carpenter had to be dragged into
court by asquad of bailiffs the next day to
hear himself formally sentenced to die in

* “

the chair on March 16, 1956

He finally abandoned_his_
strike when they moved him to py
Row in the Cook County Jail. His a.
tomeys began a long, valiant attempt te
save their condemned client's life, but

was a struggle foredoomed to failure,
Finally, 16 months after toe
sentenced to die, it was the eve aia
December 18, 1958. Dickie. Carpenter
was doomed to die, unless Governer
Stratton responded to his attorneys pleas
for clemency, during the hour after mid.
night, on the 19th. eo
The possibility of imminently gp
proaching death had not mellowed hie

Pee)

or softened his spirit. He was still a ngry.

To his last visitors that night, he ranted

and screamed, “I killed Murphy! I killed

other policemen! I'll come back from
dead and kill more policemenf’

Later he refused to see the C;
priest who came to his cell. “I don

“Did you kill Detective Murphy?*
Sain asked him. : Paiva
“Td rather

reporters, “A big tear ran down his face
when he said that. He knew he wasnt
fooling anyone but himself.”,.. +) ~~

At five minutes after midnight,
Carpenter seemed relaxed as he sat down
in the electric chair_and. the guards
buckled the straps and lowered the black
hood over his head. His last words were: -

“Get it over with quick.” ) 4.7%

aay ee . ‘
eer)
“Pes reprieve from the governor, dik si
not come. At 12:06 a.m. the switch was
thrown and 2,000 .volts of el
slammed through Carpenter’s body.
few. seconds later, another charge, am
yet another. Sixty-five seconds later, 6
power was turned off. —.. i 338g
.At- 12:10 a.m., after testing fora
heartbeat, Dr. Achille Chreptowski, Dr
Victor Levine, and Dr. Myroa”
Charkewycz_. officially pronounce a
Richard Carpenter dead. : caGaee
The short, sad_ life of Dickie”
Carpenter, also known as “The Kid,” was
over. The lonely youth who loved good
music, who wanted friends but did not.
know how to have a friend, had never”
really learned how to live in a world i
habited by other people. The man who —
felt brave and strong and in command@ ~
his destiny only when holding a gun in BS”
hand had come to the end of a vicious —
career distinguished only by futility 4 pate
the heartbreak and tragedy he caused [06
other people. Lee rae

teh ‘eet
bP eae

EDITOR’S NOTE: “acta
Lars Olson is not the real name Of.
the person so named in the foregoing

because there is no reason for pub F ;
interest in the identity of this persom. E

ees a
story. A fictitious name has been use@ fy

Nf tases

5
AEE EN

Be,
.
*

40 SOUVENIR OF EFFINGHAM, ILLINOIS.

clear statement of the evidence of
the case. He was followed by Robert
Campbell, for the defense, who made
a short and well directed speech. Is.
N. Rinehart then followed and made
an elaborate and logical argument for
the defendant. State’s attorney
Ashcraft, who closed the case, made
a very clear argument. The jury
then retired and returned in) about
two hours with the following verdict:
‘We, the jury, find the defendant
guilty as charged in the indictment,
and fix punishment at death.’

“The defendant’s counsel then en-
tered a motion for a new trial, which
has not yet been argued, The prob-
ability is that Burgess must suffer

The jury, after listening to the evi-
dence and the arguments, returned a
verdict of guilty. Jt was the only one
in justice they could make. Anything
less than that would have raised a
perfect storm of indignation in this
community, and wherever the details
of the inhuman act are known. If
Nathan Burgess is not a murderer of
the coldest kind, an abandoned and
deliberate villian, the evidence given
in the case, his manner and general
appearance during the trial, have
done him a fearful injustice. The
jury is heartily sustained by the pub-
lic in thug inflicting the just penalty
upon the blackest criminal ever tried
in this court.”

following jury was impanneled, and
sworn to try the case: J. W. Olinger,
George Flowers, Charles ‘Troy, Peter
Harrison, Wm. Homan, George Scree-
ton, John H. Loy, August Schroeder,
B. M. Claypoole, Wm. [vans, John
Thompson and Joseph Kroeger.
“The State’s Attorney from Fayette
county opened the case for the peo-
ple, and Robert. Campbell for the de-
fense. The evidence was then given
on the part of the prosecution, which
wag substantially as follows:
“Joseph Robbins was employed by
the Vandalia to watch the bridge just

east of Vandalia, and while in the
discharge of hig duty in the house

prepared for the’ bridge watcher, he

SCENE AT THE HANGING OF NA THAN BURGESS, JUNE 18, 1875.

the penalty of the law, ‘Whoso shed-
deth man’s blood, by man shall his
blood be shed.’ ”

In the same issue of The Democrat
appeared the following communica-
tion, signed by R, and addressed to
the Editor of The Democrat:

“The termination of the murder
trial brought from Vandalia to this
Court has been watched with great
interest. Every one who was fa-
miliar with the preliminary examin-
ation of the culprit, and heard his
acknowledgment of the foul crime,
was satisfied he was guilty. A large
number of citizens from Vandalia
were in attendance at the trial, and
watched the proceedings with that
interest that only a community who
has seen an honest citizen shot down
in the most heartless manner. can.

In the following issue dated April
Ist, 1875, appears a more extended
account of the trial and history of the
crime as given evidence. It is as
follows:

“During the present term of the
Circuit Court the trial of Nathan
Burgess, on a change of venue from
Fayette county, for the murder of
Joseph Robbins near Vandalia, has
attracted much attention. A few
facts and incidents of the trial will
no doubt be of interest. On Thurs-
day, the 18th day of March, the case
came on for trial, I, M. Ashcraft,
State’s Attorney for Fayette county,
and Wm. H. Gillmore, State’s Attor-
ney for this county, appeared for the
people, and Robert Campbell and E.
N. Rinehart for the defense. After
much time having been consumed, the

was shot by some one about nine
o’clock in the evening. He was soon
found and put under medical treat-
ment, but subsequently died from the
shot.

“Burgess before the coroner’s_ in-
quest, and before the convicting mag-
istrate, confessed that he had shot
Joseph Robbins, It was also shown
that Robbins’ shot gun had _ been
stolen, and it was inferred that this
gun did the foul deed. State’s Attor-
ney Ashcraft informed Burgess that
whatever confessions he made would
be used against him. Still with this
warning before him, he said he must
confess, as the face of the murdered
man haunted him yet. Burgess also

confessed to the Rev. Harris that he
was guilty of this inhuman crime,
“The evidence for the defense was

SOUVENIR OF EFFINGHAM, ILLINOIS. dd

then introduced, but showed no ma-
terial answer to the charges and
proof. The theory was, however,
that Burgess feared a mob, and con-
fessed under this apprehension, But
after hearing all the evidences and
arguments of counsel, and being in-
structed by the Court the jury re-
tired, and about midnight on Friday
night they returned the following
verdict: “We, the jury, find the de-
fendant guilty as charged in the in-
dictment and fix the punishment at
death.”

The prisoner, who all along had un-
bounded confidence in his acquittal,
here completely broke down under
theh verdict of the jury. On Friday’
the 27th day of March, the motion for
a new trial was argued fully by the
counsel, and on Saturday morning

SSS itty

a a NS -— a y

SS SSeS

CN
‘ ee

and there confined until the 18th day
of June next, to be taken from thence
by the sheriff of this county to the
place of execution, between the hours
of 10 a. m., and 4 o'clock p, m., on
said day, and there hanged by the
neck until dead; and may the Lord
have mercy on your soul.”

The execution of Burgess’ took
place on’ Friday, June 18th, 1875.
Wm. C, Baty was tho sheriff of the
county at that time, and had charge
of the execution. We reproduce the
account of the execution herewith

which appeared in The Democrat of
June 24th, 1875, and which was as
follows:

“Nathan Burgess, who at the March
term of the Effingham County Cir-
cult Court was convicted of the mur-
der of Joseph Robbins, and sentenced

SANDERS -~CO.ST LL

BOOS BLOCK

following the Court overruled the mo-
tion and pronounced the sentence,
which was substantially as follows:
‘Nathan Burgess, what have you to
say why sentence should not be
passed upon you according to the ver-
dict of the jury?’ No- response.
‘The jury has found you guilty of
murder, and your punishment at
death. I admonish you to banish all
thoughts of pardon or reprieve, and
during the hours that remain that you
prepare for the, death that surely
awaits you; that you put your trust
in God, who through his son has
power to forgive your sins, who for-
gave the thief upon the cross. I here
present you with this book from a
minister of the Gospel, and it now
only remains that the sentence of the
Court be passed, which is, that you
be taken hence to the county jail,

FACTORY.

to be hanged on Friday, the 18th day
of June, 1875, paid the extreme pen-
alty of the law in accordance with his
sentence Friday at about half past
one o’clock.

“The murder was committed about
one mile east of Vandalia, at the
bridge near the Okaw River, on the
28th day of October, 1874, he was
indicted at March term of the Van-
dalia Circuit Court, and on a change
of venue he was brought to Effing-
ham Circuit Court. Counsel was ap-
pointed by the Court to defend him.
He was ably defended by Messrs.
Campbell of Vandalia, and KE. N. Rine-
hart of Iffingham.

“A petition numerously signed was
sent to the Governor, appealing for a
commutation of the sentence to im-
prisonment for life failed, the Gover-
nod deciding the law should take its

Hy
iN

;
iS

course, ‘without executive inter
ference.

The following sketch of his life is
chiefly in his own words:

“Nathan Burgess was born in
Pique, Miama County, Ohio, on the
Gth day of May, 1847. He says his
parents were good and kind to him
from infancy and taught him to be
honest and upright, and sent him to
Sabbath School. Being very poor
they were not able to give him a
very good education, he having at-
tended school only about 18 months
in his life. He writes a fair hand,
and is able to read intelligently. He
worked with his father until he was
old enough, then spent 23 months
learning the blacksmith’s trade. Not
liking this he abandoned it and went

to common labor.

=|
Sy

He came to Illinois 7 years ago next
fall, lived in Richland county two
years, and then moved to Vandalia,
where he lived ever since.

He stated just a few hours before
his execution that he felt he had been
a sinner, but had forgiven all his
enemies, and had no feeling toward
any man but one, and that was Min-
ister Harris, who he stated swore
falsely against him. He then said:
“I hope to meet all my friends and

relatives in heaven. I feel that I
am going to heaven. I am happy.
I forgive all my enemies. I feel that

the spiritual advise has been a great
blessing and comfort to me. I feel
that through the meang that God has
ordained for the restoration of man-
kind I have been blessed with the
peace of regeneration. My desire is
to meet my spiritual advisers, Bros.

Ae SOUVENIR OF EFFINGHAM, ILLINOIS.

G. W. Barcus, Rev, G. A. Pollock and
Rev. C. McAnally, with all of God’s
people in heaven.

At 1:28 the sheriff started from
his cell, Burgess following, followed
by Sheriff Jennings of Fayette coun-
ty, Deputies Nuxoll and Dobbs, and
the three attending ministers, Bros.
Pollock, Barcus and McAnally. When
Burgess appeared he was calm and
composed, steady and firm. He ar-
rived on the platform, Rev. G. A.
Pollock prayed fervently for the
doomed man. At the conclusion of
the prayer, the Sheriff read the or-
der of the Court to him and asked
him what he had to say. He said,
“I have nothing to say but that I am
innocent of the crime with which I
am charged. God knows that I am
innocent.” The sheriff gave him 10
minutes in which to say anything.

He said nothing, but near the end of
the 10 minutes he called Charles
Houseman to him and said, “You are
the only man who swore the truth
that swore against me.” Houseman
said, “I swore the truth.” During
the interview with Houseman was
the only time he evinced the slightest
emotion. The 10 minutes passed and
the sheriff, with the attendants, put
on the cap, tied his hands, adjusted
the rope and in a moment, at 16
minutes before 2 o’clock, he swung
off into eternity. For a few mo-
ments no muscular signs were no-
ticed, but soon a_ violent quivering
was seen and then all was quiet. At
44 minutes his pulse was very slight;
at 16 minutes entirely gone. At the
end of 20 minutes Drs. Eversman,
Groves, LeCrone and Scott pro-

anne
THE DEMOCRAT’S NEW HIGH GRADE

nounced him dead and he was cut
down and placed in his coffin.

He was carried out through the
crowd to the street, where he was
sat down and the cap taken off, and
the excited thousands permitted to
gaze on the remains of a man who
had paid the severest penalty of the
law. After all had seen him, a
statement prepared by him was read
by Owen Scott at his request.

The execution was almost perfect-
ly done, no excitement occurring to
shock those present. C. Nolte super-
intended the erection of .the gallows
and everything was as well done as
could be desired. Although the act

is horrible to contemplate, all the of-
ficers who were required to do this
did their duty with that accuracy and
firmness which characterize men of
capacity and courage.

A Notable Trial.

One of the most notable criminal
trials in the city was that of U. G.
Russell, Robert Russell, William Stal-
cup, Jacob Bougher and Clark Howell,
for the murder of David M. Shephard
at the Flemsburg bridge in Union
township on the night of November
4, 1864, Shepherd and the Russells
got into a dispute over forty acres
of land and on the night of November
4th Shepherd was murdered. The
above named persons were arrested
and indicted for the crime. The ac-
cused were taken to Shelbyville for
safe keeping, our jail not having
been built at that time, and in De-
cember, 1864, they were indicted at
a special term of circuit court pre-
sided over by Judge Constable.

°
¥

While the jury was being impanneled
Constable took sick and IS. If. NKagay
presided by appointment. When
eight jurors were selected Constable
died. Hiram B, Decius was elected
to succeed Constable and in January,
1866, the trial wags again taken up.
S. S. Whitehead and John Scholfield
of Marshall, O. B. Ficklin of Charles-
ton and H. B. Kepley' prosecuted
while Benson Wlood and W. B. Coop-
er of this city and James W. Connally
of Charleston defended. After a
trial running through three weeks the
accused were convicted and sen-
tenced to be hanged March 16, 1866.
Two days before they were to be
hanged their attorneys got a stay of
proceedings for the supreme court to
examine the case, and on the night
of June 13, 1866, the defendants broke
jail. Joshua N. Doyle, under indict-

PRESS.

ment for a murder committed in Ef-
fingham, escaped at the same time.
A reward of $1,000 was offered for
the capture and return of the murder-
ers, but they were never recaptured.
The trial was a very notable one and
the court room was crowded during
the whole time. For some time there-
after it was the chief subject of dis-
cussion in every gathering in the
county.

First Criminal Case.

On Christmas eve, 1856, Effingham
had its first criminal case. On that
night H. L. Smith’s store on the
northwest corner of the square was
broken into, the safe broken open
and $600 in money stolen. On the
account of the amount of money se-

—————

BURGE33, Walliam Nathan, hanged Effingham, IL June 18, 1875

a ELE aT TE Ray OE ee area
| . ya
A MURDERER HANGED. |$
@ | ‘ ;
| | . | t CROMMING THER BRIDGE,
= . On the 29en Of October, 1874, George P. Ode'l, a |
. ; = young fariner, residing , y Y
Paying the Penalty of Death for} F | win on nie way ecu Ore mus trom Vanaaita,
: r ; heces-ary to |
CrOss the bridge and tr
. restle over w
. Shooting a Watchman. 51 man kept watch. Whceu he gut to tae bE fee the
0 ' darkness was , heen!
| ; ° S@) great chat he coud oot see big |
: : | » hehe safely over, and he learnt to risk the waik, |
A Mansglayer Terrified by g iisght bine OFere Hence cabin . roan cet !
3 Dio ‘i i © Teply., ale ca; '
His Conagienca . | ae called, but cuuld clictt po an ee ande ie f
aience. 1 aly dorced to ge. upon nig hues and * "
e “i ys Oadgeruus pas-age, —s
= 7 _ Ps tio ight was fick
mpi enenee 8 and be calied in to len wig os eee ae
, t bot answer bis hath = T: riur Dt ‘
THE PRAYERS OF THE VICTIM. /,5 tie Kobvuins Bbretcuea Para een we ais
' ¥ ; dle current Was running out ir ozs " hh
t ae bles ara He was sti! alive eat aa dra
ErPinanamM, UL, Jume 3A, 1875. 4 Ba t Ne was betas) ‘tne erat” Ape wmetetai aid,
- ALEGngham,4il, Natkamie! Burgess was hinged | , i and 10 1658 ‘than two ‘Bowe wed soe Surgeon,
oF Kha warkaeot Joseph Robb ns, a watentan on i bewres dying ne rallied nud edt te pre
the Vandalia Ratlroad, on the 20th of last October, alated’ (lai Mpc ant of the tieody” attatr. “ihe
| | at Kascaskia Bridge. Burgess slept sound!y last |- | reading a paper hy the nica a 4 ehen
| Bight, and this morsing pergisted ig denying Dis | | aceon two reports were heard ambiwo charmed
1 CKeuot came tearing from tne basnes,s UL fawe

| gout, aithough he has hefStofore paniished Scun- H | striking wim full in che face :
| fe-sion which he Genognced as a torgery. Ie | aLOUL UYVEer the WiNUOWs Mod Wane ae eet
' died protesting bis inn.cence and without profess- | rie eae Dbull-ts hud been <pea as tim faut eg

: y weapon. Le tell to the Noor, uys lealiziug

| | ing religion
| ; {nat h@ was dyio er, i
| @, he ralseu ptuseisl tu ls Anecy

THB CRIWK “0d [rayed for P ;
The crime of Burgess was pecullarly atrocious, i! unknowa asaneaine tne Pi ol a shah bt
and committed ander circumstances denoting a: a pieced nated Wu CUrOUN Mauner iter ad
most savage heart, The victim, Joseph Roboion, | | The Coma ol etermity,
had been a@ citizen of Payette county for over, . The next day the -( oxager pala Nid inanen
forty years, and though ais life and calting were | Corer abet Upon the stand anu seldied hin cee
humbie he was none the less respected by his | deed. ‘Suapicion vanes susa Du agit on tue
Reighbora, His piety was well known aud bis because UIs Lbreats of veuyennie ind Hida hcg
honesty acknow.edged by all At tne time | or asiin en Ment lor. His statement wus ult or
@ of mis death he was the keeper of ! view of the chase oe When oroagat witusn
the bri jige, om the line of the Vandalia | (00k plikce. A a: adiy. vepaivermeuacne’ scene
Railway, about one mie and 8 hull i ie Beane » er asodia shadder Fea torsune
east ofthe town of Vandalia. He lived inarude together. Wien we bare co Keen raced
bat at the eastern approach of the bridge, in the man’s ace and identity nim ne. 66¥ur Paki
| Smidut of a aeep forest, wnvse dens. foitage made | would By tonne nace sud deemed as “it Me
' the spot lonely and dismal. Near by lived Nathan- ' Jence Was wanted. i wad cn No mere evir
te] Burgess, a Wild, daagerous, shifticss coaracter, | cess Rad aim, and tuat he felt ax ane ui
withoot occapation or vribie means of support. | alnk wuatl wave done ott lll ie
| He was kaown as a despcrate, wortpless felluw. | 101," > 40uK on “fern [dure
1

| OW @ Certain Occas'ou, ig Ociuder last, Burgeis
called opon Robbins for tne ioan of,
a double barreled = shot-gnn. This favor ,
the oid wan” refnsed, saylig that he. |
would not lend his gunto snyone. Atctois Bur- | ;
geass Was mucn offended and wentaway, Aday |
| or two thereafter while Robbing was Visiliug at
the village of EMngham, some one entered kis
house and stole his gun. He saspected Lurress :
of the theft, and av stated to one or two irlends.
Burgess beard of the accusation, and be threat- |
b ened that be would bave revenge for tue insuls,

THE NEW YORK HERA LD, New York City, NY
June 18, 1875 (5-5.)

“ AZT ae
wy Oe a Pere ee 5 ) ae ee ee es

)

.| when he came to this city,

”

‘A FELON'S LAST KICK.

The Hanging at Caitro, Ill., of Clark
Campbell for Murdering the Mate
or the Steamer Graud Tower.

| Cairo (20th) special Cincinnati Commorcial.

At twenty-one minutes past noon to-
duy ‘William Clarke Campbell) was
hung ‘at the courthouse in this city, tor
the murder of Thomas Doyle, As this
was the first death penalty ever infilct-
ed in this county, the execution attract-
ed much attention, and made a lusting
impression upon many minds. The city
was unuaunlly quiet last night, and the
large concourse of — who thronged
the streets near the place of excution
to-day were quiet and orderly. ‘This
morning Cunmpbell ate a neat break-
fast and appeared fn good condition and
sprits, but woyld speak ta no ane but
his mother and spirltual advisers. ‘The
mother took her leave at 10 o'clock. A
few minutes later Sherlff Irvine received
acdispatch from Governor Beveridge
stating that he would not interfere in
the case. At five minutes past 2 the
prisoner was brought Intothe inclosure,
As he came froin the cell he bade every
body good bye, and att he door of
the inclosure he waved his hat to the
crowd in thestreet, suying: “Good bye,
good bye boys, [am going to leave you;
farewell all; I’ve mide my peace with
God, and I’in willing to go; Tam golug
to be hung unjustly, but I am willing
to go,

The prisoner’ joined in singing a
hymn, nod listened atlentivaly toa
prayer and the burial service. While
the death warrant was, belng read the
prisoncr took a look, over the people
standing in the inclosure, looked at the
weights that were to draw him up, and
at the ropes, pulleys, etc, The sherilf
then asked him if he had anything“o
say.” “No, only T want you to see m
mother home.’”’ The sheriff then too
leave of the prisoner, adjusted the knot,
drew the white cap over his head, and
cut the line that suspended the weights,
and the prisoner shot suddenly into the
air, He struggled very little. In sev-
en minutes and twenty seconds the
pulsution ceased; ut twelve minutes
und twenty seconds the heart ceased to
beat, and in twenty-seven minutes the
body wes lower
given to his friead , who buried it near
this city.

Win, Cuiafbell was about thirty-five
years of aye, nw ttle over the mediuin
hight, very well made, but not stout or
heavy; had kinky halr, deep-sunken,
restless, dim eyes, vegulay featyres, n
straight nove, and rather thin lips, He
was born in Louisiana, When he was
two yeam old his parents moved to
Buone county, Mo., where William
was afterward gold to a planter named
Flectwood Herndon, with whom he
Hived until the breaking out of the war,
when he ran away and went to Bt.
Louis, Mo. When the Ninth Iowa

‘| cavalry cane iyrough that city he hired

bn Cageaiet Need a3 cook, and remained
with him ane year. He then served
Cupttin Charley Flick in the sume
regiment for a short time. Leaving

him, he went w Little Rook, Ark.,

where he lived one year. After this

he came to Omaha, Nebraska, and was

employed usa roustabout on aleumers

running In the Missourl and upper
rivers until the fore partof last winter,
As he was
a stranger here, his past history, fur-
ther than his own statements go, is un-
known, and his past character {4 like-
wise a mystery. During the war the
rebel army hung a brother of his, but
for what offenso is not known.

In tho latter part of last Murch or
first of April, Cainpbell shipped as deck
hand an the Grynd Towel, a_ aleamer
belonging \o the St. Louls, Memphis
and Vicksburg ‘Anchor?’ Line, for the
round trip from Cairo to return. When
the rot Heayts Ht this
nyage fast tq the [Il[nols
oat, ane af ing
Towcr went qn to

Into the cofiin and.

Do le, and he “only wished he had
killed the Irish son ofa ——.” At the
trial this testimony was the strongest
brought againt hiin.

Mr. Thomas Doyle, the first mate of
the Grand ‘Tower, whom Cumpbell
murdered, was of Irish descent, about
thirty-elght years of age, of mediym
height, stout built, light complested,
with sparkijng blue eyes whiulr seemed
always reudy fora laugh, He was mate
on the Tower from the time she came
out, and waa a very efticlent officer.
He worked men hard, as all mates have
to, and insisted upon having-his ecom-
miands obeyed without parley or dulay.
re was schooled to defending himself
nguinust desperate inen, and having
come out first best iu inany a squabble,
was looked upon as 4 ign Whoty deck-
hauds would call “dangerous.” All
others, however, found him genial,
prompt, pleasant aud agreeable, and he
therefore ranked pi high as an officer,
rm was of great value tu the “Anchor

zine,”

-- —

THE VIRGIN MARY,

How She Appeared to Little Berna-
dette inthe Grotto of Marsablelle.
Lourdes (France) Correspondence of New

‘York Herald.)

LouRDES, July 20.

So Bernadette sat down on the frag-
ment of a rock and began to take off
her stockings. It was noon by this
time, and the Angelus” sounded trom
the steeples of all the towns and vil-
lages'of the Pyrenees. Bernadette had
just taken off one of her stockings
when she heard around her a murmur
like the Seton of a wind sweeping
over grass. She thought that a4 hurri-
cane, such as she had often seen In the
mountalos, was coming on, and she
looked ‘around for the prenionitory
symptoms of it. But, to her amaze-
ment, the poplars on the harder of the
Gave were still. Notun breath of air
stirred among their quiet branches.
Thinking she had been mistaken, yet
remombering the noise which'she Rv
heard, the child felt puzzled; and then
she began to take off her other stock-
Ing. Atthis moment another gust of
the fuvisible wind made itself heard
ugaln, Bernadette ralsed her head,
and, looking up before her, tried to ut-
ter a loud cry, which diced stifled on
her lips, She trembled iu all her limbs,
and, crouching down, dazed and over.
whelmed by the sight before her, the
child fell in a heap upon her knew. ~An
anjaging sight, indeod, had been re-
vealed to her. Above the grotto in
that upper niche there stood, surround.
ed by a supernatural radiance, a lady of
incomparable splendor,

ATMOBPHERE OF THE VIRGIN.

The ineffable light which flonted
about her did nat trouble the vision
und duze the eyeg like the intolerable
brightness of the gun. Qn the contrary,
this aurepla,brilliantas a streayp of rays,
was as peaceful as o peafound shadow,
and attfacted the child's looks, which
bathed and reposed in it with a senso of
delight, ‘This light was as the light of
a morning star iu its freshness. Nor
was there anything vague and vapor-
ous ahout the apparition withlo it. It
had oot the uncertain outlines of a fun-
tastic vision; It was, it looked like, a
living reality, a human body, which
the eye jud to 14 of palpable flesh
like ours; and it differed only from the
person of a rortal by the aurcola
around {it and by itsdivine beauty,
‘*Ho is not the God of tlie dead, but of
the living,” TI have somewhere read.
PERSONAL APPEARANCE OF THE VIR-

QIN dany.

She was of middle hight. She
seemed quite young, and yet she had
the grace of her twentieth summer, but
without losing any of its tendernew.
re below,
aspect of
ne linea-

:
v

I ingle, ;
y andlatyttad!
p pnin 5 in

extmord:
all her f
With a:
feet plan
ous Visi:
eyes,
oe Look
nadette |
nothings
whieh cli
luntine.
however,
Her word
yueed th
mod, ‘I
bottle vi
its conte
stood wil
Interior «
“Tf you
said’ Bert
Jnngunge
with her
and aetio
vanced &
She seen
ol Berna
tude, S:
“Ifyou |
near,’ bi
nhajesty «
dare tow
She only
recite he
scemed
bends on
had salad
ished for
THIRD A
The fut
considere
daughter
“’Phis is
little girl
their neip
had happ
itall nee
for whe
Hernadet:
hesitation
equivocal
account o
Up to thi
dette’x vj
(sh tittle:
ors—it ul
Wats Work
selfsent °
for comps
growing
Madam
Madame
at Jaan
and resols
iton Thu
at 6 o’cloc
upon yoi
grotto. ‘I
the third
Millet ane
wise tu :
could in
they had
make oul
of payor
dies requ
Virgin {ft
toher. T
a moment
may reme
three lita
to pray \
woes th:
morning,
ina plous
the celesti
eye but hu
puntons 4]
“Go to]
Ask who
Ask if shi
ity plarees «
to writed
fulfill the:
Peyret hua
which th:
then aclys,
As she 11;
apparition
terlor of {

YT
f

|
|
oe but we fear that in its zeal to

"
4
”

As lor several . preceding. years Q
AVALANCHE fnvestigated this’ wattect
toward the close of the late s¢ason, and
taking the movement by two of our

j main outlets, notably the Great West-

/ern Despatch, arrived at an average of

ji fraction under 472 pounds per bale

lagatnst an average of 470 pounds the
| vemson oF IsT1-2.0 Tuking 472 pounds as

‘heactualaveraye, therefore, and 1.17

ux the tiverage price of low middling,

Which iy buta shade higher than the
Appeal’s e-timate of the price, we ar-

rive at, in round frures, $34,451,700 9s

the value of our cotton shipmients for
the year ending August 8b, ayniust g47,-

OOOO aa figured out by the Appeal.

In l87l-2 our shipments were 8ol 424
bales, Which at 470 pounds average per
bale, wndoan average of 20.65 per pound
| for low aniddling, amounted to a tritle
lover $35,047,000. While receipts and
shipments were lighter in 1&71-2 the
price Was higher, and hence the greater
valuntion,

In IST0-1 our shipments were 513,536
bales, which, at an average of 15.69 for
Iniddling, amounted to an apparent
value of $39,512,395. The value ata
low middling basis of ealeulation was
$37,700,625,

Previous to, and for a while subse-
quent to, the war, it was the custom
to take middling as an average us the
Ferop, but this has heen departed from
within the last three years, and it) is
now becomlog a question, considering
changes in classifications and relative
scarcity of the better grades, « whe(her
low middling is not considerably
above the average. In last season’s
crop, Which was the poorest made in
Sumo years, it certainly was above the
average. H{ad good ordinary been
taken as tho average the result would
have been nearer the truth, and our

stemporary’s estimate still more erro-

eOus,

The facts of the cotton trade for the
last three years, taking low middling
as an average, xro as follows, and are
commended to the attention of the
Secretary of the Chamber of Commerce
as the proper figures for record:

Year, Shipments.
=)
| WS87I-2..,

1872-3.

Value,
$37,700,025
35,537,160
35,431,696

eccevseseee $13,136
We write in no spirit of unkind eriti-

mnake a “big blow” for Memphis—
Which, in one sense, is commendable—
| the Appeal has not been as careful in
its calculations as it shoud, Statistics
' are invaluable when eorreet, but when

| Incorrect are worthless and liable to
| mislead,

r eri hg Tittle Lamb.

The tollowing is the lates

: est rendition

of Mary’s Little Lamb, and ia publish-
ed for the benefit of the gentlemen ex-
clusively. It certainly has the merit
of originality:

Mary had a little lamb,

With which she nsed to tussle,

She snatched the wool claan otf its back
And stutted it iu her bustle,
And when he saw he had been Nbeced,

He in a passion flew,
So Mary got up on herear

And stulfed the lamb in too,

Griffin clamors for a street railroad

and the Savannah News asks, ‘‘'W
for?”

‘ eRe ty
the smoke, “Around ‘you™ fg “the ‘fort
the French are’ defending.’ Bome of
the buildings near are in flames, and
appear as natural as if real. The
artillery playing: upon the Prussians,
belching out: flames and smoke. The
dead and wounded spread out before
you, as real (seemingly) e& if you were
Ina few stepsoof them. The) Prussian
catups ure in gthe distuuce., other forts,
also, ure attacked. Other buildings are
on fire, ‘The fort where you are is in
ruins, wy perfectly natural us if really
before you, Yet you see no painting
anywhere, but all is open, as if you

were looking on the stiife all around |

you. The city is seen about as it looks
from other direstions, We ure bewild-
ered, overwhelmed with auinagaenent,
Cau this be artifielal? [Cis the triumph
Of urt-a delusion such as we have
never expected to see. ‘The earth, we
know, is teal, the broken shells around
ux are real -und yet the others near it
are not. One of the banks of sand bags
was said to be real, but) the others
seemed us natural as itdid. Some one
threw a penny near the evonon, and
we heard it strike the rock and saw it
afterward. ‘This settled the question of
there being some things that were not
Husions, but the whole scene far sur-
passed anything we have seen in this
line. Every one who visits Paris tosee
should see this.

We goto the “Palace of Industry,”
built In dst for the “Universal, Exhi-
bition.” Here ure paintings and sta-
tues of men coinent in art 4nd science.

We have passed the palace of

THE TULLLERIES

several tinjos—u terrible. mjass of ruins
—but being rabuilt. Ta frant Is a nghle
arch of Napoleon, crected jo 1806. Hire
we see a charlot drawn hy four horses,
copied from those of Be. Mark’s at
Venice, to which I have referred. Here
is a palace Constructed by Julian the
Apostate, or by his ancestear Constan-
tins, toward the close of the bolicth cen-
tury.

We spent some time in the Pantheon.
Louis XV laid the foundation in 1764.
The Assembly, in 1790, converted it into
a temple to receive the ashes of the
great men of the country. In 1822 it
was restored toa church, to become in
1830 a secular institution, and in 1848
the scene of desperate combat between
the insurgents and the troops. It is 302
by 250 feet, its summit being 450 feet
high. Inthe vaults are the tombs of
Voltaire, Rousseau and several of Na-
poleon’s best offigers

GOBELIN TAPESTRY.

Tapestry work is gone in Paris as at
no other place. Sofie 200 years since
it was juyented by a Frenchman named
Gobelin. ‘The Emperor bought the
right, and named the Pytublishnjent
after him. Qur guide bad permission
from the authorities to take’ personé in
to see the manufacture of it, We were
taken through the rooms where the
most exquisite work was being per-
formed, ‘There were carpets requiring
ten men twenty years to make, and
paintings copied a as to be exactly like
the originals. These works are never
sold from this establishment as they
are used only for royalty or presented
to such.

We visited a number of churches and
other places, of which I cannot now
siy anything, I thought Paris needed
street railways, but when I went on the
steainboats of the Seine, passin swiftly
by and stopping at convenient distances,
circling through the city, and the many
lines of omnibyses, running to every

Tt of it, fara 8 oenta 9a each, ‘and
hen a railroad, running all around and

through th
It eon tk @ city 1@ miles for 10 cents,

hey have locomotive tacilities
a3 Sie | Ag any city |
seen, too th trips
day by river BEV iles, ‘pnd
around the city ata cost of oe n 20
cents. The railroad runs -sdttiet
above the houses, giving a fine view of

ey when he met Doyle,
to kn

the shove]. Oamphell eays he knew

Doyle well eno Uh ta Dow that f he
ve up the shovel Doyle would strike |.

ate with it. Cuimpbell lowe the

post and didnot return to it agal

uct Mtb wenly-seven minutes the,

uly" Wes lowered into’the cofiin and
given to his frieud’ , who buried it near
this city.”

Wm. Carfbell was about thirty-five
years of age, a little over the mediuin
hight, very well made, but not stout or
heavy; had kinky hair, rep snip
restless, dfm eyes, yegulay featyres, nu
straight nose, and rather thin lips, He
was born in Louisiana. When he was
two years old hiv parents moved to
Boone county, Mo., where William
was afterward sold toa planter named
Fleetwood Herndon, with whom he
lived until the breaking out of the war,
When he ran away and went to St.
Louis, Mo. When the Ninth Iowa
cavalry came through that city he hired
to Captain Reed as cook, and remained
with him one year. te then served
Cupiuio Charley Flick in the same
regiment for a short time. Leaving
him, he went tu Little Rook, Ark.,
where he lived one year. After this
he came to Omaha, Nebraska, and was
employed aya roustabout on sleamers
ranning in the Missouri and upper
rivers until the fore part of last winter,
when he came to this city. As he was
a stranger here, his past history, fur-
ther than his own statemeuts go, is un-
known, and his pust character is like.
wise a mystery. During the war the
rebel army hung a brother of his, but
for what offenso is not kuown.

In tho latter part of last Murch or

first of April, tingid Towel. ag deck |

hand on the Grand Towef, a sfeamer
belonging to the St. Louis, Memphis
and Vicksburg “Anchor” Line, for the
round trip from Cairo to return. When
the peat Peeinet MT this port, <i ne
mage fast ta the ols Cent wharf-
beat ane Py tnd oft adh of the Grand
Towcr went an to the wharfbost to see
if thero was any freight to he put on,;
and ee and several other negroes
were ardered {tq fallaw him, and if
there was anything ‘to bring it. The
officer reported that there was nothin
to be londed, and the deck hands a
returned to the boat. On his way
back Campbell met Doyle, and asked
for his pay, stating that as he had
shipped from this port, and his clothes
were all here, he wanted to leave the
boat. Doyle flew into a rage, and
swore he had ns all he was going to
pay, and saig jf Oar Pball wan hls
money he would have'to stay on the
boat until they got to St. Lonis. Camp-
bell went to his partner, Steve, and
told him they would have to go to St.
Louis or lose their pay. Campbell then
went to the ren the mpc ep
down fq que of tho lawer whartboats.
A barge loaded with pha cline along-
side, and the deck hands were ordered
to put tho coal ou the Grand Tower.
Campbell «picked up a shovel
and started to go ‘on the barge to help
load jt, He was nen thetiniddle of the
boat, when he met the aptly qt the
watch, who wanted to Know he had
‘had a fusa with the old man’’—mean-
ing Doyle—ang said thut he (Doyle)
had just driven ‘Steve,’ Campbell’s
partner, off the boat. Campbell sturt-
ed forward, but had gone but a few
who wanted
going with

Somended

ow ‘‘where he was
that shovel.”” Some words
tween them, when Doyle

shovel so that the blade’ rested on-the
floor, but was vey careful to keep hold
of the handle: yle also placed ‘one
hand on the handle of the shovel; and
at the same time dropped his other
hand down hy his side, ag if to drdw.a
pistol, f Types shies ate and
et go u ore he cay
Doyle ralsed itand dealt him 2 biog
on the head with it. Campbell lett the,
n-
J hebe t of the killing of Doyle. 7
‘Rhe abcye js 1phel}’s version of
the affair, and is the only one known.

only v

her fj
blossomed the mystic
-waist.

again. “Bernadette raised her head,
and, looking up before her, tried to ut-
ter a loud cry, which died stifled on
her lips. She trembled fn all her limbs,
and, crouching down, dazed and over-
whelmed by thesight before her, the
child fell in a heap upon her knees. <An
amaging sight, indeed, had been re-
vealed to her, Above the grotto in
that upper niche there stood, surround-
ed by « supernatural radiance, a hiudy of
incomparable splendor.

ATMOBPITERE OF THE VIRGIN.

The ineffable light which flonted
about her did nat trouble the yision
and daze the eyes like the intolerable
brightness of tho gun, Qn the contrary,
this aurepla, brilliant asa streajy of rays,
was 8 peaceful as o profound shadow,
and ase ie the child's laoks, which
bathed and reposed in it with a sense of
delight, This light was as the light of
a morning star in its freshness. Nor
was there anything vague and vapor-
ous about the apparition within it. It
had not the uncertain outlines of a fan-
tastic vision; it was, it looked like, a
living reality, a human body, which
the eye judged to te of palpable flesh
like ours; and it differed only from the
person of a mortal by the aureola
around it and by its divine beauty.
“He is not the God of the dead, but of
the living,’”’ T have somewhere read.
PERSONAL APPEARANCE OF THE \'I8-

QIN baAny.

She was of middle hight. She
seemed quite young, and yet she had
the grace of her twentieth summer, but
without losing any of its tenderness.
Grace, which 7 90 fugitive here below,
seemed in her ta ear the aspect of
eternity. Moreover, the divine linea-
ments of her face seemed to mingle,
leaving their harnmaqny undisturbed
the successive and deepening kinds o
beauty of the four seasons of human
life. There were the innogent candor
of the child, the ghsalyte purjty af the
virgin, the gravity of mot erhood, and
the wisdom of age, all blended together
in the marvelous countenance of the
celestial visitor. Words can no more
tell her praises than lamps can show
the lustre of a star. The r ularity
and ideal purity of her features no
language can describe. It can merely
record that her fuce was sve) ‘that her
eyes wero blue and of a suavity which
melted the heart of the beholder. Her
lips breathed goodness and mercy. Her
brow was stately and august. Her
robes were made of an unknown mate-
sh of a bob ee than a:

are magnificent jn theiy simplie.
iy than tlie: ar of a queen, Her
gown was long and trained in chaste
folds upon the ground, leaving her feet
ible. They reposed upon the
rock, and each of them pressed a branch
of eglantine, without crushing it. P pon

get, which were hare and white,
rose gf golden
A sky blue sash was around her

It was knotted in front and the
ends of it hung down in broad bands to
het feet. Behind she was enveloped in
an ample white veil, which covered her
arms and shoulders; it was fixed to her
hair and descended as low as her gown.
THE VIRGIN WORE NO OXNAMENTS,
Mo Fai. Haren sian jewels;

Lane al those trinkets with which
b HAY Sanit delights ta deck Nevlf
A chaplet; of which: the beads were
white as: milk, and through which

achain yellow as a wheat ear
ripe for harvest, h ‘ down: from her
hands, which were Joined in the at-
titude of fervent prayer. She did not
speak, She-seemed to be listening to
© invocations ever rising up to her,
and with every bead she touched she
8 oe ee h ae bestowed some
pon er wors .
#-The ttle girt ee et tn heavenly
vision, having recovered a | her firat
¢mazement, felt no . Bhe

more
Rought instinctively her 8, and
made

hue,

e sign of the cross, remaining

Cees OS aes oh t ee es

dyes WOU
self sent
for coin
growin,
Madam
Madaty
at ota
and resi
iton Tl
at Goch
upon y
grotto.
the thin
Millet x
wise to
could in
they hu
make or
of pray
dies rev
Virgin |
to her.
a mMome
may ren
three lit
to pray
fuintly t
morn}ns
ina plot
the cele:
eye but
panions
“Go t
Ask wl.
Ask if s
implare
to write
fulfill th
Peyret bh
which ¢
then addy
As she n
appuritic
terior of
lowed jt
ee My
“if you)
will you
stato in \
you wan
WHAT
The 1D
simple q
and she:
“T ne
to tell yx
hither ev
ie yr
dette, ‘J
answer a
AS fr,
al !
in this w
Mme.
informed
wheiner
day to th
the Virg
might d
before, B
the “lady
rition, w:
around }
after she
Vision w
first the
then the

A larg:
by the hr
southern
ton railr
the head
Roc

The olear

steady ha
brain, bri)
look on the
tions that |
workiny or
oar of life
ortunate,

bring it t
All who !
effect of Hi

2 ¥ 3 ZK
Leo Sen
‘eaey at Paris, Joho

Mat ora

Bese

ey oem 4: ' Z|
tues ‘Waddvata ce Eis

‘ment) 1 raised it hs hie "kissed:
Mra. Uitbery fan

hg
1 alepe. tq

the ali Fae 1

mar

Spe enon gpe wee Nee

caer

Foot

oh. Hen.

—— ‘fh t Wa as
Whee’ the sandy ul sro said
ane Ses
srovpinise eep ‘the
First Natiooal Bank of New York for
mode bdvanced to” pay ‘ the expenses of
the ‘Louisiana® comtuizsioa ' which went

| dowa to: New. Orleand‘and ‘turned the |;

'ptath gorerpment «over ‘from: Packard to
Nicbolls.’. Whea' this stem was reached

ip the eonste Renator-Rnenoar reised «

“THE DA ES

¥ (AY

—ee Hib —

of Ea)
ia)

the purpose of adoptin

quent city taxes, desire

TEER ST panei ht
ot Pastas 4 a6 ay

commend it to our own y board |'r

°y wake Be aes

: Autox, ILL, June 10. "8.
Joma K. Ball, Eaq,, Avy. Genel

‘ Drap fan The cae of Altoo, shat | aboh
organized a Tax Pay League

: wher lt

enforcement of the a-

enquire sbeth

apap reere ey
? Wie: cee oe |

a Laos eee 8 G&D
Pay Reg i varies.

aes suis asian i a en

PRL

ie Raa: d ates

FO TST

PETTY suns er TD ees

a ee ec nn ee ee Sn en eee enna mewn rome

ya or gE “

“ee badiog raat sabes

uty fairs

some

cg palchennatea
sided i obs roles governing the exhi-
bitiong at obr county, fairs asthey have
heretofore been -eduducted; I-take the
liberty of addrasaing you, and. arough
you, to call the attention of your “society
toa few of the almost universal errors

sms SDE,

meee ae | aerate Newport.

bis NEIGHBORBOOD: REWB.06: 5

ile been; boat betoores

re Onan et ot Miri Beha. |

“f ri sn} copamunison overt, has Boks gat
: The Clinton peper has nearly & half col.
ran article, euggeried, bys ‘wabecribet stop-
ping his peper..

| h Christian Temperance Union wee organ-
Iued al Clinton last week, With Dr. J. Crasier
president and D. C. Johnson, secretary.
* Len Sanders and Dr. Bpotiswood have pur-
ehased Oushman's bankrupt’ stock of goods
at Perrysville.

5 ume wool phleress Joba. Cooper and Wn.

pitied &

pe oie

oe ole i
*-

ron cana and $135 in seed and $8.00 in
Mise Kate Cushian, daughter of Auditor omell change takes... ;
sa Jelena sac oa,

*) tife'ooe p48. beats: nose Cheddar.
vite spe dronmnay tthe Oban on fhe 17a
ateal Sa SIVY ZAG
fo ner eA QOUREI © cre
Rev. Hopkins will not. take charge of ihe
Paris Episcopal church, because of a mis-
understanding In regard lo eslary., :
The Paris Gasetie man has lost bis dog.

A roll is being cireulated in Paris for the ~

purpose of securing names for a military
company, > ari ee
Chas. Burns was banged at Paris lant Pri-
day for the awful crime of murder.
Bims township has s justice of the pesce—.

Wm. Rhodes—who served in the British

rr Tees

Oa RRR Hs FS: RPE, 54

a ey

43,

to 7 Mr.

Strong's 1088, -F08
pants with a broomstick and found in one of
the pockets £25.00 to reward him for-his

bedroem, © eewet! war. -.3,!

we ware mat phe ton

on which the son lived from his sua year
to the day of bis death. Mr. Lamb gttended

ttend the peeee | |

trouble. Moral-den‘i leave money in your
pants when you retire, but if you must do
thal, Aga s.bong, the penis on 0 chait. near
the windew, j) ) 23 HEX 2

“Oa Tuesday night of last week, ai a
regular” meeting of the “Darg: to: do Right
Club,” the following officers wert elected;
President, Jas, A. Outland: vice-presidents,
E. Good, f, M. Norton, Mra. 8..N. Monroe ;
recording secretary, W. G. Danvemer; finsn-

< Fes Pig

cial overetary, John Devile treasurer, Sam-

wet

the first ssle of town lots ever held In Daa-
ville, and had ecen all the changes pass over
this fair county and city from the time the
wild Jodisn reamed at will.-JIe was raised
a Quaker, bul for 50 years previous to his
death had been an exemplary member of the
Methodist churoh. He waa ef a very quiet
and gentle disposition, kind and’ genial as
companion and neighbor and enjoyed the
highest esteem of all who knew him. .He
died quietly and peacefully, as he ever lived,

aad epiniond tn the Vawt de the bin eo. 08 Sw

Lincoln airect Sunday School 1 Asso-|

omocers as wn woe
time to time, he shall t be wleoted for a term
of one year by ballot, a majority of all ballots
cast being necessary to an election. The sup-
erintendent shall be a member Jn good atand-
ing of some evangelical church; shall have
full power to appoint all teachers of the sev-
eral classes of the echool, and to remove ihe
same for cause; and be shall preside over all
meetings ef a nature not strictly business
meetings. <> .

6th. The basiness of this ansectation shall
be in the charge of a board of six trustees,
to be elected by the association, at least a
majority of whom shall be members in good

standing of some evangelical eburch, and in

tion m Papers prepared and Setriinies. The | animals from a

with slight results, on’ account of the old
provision in the pledge. * : :

Young ladies of Covington make occasional
promensdes on the streets in male attire.

The county has an insurance policy of
$36,000 on the couri-house and $0,000, on
poor heuse property.

Charles Duncan, of Corington, rode a horse
to Danville recently, When he was ready to

go home he found his horse gone atid has not
bevel of it som, i sore .

ie ,
iy 7
ie

20th ult., while assisting fa the arrest oe ry

castle, Ind. Charies Burns fired the fatal
shet, aud he was shorvanls, Arrested at
Terre Haute. *é

-Ensign Mitchell, whe vee af Bloomfield,

4e 90 years old, and Just week he was visited
by throe brothers from ‘Ohio and lowa, whe
are respectively @0, 70 and 84. © 8%)

Fe gt

v3 Werth Prd Tren, >

Ad seed reveling manager ain
ha been preaching ‘temperance al Attics, © piljahs Birdwell wes abel veins a tate tl

couple of partien sooused of larceny al Grees-

4 #
=
23
C

ars
S
B3
5
+
¢
#2

——

Joseph Schwartz, (above) 18, was sen-
tenced to 50 years for the senseless bludg-
eon murder of a Negro boy on a Chicago
street corner last March 11 (Chicago’s
Greatest Outrage, June nse, 1957).
Schwartz had claimed that he was drunk

- when he beat 17-year-old high school honor

student Alvin Palmer and that he couldn’t
remember clubbing him with.a ball peen
hamnier. Later, however, he changed his
story and said he did recall hitting the
‘youth, but hadn’t picked on him because he
was a Negro. But testimony by other
members of the Rebels—the teen-age gang
to which Schwartz belonged—contradicted

him. Eleven more members of the gang”

were immediately put on trial, no longer
tough and cocky as they watched Schwartz
break into uncontrolled sobbing.

~at the time of the killing...

“stated,
»vulsive seizure, Willard was in a distur

Aaron Ehrlich, 23, charged with murder-
ing Paul L. Simms, 34, in a Denver, Colo.,
hotel rods and. taking his identification
and car (Twice Insane, May 1nstwe, 1957),
went before a jury with a plea of innocent
by reason of insanity. Earlier this year,
Ehrlich had refused to plead insanity despite
the fact that he’d been~ institutionalized

several times in mental hospitals, and dis-.

regarding the’ state’s' own attitude which
indicated they believed ‘the’accused to be
psychotic. He changed his mind this time,

‘and the jury promptly found him insane in
a, verdict directed by the court. The entire ~
proceeding took less than 20 minutes. The ="
state presented only one witness—a iwell-
known psychiatrist who concurred with’ the’ -/J

defense that the accused had been insane

Beaty

(ihe

William Will

-a Chicago, Ill., subway August 15, 1955

rd, 12-year-old boy who
‘his music teacher, Miss
she’left his Rockerville,
sr having given him a music
§ Last’ Lesson, July INSIDE,
is*judged insane and committed
ton State Hospital. Juvenile Judge
2 *Hurst. announced the decision
psychiatric report sub-
Cecil. G. Baker, superin-
e Yankton mental hospital_
: ‘a-form of epilepsy which
\consciousness, although there is
‘to the ground, and he has “emo-

‘For up to 20 minutes after a con-
bed

. t im wel eres - ‘
Richard D. Carpenter won a temporary

‘reprieve from death in the electric ‘Chair

only IS hours before: his scheduled execu-
tion, Carpenter, 27, was: convicted in the
slaying of Detective William J. Murphy in

(The Desperate Hours, November INSIDE,
1955), and had been’ slated to go to his
death at Cook County jail.

Hernian Barmore, a New York ex-con
held in the 1955 killing of Peter Gorham,

“an Evanston, Ill., Boy Scout (You Can

Beat The Lie Box Once, August INSIDE,
1957), was bound over to circuit court for
trial on manslaughter charges. Judge Wil-
liam T.. Caughey turned down the prosecu-
-tion’s request for a first- or second-degree
murder charge. Barmore admitted that he
shot the 12-year,old boy, but said it was
accidental and took place during target
practice. He still faces a circuit court trial
in Muskegon, Mich., for an alleged morals

- offense involving a young boy.

_ Clifford Watson, 41, charged with kill-
ing his mother and burying her dismem-

Become of Pearl Hartlage? May INSIDE,
1957, and The Story I Couldn't Forget,
August INSIDE, 1957), pleaded innocent by
reason of insanity. The. prosecution said it
-plans to fight this contention. _-

~~ Paul F. Carpenter’s evidence ‘helped con-
- vict three’ men whom Ohio. authorities

believe are their state’s most active bur-
glars. Ernest Foti, John Lexune and Arthur
LaRiche were found guilty by a jury which
reported to Judge Clande V. D.. Emmons
after five hours of! deliberation. This trial
(and one before which ended in a hung
jury) gave an amazing picture of burglary,

gangsterism and possible murder, Carpen-
ter became a willing state’s witness after
_ the gang turn the belief that
he had talked ‘ Carpenter was

left for dead
inesville—but he
survived to tell
knew.*(He Crawled
uk, August INSIDE,

FE
10

“Dr. Baker’s report further ©

+. / Des Moines, Iowa, wi

bered body beneath a farmhouse (What’s — :

a xobbery which

‘Olin Lee Turner, w
a South Carolina life '

of his uncle, Bill Tu

(A. Life Against What
INSIDE, 1957), made
back to the prison wh
_tyears ago. He made
“honor farm at Columb

‘er. As time passed,
University and also
Pentecostal mission. “
» ly moved to Wichi
mother died, leavin;

* - apolis, where he wa

— William R. Reed

* -.imprisonment for st

“favorite aunt” with

E (Sit On This Bar St

= INSIDE, 1957). ‘Th
» death penalty early

> then came around |

decision. Reed admit

witness stand, statin;
- his aunt, Chloris F
' — her Indianapolis ho
» . He asked her to le
and when she refus
a the basement and s
' His defense was b:
; insanity plea entered

be 4

» Lee Roy Leick, :
>. years in. Colorado’
--=row for the 1953 st
/-~ his pretty wife, E
» ~This Plan, See, }
>» ~ has changed his vie
» - Up until rather rec:
|. of a desire to die an
». however, Leick want
' that the Colorado
» ‘save him from the
-court does not reve:
“Leick will have u:
means of staving of

y
4,

~ Fort~Worth, Tea

@ — -with another case s

+; Cossette Faust Newt
_ medical doctor and
> poet and teacher. T
“just about destroye
and their vandalisr
“death of a child \
ming pool clutter
».. Was Terror’s Tar;

1967)... Now, youn

any. The couple
ie First Baptist
_ an indefatigable
come superinten-
hool, Letha Over-
-dressed woman,
church work with
attended worship
ed at many of the
sored by the con-

ad gained an ac-
umber of women
ne leading social
e was not satisfied
began making ef-
y with these same
ot connected with
n to suggest dates,
ts.
ir less successful.
wrongly, she had
1 of being a social
st around that she
stent, a little too
by the Berea
: obstacles she
her efforts to
ainments came to
t of those she in-
to be already en-
le ways she came

she was active in
could not seem to
f mingling socially
ons. After a time,
1 to brood over this,
ven at the church
ed from pleasant
of ill-concealed re-
id that in her bit-
re to gossip some-
out those she had

ye Berea class re-
veeks earlier, Mrs.
oned her and in-
o Tampa with her
riving for a visit.
mn forced to refuse
appointment. She
verton had sounded
s she rang off.

earned that Letha
on strained terms
of the five persons
ed candy had been
serious, of course.
f£ the same thing,
mm Memphis trying
lf, feeling herself
zs refuge in anger

Letha Over-
a, then it was

the most bizarre thing the investigators
had ever encountered—21 persons
coming within an inch of death,
all because of spite arising from a
situation that had its inception in the
church, _

Was it enough to enable the investi-
gators to arrest her? Callahan and
Willard thought so. The evidence
pointed to her and no one else.

Almost two months had passed while
the probe was quietly pressed. It was
February 3, 1954, when Callahan, Wil-
lard and Mellick called at the Overton
home. The two postal inspectors were
in plain clothes, but Mrs. Overton must
have recognized the police chief. She
turned pale and stood there speechless
for a moment. Then she recovered her-
self and invited the men inside.

Inspector Callahan wasted no time.
“Mrs. Overton,” he said, identifying

’ himself, “you are under arrest for using

the United States mails with intent to
kill or injure.”

She stared wildly, then sank into a
chair and buried her face in her hands.

“Please,” she moaned. “Oh, please
... I’ve just come back from the hos-
pital.” :

This was true. Mrs. Overton had
spent a week at the local hospital re-
covering from a nervous breakdown—
a condition, the officers felt, which must
have been hastened by a consciousness
of her guilt.

Her husband was called and he
came home. She wept as she admitted
to him that it was she who had sent
out the poisoned candy.

Jesse Overton was appalled. He had

been well aware that his wife was in a
nervous condition, but had never
dreamed that she might have any con-
nection with the deadly parcels.

Weeping, she was taken to jail. She
was later charged on five counts in an
attempt to poison 21 people. It was
apparent that she was distraught, and
every effort was made to prevent her
from harming herself. But as she
awaited trial, she made a suicide at-
-tempt. s

Guards found her in her cell, moan-
ing and clutching at her stomach.
Questioned, she admitted swallowing
a batch of pins.

Doctors ordered an immediate opera-
tion, and three and a_half hours later
they totaled up the hardware fourfl in
the woman’s stomach: four open safety
pins, four needles, six straight pins and
65 bobby pins. Fortunately only one
pin had pierced the stomach wall.

After the emergency operation, she
was granted a sanity test at the re-
quest of her attorneys. An examination

by prominent. psychiatrists left them |

agreed that’ Letha Della Overton was
mentally incompetent, and steps were
being taken to give her necessary
treatment. °

_ BRAVE ESCORT

m@ RICHARD H. DIX, 24, a Chicago disk jockey, proved himself a
genuine hero—his bravery cost him his life. He and Carrol Gidding,
19 (also shown), were sitting in his parked car on the outskirts of
the city when a holdup man appeared. After he had taken $20 from
Dix, he tied his victims up and then attempted to molest the girl.
Dix worked loose from his bonds and stabbed the bandit with a pen-
knife. Enraged, the thug pumped five shots into, Dix before fleeing.

Lt. John Flannegan

° MAMA'S
BOY

THE PLOT of the Carpenter
case is now a classic one for the movies and television—a family
held in fearful captivity by a murderer seeking refuge from the
police,

The character of Carpenter himself is a classic—a sensitive, mis-
understood boy who truly loved opera music and was devoted to
his mother, but who somehow “‘went wrong.”

This type is a natt ural for the psychiatrists. Let those learned
We the readers. can lose ourselves im
the gripping hunt, and the successful capture of the killer.

And when you finish the story, don’t feel sorry it’s over. You'll
see it again and again .. . on television.

men have their Feld day

It was two o'clock in the morning when the duty sergeant
at the precinct station in Chicago to which I was attached
came through on the inter-com with details of a stick-up
which had just taken place at a small bar and grill on Wright-
wood Avenue. It was an address which lay on the Northwest
sidégof the city, and I hopped a car and got there quickly to
find Martin Chowanski excited and glad enough to be still
alive. He had been badly scared and wanted to talk about it.

He began, “It was ten minutes to two. and I was about
finished when a stranger came into the tavern. I told bim he
was just in time for a fast drmk because we were closing up.
‘There weren't many customers left, Lieutenant, just one
: couple. and Medard Bosak! You know him—he is a police

336 Me GOK

re Mama’s Boy

337

officer, too, but he was here in civilian clothes. It was his night
off.

“The guy didn’t answer my question when I asked him
what he’d like to drink. Instead of saying anything, he

suddenly held two guns in his hands, pointed them in my
face and growled: ‘What about the money?’

“Policeman Bosacki reached for his own gun when this
thug said: ‘You'd better put that gat on the bar or someone
will die here tonight.’

= “I told Bosacki, ‘Listen, put that gun away. I don’t want
-. any killing here. I’d rather give this guy the money I got in
the cash register.’

“Bosacki listened, because he didn’t want to ‘put me or

anyone else in danger. Then the stick-up man gave orders to

Bosacki: ‘Slide the gun down the bax.to me.’ Then I heard

the double click of his two revolvers.

“The guy was calm all right, took the gun, stuck it in his
pocket and said to me, ‘You'd better be smart too—give me all
the money: all of the green stuff, and don’t bother with the

silver.’
“So T handed him sixty dollars which he took and then ran
out of the place.”

Chowanski told me that Bosacki waited a moment and
then followed, but the stick-up man was too quick for him

and got away. The street was dark and there were any
number of alleys he could have used with comparative safety.

_ Although Bosacki had left and it was not likely I should see
him until later, it was not difficult to get an accurate descrip-
tion of the gunman from Chowanski and the couple who had
€en in the bar when he walked in. He was young, dark-
: aired, slim and not bad looking. and was dressed in black

nts. and hid the guns he had stuck ina belt.

knew who it was right enough even before Bosacki
fned up, told me what he looked like, and said he had run
ter than anyone he had ever seen. We had a talk about the

“slacks and a short-sleeved sports shirt which hung-over his”

009) TTI *oeT® feqtum *paeuoty SYRLNEdY VO

Aqunog ¥

6Le6T-et (

| Carolina. At first Joyee told detectives
| that a strange inan had entered the
| house and shot her-husband. But-later
' the three women confessed the plot.
On September 6th, 1956, a jury con-
victed Mrs. Joyce Turner of murder,
with a recommendation for mercy,
which carried a life sentence. Mrs.
Audrey Roakes, convicted as accessory
before the fact also received a life
sentence. The same sentence was meted

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CASE FILE

(Continued from page 5)

A request by her attorneys for a re-
hearing caused another postponement.
The court denied a rehearing and up-
held the death sentence, setting the exe-
cution date for September 27th, 1957,

If the death sentence is carried out,
Rhonda Bell Martin will be the second
white woman to die in‘ Kilby Prison’s
electric chair. The first was Mrs. Earl
Dennison, executed September 4th,
1953, for the poison-murder of a two-
year-old niece. (‘“Alabama’s Borgia,”
TD January, 1953, Case File December,
1953.)

FIVE BULLETS FOR THE
DISC JOCKEY

(TD January, 1956)

For 15 months Richard “Mad Dog”
Carpenter, 25, identified as the slayer of
Chicago disk jockey Richard=H: Dix, 24,
was the object of an intensive manhunt.
On the night of May 10th, 1954, Carpen-
ter forced his way into the car where

station. .Carpenter shot and killed the
officer, commandeered a car and escaped.
On the night of August 18th Patrolman

t Clarence Kerr saw Carpenter ina movie
D house and tried to arrest him. Carpenter
shot Kerr through the chest and fled.
Indicted for the murder of Detective

Murphy, the murder of Richard Dix and
the wounding of Patrolman Kerr, the
“most hunted man in Chicago” was tried
first for the murder of Detective
Murphy. He was found guilty and sen-
tenced to die in the electric chair. Ap-
peals delayed his execution, the date of
which finally was set for June 7th,
1957. On that date another postpone-
ment was granted for a hearing on his
sanity.

However, since the Illinois legislature
recently has voted to abolish the death
penalty for a six-year trial period, “Mad
Dog” Carpenter, who has refused to
speak a word in 17 months in Death
Row, may escape execution.

THE GAMBLER AND THE
THREE NEIGHBORLY WOMEN

(TD September, 1056)

In the spring of 1956 Mrs. Joyce Tur-
ner, 27, the hard-working mother of
six young children and expecting the
seventh soon, reached a point where she
felt she could no longer endure the
abuse of her husband, Alonzo Wesley

Mrs. Audrey Roakes, 32, lent Joyce
the money to buy a gun, a 5-inch .22
vest-pocket revolver, and Mrs. Clestell
Gay, 32, went with her when she bought
it. And on the night of June 4th, 1956,
Lonnie Turner was shot to death as he
slept in their home in Columbia, South

assault and robbery of two women,
Lucien Peets, 30, a parolee from Sing

a murder committed two years earlier.

On January 25th, 1954, Mildred Hos-
mer, a young divorcee, was found
strangled to death in her Springfield

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was pardoned by the governor and
freed. The legislature voted $60,000 for
Rodriguez as compensation for his un-
just imprisonment.

Lucien Peets pleaded guilty to man-
slaughter and was sentenced to 18 to 20
years, with two 10 to 12-year sentences
for assault and one of 5 to 10 years,
the sentences to run concurrently. His
attorneys appealed for a reduction of.
sentence for Peets, but clemency was re-
fused by the appellate division of su-
perior court.

THE CHAMBERMAID FLIRTED
ONCE TOO OFTEN

(TD October, 1956)

Deciding that a summer in the Cat-
skills was preferable to one in New York
City, Nellie Ferrick, 43, took a job as

‘chambermaid at a hotel on Lake Kia--

mesha in Suilivan County, New York.
She arrived there on June 12th, 1956,
and was given some of the best suites to
service. On her free time she was
squired by one or another of the male
employees to the lake or to a nearby
tavern.

On June 22nd Nellie’s body was found
near the lake. She had been strangled
to death. Police sought a man employe
who had quit his job at the hotel on the

Dix and his fiancee sat and slew Dix Turner, 34. Lonnie, a gambler, refused 22nd. Identiied as Sheldon Raymond
when he attempted to protect the girl. to work and repeatedly beat her. Joyce Woolridge, 24, he was picked up by state

On August 15th, 1955, Detective Wil- discussed her problem with three women police on June 26th. He confessed the
liam Murphy spotted Carpenter on a neighbors, who agreed that she had murder. “She «as awful pretty,” he
subway train, took him off at the next borne too much from him. said. But her interest in other men

had infuriated him.

Woolridge, who had a record for as-
saults from the age of 13 and had been
a patient in mental institutions, was con-
victed of second-degree murder and
sentenced to 8 to 20 years in Dannemora
prison at Clinton. New York.

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_ .

ene matlineamein

The girl described the sailor as being work and asked for a date. She had ported he had started a fire in his room, lounge to oatoh up with Mrs, Clark and
six feet four and weighing over 250 refused, saying she waa tired and’ moant to ask him about it but he she had invited him to her apartment;
pounds, intended to go to bed early. checked out while I was away from the they had gone into the building through
The detectives immediately showed a “It was while I was living in a hotel desk.” a back door so that no one would see
much greater interest in the man, for downtown,” Miss Owens said. “So I The maid was questioned and saida them. 3
& powerful person had overcome Mrs. told the telephone operator I didn’t small fire had been started in a waste. “I guess I was drunk and we got to
Clark and broken her neck with hardly want to accept any calls. Then, about basket in the room. She thought he fighting about some crazy thing,” Har-
a struggle. ten o’clock this messenger showed up had burned a T-shirt. rison was quoted by Kramer. “I just
Pressing for a lead to the man’s iden- ‘with the note from Jimmy.” Unfortunately, the maid had put the went nuts. I don’t remember cutting
tity, Swindler asked: “Do you know “Would you still have it?” contents of the wastebasket into the her up, like you say I did—but I guess I
what this Marty does for a living?” “I might; I’ve got a lot of letters and refuse. It would be impossible to re- - must.have. I just went plain nuts.”
“Gosh, no. She just used to come in _ stuff in & box at home.” cover whatever Harrison had burned. The mystery of what became of Carl
once in awhile. She’s real friendly and The detectives arranged with Miss __ If it was a T-shirt, why had he Drake was solved when his company
sometimes she’d draw pictures; she was Owens’ employers to allow ‘her to ac- burned it? Because it .was blood- wired the police that he had gone to
00d at it too. Once she drew a picture company them to her apartment. stained? . Spokane instead of Portland on_ his

of me and I gave it to my boy friend.” There she located the note. Coast Guard records for Harrison selling trip. Drake said that he had
“She’s an artist?” tec It read: “Marty, call me at room 202 showed he was an instructor at Juneau, known Mrs: Clark for some time and
“No. Well, I guess she is, too. Ire- YMCA and I'll jump up. Jim.” Alaska. He had been on his way from possibly had dropped his liquor card in

member now, she said she worked for The detectives went to the YMCA, San Francisco and had stopped ovér- her apartment.
some kind of an advertising company where they requested the register, to night in Seattle on Monday before 4
and drew pictures for them.” find out who had been in Room No. 202 flying to his post Tuesday morning, -HoOw Mrs. Clark received her black
A canvass of the advertising agencies _ approximately three months previously. eye, the police were unable to de-
located Miss Owens. She was' asked They came up with the name of James HARRISON was taken into custody by termine, unless it was from falling out
about the husky sailor who had been Edwin Harrison, who had registered as Coast Guard Intelligence officers in of bed as she claimed, . !
inquiring for her at the cocktail lounge. a Coast Guardsman. Juneau. Chief of Detectives Kramer A charge of second-degree murder
“You must mean Jimmy,” Miss “I. learned one thing while investi- claimed that these officers wired him was placed against Harrison in Superior
Owens said. “A great big fellow with gating for the Army,” Swindler said. quoting Harrison as saying: Court, September 7, 1955, by Prose-
dark hair. I haven't seen him in about “Servicemen who stay at the YMCA on “I don’t know how they ever caught cutor Charles O. Carroll. Presiding
three months because I moved out to liberty usually always stay there. Those up with me. I never saw the ‘woman Superior Court Judge Henry W. Cramer
Queen Anne Hill and I don’t get down-' who go to hotels almost always pick a before in my life. And I'll swear set bail at $20,000.
town much in the evenings any-more.” hotel when they get in town. So if this nobody saw me go in or leave her apart- At this writing, Harrison is being held
The detectives asked for Jimmy’s last Harrison was in town just last Monday ment. Once I got on the plane heading pending action on the charges against
name but Miss Owens couldn't recall it. night, he probably stayed here.” up here, I sure thought I was safe. I him. For the result of that action,
Possibly she never had known it. “He ‘Sure enough, the register showed that don’t know how they did it, but I’m the watch for the department entitled “Up
was just a fellow I met,” she said. James Edwin Harrison had been in fellow they're looking for.” to the Minute”, in a future issue of
Room No. 402 Monday night and had Returned by plane. to Seattle, the OFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES
DURING the lengthy questioning, Miss * checked out Tuesday morning. hulking Coast Guardsman allegedly Magazine.
. Owens said: “I remember one time The clerk was asked if he remembered gave a complete confession to the crime i
Jimmy sent me a letter by special mes- Harrison. which was recorded on a tape recorder, In this story, to protect the identities
Senger. It was kind of a silly thing, but “Is he a great big fellow?” according to Kramer. The police an- of innocent persons, the names Carl
it was just like him.” Swindler nodded. nounced that Harrison told them that Drake, Frederick James Jackson and
She said that he had called her at “I remember him. The maid re- he had .hurried out of the cocktail Marty Owens are fictitious.

“ "Take Him—But Take. Him Alive" (Continued from Page 11) OFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES

slain man’s partner. Bosquette wanted’ A moment later he let out a yell. “This guy’s heisting for a living,” Luck was with the detectives almost
action and he wanted it fast. “Carpenter!” he cried. “Duffy, look! Smicklas said, after he had studied at once. A Park District squad found a
“Tm going back to the subway,” he It’s Carpenter!” Scores of reports. “He’s made no big car abandoned in the middle of a dead-
said. “We must have overlooked some- For that description on the teletype scores and he doesn’t hit the places too end street only two blocks from the
thing. had told him unerringly, just as it told often—he gets just enough to live on.” grocery store. Smicklas was notified by.
Though some of the crowd at the Duffy. Richard Carpenter was the For months, Smicklas and his Squad the Park District squad as he was leay-
entrance had dispersed now and sub- man they wanted. Richard Carpenter, had Prowled the area where the bandit ing Mrs. Kelly’s store.
way trains had resumed normal Opera- smooth lone-wolf bandit identified in might be found. Just once, they were The license number was traced to a
tions, excitement still hung in the air, 15 armed robberies—who, in every one, almost lucky. They arrived at a tavern man who lived in Cicero, western sub-
Spectators watched curiously as Bos-° had been wearing a T-shirt not tucked on Damen Avenue, answering an alarm urb of Chicago. Smicklas looked up the
quette walked down thé stairs, _ into his trousers, about a robbery, in time-to See @ man owner, who was employed by the Wes-
'_ -Richard Carpenter, ex-convict, dan- disappear into the darkness of an alley. tern Electric Company. He said the car
what amounted to an inch by inch gerous gunman, now wanted for killing Detective Duffy, at the wheel, had was his, all right. He had loaned it to

search of the platform. There he found a Police officer. , stepped on the gas and sped to the alley. a friend, Richard Ca nte: i
expired transfers, crumpled chewing- : , They prowled the alley, their spotlight he wanted to move rigs hd vr
gum wrappers and empty cigaret Packs, (CCARPENTER'S crimes first had come prying, but all was quiet, A call at the Western Electric Com-
nothing that might be connected di- to police attention on March 29, . pany plant quickly disclosed that the
rectly with the shooting. 1954, when he had held up Art Zergin in TD the bandit have a hideout in the car owner had been at work when Mrs,
Actually, nobody was sure of ‘what his tavern on Avondale Avenue, taking block? Or had he reached the next Kelly’s grocery was robbed, Doubtless,
had happened. Perhaps Murphy had * $100 and escaping, apparently on foot, street and hopped on a bus? he had told the truth about lending the
nabbed his man on the train and was since Zergin had heard no sound of an The detectives had toured the im- car to his friend, Carpenter. But he was
taking him toward the stairway when automobile motor, mediate vicinity for two hours, but saw unable to give the detectives much in-

the shooting started. On the other During the months that followed, the nobody who could be the bandit. The forma jon a ‘arpe

hand, Murphy could have left the train lone bandit had struck in various parts next morning, in daylight, they can- justa fellow papa ey thoes and

and been ascending the stairs and of the Northwest Side. His operations vassed the block. Nobody knew a man had become friendly with. He didn’t

Spotted his man, going ‘down. The ranged from Chicago Avenue on the of the bandit’s description, nobody had know where Carpenter lived.

shooting might have occurred. when south to Lawrence Avenue on the north, seen him during the night. “Maybe he has something in the rec- ©

Murphy went back after him. from Damen Avenue on the east to Despite his obviously careful planning rds,” Alcock had suggested.

a, Ehat means,” Bosquette thought, Austin Avenue on the west, a vast area to elude-the police and to avoid setting He did have. A picture and’a long
that Murph could have been on the of 65 square miles that couldn’t all be a Pattern, the bandit had two tags that _ record of juvenile arrests. The last rec-

stairs—and_ maybe he dropped some- patrolled even if the entire Police force pegged him. He nearly always warned ord was for a one-year stretch for carry-

thing. were thrown into the hunt. his victims, “Don't make a bad move.” ing concealed weapons. At the time,

He made a minute search of the The bandit alternated between tav- And he wore the T-shirt outside his Carpenter had been charged with shoot-
stairways without knowing exactly what erns, small hotels, grocery stores ‘and slacks, even with &@ Coat or jacket over ing his mother, but this charge was
he was looking for. ‘ gas stations. He made no big scores— it, apparently to conceal the weapons dropped when she appeared in court

the largest was $150 he took from the he carried. and told the judge that Richard had
Bur. even without knowing, he found Weisman tavern on Belmont Avenue on Descriptions by the victims varied in been showing her a souvenir gun he had
it. d June 15, 1954, at 12:20 a. m. Some of some minor, details, but they generally brought back from the Army and it

A crumpled sheet of paper thrown his holdups yielded a total of as little agreed that the man was in his mid- had been discharged accidentally.
into the corner of one of the steps. as $70. twenties, that he had dark hair and. The last known address for Carpen-
Smoothed out ‘and turned over, it In most tavern robberies, some sort never wore a hat, that he was between ter was on Schiller Street. But at that
a seiniard on head picture. of * man, of pattern emerges, but none was dis- five feet ten inches and six feet tall. time neither Carpenter nor his mother
= = ‘he words, “Wanted for Armed cernible in this case. He struck. about And then, on a sunny afternoon when could be found.’ Neighbors said they

ry”, and under that Picture, the twice a week, but not on any special no patrons were there, he parked acar had moved some time before to the West
name Richard Carpenter. “Him) Dights. He might hit a grocery store in in front of Mrs. Regina Kelly’s grocery — Side. One woman, who had been asked
Carpenter!” Bosquette cried. “Him! the afternoon or a tavern early in the store on Addison Street. Without pre- to forward their mail, gave the detec-

He dashed up the stairs, the picture morning. The bandit’s only consistency liminary, he told her it was a stickup tives an address on north California
clutched in his hand. . was that he always robbed the taverns and he wanted her money. She gave it Avenue.

In the Robbery Detail’s third-floor after midnight, when he knew they to him and watched as he hopped in the This proved to be a private school, |
offices, Smicklas and Duffy were still would have few if any customers. car and drove east on Addison. where neither Carpenter nor hismother . |
toing over the records as the teletype Smicklas, Duffy and Detective John Sergeant Smicklas knew it was the was known.

‘licked out the description of the gun- Alcock, the third member of the Squad same man after he had talked to Mrs, Smicklas had copies of the ‘mug
nan given by Koerper and the full story who was to be on furlough at the time Kelly. The white T-shirt was hanging picture made and these were shown to
f the wanted man. Murphy was killed, talked to all the vic- outside his belt and he had reached the victims of the tavern robberies.

Tired, Smicklas yawned, pushed aside tims. None of them had seen the bandit under it for his gun when he entered They all studied it, said they saw some
he list he’d been reading and strolled arrive or leave in a car. Apparently -he the store. And he had told her, “Don’t resemblance but Carpenter was not the ~
ver .to the machine: was on foot, using public transportation, make a bad move.” bandit. j

“So where do we go from here?”
Duffy asked.

“Carpenter could be it anyway,”
. Bmicklas said. “I'm morally certain,
These people are just afraid of iden-
tifying the wrong man.”

The next robbery, in Chilver'’s tavern
on Pulaski Road, was at 1:30 a. m. on
May 11, 1955. Chilver surrendered $70
from the cash register. When he looked
at the picture of Carpenter, he said;
“That's the man, I believe, though-he’s
changed a little. This picture is an old
one, isn’t it?” ,

“Yes,” Smicklas said. “It was made
five years ago.” _ ‘

“That accounts for it,” Chilver said.
“He’s more mature looking now, but he
has the same features.”

Other robberies followed and other
identifications of Carpenter. Pictures
~were made up and distributed to detec-

tives. Members'of the Robbery Detail,

including Bosquette and Murphy, car-
ried the pictures with them. ‘

AX®D then, in August, Murphy was
killed, and the description pointed
to Carpenter.

“Murphy had his picture,” said
Smicklas. “He must have recognized
the fellow.”

Detective Bosquette came in and an-
swered that. He held up the circular,
now dirty and almost shredded from
the trample of many feet. “I found it on
the subway stairs,” he reported. “Either
Murphy took it out when he spied this
guy and dropped it when he went after
him, or the killer took it away from
Murphy and threw it away as he ran

_ up the stairs.”

One other clue made the: detectives
believe that Carpenter was the man
they wanted for shooting Murphy: The
gunman’s command to Koerper, “Don’t
make a bad move.”

Captain Phelan came in then. The
Crime Lab men had found three good
finger-prints and a clear palm-print on
the window of Koerper’s car. But this
wasn’t enough to establish a classifica-
tion; they were good only for compari-
son with an-individual’s prints.

Smicklas told the Captain of their
discoveries.

“That ought to be enough,” Phelan
said. He hurried to the Bureau of
Identification and ordered the three
prints compared with those on file for
Carpenter. . :

They matched perfectly.

Acting Chief of Detectives Harry Pen-
zin, informed of the killing at his home,
had hurried to Headquarters to direct
the investigation. This latest develop-
ment was reported to him.

“Carpenter, eh?” Chief Penzin said.
“Get that out on the air and teletype
right away.”

Then Chief Penzin organized the
manhunt. Twenty squads were as-
signed to do nothing but hunt for Car-
penter, :

Their job was to assimilate all the
information available on the man, to
go back, despite the late hour, and
awaken and re-question his former
neighbors, to dig out his cellmates and
his ex-cronies, to ferret out his hang-
outs, to shake up the informers scat-
tered through Chicago’s underworld,
to re-interview everyone he allegedly
had held up. ‘

And the rest of the force was given
the finding of Carpenter as its No. One
task. Memorize his description. Watch
for him. Stop and question anyone who
even resembles him, anyone who might
possibly have had some connection
with him, anyone who could give the
police the slightest lead.

. For as the night wore on, Carpenter
had disappeared. :

He was not on any of the subway
trains that were stopped at both the
north and the south ends of the line.

He was gone, leaving the blood of a
Policeman behind him.

Newspapers were given the story with
a request to publish his picture and his
description and ask readers for infor-
mation. A special switchboard was set
up at Police Headquarters, with four de-
tectives to take down any calls that came
in pertaining to Carpenter and shoot
them out immediately to squad cars on
the streets.

' Morning came and Carpenter was

‘still at large.

During the hours that followed, the
entire city of Chicago was in a state of
excitement. Hundreds of telephone
tips—20 an hour—poured into the
special switchboard at Headquarters
and each of these was run down.

An attendant in a Loop garage re-
ported that a suspicious-acting man
had driven in, had told the attendant
not to park his car and then had pro-
ceeded to switch license plates, chang-
ing from Wisconsin te California
plates. He had left by the time police
reached the garage. The attendant,
Henry Hall, gave police the California
license number and an immediate
search was started.

Realizing the mounting terror in
Chicago, Commissioner Timothy J.
O’Connor ordered 40 additional squads
thrown into the manhunt. Twenty
other squads were then being used to
protect large shipments of money be-
cause of a strike of express-company
drivers. As soon as these officers had
completed this phase of their work they,
too, were assigned to the manhunt.

. Carpenter’s: mother, who had moved
back to the Schiller Street address, was
found when detectives re-canvassed the
neighborhood.- She broadcast an ap-
peal through the newspapers and radio
stations to her son to give himself up;
she had no idea where he might be.

The big brass of the Chicago police
were assigned to the case: Deputy Com-
missioner - Phil Breitzke; Lieutenant
James McMahon, commander of the
Homicide Bureau; Acting Lieutenant
Lawrence Schupolsky, commanding
the Robbery Detail in the absence on
furlough of Lieutenant Frank Pape.

Chief Penzin coordinated the efforts
of the roving squads during the day,
Chief O’Sullivan during the night.
Lieutenant James Lynch was put in
direct charge of the searching squads.

Despite the efforts of 80 special
squads and thousands of other police-
men not specifically assigned to the
case, Carpenter was still at large Tues-
day night, and Wednesday, and Wed-
nesday night, August 17.

That evening, Patrolman Clarence
Kerr, who is assigned to motorcycle
patrol duty at the Hudson Avenue Sta-
tion, took his wife to see a movie at the
Biltmore Theater on Division Street
near Damen Avenue. Kerr, who carried
@ police picture of Carpenter, noticed a
man sleeping in a seat near by. A dark-
ened theater is a good place for a fugi-
tive to sleep. Kerr thought that he
recognized the man.

The officer took his wife to their car,
parked outside, then told her he was
going back for Carpenter. She pleaded
Me him not to go back but to summon

elp.

“I can’t stop now,” he replied. “Can't
take the time. I've got to get him.”

KERR returned to the theater and
took a seat near the sleeping man.
After convincing himself with a closer
scrutiny that the man was Carpenter,
Kerr awoke him, displayed his star and
gun and said: “You’re Carpenter.
You’re under arrest. Do you want to
come quietly?”

“You've got me,” the man replied.
“T’'ll go with you.”

Kerr stood at the end of the aisle as
the man got up and moved sideways
past the five intervening seats. Twice
he stumbled. As he reached the aisle,
he stumbled again.

When he straightened, his gun was
blazing. :

A bullet struck Kerr in the chest,
knocking him to his knees,

The officer's own gun was levelled at
the retreating figure. He fired, too, and
again.

tag the man rushed through an alley
exit.

Then Kerr sank to the floor, criti-
cally wounded.

The. theater manager called the
Central Complaint Room and word
went out on the police radio. Several
squads had been cruising near Division

‘and Damen, only a block away. Im-

mediately they
theater.
“He went that way!” the theater

converged on the

manager cried, pointing to an alley
— northward from the theater
exit,

Lieutenant Lynch immediately or-~

dered the entire block surrounded. This
was done in seconds, But no sign was
found of the fugitive.

“He may be in a basement, under
somebody’s back stairs or on a rooftop,”
Lieutenant Lynch said. “We'll search
the entire block, a foot at a time if
necessary. This time, I think we've got
him.” . '

NEWS that Carpenter had struck |

again and.apparently had been cor-
nered spread quickly and brought other
squads racing to the scene. Thousands
of persons, whose radios had been tuned
to police calls since the search for
Carpenter had started, rushed out.
Two thousand spectators on foot
crowded into the block within the first
ten minutes. Within half an hour the
area was jammed with 10,000 onlookers,
many of whom had left their cars on
the street, stopping all traffic.

Uniformed officers pushed the crowds
back, while others undertook to unravel
the traffic jam. An ambulance sent
for the. wounded policeman was de-
layed more than 30 minutes by the
snarled traffic. It finally got through
and Kerr was rushed to St. Mary’s
Hospital, where surgeons waited.

The physicians said that Kerr’s con-
dition was critical. The immediate
problem was to replenish the blood he
had lost. A dozen patrolmen and a
newspaper photographer volunteered
to give blood for transfusions. Kerr
was kept alive, but his life seemed to
hang by a thread.

In the alley, detectives found a trail
of blood leading from the theater exit.
Carpenter had been hit!

The trail ended. suddenly about half-
way down the alley. Was this where
the fugitive had taken cover?

“Look everywhere,” Lieutenant
Lynch ordered. “Don’t pass up a thing.
He must be around here somewhere.
And if he’s wounded, he’ll have to
come out.”

The grim-faced officers proceeded
with the search, taking the block apart.

Patrolman Kerr, who had not lost
consciousness, told Chief Penzin: “It
was Carpenter, all right. And I’m sure
T hit him.” ‘

Radio and television mobile units had
been close by when the shooting started
and they were among the first at the
scene, photographing the crowds as
they ran toward the theater, taking
tape-recorded statements by Patrolman
Kerr and others. The exciting scene
went on the networks, and radio listen-
ers and televiewers throughout the
nation were given an on-the-spot pic-
ture of the frantic manhunt. They
probably had a better view of the ac-
tion than the thousands who lined the
streets, pressing against the ropes the
Police had put up to hold them back.

The methodical search went on
throughout the night but finally, when
every inch of every home had been cov-
ered, the officials realized that, some-
how, Carpenter had slipped through the
net.

The next morning, the full force of
the Chicago Police Department was
thrown into the manhunt. With only
skeleton crews remaining on’ routine
duty, other men were pulled off and as-
signed to the case.

Again, reports clogged the switch-
board at Headquarters. The fugitive
had been seen on a rooftop a few blocks
from the theater, one caller reported.
Police who rushed to the scene found
a@ man on a rooftop, but he was a roofer.

Nevertheless, Carpenter might try to
hide on a roof. Commissioner O’Con-
nor called authorities at Glenview
Naval Air Station and they quickly
agreed to lend a helicopter for an air
search, Lieutenant Lyrich, armed with
powerful field glasses provided by a
Loop optical firm, went up with the
pilot. He was surprised to find dozens
of persons on various roofs.

Though most of these undoubtedly
were there for legitimate reasons, Lieu-
tenant Lynch took no chances. By two-
way radio, he called out the location of
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investigated. And none of them was
Carpenter; ae

Shortly after nine that morning
Eugene Croxton reported that a young
man had rushed up to his car on Indiana
Avenue as he waited for the light at
Eighteenth Street to change. The man
forced his way into Croxton’s car with
a@ gun and told him to drive to the
Union Station. *

Croxton’s account was relayed to
squads cruising in the Loop and to Cap-
tain Thomas Harrison, commander of
the near-by Monroe Street Station.
After the huge railroad station had been
surrounded and all movements in and
out blocked off, Captain Harrison led
25 detectives inside.

THEY first searched all trains then on

the tracks and blocked the gates so
that nobody could get through without
scrutiny. Then they started on a
thorough search of the big structure,
with its several subterranean levels
and hundreds of potential hiding places.
The search went on for hours, until the
officers had peered into every cranny
and had taken a look at every male in
the place.

But they found no trace of Richard
Carpenter.

Sergeant Smicklas meanwhile was
off on an idea of his own.

“I've got a feeling that Carpenter is
still around Division and Damen,” he
said to Duffy. “Remember that night
we lost him in the alley after he robbed
a tavern on Damen?”

Duffy agreed. “It looks like he has,

a hideout in that neighborhood.”

“Yeah. This alley where we lost: him
was only a couple blocks from the Bilt-
more Theater. I think our best bet is
to hang around there.”

Smicklas consulted Lieutenant Schu-
Polsky. “All squads are working on
this case,” the Lieutenant said. “I'll
send some more into that area in case
you need help.” ,

The squads arrived and cruised the
area, but hours elapsed without a sign
of Carpenter. Apparently Smicklas had
been wrong. ;

And throughout the city, the search
was intensified.

Mayor Richard Daley issued a public
appeal asking any persons who had wit-
nessed the shooting of Detective Mur-
phy to make themselves known.

“It’s a duty and an obligation for
them to help the police,” he said.

’ A Chicago newspaper offered $5000
cash in a “Secret Witness” plan for any
information that would lead to the
capture of Carpenter. The plan is one
through which an informant can es-

tablish that his tip was the vital one .

and still keep his identity secret.

Five thousand posters bearing the
last available photograph of Carpenter
were printed and distributed through-

out the city in the hopes that someone.

would ize the man.

Detective Adolph Valanis of the
Crime Lab, a police artist who also
teaches

wanted man, illustrating various ways
in which he might have changed
his appearance, and copies of these
sketches, too, were distributed to police
officers throughout Chicago and its
vast suburbs. ‘

Then, late Thursday morning, a West
Side resident reported to police that his
car had been stolen only a few blocks
from the Biltmore Theater while he
had been drinking coffee in a res-
taurant,

Perhaps Carpenter, in some unknown
nanner, had managed to hide out in the
“icinity of the theater during the first
search for him there. And perhaps now
ye was trying to flee in a stolen car.
sicense number of the car was added
© all broadcasts and teletype notices
m the case.

A bloodstained undershirt was found
ear Eighteenth and Rockwell Streets.
Cechnicians examined it and said that
t could fit Carpenter.

Far to the south, at 100th Street and
southwest Highway, a man appeared in
. Testaurant wearing bloodstained
rousers. He ordered a meal. Startled
his appearance, a waitress took the
rder and slipped to a telephone, _Be-

judo and boxing to recruits, :
drew half a dozen sketches of the,

fore she could dial, the mani dashed into
the street and disappeared,

On and on the tips and leads went,
and on and on went the detective work.
too. Carpenter probably was without
funds; he was a robber. On the theory
that he might rob someone else for get-
away money, police scrutinized and
investigated carefully each and every
report of robbery or attempted or sus-
pected robbery.

But all of the work was in vain; all
of the tips wound up in a dead end.
Carpenter, the cop-killer, still was at
large.

Meanwhile, unknown to the police
and to the residents of the neighbor-
hood, a stark, terror-filled drama was
being enacted at a home on Potomac
Avenue, only a block from the Biltmore
Theater, shortly after the shooting of
Patrolman Kerr.

About 10:15 that Wednesday night,
Mrs. Stella Powell went to the kitchen
to pack a lunch for her husband, Leon-
ard Powell. The Powells’ daughter,
Diane, three, had been put to bed.
Robert, seven, was in the living room
watching television.

Powell went to the back door of the
second-floor flat to hook the screen door
leading to the rear porch. A man was
standing there.

He was sweating and breathing hard,
swaying slightly, blood dripping from
his right leg. A gun was in his hand.
With a wild look in his eyes, he raised
the gun and pointed it at Powell.

“I think you know who I am,” he said.

“I’ve got a good idea,” Powell replied.

“I’m Carpenter. I just shot another
policeman. Now, let me in. If you be-
have you won’t get hurt. If not, I’ll
shoot you.”

Powell opened the door and the man
staggered in.

HO else is here besides you and
your wife?”
Powell told him.
He asked for a glass of water and
_ Powell gave one to him. He gulped
t.

Then he grabbed his right thigh. “I
need some bandages,” he said. “Put the
other kid to bed.”

Powell went into the living room and
told Robert it was time to go to bed.
“Who's in the kitchen?” the boy asked.

“A friend of ours who’s come to visit.
ll ad stay all night. Now you go to

When the boy was out of the way,
Carpenter ordered the Powells into the
living room. He followed them and sat
down, keeping the gun on his lap. Then,
carefully, he removed his belt and, using
it as a tourniquet, drew it tight around
his leg to stem the flow of blood.

Mrs. Powell, terrified into complete ’

cooperation, brought him a eet.
“I don’t have any bandages but you can
use that.”

He tore the sheet into strips, which
he wrapped around the spot on his leg
where Patrolman Kerr’s shot had
struck. :

They sat in the living room until mid-
night, Powell watching him carefully,
hoping that he would doze and provide
= aw to grab the gun. But he

in’t.
“I’m hungry,” he said to Mrs. Powell
. “Make me a sandwich.”

She went into the kitchen and he fol-
lowed. Some bananas were on the table,
and he ate those instead.

They returned to the living room and
sat down again. :

Then, strangely, he began to talk.
He told the Powells about killing Mur-
phy and shooting Kerr. “One copper
tried to get me on a subway platform.
I beat him to the draw when he went
for his gun. Then another tried to be
a hero tonight. I was in the show and
I felt an arm around my neck and I
saw a star and a gun. I played along
with him for awhile, then I shot him.
It was. self defense.”

While Carpenter sprawled on a couch
and boasted, the Powells sat in arm-

chairs, waiting for some sort of open-.

ing. Although they had had no time to
talk alone, both knew that they could
do nothing to anger Carpenter and

_ thus endanger their lives or their

children’s.

Slow, agonizing hours’ passed and
Carpenter didn’t sleep. .

Finally he asked again for sand-
wiches. Mrs. Powell made them, but he
couldn’t eat.

“I spent my boyhood in an orphanage
and I didn’t like it,” he said. “Later, all
I ever knew was guns and crazy money.
I’m sorry I did this. I’m sorry for the
grief I caused Ma and my sisters.”

Throughout the night, Carpenter
watched television and talked aimlessly
about his life and his troubles. “I don't
want to get shot. But I wouldn’t last
four hours if I went out on the street.
Those coppers wouldn’t give me a
chance.”

And again. “I used to be nuts about
music. Opera. I'd listen to records for
hours. Why, my mother even brought
me opera books when I was in jail.”

After talking out loud, considering
various means of escape and rejecting
them, he finally said: “I’ve got to stay
here. It’s the only place I’m safe.”

About 5:30 in the morning Carpenter
— Powell what time he went to
work.

“Seven o'clock,” Powell replied. “I
drive a truck.”

“You go like you always do. If you:

don’t, they’ll worry and they know you
live near the theater so they'll put two
and two together. I'll stay here with
your wife and kids. Don’t try anything
if you want to see them again.”
Powell took his lunch and left for

work. He telephoned at eight and his -

wife told him they were still all right.
Other phone calls during the day
brought the same results. As he drove
his truck around the city and heard re-
ports everywhere about the widespread
manhunt, Powell tried to devise some
ruse to get his family out of the house
safely so that he could notify the police.

At home, Mrs. Powell did her best to
carry on the normal routine, with the
gunman always close by, warning her
not to try anything.

Though she was terrified, Mrs.
Powell tried not to show it. She told the
children that Carpenter was a friend
who was staying awhile. They suspected
nothing and were allowed to go outside
to play in the yard.

Finally, Powell got off work and hur-
ried home. Mrs. Powell ‘had dinner
ready and they sat down. .

Carpenter didn’t eat.

“How long do you plan to stay?”
Powell asked. ;

“Until the heat cools off.” *

“Well, you want everything to loo
normal so nobody will get suspicious,
don’t you?” ;

“Yeah.”

“Every evening my wife takes both
the kids for a walk and drops in to see
her folks. They live downstairs on the
first floor. If she doesn’t take the kids
to visit them, they’ll think something
is wrong.” ‘

“Okay,” Carpenter said.

Mrs. Powell and the children left.

Then came the acid test.

“I’ve got to go down to see my father-
in-law,” Powell said. “He's expecting
me.” . ‘

Carpenter hesitated and Powell’s
heart almost stopped. Finally, the gun-
— said: “Okay, but don’t stay too
ong.”

Powell hurried down the stairs to the
yard, where his wife and the children
were waiting.

“Walk down the street where he can
see you,” Powell said. “And keep on
going. Get out of the way. I’m going
to call the police.”

He watched them go and when he
was sure they were at a safe distance,
he took a short cut through an areaway
and reached a drugstore telephone
booth. There he called Headquarters
and told his story to Chief O'Sullivan.

The last chapter of the hunt was on.

Sergeant Smicklas was cruising only
a block from the Powell home,

“Get the other squads and surround
the block,” O’Sullivan ordered him by
radio. “He’s still armed, so move slow.

“Take him—but take him alive.”

Smicklas quickly carried out O’Sul-
livan’s orders. Within a few minutes,
30 squads were there. Spectators began
to gather and soon the area was ringed
with more than 1000 people.

Powerful police spotlights pried into
the windows of the Powell apartment,
where Carpenter could be seen moving
‘around like a caged animal.

Smicklas’ squads were equipped with
tear gas and he ordered them to fire.

As the gas penetrated the Powell
apartment, Carpenter suddenly crashed
through a bedroom window—without
bothering to raise it—and leaped across
an areaway into the second-floor din-
ing room of the apartment next door.

There Mr. and Mrs. Stanley Sciblo
were entertaining Mr. and Mrs. Stanley
Kuczek. The children of the two cou-
ples were in the living room,

Brushing glass particles from his
bloody clothing, Carpenter pushed Ku-
czek out of the room and ordered the
others: “Get out of. my way.”

Terrified, they led their families
down the stairs and out of the line of
Police fire. “oo

The tear-gas barrage started once
more as Smicklas gathered his men for
a rush into the apartment. Policeman
John Kennedy was the first up the

. Stairs.

But the fugitive, forced out by the
gas, had run from the Sciblo apartment
up to the third floor.

The detectives directed their tear-gas
guns at the third floor. In the hall,
Kennedy kicked in the locked door.
There in front of him was Carpenter,
on his knees and screaming, “Don’t
shoot, don’t shoot!”

Other policemen, most of them from
the North Avenue District, followed
Kennedy into the room.

At the North Avenue Station, where
police tried to question him, Carpenter
made one last, futile attempt to resist.
He tried to dash for the door. Several
officers pounced on him. He struggled
desperately, ripping his clothing to
shreds, before he was subdued. m

After treatment at the Bridewell
Hospital for the gunshot wound in-
flicted by Kerr and the flesh wounds
sustained when he had _ crashed
through the windows, Carpenter was
taken to the office of State’s Attorney
Gutknecht.

There, police claim, he admitted
shooting Detective Murphy.

The story, police say, went like this:

Both Murphy and Carpenter had been
riding on a southbound subway train.
When Murphy was about to get off, he
spotted Carpenter.

“You're Carpenter,” Murphy said.
“I’m taking you off at the next stop.”

He drew his gun and Carpenter pre-
ceded him onto the station platform.

There Carpenter wheeled and said:
“What do you mean, I’m’ Carpenter?.

“Who are you?”

“I’m a police officer,” Murphy replied.

“Yeah? Lemme see your star.”

Murphy’s attention was momentarily
distracted as he reached for his badge.
In that split second, Carpenter pulled
his gun from beneath the T-shirt and
opened fire.

Murphy fired back, but he was
wounded and the shots went wild.

Carpenter grabbed the police picture
and ran up the stairs toward the sub- -
way exit. He dropped the picture as he
swerved to avoid a collision with
Schurko., :

On advice of his attorneys, Carpen-
ter refused to sign a confession.

State’s Attorney Gutknecht issued a
public appeal for those who had wit-
nessed the shooting to come forward.
Two of them did. The evidence was
taken before the Cook County grand
jury and on September 1, 1955, he was
indicted on charges of murder, attempt
to kill and robbery. Numerous victims
of tavern robberies identified him as the ;
bandit, police said.

A® THIS is written, Carpenter is held
without bail in the Cook County
Jail pending further legal action.
Policeman Clarence Kerr remained
= the hospital four weeks and was re-
eased ‘

Final judgment of Carpenter on the
indictment against him is pending and
will be published as soon as it is avail-
able in the department entitled, “Up to

the Minute”, in a future issue of
OFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES
Magazine.

id Erhart backed out and turned
d and sped to the home of Tony
oza-who farmed the land. He
the police from there.

: army of searchers had concen-
( ite efforts on the Blue River area
hey were still at work dragging
ver when word was received that
y had been found. Sheriff Williams
Major Pond and dozens of other
‘8 raced to the scene.

: body already was in a state of

ment, the clue that would point the

way?

if this were not a morals crime then
why was the woman disrobed? Why,
too, were the clothes not discarded near
her body instead of put back in the

. automobile? Where. did her killing

occur? No bullets had been found in

Pp up at’a large frame
house on the South Side. He and Haupt
got out and climbed the half dozen

1position. It was a woman and she . steps to the front door. A woman

o her back with her hands ap-

answered their knock; the officers iden- ©

tly tied behind her. Her head was_’ tifled themselves.

crushed. At first the police
ht it must be from _sledge-like
; later they were to find that the
ation was caused by two bullets
ig out the top of her skull.
1ough officers had seen many pic- -
of Wilma Allen, they could not
fy what they saw in the field as
oman they sought. A relative by
age was brought from a near-by
and even he could not be certain.
he saw the long scar on the thigh.
id he thought Mrs. Allen had such
r. A telephone call to the Allen
verified it. The search for the
of Wilma Allen was ended.
ef Brannon arrived at the scene
he was followed by Haupt and
e and others of the Detective
w. They found that Mrs. Allen’s
3 were tied behind her back with
ead scarf she had worn when she
he béauty shop.

other painstaking search began. |

by inch, about 25 police officers
over the field. All that was found
t small plastic clip, about 20 feet
the body, which apparently had
used as_a tie for the head scarf.
teld revealed nothing more.

3 Allen family was grief-stricken
e news. Three days later the ter-
mutilated remains of what once
oeen a charming and’ attractive
sn and mother were laid to rest in
lien plot at near-by Independence.
* from her lips would the world
af the horrible last few hours of
e. ,

no time in the police investigation
1ope any lower than at this point.
ng in the crime fitted the known
ods of operation: Haupt and
e discussed this as they left Head-

ers the morning of Mrs. Aljen’s -

al to follow up the leads that were’
ng in from the citizens. -
poy fy: ha, is too badly de-
osed to tell definitely if it’s a
Is case,” Breece said as he slid un-
1e wheel of the police car,

JPT got in and slammed the door.
fe sat there glumly as Breece put
ir in gear and pulled away. Morals
ders don’t usually use a gun, he
- They go for the knife or any-
heavy that comes to their hands.
how else explain it? -Abduct a
in and hold her captive for several
; and then kill her, all for $25?
didn’t make sense.
¢ did other facts make sense.
ag that car back into the city and
ng it as far north as the Union
dn was the work of either a man
was tempting fate or one who had
thing in mind that no one had
:d as yet. What if he intended to
her for ransom and when she be-
hysterical he had to kill her and

shtened him off from making any ~

nds?
told this theory to Breece.
er a moment Breece asked, “If he
that frightened, would he have
a the car back through the city?”
‘obably not,” Haupt said.
sece pulled up to a red traffic light,
t stared down the steep street be-
iim. Blocks and blocks of rooftops.
‘e was the killer? Somewhere in
ity? He remembered that he’d had
ame thoughts when he’d wondered
e the body of Wilma Allen was.
‘e had she been? In the weed-
n lot? Behind the warehouse? In
of those. Now where was her
‘? Out there among those half mil-

deople? In ‘a rooming house? ‘In a +
ial home? In a hotel? Working at -

2b today? Where was he and how

asp the right idea, the right mo- —

“Are you the one who has something
to tell the Police about her husband?”
Haupt asked.

“Yes.” The woman was small and
slim and ‘her dark eyes flashed. “He's
ot scratches on his face. And he
wasn’t at home the night that woman

in from ordinary citizens. Soof the
fund was up to $10,000, which would be
given to anyone supplying information
which would lead to the arrest of the
killer, More information poured into
Police Headquarters. Tips were: aver-
aging 100 aday. Each was taken down
and studied by one of the executives
and those that were not palpable fakes
were mimeographed and distributed to
the details.

The work was mountainous. Some-
times it was amusing but not very often.
Neighbor informed on neighbor to
settle old grudges. The woman whom
Haupt and Breece had interrogated
early in the search was only the first
of many wives who accused their hus-

bands of the Allen killing. But each .

lead was investigated cautiously. No
person, no matter on what charge he
was picked up, was turned loose with-

Pde

p a Baby’”.

eheine almost constantly.

* tion.

_ & $3.00 Can of Worms”. .

_ Up to the Minute

Two different idan in two widely separated cities, have come up
‘ eoy strikingly dissimilar verdicts on the insanity question. © ;
San Francisco, Betty Jean Benedicto listened carefully while
her~ daar condition was discussed,
hesitation and showed only a slight twitch of her hands to betray
her nervousness. A judge ruled that she is insane and incapable of
understanding the actions contemplated against her.

‘Asa result, blond, frowsy Betty Jean was sent to a state hospi-
tal, to be kept there until she is cured. Then, and only then, may
the state of California prosecute her for the kidnaping of three-day-
old Robert Marcus from a San Francisco hospital, or go into the
question of whether she was sane at the time of the kidnaping.

Betty Jean was captured, and the Marcus baby returned, fol-
lowing an all-out, intensive investigation into the kidnaping. The
story of that investigation appeared in the December, 1955, issue of

DETECTIVE STORIES Magazine, under the title, “ bale “fe

“In Chicago, however, once swaggering Robert Carpenter refused
to cooperate with the jury hearing his case. During the lengthy ~
trial he talked incoherently, even to his relatives or his counsel. He
- did not change his clothes; deputies finally had to use force to wash __ -
and shave him. He went ona hunger strike and he had to be kept in *

The jury ruled that Carpenter was sane and sentenced him to.
' death for the murder of Chicago policeman William Murphy in a
subway station. Carpenter’s capture, too, was an epic of investiga- .
It was entitled, “ ‘Take a8 Obras Take Him Alive,’” when it

behind bars in Michigan when Philip’ Ww. “Colwell received a life term
for clubbing to death elderly David Keckler and robbing him of a
paltry three dollars in Kalamazoo, Michigan. However, in case
parole or pardon boards ever should free Colwell, the sentencing
- © Judge has ordered that he be given “every educational opportunity
‘ OFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES Magazine in its arenes;
1955,.issue, carried the story of the search for Keckler’s killer, “For.

Because OFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES Magazine is inter-

’ ested only in the detective work done in an actual investigation, and

not the long-drawn-out legal maneuverings that sometimes follow,

stories occasionally are published before those legal steps have been

completed. To bring you up to date on such cases,
is published on these pages.—The Editor.

answered questions without

this department

was killed—he was out all night. -He’s
‘always talking about cases like that,
too, when he reads the newspaper
stories about them.”

“Is he home now?”

_ “No, I chased him: out. He’s been

running around with other women.”

“Did he say anything about Mrs.
Allen?” -

“He’s always talking about tlose sex
things in the paper.” -
- “Did he say how he got the
scratches.”

“That's no “mystery. I gave them to.

him.”

Haupt looked at Breece and cast his
glance to the sky in a silent appeal for
strength. “Well, you give us his name
and where we can find him and we'll
see that someone talks to him.”

The woman complied. “Aren’t you
going to arrest him riow?”

“No, Ma’m. We got to find him first.”

The officers returned to their auto-
mobile and drove away. on the next

This was the start of it. Days were to
‘stretch into weeks, weeks into months

-and details of police were to continue’

the investigation of each tip.
A reward was offered. Money came

out being questioned about his move-
ments on the day of the killing.

The detail which had worked on the
many finger-prints found on the Allen
automobile, finally finished its. job.
Every print had been identified except
two. One was a palm print and the
other only part of a thumb-print.
Neither offered much hope. Few if
any police departments take palm
prints and the partial thumb-print was
not enough ‘for infallible identification
even of a suspect—the whole print was
needed to be certain. If these were the
prints of the killer, then even here his
phenomena! luck or knowledge of police
methods had saved him.

All persons picked up on any charge
who might even have the barest chance
of being connected with the killing were
made to give palm prints. If police
could find the matching one, this
would be as good as the best iden-
tification.

Finished with that stage of the
investigation, the finger-print detail
now took on one even more prodigious

—comparing the 2500 prints on file.
against the partial thumb-print which ‘
had been found on the car. Nothing’

conclusive would be learned by this

fg ee

they knew, but it would eliminate many
men and point to only a few, At this
stage of the investigation the police

were looking with hope on the most .

meager lead.

Haupt, Breece, McCormick, Robinson
and Cunningham continued the me-
thodical investigation of each lead. By
now they knew the answers to questions
before they were asked. The search
had, spread throughout the nation. A
score of times the Kansas City Police
received word from other cities that a
man was being held who might fit into
the pattern. Each time the palm print
ruled him out.

There was no relaxing of- the in-

vestigation.
What alarmed police most was that
among all the tips and leads furnished,

few persons actually said that they had .
“seen the Allen automobile and its oc-

cupants. - This left the investigators
without a mental image of the killer.

A service-station operator in Kansas, °
+, in the vicinity where Mrs. Allen’s body

had been found, came closest to giving
such a description. He said that on the
afternoon of the killing a new blue and
gray Chevrolet had pulled into a side
drive of his gas station. The manager
had been troubled by hot-rodders using
the place as a turn-around in their drag
races and he thought this was one of
them. As he approached to question the
occupant of the car, the man backed
out and sped away. The station operator
said he was light-skinned, with a pen-
cil-line mustache. The Chevrolet, he
said, went about a mile up the road ‘and
turned into a lane leading to a field,
where it stopped. He had noticed that
the car still was there at about sundown.

CHIEF BRANNON and Major Pond
exhausted every avenue of approach

b~ they or their staffs could conceive of.

As a last resort they issued an appeal to

anyone who had taken any typeof
picture on the day of the killing to ex-
amine the print on the chance it might
have aught the killer and the Allen

automobile in the background. All this .

was tg no avail.
8 the report of the filling-station
opergtor, Haupt and Breece had -kept
‘@their eyes open for a light-skinned man
with a thin mustache. On the morning

~“of November 8, more than three months

since the killing, they saw such a man
being booked for leaving the scene of
an accident. Haupt approached the
desk sergeant and told him when he
was finished with the man to bring him
into a private office.

Five minutes later the man was
brought before Haupt and Breece.

“What’s your name?” Haupt asked.

The man told him. He ran a finger
along his thin mustache as if: to
straighten it. “I just lost my head: I
didn’t think when I hit that car.” °

“You a careful driver?”

“Very. ” ‘

The man was’ meticulously neat.

“You're kind of careful about every-

. thing, aren't you?” Haupt asked.

The man smiled. “One of those
methodical guys, people say. Arrange
the towels in the bathroom, take the
creases out of the toothpaste tube.” He
smiled.

“We'd like to take your palm print.”

The man was startled. “Is that cus-
tomary? No one was hurt; I just hit.a
parked car.”

“We still want it.”

The man was silent.

“Could you remember where you
were three months ago?”

The man got the idea that the offi--

cers were amusing themselves at his
expense. “If you're trying to frighten
me ”

you were on August the fourth.”
The man studied Haupt’s eyes and

decided he was serious. “That's easy, I .

was living in St. Louis.”
“Can you prove that?”

“Not this minute. You can find out

from my people who still live there.” .

Haupt looked at Breece to determine ~
if he had any questions and his ery :

shook his head

“We're not. We'd like to know where

“Do us that“favor about the palin . |:

vy ” Haupt said. “A man will be in
in a minute to show you how.”

“
-

PAGE SIX.

_ HARRISBURG DAILY RF} GISTE

Plea of Guilty Was
Cause of Short Trial
In Chesnas Case

(Continued from page one)

determination to bear the burden
which this court has to bear, and
to do his full duty in the prem-
ises. I am more than glad that
we have just such a man as:your
honor who so ably qualifies for
the duty at hand, —

This court has heard the evi-
dence for and on behalf of both
the People of the State of Illinois
and the defendant, [— shell
therefore, endeavor to be as brief
as possible.

The law:does not say to a man,
“work and I will pay you.”’ But
the law says to everyone, “work,
and by stopping the hand that
would wrongfully take from you,
I will guarantee to you the full
enjoyment of the fruits of your
labor.’’ And if, in the first place,
we owe everything to labor and
industry, then, in the second and
every other place, we owe every-
thing to law, :

~The law does not say to a man,
‘Don’t kill your fellow-man,’
But it does say to every man, “if
you murder a man, I will punish
you for it by confinement in the
penitentiary for,a period of years
not less than fourteen and = may
extend for life, or that the per-
petrator pay the extreme penalty
by death upon the gallows.’ It
is true that for first offenders

ORPHEUM

THREE DAYS

Starting Monday

WOMANHANDLED!
Oe.
WOMANHANDLED!

WOMANIANDLED :

WOMANHANDLED!

‘of night,

leniency is*sometimes shown and
rightly so. The young man ‘or wo-
man who casually strays from the
path of righteousness. by a mis-
step in an unguarded moment
may deserve some consideration,
But that cannot apply to the de-
fendant in this case. He has been
given his chance. He has spent
a goodly portion of his more than
twenty-one years behind prison
walls, ‘fverytime he got out he
returned to his life of crime, He
admits a number oof burglaries
and many robberies in Harrisburg,
He shot two men, before he killed
William Unsell, because ‘they did
not stick their hands up quick
enougu to suit! lim. He’ sho:
one of them in the side and the

other in the arm, Fortunatley
neither of them died. It was
not his fault that he did ‘not

kill them,

Rather than work. tor an honest
living as do other people, he has
made it a business to go around
sticking his hands into other peo-
ple’s pockets and robbing them,
it the point of a gun of theb
hard carned money. He was not
sutisfied with robbing the deceas-
ed of his money, at the point of a
gun, on August 5, 1926; but, on
August 8, 1926, under the cover
he sneaked back to that
same little hovel which the de-
ceased called home, to rob him
again, Roth of his partners in
crime, Joc Ingram and Alfred
Dixon, had ‘been identified and
were in jail. Justice had over-
tuken them and it was on the trail
of this defendant. He knew that
if seen he too would be identifeid
by the same little man whom he
had robbed, Rather than take his
chances at returning to prison for
a period of his natural life for the
robbery of his innocent victim,
as did Joe Ingram, where Alfred
Dixon is, he returned on that fatal
night to rob him again, not of his
money but of his life, and he did

it. He did il to destroy the State’s].
. his bud- | By

evidence avingst
dies in j: oe auindful that
Ko identification marks were left
behind, He knew thut his finger
prints were at St. Charles and at
Pontiac. He was careful.to crase
all trace fromthe window-screen
and sill through which he entered
into the home ‘of the deceased.
He used his ¢oat tail to do it.
And the screams of the widow,
“Run for your life Billy, they’re
coming to kill us,’? did not deter
him in his fixed mission of mur-
der. He went to the little day-

bed upon which his innocent vic-’ eA

tim in slumber lay and, by the
aid of a flash-light in hand, found
the gray-haired head of the little
man whom he had robbed and
wronged; then, with the pistol in
the other hand, he shot and killed
the: deceased at home, at rest,
asleep in his own bed and under

}the full protection of all laws,

We readg and writes. English
well and speaks fluently, but he
is not the kind that works, Thus
far he has been able to live with-

ont it, Rather than.do 80 he was
willing that the © pallid ‘hand’ of
mercy knock at his door and
leave his family fcod. He is

strong.and physically able to do
honorable work if he had but the
will. He is but the form ‘of: a
man! Nowhere can saciety ever
use him again. He has forfeited
his right to’ live: :

Upon .reaching. Poplar street
near Tony’s stand, in fleeing
from the scene of his crime that

Night he saw Johnnia FP llawsy
He then: had the handkerchief
his nS Pie Fs i MS eccemcary Ui Met

Pe Ce be

WA ty WAY 3 li

Mat i ‘i AlN /
cy Se

around his neck which he had} murder. hare right x
used as a mask and apjieared to} For the cold- pidt ded” k
be sometwhat out of breath. Each] heartless one thet] Jaw proy
recognized and spoke to the other.| death penalty. or sueh
Johnnie said, ‘Hello Joe!’ and} no other penalty ifis fixed
Joe said, “Hello Johnnie!”’ then] Life imprisonmen} holds 1
Joe said to Johnnie, ‘Don’t tell} for this defendan}, He
anybody you saw me,” and John-/ready entered hit}, plea o
nie said ,“Alright Joe.” He then} to the robbery c& ree us
gave Tony his gun and told him| Ingram and Alfre!) pixon
to hide it. He told Tony that] imprisonment worl ld mos
without that gun his name would] have — been his _'inishn:
‘be “mud” and asked him what] that crime alone ‘|Ipecqus:
he did with it. Hu was afraid that! prison record, hen hy
it would rust ‘in the dew and| get out -again so} hetime
grass and wanted it wrapped in|he did who kKnov|'y Hut ,
paper. We understand then why| would take the ¢/fance 4,
it was he withdrew his plea of]and steal and rob} Ang yy;
not guilty theretofore entered | He knows what p!| hoy {s. |
and entered his plea of guilty. He|sent to St. Charld}. ¢ron
knows, his counsel know and wej lin county, and h went ¢
all know that he could never hope|tiac from Willid Mon
to save his neck before a jury. When. liberated he teamy ;
“They say chat the defendant is|isburg and here U jean a,
1. poor man and for that reason | thievery game of| ptick-uy
he should not be hanged. But he| We sent him back} tg
adinits that he has not done a/ Upon being given allary pis
day’s work jn a year or more, How] 294 another chanced he eur
then, could he expect to be other-| tO drink and stealfang x,
wise?’ most people) work herd | Kill. He has ha too

chances now, Weg
could not have ro,
od his last vietimi
kept within prison

every duy and-are poor.
ceased. was re
was: not o1
hard working: man

The de-
of them. He
&.\poor ‘mah.and a
but ‘he had

never harmed.’a, single human,|then he should notfpayy |,
so far as we Know, ‘in hig whole|chahce to drink ste}ang ;,
life of more than sixty years, | Kill. He has no Khe to
But the law knows no difference It is also said Tift “the

in mew,» The Jaw does not pro-| responsible for his byjae 4
vide one penalty for one man|it permitted sometigy “
and another: penalty for another,| liquor somewhere’ wad tt
It is no ‘respector of persons! therefore, has_no

and knows No difference in them, | his lite for this CriRy

The Jaw applies alike to all men he ay med the int ‘

no matter whether they have a
dime, dollar or a million, IT am
glad that this is so. I could not
and would not accept the employ-
Ment in even the vrear Staie of
Illinois if it were otherwise. The
law provided. different penalties
for’ the same crime. Different
penalties are provided by law for

some “bootleg place ,
burg somewhere. _|
not tell him to buy
liquor. j

tteal and drop and” “kill ¥.
the consent or. permission «

PMG SA Se SANE Hm RAN SOOKE Li

NO. 1 “THE “UPTOWN }
The Market of Quality, Service, Satis

Baco

i K'resh, off
“ Shoulder

‘Good: pountry butter +
Good compound, lard Ib....

Extra Special, | }
Hickory. Smoke
gain! ! Side or |

134c |
Above are just a few of ov —
your meats from the best at the vely k
Don't Forget If It’s Good Meatsyfo ou
JOHN RALEY; PR

ER aN,

» Vourre Safe

a [Extra :

ae | NEW SERIES, VOL. 12, No. 300

ee =F
RS Se .
fi~ =

a or
ec

oo ij meportant Dates GALLOWS ENDS CAREER OF.
== |] in Ghesmas Casel| YOUNG MAN WHOSE LIFE OF

August 5, 1926, Joe Ches- ‘ ; .

nas, Joe Ingram dnd Alfred [ey CRIME INCLUDED MURDER
Dixon entered the residence of Es gas é ‘

William Unsell on West Olive

street, Harrisburg, and robbed || Joe Chesnas, 22, Hanged In Saline County Jail Yard
Unsell of a-small amount of

money, Dixon using a pistol in This Morning; Murdered Aged Mail Carrier
robbery. pis Se vA . 2 ;
August 6, 1926, Shortly af- : “ and The Admitted Crime
ter midnight, Ingram and Dix- ‘ ; ‘ ’ ' .
on were arrested, suspicioned Joe Chesnas has paid the penalty of a life of crime which ended

with murder, ,

'- At 9:54 1-2 o’clock this morning, Sheriff Lige Turner of Saline
county pulled the lever that released the trap door of te gallows
upon which Chesnas stvog, and the youtliful, confessed killer fell to .
his death, fulfilling an ‘edict of the State of Illinois,

The crime committed by Joe?
Chesnas for. which he paid’ with
his life today took place on Sun-
day night, August 8, 1926,
at the home of Mr. and Mrs, Wil-
: liam Unsell, West Olive street, in
en window, walked over to bed || }arrisburg. It was cold-blooded,
where Unsell was sleeping and || geliberately planned and’ cooly ex-

shot him in the: head, death |} ecuted. “Uncle Billy” Unsell, as
resulting almost instantly. he was taeiiterly called’ and pay the folk a visit. The trio then

walked oyer

August 9, 1926, (Monday ||/known by his friends, was a re- eae Bhp to Brageutttge en
morning.) About daybreak, Joe || spected citizen of Harrisburg, | mained outside and Ingram knock-
Chesnas, whom the. officers |! where he lived the greater, portion | ed on the door and was admitted |
were satisfied had committed || of his life. He was aged and feeble| by Mrs, Unsell. He sat down and ~
the robbery, was arrested—by |land was barely able to attend to! chatted with the old man and wife
Walter Jackson,th of || hig duties as mail carrier on rural! for some half hour, during which
police of Ha, .» Ches- |] route No. 2, leading southwest and he told them that he had just re-
as was ente:ing the home of || south from Harrisburg, where he |cently returned from Detroit
his mother in West Harrisburg. || had been delivering mail for twen-| where he had been working and
Later in day he was taken to || ty-four years. He was frail of sta-|that he had saved up some of his
Franklin county jail in Benton || ture, and. even had he been awake | money. With the usual manner In
and on his way made a contfes- || would have been unable to offer | bidding neighbors good night, Ing-
sion to John Small, thep sher- || resistance when killed, ~ ram passed out. He hurried over
iff of Saline county. rate Mr. Unsell was shot to death a8 | to his pals and said. “Everything

Aug. 13, 1926, Chesnas was ||,he Jay asleep in his, home, un- lis jake, boys and it is going to bo
indicted by a special grand jury || aware that danger was near and jeasy for you. The old man. and
for the Unsell murder. Ingram |} probably never knew he was hurt. | woman are in there alone and tho
and Dixon: were indicted for || He was shot in the back of the :

old man is getting ready t to
robbery. head and died instantly. bed. Go on ip and do your tutte
Aug. 19, 1926. Chesnas first ||. The incidents that led unito'the |.

Ingram sat down by a big tree
brought into court, where he || murder took place on the Thurs- .
entered a plea of not,guilty to |) day night. previous to the killing. ane anes sit gar enaies In
the charge. “lV About seven o'clock Thursday.| tyy.01) had rove aoe ory te
Aug. 28, 1926. Chesnas tak- || night Joe Ingram, an ex-convict. ' py ntaloons waren - pr cA
3), en before the court for arran- || Whose home was in the west part irs) Unsell w x chet va vot
% , gement on murder charge. The of Harrisburg, and Alfred Dixon, the one i. catah tt ave mer FQOm.
bea ke court appointed Alpheus Gus- also a resident of the west end, as they went ne the: : on ys os
id for his ‘crime with his|| tin, S. D, Wise and Scerial chanced to meet at a house in that n the house. Ghese

with being connected with rob-
bery., Later in day Dixon was
jdentified by Unsell as man
who held pistol.on him’ while
another. took money from his:
trousers. ’
August 8 (Sunday night),
1926, Joe Chesnas returned.
to residence of Wm, Unsell,
crept into house by. rear kitch-

“T sure do,’’ replied Chesnas,
“and I'm in favor of doing it.’

After some persuasion, . Dixon
agrecd to the holdup. It was dark
by that time and Ingram suggest-
ed that they go over to the Unsell
home-and.that he would go in and

s: above, right, Ex-Sheriff|] Thompson as attorneys. - section of the city, Dixon had no ivinsa tae se baas eit eaieey Ks
of Harrisburg; center Alfred Sept. 14, 1926. Chesnas was || police’ record and had, so far @8| 1 otning, Dixon.went into th vad 6
hbo as again taken before: court and known to the officers,, never been % ‘ ) the %

room and picked ‘up the: Baa,
again pleatied not guilty after mixed up in any trouble, He and 0» y7,. Dieell: The a 4 nea uners, a
arraignment, eS, a Ingram, however, were friends and up-in bed and said: “Whatiare me:
_ Sept, 20, 1926, Shesdas was) |}. associates., Dixon tld Ingram rye wi7 Y % he
1926. Chas ¥) x0 .

Ty TENT Lh nahn Deke: re-royey Peete web hold. ofyne th, lds x: raat mabe een p oie
tridl and Asked leave fo. wit that his rent was dito o a tha = e money, why-enpo aide:
draw previous plea of aot gull ||had to pay. it witbinythe Heal Tt) man replied: “You ‘odeh MQL LO...
ty and for leave to enter plea || °° three days, That was the a t| Tob an old man lke me," But tbo!

of guilty. After’ questioning: of the trouble and the Pe Willl at | words were unheeded and Dixon’)!
defendant fully and. warning ended with Fe murder of 8M took all the money there waa dni’ .
him as to the full meaning of “uy know where we can get some ‘the pants after which ho and Gheas “i.

his plea of guilty, » Chesnas. ’ ~ |nas walked out, bidding: the, he:
-again pleaded guilty. The court ‘easy. money’: tonight,” said InB-| couple “goodnight.” ne, DEN :
Judge A. E. Somers, presided, Old man Unsell got his pay TNR
Sanwa ted the: leauat cela sto dhe algo received |. Joining Ingram, tho trio.wont,,
said he would Sranounee™ nett on ma ‘-or,| back to the west end, where they : Bini:

enslo OT» , :
sae before. We can go into his | Split the money, ‘The robbery did)
punishment on the following $8 ORS ere hin” ty without |not result in much money ing
day. any trouble whatever.” . secured, ag the old man had placed |
Sept. 21, 1926, Judge Som- ||" ippig suggestion as to how to his check and pension money ‘in
ers, with Chesnas before him, get hold of some “easy money” {the bank. Tho robbery notted #
gave a long decision in, which ||q) parently did not suit Dixon be- | $6.05, Ingram took $2, Chesnas
he sentenced Chesnas to be || couse he objected to it. He said to $2 and Dixon $2.05, Then the men.
hanged on Tuesday, Oct. 16, || Ingram: “I don’t want to get it | separated, agar ro
1926. ’ eek. care that way. We might yet in trouble Ingram and Dixon wore arrested
Oct, 15,4026, Late in the || anq [ would rather get the money /later in the night but Chesnas was.
night, . Gov, Small granted |) gome other way.” i not found by the officers, Ingrat
Chesnais a 27 day reprieve and |] toe Cheanns walked up. about [and Dixon were placed. in jail, and +

MY PEL hte POhoonge why fi

ve enforced,”

tor his ‘crime with his.
thove, right, Ex-Sheriff

‘arrisburg; center Alfred ||

t:—Lige W. Turner, Pre-
viff of Saline County,
—State’s Attorney Chas,
Wf Saline County,

ias Bears No

Will Toward

Officials, Says |

arning that Joe Chesnas
like to. see him, State’s
‘y Charles,T. Flota call-
ie county jail Thursday
sin company with John
county treasurer, who
riff at the time Chesaas
ivicted,
+eonuied man greeted his
for with a smile and
‘reely of his crime and
ment. He told. Mr.
tnd Mr. Small that’ he |
ry for what he had
ut that it was too late
rry now; that he alone
ted the crime and:
no one but himself for
old no ill will or malice
unyone,” he said. “You
tr duty and I don’t blame
‘it.’ “I know the law
he com-
He further said,
yr do I blame you Mr.
or Judge Somers for do-
r duty.”
i the prosecutor inquir-
erning-his spiritual wel-
lesnas assured him that
ready to meet his God.
‘g Chesnas that they
ad to know this, the two
+ told him good bye.

ERNON, 1LL.—A unique
lence Day program has
unged in Mt. Vernon this
Auto racing with colored
horse racing and a band
1 Which the principal col-
sical organizations of this
vill participate, make up
ts of the day. As this is
pretentious July 4 cele-
tor colored people in
Illinois, a large attend-
inticipated., wer

1 “eadin eich ~hetoibee™

Ahh Gh ersbicien A AibdaLy,
Aug, Ub, $026, Chesnas was .
indicted 9 a mS grand jury
for the Unsell murder, Ingram
and Dixon Were indicted’ for
robbery, sie :

Aug. 19, 1926, Chesnas firs
brought into court, where he
entered a plea of not guilty to
the charge, '

Aug. 28, 1926. Chesnag tak-’
en before the court for arran-
gement on murder charge. The
court appointed: Alpheus Gus-
tin, S. D. Wise and. Scerial
Thompson as attorneys. ’

Sept, 14, 1926. Chesnas was
again taken before court and
again pleaded not guilty atter
Arraignment, a, Neale

Sept. 20, 1926, Chestay was

Sct d tad &
trial and asked leave to...»
draw previous plea of aot
ty and for leave to enter plea
of guilty. After’ questioning
detendant fully and warning
him as to the full meaning of
his plea of guilty, Chesnas |
again pleaded guilty. The court
Judge A, E. Somers, presided;
accepted the plea of guilty and °
said he would pronounce the
punishment on the following
day. f

Sept. 21, 1926. Judge Som-
ers, with. Chesnas before him,
fave a long decision in which
he sentenced Chesnag to -be
hanged. ‘on. Tuesday, Oct, 16,
1926. r i

Oct, 15, 1926. Late in the.
night, Gov. Small granted
Chesnas a 27 day reprjeve and
fixed November 27, 1926, a
the date for the execution, :

Oct. 22, 1926. Defendant fil-
es motion to withdraw plea ot
guilty and to enter a plea of
not guilty, and to set aside th
judgment and sentence of thc
court,

Oct, 26, 1926. Answer to tho
motion filed by State’s Attor-
ney Flota and motion overrul-
ed. Later a writ of error was
issued by Justice W. W. Dun-
can of the supreme court which
automatically suspended the
sentence and execution of the
court for Nov. 27, 1926.

Feb. 12, 1027. Cause argued
before supreme court, with 8,
D. Wise opening for the de-
fendant and State's . . Attorney
Flota .for the people, ;

: April 20, 1927. The supreme
courtNof Illinois. affirmed the
decision and sentence of the
| Saline county’ gireutt court and
fixed Friday,June 17, 1927 as
the date for the execution of
Onespai: Me

aaa

For East and Sharkey

LOS’ ANGELES, Calif. June 17.

(UP) .—Jaok Dempsey, « former
heavyweight champion of the
world, was ready ‘to board a train
for New. York today, to prepare
for his proposed bout with Jack
Sharkey, July. 21, is

Estelle Taylor, his wife, and!
his trainer, Jerry Luvadis, plan-
ned to accompany him. The party
will stop a few hours in New Or-

leans and then go to Washington’

D. C., and thence to New York.

While he had not received det-
inite information from Tex Rick-
ard as to whether Sharkey had

‘been signed for the fight, Demp-

sey said he assumed the Boston-
ian will come to ‘terms with Rick-
ard. Otherwise, Dempsey will
sign up with some other promoter
for a fight in, August, he. said.

‘police record and had, so far as

[assoclates.. Dixon: told Ingram he
ane meb hold “oth onptes ere

aud, Ulssull Wits sdiul LU Utala an t
she lay asleep in his home,
aware that danger was near and
probably never knew he wag hurt.
He was: shot in the back of the
head and died instantly, __.

» The incidents that led upto the
murder took place on the Thurs-
day night previous to the killing.
About seven
night Joe Ingram, an ex-convict,
whose home was in the west part
of Harrisburg, and Alfred’ Dixon,
also a resident. of the west end,
chanced to meet at a house in that
section: of the city, Dixon had no

known to the officers,, never been
mixed up in any trouble. He and
Ingram, however, were friends and

Als rent was die and that he! :
aad’ to pay: it ‘within}the next. two
or three days. That ‘was the. start
of the trouble and the plans that
ended with the murder of William
Unsell. wee Nag

“I know where we can get some

check today and he also received
hig ‘pension money yesterday or
the day before. We can go into his | 5
home and stick him up. without
any trouble whatever,” . 8

This suggestion as. to how to

‘cause he objected to it. He said to | $
Ingram: “I don’t want to get it/s
that way. We might get in trouble
and.I would rather get the money
‘some other way.”

that time and Ingram: said:

hold of some money right away |¢

but the old man and woman, Don't
‘you think it’s a snap?” |

(United Press).--A. man charged

er” who killed a woman and girl
in Winnipeg about a week ago is |f
believed ‘by authorities to be re-

was in jail here today.
He gave the name of Earl Nel-

charged with the murders‘ of 14

years old Lola Cowan and Mrs.
Emily Patterson.

little town of Killarney yesterday.
Almost 1,000 rarmers—aided by

Winnipeg—had searched through
the underbrush for more than -12
hours after Nelson had escaped | ¢
from the Killarney jail..He denies | g

Chicago Traffic

. CHICAGO, June 17—(Unitea
Press).—— Virtual paralyzation. of | 0
Chicago’s traffic system was
threatened today through accords

face line trainmen’s unions to em- | P
power their, officers to order a
strike, » Je

negotiating for higher wage agree- |a

ments with officials of the surface

room. and pick

Of Ween ati grey: a ea

et hold of soine ‘‘easy money’ }the bank.
Sreaceatin did not suit Dixon’ be-} $6.05. Ingram took $2, Chesnas

en, Jumped out the window ‘and

J escaped.

0 his pals and said, “Iverything

un. | is jake, boys and it ig going to be
easy for you. The old man and
Wwonian are in there alone and the
old man is getting ready to go to
bed. Go on in and do your stuff.”
Ingram sat down by a big tree
re Pty ae and Dixon rushed in
f ‘he tront door of the Unsell home.
o'clock = Thursday |1), 5611 had just gone to bed and hig.
Pantaloons were across a chair,
Mrs, Unsell was in another room,
the one in which the men entered
as they went in the house, Ches-
nas walked over to her chair and.
advised her to keep still and say: *
nothing, Dixowwent into the bed- ‘'.
es up the trousers: -
of Mr, Unsell. The old man raised ;'
up in bed and said: “What. are ee Sanit
im ns?

old
man replied: “You ofght not to |
rob an old man like me.” But’ the is"
words’ were unheeded and Dixon |

fu doing there?!’ Dixon told h
: itil
ome money, w wrenpon : the’

ook all thé’ money there was in | !:

the pants after which he and Ches- ..
‘easy’ money’ tonight," said Ing-|2@8 Walked out, bidding’ thé aged .
.|ram. ‘Old man Unsell got his: pay sd

ouple “goodnight.” ara
Joining Ingram, the trio went

back to the west end, where they

plit the money. The robbery did

not result in much money being -

ecured, as the old man had placed

his check and- pension money in

The robbery netted

2 and Dixon $2.05. Then the men
eparated, é “3

Ingram and Dixon were arrested

later in the night but Chesnag was
not found by the bdfficers, Ingram
Joe Chesnas walked up about] and Dixon were placed in jail, and
; that fact worried Chesnas, who fin-
“Joe, Dixon says he has to-get | ally decided to kill Unsell. In his

onfession to the officers, Chesnas

and I have suggested a way, but he | said he worried about Ingram and
hag ‘cold feet’ and don’t want to/Dixon being in jail and that he
join us. I told him about old man|was afraid Uhsell would see him
Unsell getting his money today|on the street, recognize him and
and. that we could go into that|that would mean a trip to the pen-
house. and hold them up without |itentiary. Then came the fatal de-
any trouble, There’s no one there | cision. ’ ;

Without help from anyone, and

without divulging his plans to any
of his friends, Chesnas

Birney May Have set how he was going to “bump

decided
he old man off.” He got hold of

. e I ee

n U. S a pistol and after returning from

een Active ; rere : trip to one of the Shawneetown
: —|lakes on Sunday, August 11,*he. et
WINNIPEG, Man, Sune! 17 went to the Unsell vicinity shortly ©:
| ORE. : after darkness came on. He crept
with being the “strangler murder- | yp close to the house and awaited |.
developments. He wanted’ the old ~~

olks to go to bed, he said, before

he killed his man. Unsell walked
; out on the rear porch and, empt-
sponsible for many of the strang-/ied a pan of water while Chesnas
ler murders in the United States, |was crouched down near the cor-
ner of the house. “I could have
killed him’ easy at that time,’ said
Chesnas, “but I wanted him to be
son and today will be formally |i, ped and asleep when I shot him.
and that would make it easier for
me to get away.” oan
Finally the lights went out. in:
Nelson was captured in the re-|the Unsell home and the old folk ,
inate ‘part of Manitoba near the |had gone to bed.

After waiting

more than half an hour, Chesnas:
began the work. which was to re-’
a trainioad of armed guards from | sult in his own death. He cut out
the screen on the kitchen window
and then raised the window. He
rawled into the kitchen and after :

e aid

xamining the room with th

that he is the “strangler” sought. |of his flashlight, he entered the

oom in which Unsell was asleep. -
As he was creeping coer the
: a house, he awake Mrs. Unsell and
_... “Ig Threatened |as she saw the flashiight on une
imesw tang edshatvesli _* {walls in her husband’s room she
jumped from her bed and rushed

ut the front door screaming.

Chesnas, undismayed by this act- .
fon crept closer to the bed and by’
reached in the elevated and sur-|the aid of his flashlight, drew his.

istol, placed it at the back of the

head of the helpless old man, pull-

d the trigger, the bullet went

.. Officials of both unions now are | crashing into the brain of Unsell -

nd ‘Joe Chesnas ran to the kitch-

gi then de - i
bal ess OR yh

Ee ere

_
Poy Poa

ER, FRIDAY, JUNE 17, 1927,

and just.|state but he did it im direct con- js a limit to the endurance of the| and a stronger representative of| The Daily Register, 1
kill and|tradiction of her mandates as patience of even the state. It| all that is worst in the worst of} oy carrier.
vided the| spoken by her laws. Drunkenness| cannot now be said that it owes| men. His own crimes picture him =
i) a crime|is no excuse, defense nor justifi-| him any further duty or ablga-| far better than it is possible for N F
1 by law.|cation for murder. It tends to tion, me to do. He ‘has more than ew ace »
no terror | aggravate the offense rather than| It would be difficult for me to{ forfeited his right to live. What Powder !
o has al-|to mitigate it. And who is the|imagine a more cold, heartless and| We need most is a good example. .
of guilty|state? The defendant is not the| brutal murder than that commit- As an employe of the State of pad nog is a wo!
; ‘ shade—youth color,
1s did Joe| state. His counsel are not the|ted by him. I have searched] Illinois and a servant of her great | hardly atfects it and
mn. Life | state. Your honor is not the/the annals of criminalty in vain| people, I want to be fair with|leave the skin dry’ und
ost likely|state. The sheriff and his dep-| to find a case which equals it.) this court if I know how. I = wy vreuch, Prager
‘ment. for|uties are not the state, I am not| I never knew a stronger and more] should. like’ to share a portion of "i agin a tg Ps crsnte
se of his| the state, and no group ot’ any |complete case of extreme murder|the burden of your’ honor if Ijon longer and does bh
he might! few of us is the state. The de-| against any defendant than is this} could. If I know- myself, and I { Peres: You will sure!
‘e and if|fendant is part of the state and] one against. Joe Chesnas. The | believe I do, I would not ask any- LO-GLO, Frank P, &)
t that helevery other individual citizen of penalty fixed by law for such ajone to do something that I my- ere
to drink| the state is a part of it; but it] Vicious crime igs not alone intended | self would not be willing to do if -
<ill again.|takes all of them combined to} 8 punishment for the offender,|I could. And . whatever this
«. He was} constitute this great state. but is also to serve as an example | court’s duty may tell him to do in PEP eh
im Frank- When I ask that part of the pel dente thingy rit nied xe cv the premises it will be the: man- vs f
it to Pon-| cetate which is represented by the crime an ereby | date of. the law, not the act of
1. county. eS 1 ty i prefeunted tert Seine saat which | your paper. It there ever.war a a
e to Har-] the ootleg joint is and from i : earch where you |case in which the law demands ion =
again his ni a gn ire the ag me may, nowhere can be found a bet- |the death penalty, surely this is onstip:
<-up man.|there were objections, and the ter example of unrighteousness | that case. Sold Everyw!/

-Pontiac.| only ones that mark the entire
his liberty proceeding. They locked — his
aime buck | jaws against the very evil for
i rob and| which he would now. blame the
vO Many letate, and which the state has been
ww that hej and is now fighting. He who
‘ and kill-| would come,jnto a temple of jus-
i he been] tice shoula#ddys0 with an honest
lls. Surely] heart and’ clean} hands. He has
ye another] neither. * He ig both untrue to
ud rob and| himself ‘and disloyal to his state
i to live. and is, therefore, entitled to no
ie state is| consideration here. :
me because| “phere is tnat inate something

to sell]__that spark of divine—in every
ud that it,| person which guards, directs and|%
ht to take} commands; and if followed can |
He says! put lead, to greater manhood and
to kill the] petter citizenship. Not having

”

A new liquid medi

Dad’s Day Sunday

—
S

e_—_—_—.

ng liquor in
in Harris-
he state did
d drink’ that
‘id not., tell
» and Kill.
id drink and
‘ill without

followed his unseen guide, this
defendant has many times wil-|§
fully lost his way from the path
of righteousness, Just so many
times has his state searched and
found him in darkness and as-
sisted him back to that straight

and narrow path which repeated

ssion of the' admonition to follow it. There

ERR tee bey ABD) hae “Beg
ER Lcd Ly Dad

yN MARKET”
Satisfaction and Sanitation
cial, Lean Streaked f} 1
moked, a Real Bar- F
‘e or Half 2 a
roast hich

OM . .
ae frying chix. ~
‘ood home killed beef roasts. ] 7 Cc

Les

SS ENS

“x

Sa ES

“~%

v ate
)

To Keep You Too:
It’s hard to warm up to your job when you’re
too warm for comfort. Yet, most of us have
to be to the job even when it does get hot.
The fine way in which these thin two-piece
suits are tailored assures mental, as well as

‘physical comfort for you. You'll do better
work. “

11 Prices. Come in and select
ery lowest prices. .

3; You Want We Have Them
(, PROP.

Bae neti MRP REA RRM GAY TAS teria ad ee AEN A

All kinds of Summer Fabrics Shown Here at

tion, Originally it was a fraternity of
actors and theater people. And there's
an old saying among theater folks that
eleven o'clock always comes. That means
that no matter how bad the show is going
and no matter how many catastrophes
happen, the final curtain will eventually
fall—at eleven o’clock. In the early days
the meetings were called at eleven be-
cause the members couldn’t make it be-
fore then. It was at that hour a toast
was drunk to those departed. Since that
time the order has grown to be a general
organization but we still keep the old
insignia of the clock.”

“But eleven o’clock has a special sig-
nificance for members of the lodge?”

“Yes. But it wouldn’t mean anything to
anyone who wasn’t a member.”

Chief Morris was thoughtful for a mo-
ment. Then, “Was Thomas Brady a
member?”

“I've never heard of him in the lodge.
But you'd have to check with the sec-
retary. Or I can do it for you and let you
know.”

Subsequent investigation, however,
proved that Brady had never belonged
to the lodge in question, or any other
fraternal organization. It hardly seemed
likely that an underworld character
would belong to the lodge or even if he
had joined, that he would identify him-
self on the scene of the crime by placing
the clock hands at eleven.

Chief Morris decided to skip the lodge

“angle entirely and continue along the

lines which he had outlined to his men at
the conference.

3ut a close inspection of mission con-
gregations and the onlookers at
street corner meetings failed to
produce a single suspect. Not
one man with a police record
was spotted by this method.

Morris decided to try a new
tack. “The two girls who had
dinner with Brady that time
may be able to give us a lead,”
he told his men, “After all, they
were religious charity workers

Thomas Brady, below, was
known as a Good Samari-
tan. This was the only clue
the chief of police had as to
who might have slain him.

Riddle of the 13 Clocks

[Continued from page 17]

and they would come into contact with
all sorts of drifters and possibly crim-
inals or former criminals, Something they
may have said about the old man may
have been overheard by a prowler look-
ing for an easy knockover. I’m going to
find those girls -and see what they have
to say.”

He had little trouble finding them. They
were attractive in spite of the plain uni-
forms they wore but seemed very quiet
and devoted workers to the cause for
which they had enlisted. As he sat in the
social room of the organization’s dormi-
tory talking to them, Chief Morris had
a hunch that somewhere in the organiza-
tion lay—not the answer to the riddle of
the 13 clocks and the murdered man—
but a lead and a very definite lead at that.

“Mr. Brady was very interested in our
work,” one of the girls volunteered. “He
-often came to our street meetings and
joined in the singing. And he was very
generous although he had little money
himself. He asked us for dinner and we
didn’t know whether to go or not at first
because we knew he didn’t have much;
but we were afraid of hurting his feelings.
But at last we went and he fixed us a very
nice dinner, Afterwards we sang a num-
ber of his favorite hymns and he saw us
back to the dorm.”

The chief pursed his lips thoughtfully.
“Have you ever mentioned this dinner
with Mr. Brady to anyone—I mean any-
one outside of the organization?”

Both girls shook their heads. “No.
We've been so busy that we had almost
forgotten it. It was a couple of months
ago, And we don’t know many people in

The arrow above indicates the iron-
barred outer door .of the jail through
which the soulful-eyed killer and ex-
convict, right, was sawing his way when
an alert officer detected the faint rasp
of a hack-saw against the iron bars.

Springfield except here at the dorm.”

Morris nodded. “Tell me this: while
you were visiting Mr. Brady did anything
unusual happen? Did he seem anxious
about anything? Or did he mention hav-
ing any enemies or having had any quar-
rels?”

The answer was negative again. Then
one of the girls seized her companion’s
arm. “How about that young fellow ...?”

They explained. While they had been
sitting at the table a young, man had
knocked at the door and then opened it.
He had peered in and Mr. Brady had
left the table and gone to the front door.
He had stepped out for a moment and he
and the young man had stood talking
together on the porch in low tones, When
he returned Brady had said that the caller
was a young friend of his but that he
had refused to join the party. “Guess he’s
a little girl shy,’ the old man had chuck-
led. The youth had not returned. But on
another occasion the girls had seen him
on the fringes of the crowd at a street
meeting.

“When he noticed me looking at him
he turned away and left,” one of the
charity workers finished. “And it may
not have been the same fellow. But he
looked just like him.”

Morris thanked the girls and made
his way slowly back to his office, think-
ing hard. If the mysterious caller had
been a criminal who had scraped up an
acquaintance with the lonely old man in
order to “case” his house for a robbery,
it would be natural for him to shun people
who might later identify him.

Chief Morris decided on one of the

4
he <

oldest police tac
clueless murder
of the towns
accordingly set
inquiry. had hi
underworld ch
ex-convicts whi
revivalist meet
playing anoth«
his years oT ©
he set out to ‘
of the charity
to be friendly
police records
“Many a g1
man who has
to one of his
on the girl.
mental appe
against him ;
so on and 30
girl who doe
will fall for 1"
Through
dives in the
ferred to as
Morris’ invé
dozen rumor
to fizzle out
and ended !
gossip, rum
sifted the ¢
which he be
vestigation.
A young _
name of “>

have once
Meredith, :
the same 0!
figured in |
for the sat
news that!
and was th
Meredith —
Chicago d!

Morris
workers’ ‘
two girls \
They kne
have helt
worked w
none of !
One by
tacts al
who had
pool ro
seemed t
“Sure

said, “H«

by the

He eve!
year an
time he
reform:
Whi

Know

The

by nan

talked

with s

I neve

she th

ested
beefins

it quic

very 1!

Chit

hat, °

I'd aj

I'd lik

to do

nothi

head

tions

curr’

me <

belo:

Tl
of Cc

_———

firmed what the chief suspected already.
Thomas Brady had died at the hands of
a savage killer who possessed consider-
able strength. His pockets had not been
rifled. They contained some change and
a valuable antique watch with a heavy
gold case which the ordinary thief or
burglar would scarcely have missed.

The physician set the time of death at
from twelve to fourteen hours before the
examination. “In weather as warm as
this,” he said, “you can make a fairly
accurate estimate. The autopsy will back
this up, but I'd say offhand that this man
died between six and eight o’clock last
night. Have you any witnesses ?”

Chief Morris nodded grimly, pointing
to the clocks. ““Yes—-we've got thirteen.”

Following the customary procedure,
Morris started his hunt for the murderer
of Thomas Brady by further checking on
both the meter reader who had discovered
the body and Len Ollard, the dead man’s
friend and neighbor. The power com-
pany employe was easily checked.

Ollard was questioned again as a matter
of routine. He was employed as a watch-
man at a railroad crossing and had been
on duty Sunday from 8:00 a.m. until
6:00 p.m, with an hour off for lunch. It
was during this hour that he had gone to
Brady's house and written the letter,
posting it on his way back to work. He
walked home that evening with another
neighbor, also a watchman, and did not
leave his house all night. His family sub-
stantiated this. Moreover, the neighbor
with whom he had walked home had
visited hin. after supper and they had
talked until after 10 o’clock when Ollard
went to bed. The neighbor had come back
15 minutes later, having forgotten his
pipe. At that time Ollard was in bed.

OTHER neighbors had seen the old
man walking about the yard as late
as 3 o’clock Sunday afternoon.

By Tuesday morning there were still
no clues. Morris and several aides from
the department had gone through the
Brady house with the greatest care but
they had found nothing out of place—
none of those minute but illogical circum-
stances which to the trained investigator
can point the solution to a mystery.

The murder weapon belonged on the
place and bore no fingermarks, Anyone
might have stolen up the path in the
shade of the heavy willow trees and
entered the house that Sunday evening
but who would want to?

In summing up the case in his office at
headquarters, Chief Morris said to the
other officials, “There are several theories
about the case which have occurred to
me. As yet they are nothing but theories.
However, in the absence of more definite
clues we'll just have to work on them
until something better turns up.

“The first of these is that
robbery may have been the
motive, after all. I asked the
neighbor, Ollard, what had
been the contents of the letter
he wrote for the old man a
few hours before the crime.
It seems that it was to a rela-

dessa a Adele

tive and’ concerned some details of a
real estate transaction. *

“Brady and this relative owned a piece
of property together. He had written to
wind up the sale of his portion of the
property. From the tone of the letter,
Ollard gathered that some of the money
due him had. already been paid and that
there was another amount due. The old
man counted on this money to buy
groceries, This is pretty slim evidence,
but he might have had, say, a couple
of hundred hidden in the house and

somebody else may have known about it.

“Another thing—we found a lot of
evangelical literature about the place and
the neighbor confirmed Brady's interest
in various religious charities and revival
meetings, A man as hospitable as Brady
might be a great one for feeding tramps
and vagrants and one of these may have
decided to murder the old man for the
nioney.”

“Who was known to visit the house
regularly ?” one of the officers put in.

“I was getting around to that. Ap-

have know

—we

€ plac

ned Brady's pares
charities and reviyal
hospitable as Brady
for feeding tramps

* of these may have

'€ old man for the

Visit the house
CMCErs put in.

und to that. Ap-

parently he had no steady
visitors but was always
eager for company. It’s a
pretty clear picture—an
old man who always did a
lot of entertaining and
now has very little to offer.
He is lonesome and likes
company. Ollard told me
that on one evening Brady
had been to a street corner
meeting at which a girl—
one of the members of the
religious charity organi-
zation sponsoring the
meeting—had sung his
favorite hymn. Old Man
Brady invited her and a
girl friend to have dinner
with him and did his best
to give them a good meal,
cooking and serving it
himself. Afterwards he
saw the girls home to their
dormitory.

“But that’s what makes
it hard to. trace his ‘vis-
itors. Apparently they
were anybody the old man
chanced to meet. Some-
where along the line he
may have met a criminal.
Anyhow let’s put thes
two theories together. We
get a criminal who hangs
around street meetings
and revivals to prey upon
charitable people. A man
who would do that is one
of the lowest forms of li
But that’s who we're
going to hunt for until we
get a better suspect. I want
you boys to cover every
mission and street meet-
ing in town. Get the mug
shots of all local crooks
who work the missions or
who have taken a fall for
any sort of religious swin-
dle or victimizing chari-
ties. That’s all we've got
so let’s get going on it.”

The meeting broke up
and the other officers pre-
pared to leave. Chief Mor-
ris, on his way out, passed
another official in the
doorway. Sudder the
chief stopped and grabbed
the other by the lapel,
scrutinizing it closely.
The object of his attention
was a fraternal emblem in
the officer’s buttonhole.
“Wait a minute!” Morris
said intently. ‘That em-
blem—tell me. what does
the position of the clock
hands mean?” On_ the
lodge emblem was a tiny
clock face. And the hands
pointed at 11 o'clock.

The other grinned.

at goes back to the be-
ing of the organiza-
[Continued on
page 90|

of an almost

oldest police tacti
a thorough shak

eless murder—
own’s underwor
accordingly set out a number of lines of
d out various

n criminals or

revivalist mee
playing another
his years of e°
‘he set out to d
of the charity or
th young m
lice records.
‘Many a gir
man who has done
to one of his aides.
on the girl. The ex-co

[ has fallen in love with a
* he summed up
“This is no re
n, uses a senti-
rhan’s hand is
ili trust him, and
to see how a
r way around

against him;
on, It’s easy
doesn’t know he
will fall for it.”
saloons and other
town often re-
f the tracks”
ade its way.

dives in the
ferred to as “the o
investigation m
were run down
False leads were

dozen rumors
to fizzle out.

he chief had o
based the next step of his in-
onvict who went by the
» White was known to
e with a girl, Cora
y worker of

the charity
terviewed the
the first time.

workers’ dormi
two girls wh

her since she ha
owever, they knew

led on various con-
tacts and fin oung fellow
who had a wi
room set of

o have what he was

hack near mine down
by the levee. H -con all right.

He even bragge
d he’d done a stre

his particular friends ?,
his girl friends?”
shook his hea
) if that’s what
talked a lot‘about ha
with some charity
I never heard her
she threw him ov
ested in another guy.
beefing about it bu
it quickly enough. He
very far gone on her.”

Chief Morris sto
hat, “Well, if you
ate it if yo

worker or 0
name. Besides
er after she got inter-
The Sailor was
emed to get over
couldn't have been

hear from t
u'd let me know.
If he had nothing
to do with the Brady killing then he has
fear from comin

headquarters and answering a few ques-

hanged to one
funny thing. I

asked him the same question
last time I was over at his $
. was about ten days ago, just

dropped out of sight. He hi

the place with another fellow and Sailor
had been down to St. Louis visiting hi

folks for a few days. When he came back
he brought a pennant with a lodge em-
blem on it, He had it tacked up on the
wall in the shack. I asked him then if he
was a member of the lodge and he said
no. But it seems that while he was down
to St. Louis that lodge was holding a
national convention. He got in with some
of the members and they- treated him fine;
had him up to their rooms at the hotel
and everything.” Mage

Morris leaned forward with interest.
“Think hard, Try and recall if any ‘single
feature of the convention of the lodge
insignia or traditions particularly im-
pressed White. What seemed to impress
him the most?” . _

“Well he was most impressed by the
friendly way the fellows treated him. The
only thing he remarked
they set the clocks in the hotel. While
the convention. was on all the clocks in
the place were stopped at the same hour.”

“What hour was that?”

"His glance flicke

SCRAPPERS NEEDED!

Take a look around your house—if it's
metal, rubber, cloth or hemp and if it's
old, then it's SCRAP. Clear out those
corners of your cellar and attic today.
+ If you're not using it, then let our boys
use it in the form of bullets, bayonets
or tires.

“Eleven o'clock.”

At last two of the strangely irrelevant
pieces of the puzzl¢ had fallen into place.
There was only one move possible now—
ad - find Sailor i

The hunt was ‘increased. Springfield
did not have a large criminal element

White.

to find some lead on where the elusive
Sailor had gone. But success along this
line came unexpectedly, White was dis-

covered hiding out right in the middle
of town in the one place which would be
safest for a lammister to stay—a room
family
where he boarded under the pretext that

in the house of a respectable

he was recuperating from an illness an
was not strong enough
doors much.

Officers collared him and brought him
to the chief’s office. He was a very aver-
age looking young fellow who could
easily lose himself in a crowd. “Just want
ite,” the

to ask you a few questions,
chief began easily.

The other nodded curtly and said,
ing his lips. The

“Shoot.” without moving
chief leaned back in his chair.

“When was the last time you were in

trouble, bud?”
“Never, sir.”

“Then where'd you get that ‘sir’?
Sounds like Pontiac Reformatory to me.
And how about Joliet? You're supposed
to be on parole. You're not doing yourself
any good by hiding behind a phony
name.” He picked up a paper from his
desk at random and pretended to consult

it. “How do you spell that name you di

time under?

The “Sailor” wilted a trifle. “Waller—

W-a-l-l-e-r.”

“That's better. Now ‘then—how much
did you get when, you killed Old Man

Brady?”

to go out of

The youth was white around the lips.
d to the door. There was
a big patrolman blocking it. He turned
back to Morris. “I never killed him! You
can’t make it stick! I never did it!”

“When was the last time you saw
Brady?” This was a shot in the dark but
something in the tone of young Waller's
voice had told the chief that the youth
knew the murder victim.

“A couple of months back. He had us
to the house for dinner. But I didn’t kill
him.”

“Who's ‘us'?” ; :

“Me and my pal, Frank Sullivan.”

“Where's Frank gone?”

“Tt don't know. He ‘didn’t tell me. We
both quit the shack after—after the old
man was killed. We knew it looked bad
for us, having been to dinner at his
house.”

Picking up scraps of information from
every syllable the youth spoke, the chief
made several shrewd . deductions and
jumped ahead. “You were a stir pal of
Frank’s, right?” '

Waller nddded.

“Got out around the same time, didn’t
your”.

“Yeah.”

“All right—now tell me what name
Frank went by in the pen.”

But at this point Waller “buttoned up
his lip.” The youth was either Brady’s
assassin or was sharing guilty knowledge
of the crime, Morris felt.

Morris decided on.a canvass of ,neigh-

Waller and the other, who had lived with
him for a time, going under the name of
Sullivan. At last one, of the shack dwellers
was found who had visited Waller that
Sunday evening. They had talked for
about two hours—from 5 until 7. o’clock.
Then they had walked uptown to a pool
hall where they had played pool until
nearly 11.

Checking with the pool hall proprietor
the chief confirmed this story. That
seemed to let Waller out as a direct
participant. But the twisted code of the
underworld had probably kept him from
even offering his alibi in a mistaken
notion that he was shielding his pal.

Morris checked w ith the prison
authorities at Joliet and got a list of the
convicts who had been released oF
paroled around the time that Waller had
gotten out.

One of these was known to have been
friendly with Waller while in prison.
Chief, Morris got the “mug shot” of this

_man from the prison files. He mixed it

with several other rogue’s gallery photo-
graphs and showed the collection to the
girl charity workers. Unhesitatingly they
picked out one as the caller at Brady’s
house who wouldn't come in. It was
Waller’s “stir buddy,” a_ young tough
named Frank Bryant. Both he and
Waller had left the prison November 23.

Neighbors of the boys in the levee
district at once identified the photo of
Bryant as Waller's pal whom they knew
as Frank Sullivan.

Armed with this information
Morris went to young Waller’s cell and
had the turnkey let him in. Waller was
reading a magazine and barely looked up.
The chief sat down on the bunk an
waited, Finally he said, “No use trying
to cover up for F
Jed. We've got too many witnesses tO

always took an interest in boys out 0
stir and tried to keep them out of trouble.
‘He took both of you to street meetings

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dntries; but it)
he low and de-
w midst. The
ty has grown
: and women
. They have

ty, skepticism,
S40 take undis-
tiety ; therefore
has been sown.
mi immorality
xe yield is pro-
tots of violence
“ve of the ne-
n people of our
‘8 they neyer
ing avout the]
ight to. exist
tLe dy this, ve
“opposition to
egroe of allow-
»ve it frem our

and Pony Pol-

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reformer, gives
thdraws from
ve cxamingd
was two. years]
ree was 4 CAan-
WAS then he,
ck. :
er 2 positively
Spare of that
lel pamphlet?
renisrepres essut
6. sel to fear.
hint ‘there were.
of the church
3h and women,| 8
Nevers in, the].
the Bible, who| ‘
*-¢huirch, who
epublic ‘could
for the Bible] -
Fhe men who
ance of a God.|.
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te the fundge:
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‘fonnded, The
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it if you want

where hia spirisusl ‘giv sane luvs.

rly, come,” be showed | cougsiflerable

AH. Burklow Swings offin-
to Eternity. ~

| The original horigon had ic adhe
been illuminated by the trays of the
morning sun, when the peapie from
all points of the compass begun +o.
pour into our little village until its
by-ways ‘and hedges were crowded
to their utmost capacity; nor did:
they ceasa coming until he -had’
veached the zeinth of:his height. Ht

could not have been anything but
tdie curiosity that called vhis: large
consourse of pedple, as only fifty, in-
cluding reporters‘ and midisters,

could be admitted to witness the ex: }

| Republice

ceuntion. The scaffold was erected |
near tne jail-door At 2 o'clock,
Sheriff Carter and his deputy; W. R.

Wiley, lead the prisoner. to the jail f

door, when. he stood on. a platform |
at the head of the stairs and —
as follows:

“Tl hava’ - abieh. to say, 1: did
think ¥ woul make wv long talk, but:
itis hot. I will say. friends, ‘hat
this isa hard sentence I have ‘got. L
further say ‘Lha: this Ane been stated:

in the pepers as well as-1 can. state

it. | by: ave been treated very bad by |:
gome, ‘T howe Gad will forgive them,

and ] hope Ged will forgive me for |

{all the s.us I have done, | “1 have no
maaligp againgt aay one.’

Field and Johnson, condnetec ‘de vo:,
tional exercises: |‘The plisoucy, knelt
in prayer, and -wliile singing the seé-
ond seng: eThat awful day wihaiee 4

fee}ing, “bat alg, vet shed Aentn. Hig,
with: “at ‘on ves atta, he stepped
on- ~she tray, -door, wnere sheriff Car-
head and adjusted . ‘the. nogse about.
his neck. W. R. Wiley then cut thet.
Tope, and he dropped at 2: :20.: “At, thet
first Yninte his pulse beat: 68; “second,
863" third, 60; fourth, 20;. arth 54;
sixth, 108;-seventh, 108; “elghib, 727
hineth, 78;° tenth, 54; glevéhth," 725 \%
twelfth, pulse impreceptable; thir.
teenth, “78; heat beat, fourteenth, 90,'
very’. low. At 25: rmiinutea he’ “gras!
pronounced dead; at” the 30th’ min,

wd scientific,
le. Bus what ;
10Ws the most

tine trua. duc- yy
ebook, ” Thoie ‘

1a that can ba’:
iwWho o*n live .
bia under bh |
Wa. They. ara
Kntralable and'..
Tear nor hopr,

ute be was cut down and placed'i in a

vdffin, and the remains terned over :
to William inven the bce id med

nephew.

thes path the penalty. of: the inw,: Bute

Wher _Soelet by haabtea ; improre® ay. be
bya {iis inbamane aetig she question. iN

“The Diaguated Bate. %

‘sy tends the” “chapter.” - pesklaw,

Fass ce

and the stat
chief plea ¢
‘The past ‘m
What the de

"| mauat-; be, f

to take a log

party is tol
leader worse
mare. The
whicn he.s¢
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‘ef for impo

@ Pope County Illinois, Forgotten Records

Miscellaneous records that include some military notes on persons applying for land grants, etc. Includes one Revolutionary War, several War
of 1812, Black Hawk and Mexican Wars. Also includes Slavery and Indenture records as-well as an 1816 personal property tax list and more.
94 pages with full index.

@ Pope County Illinois, Probate Records, 1816-1835

Estate probate proceedings include administrators, wills, inventories or auction lists, guardian records, miscellaneous notes, etc. Very com-
plete exposition of materials found in individual files, integrated with county probate books and guardian records.

@ Pope County Illinois, Landowners 1820 .

Plat maps featuring landowners of 1820 Pope County. The 1820 area included all that part of Massac County east of and including Fort
Massac as well as all of Hardin County except that part north and northwest of Cave-in-Rock. Includes 1808 squatters map; some old roads,
City of Sarahsville/Golconda during that period and more. 85 pages includes 40 pages of maps. Full index.

@ Cache Township, Johnson Co. IL — 1812-1870

Prepared for Centennial celebration of Cypress, Illinois. Cache Township is the southwestern one-nineth of Johnson County. Features plat
maps every 10 years (1820-1870), 1850-1870 census, marriages, known deaths, and Adjutant General’s report on Civil War Veterans. 105
pages. Full index of landowners plus surname index of other individuals.

@ Johnson County Journal - Volume 4 (1877)

The “Journal” was published in Johnson County during its early days. The period covered is February 1877 through most of January 1878
(some copies missing). We have reproduced the local news from that era plus provide other articles of national interest that helps the reader
to associate historical events during the era. This is not an abstract. This is a condensed version that contains full articles. The reader will
find it enjoyable as an “arm-chair” reader plus find many old names and events for genealogical study.

85 pages, including a surname index. Just released in March.

© Cypress, Illinois - 1895-1995 .
Completed by the Historical Committee of Cypress for its Centennial Celebration in 1995. Book contains numerous photos, sections about
early history, family group histories, and more. Very nicely done. 112 pages with no index.

Not our publication — we are acting as sales agent.

@ 1900 U.S. Census - Cache Twp, Johnson Co. IL

Complete census information. 51 pages plus surname index.

-@ 1910 U.S. Census - Cache Twp, Johnson Co. IL

Complete census information. 62 pages plus surname index.

@ Civil War Letters of Charles Carriker — annotated
Letters to and from Charles Carriker, a Johnson County soldier. Portrays a moving story. Notations aid the reader of this fine book.
8 x 5 format. 45 pages plus index.

@ Jim & Myrtle Greer - Their Johnson County Years

Written by Virginia E. Hamer in 1975, we have made this book available. Jim Greer was raised in the he (Cache Twp) are while Myrte
Lowery was raised in the Tunnel Hill (T.H. Twp) area. Their lives here during the first two decades of this century were related by them to
their granddaughter and portrayed in a manner that makes this an enjoyable book. 72 pages, does not include index.

Ed Annable Publishing Company
PO Box 186 — Cypress, IL 62923

Address Correction Requested

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weer wes BIE Low flow me pA sea SA

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2 9 MX ainns ee, oe ce Ge 4

3 fy fk tow (hy alheA, ahh, axefot Ka. was A; aloe hae: a
4 aA re ae :

7 Seetert, eg

moment the crowd on the outside became
convulsed, and one huge wench raa for-
wacd orying out “come oa you niggers
and lets bast the white trash!'' The

stability of the males, more or lesa occa

sioned by twe etghe oF comerres wuginesr

of warfare perfectly diegusted the wench
end ber lip fell away down oa ber breast.

She was as breve as Zenobia and
braver than Cleopatra and yet couldn't
raises riffe of enthusicsm. T'was too
bad ! She bas our sympathy and may the
Lord preserve her from the gallows.

LETTER BY CAMPBELL.

ait Carzo Ill Aug 26 1873.

Dear frind I am very sorry to tell you
that I am sentenced to Be buog. I oaly
have two more days on this earth. I pever
theught that I would Be bung But 1 Am
Bound to go. I guess I never will See you
any more on this earth bat I hope that I
will meet you in a Better world. I am
trying to get Ready to go. -I will try to
tell you how this trouble occured. I got
on a Boat to go down the River and the
rate fell out with me Because I asked
‘him for my money and he kicked me and
cufed me 5 har zo L came Back to Cairo
and the mate Came Back to Osiro and I
went down to the warf Boat and thought
I would do hiss es be hed meso when I
went aboad of the Boat he drew a Revol-

ar on me end I strock bim-with-e Club
and killed him. I dident ame to kim aQ I
hops thet! you will meet me ia hesvaa.
I will Close. Wirttaw CamMer

~ To Henry Carrel Jefsoa. City. Mo.

-
eS

4 .CaIBe . {
; es ¢
COAL AND WOOD YARDS

reat for éoticate femaisa, tt has no scporier.

By ite aso now life and vigor is given te beth Dud
and mind, cending o glow of vitality threegh every
part, which is perumanent end tasting.

It la the most e@ ctual remedy for the relief ef
beumaa puffering ever discovered, ead as pleasent to
the taste as old rye or fine wins.

WE CHALLENGE x

The MEDICAL WONDER.
U

. anaes

2 H Trae ee
Tenth apd Fourteenth streets, between
Washington and Commercial ave

“AL Kixps or Woop awp Coat.

Stove wood sawed te order. ry 7
Orders received for Pittsburg coal to Be
delivered in September at $6 A ton.
; P hes creers a3 ofice ~ Tenth street,
: . cor ed were On ; i
oa ‘delivery. :

‘2

theokeres 7 €>
oD aise oo

fally ¢

necred,
the track of Ife ct say mowsst.

comparisoa, the most
__ | etpe of the age. Bo 4 by all

AS Avan BLOOD, EIt
great
ments: — It conalas BO

| BLS, aad

| JOY TO THR AFFLIUTED! ~~

ie ha,
CHALLENGES

‘THE WORLD

at gee

or
if

oats

Campbell assisted in the singing, eed bis
. COUIE be beard above all the rest.
~A8 the comolusion of the singing of the

read a chapter from

the Bible, aMer which be made e short

ARN rig meee

prayer.

= hewn

1 this time Campbell was very

, | quiet ead never moved a muscie,

“Whea- Mr. Jackson bed finished bis

, | prayer, Sherif Irvia knelt down aad pis-
, | boned Campbell's feet, and rising took an-

other abort strap and pisioned bis bends
bebind bis beck. -Thw done be asked
Carapbell if there was anything be wished
tomay, elie

~ Cumpbelt Frepiied, “Thank God, T am

| gotng home ; thank God, my troubles are

no ble about

over.” Aside to Snoriff Irvin he said: “I
want you to see my mother hack home.”
' Bbheriff Irvin sald be need give bimself
' He would see that
got b ie cafe.

bell then ésid, “Thank God, the

Lord has forgives ms.” .

ae ee oe) ee ee)

; i 2 |

bell’s body kissed him on the cheek. —

hin's beld op to Campbell's arm as
if to support bim. He did not seem to
id, “take that Bway, there,

he
IS

‘The rope
neck. Jugs before the
drawn over his face, Sheriff
up to and placing his arm about Camp-

The sheriffthen seid: “Are you ready,
William?’ = ne

Campbell: “I sm ready.” — aye.

Sheriff Irvin thea stepped beck, caught
up e hatchet, and at precisely 31 minutes
after ?2 o'clock cut the small ropéby which
the weights were suspended. The heavy
weights came down with « crash, and
Sampbell’s throws up et least
sight feet, the rebound being fully two
feot, and which broke hieneck instantly.

At the expiration of siz minutes the
body bung motionless, and to all appear
ances life was extinct. He died almost
witbout s struggle s

Dre. W. B. Gmith, O. W. Dunsing, and
HL Wardaer were ia attendance, and at the
ex of 12 minutes and 30 seconds
cy lifeextinettl. 2 ©. wi vee +
the report of the dectors im at

ae ee netan 0 Camnbalta hanet

™

fiom m4 TBE COUNTRY! -
Ae

SB50,000 OO| /
* [N. VALUABLE GIFTS!
ioe ET re be discributed is a

“. 1. D. BINDS =

1étud Regular Moataly

. :
GIFT ENTERPRISE

af / ” é
‘ONE GRAND CAPITAL PBIZB ~ | Getstea

$5,000 IN GOLD!

/ 8 .,

Two Prizes $1,000 # aee
Two Prises $500 4 | Garzwnscns
Five Prises 8100 3 ad Sects et
One Family Carriage and Matched Horses
with \ Harness, worth

730 (#old and Silver Lever Ha

+__WFetebes, (im all,) worth trom §30 te

Gold ‘Raine, Nilver-ware, Jowalry, ste,
ete.
Whole number Gifts 6,000. Tickets Hunited
to 60,000.

AGENTS WANTED TO SELL TICKETS

Household Remedy!
er menage xe =m '

Tce 50

ry one
ed de-

to the
ir. and
of the
1 just
to the

iilding,
uns on
5 new
‘ar gas

officers
1 open
rv flat.
hed in
-e 1”

crashed
jucked.
rpenter
stective
halted
heavy
ammed
warn-
n little

itic
wes in
ure, he
hostile
ses and
h their

nanted:
nd the
it, their

a few

on a
ing and
jue him
a dozen
yn him,
ne and
. clothes
il body,
vugh he

yn’t you

drawled
for the

d killing
.trolman
ison for
10 tears

whined.
when I
inhappy
because
my two
ses. The
-d me a

teachers
{ to get
hth
the
the
i: €vér—

go back

aitted so

many holdups that “I can’t.remember them
alt——maybe 100, maybe 150, maybe 200.”
But the two-gun desperado had only $20 in
his pockets now.

“T usually got about $50 on a heist,” he
explained. “The highest. score I ever made was
$300. I led a clean life, didn’t drink, didn’t
play around with dames or gamble. Yet the
dough just leaked away on the routine ex-
penses of living. When my money ran out,
I'd pull another job.” ‘

He claimed he had no regular home, but
had Stayed at cheap hotels, moving frequently
as a safeguard against being trapped by police.
He. continued: “In the three days since I
bumped Detective Murphy, I haven’t been
in bed. I went to a lot of movies and cat-
napped in them.”

After being treated at the Bridewell Hos-
pital for the bullet wound in his thigh and
other injuries, described by doctors as minor,
he showed police where he had hidden the
murder revolver and a sack of cartridges in
the chimney vent of an oil stove in. the
Powell apartment. The weapon was the one he
had taken from Detective Bosaski in the
tavern robbery months before. Carpenter had
sawed off part of its long barrel, transforming
it into a snub-nose which fitted snugly behind
his belt. Taken to the office of State’s Attorney
John Gutknecht, he made a long statement,
in which he changed his earlier story of the
killing. He now
Murphy had fired first.

“And so did Policeman Kerr,” he main-
tained a little later, “It was self defense.”

claimed that Detective.

But investigators hooted at this defense.

Charged with murder and assault to com-
mit murder, Carpenter was jailed. The state’s
attorney’s office announced that when his trial
opens it will demand the death penalty.

Police also will question Carpenter’ about

, three recent, unsolved tavern slayings.

And now physicians revealed that a near
miracle had saved the life of Patrolman Kerr.
He missed death by the split second timing of
the contraction and dilation of the heart.
“When Carpenter’s bullet struck him, his heart
was contracted and the bullet passed through
the quarter-of-an-inch space between the
heart and the breastbone,” said his physician.
“Tf the heart had been dilated at that moment,
it would have filled that space and the lead
would have struck it, killing him instantly.”

Tantrum

continued from page 57

They went around to the back door and
knocked there. Finally, they pushed the door,
kept pushing it hard, until the lock tongue
tore through the wooden jamb and the door
gave way.

The kitchen was as it should be, every-
thing in order. So was the living room.
Then they walked into one of the bedrooms
and they froze. For there, lying between the
twin beds, were the bodies of Miller’s mother
and stepfather, battered almost beyond recog-
nition.

The woman’s head was a mass of fractures
and she’d’ been stabbed repeatedly all over
her body.

The man’s head had been bashed in with
three wide fractures. One of the blews had
been so severe that his left eyeball had been
pushed out and over the bridge of the nose.
There were stab wounds all over his body, too.

Charles Miller and his aunt sat on the out-
side steps sobbing, too shocked and horrified
to talk with police when they arrived.

Sergeant Lewis and his detectives went
about the grim business of examining the vic-
tims for possible clues. There was no evi-

dence that they had been able to put up a

fight. :

“The killer hit so hard he broke one of the
hammers,” Lewis observed as he wrapped a
broken claw hammer. The wooden handle had
snapped about two inches below the head. The
other hammer was a machinist’s job with a
ball-peen head. ;

One of the knives was a straight, narrow-
pointed butcher’s knife. The other was a sharp,
curved-bladed banana knife.

A rope was found around the woman’s neck,
and a towel was stuffed in her mouth.

The bodies were removed after a while,
and detectives expanded their search through-
out the rest of the house. In a corner of the
death room they found a wadded-up, blood-
stained pair of trousers.

“PROBABLY worn by the killer,” a detec-

tive said. “Thomas still had his pants on.
And they wouldn’t have fit him, anyway.
These are for a shorter man, and a thinner
one.” ‘

Thomas’ clothing contained no money or
wallet. Mrs. Betty Thomas’ purse was found
lying open, minus money or wallet. A search
of the house failed to turn up any money.

“But I can’t see this as.a robbery .. . not
with all this brutality,” Lewis said to his de-
tectives. .

“Mrs. Thomas’ car, a 1951 model green
Chevvy, is missing,” a detective who’d been
out canvassing the area said. “Neighbors said
they saw it in the driveway Saturday morn-
ing, but not since then.”

The dead woman’s son and sister by this
time were able to talk with officers. They told
how they happened to find the body. They
said, too, that Charles Miller’s brother, Rob-
ert Miller, 19, also lived in. the house.

“We didn’t find any of his clothes in the
closets,” a detective remarked.

“He may have packed and left town,” the
officers were told. “He mentioned last week
that he was going to Chicago to get a job.
And he kept a lot of his clothes at a friend’s
house. He often lived at his friend’s house.”

The name Robert Miller rang a familiar
bell with several of the detectives. One of
them asked Charles if his brother had a police
record. The boy nodded, then turned away.

By this time, a large number of the dead
woman’s relatives had arrived at the house.
Mrs. Thomas had her parents, seven sisters

‘and three brothers living in Columbus. None

of them could offer any helpful suggestions
to police. =

“Wasn’t it ...a robber, some fiend passing
through the neighborhood?” a brother asked,
his voice choked. “My sister,” he went on,
“she had no enemies,” he insisted. “And Gomer,
why ... you just ask around. He was the
nicest; easiest-going guy you're liable to find
in town. They’ve been married about ten years.
Got along swell. Both worked hard. They
made a real go of it together. Just finished
buying new furniture, and fixing up this house.

“They never had anything to do with peo-
ple who cause trouble. Just a woman and her
husband who minded their own business, I
tell you. Nobody they knew would... .”

“What about Robert, her oldest son?” Lewis
asked.

The man’s face paled a little. “Sure, Bob’s
been in trouble; stealing cars, burglaries, stuff
like that. . . .” He paused, closed his eyes.
“Oh, no. Not Bob,” he said, “not anything
like this!”

- Another relative said that Bob wasn’t known
to have a temper. “And the times he was
arrested*. . . he never bothered anybody. You

check and see; he never did hurt anybody.”

“Did he get along all right with his mother?”
the relatives were asked.

They all said he did, that Mrs. Thomas had
worried about Bob when he got in trouble,
and was overjoyed when he was released the
previous April from the Federal Reformatory
at Chillicothe, O.

“J think that’s why they moved into this
house and fixed it up, so he’d have a nice
place to live, figuring that might help him
straighten out,” one of them said.

“How come he didn’t always live at home,
then?” an officer asked.

NE of Bob’s uncles said the boy had liked

to stay at a friend’s house, but that a week
earlier he had moved back to his mother’s.
“You know how it is; he was restless, and
maybe he ‘might have been ashamed of his
record, and didn’t want to impose on his step-
father.. But I know that he and Gomer got
along all right. Gomer was swell to him. I re-
member once seeing him give the boy money
when he asked for it.”

One of Bob’s aunts remarked that the youth
had a special interest recently—that he was
in love. She mentioned a 16-year-old girl, who
lived on the other side of town, with whom
Bob had been going. “That’s why I think he
planned to go to Chicago, because he felt he
could get a good job there, and be able to
get married.” .

“Would his mother let him take her car to
Chicago?” Lewis asked.

No, he was told; definitely not. Robert was
unable to obtain a driver’s license, and his
mother had positively forbidden him to drive
a car until he could get one.

An alert was broadcast for the car, a 1951
model green four-door Chevrolet sedan, li-
cense number B-18765.

Back at headquarters, meanwhile, Lewis was
given reports of officers who had contacted
employers and friends of the murdered couple.

“Thomas’ boss said he’s one of the most
faithful employes at the place,” a detective
said. “His friends at the company say he was
a hard-working, honest man who never got in
trouble, never got drunk and never made an
enemy.”

The other reports on the couple followed
the same pattern.

The 19-year-old companion with whom

a a ees

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THAT RAZZLE-DAZZLIN' MOTHER
MARY

KILLER IN MY HOUSE

THEY'LL BREW ANYTHING THAT
FERMENTS

JUSTICE IS A LONG WAIT
BUT DON'T TAKE HER AWAY
THE DESPERATE HOURS

I'VE GOT TO TELL SOMEBODY
FOOT-THE-BILL SHERIFF

SLOW BOAT.TO HELL

FOR A SLIM AND FANCY GAL

CATCHING THOSE FLAME-HEADED
WHITES

TANTRUM

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INSIDE REPORT

IN AT THE FINISH

A STITCH IN TIME

ON THE RECORD

WHEN YOU GOT TO BUST OUT
THE JIG'S UP

INSIDE INFORMATION

IT HAPPENED IN

BALED OUT

ME SCALPED .

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2 es ee State......

Occupation............ Age.....

If housewife, give husband's occupation

| of his family spending another night with the

desperado was more than Powell could bear.
He decided that the time had come to try
to outwit the killer and to end the long
ordeal. Out of Carpenter’s sight, he whispered
to his wife to leave with the children when
she got a chance.

“This can’t go on any longer,” he explained.
“Every minute increases our danger. I’m
going to call the cops.”

Powell then told Carpenter that Mis. Karol-
kewicz might become suspicious if Mrs. Powell
and the children did not sit with her on the
front steps as they always did on warm
evenings. Carpenter agreed that it might be
best if they followed their usual custom. _

A few minutes later, Powell remarked’ “I
think I’ll go down and talk to my father-in-
law. If I don’t, he’ll be coming up here looking
for me.”

Watching a television drama, the killer
nodded absently. He evidently though he had
the Powells cowed and was in no danger
from them.

Powell went down the back steps, streaked
across the yard, leaped over a four-foot fence
and raced to a store on the nearby corner of
Damen Avenue and Division Street.

His call for help was received at 9:01 P.M.
by Lieutenant O’Sullivan who flashed word
at once to squads in the vicinity of the
Powell home on Potomac Avenue, two short
blocks from the Biltmore Theater. Thirty-four

prowl cars raced to the address, seven of them |

arriving less than one minute after O’Sullivan
got the electrifying news from Powell.

The police crews ringed the night-shrouded
building and turned the powerful beams of
their spotlights on it. Heads were poked out
windows of nearby homes and a crowd began
gathering. An intense hum of curiosity and
excitement filled the air.

TANDING in the open, Sergeant Smicklas

called: “Come out, Carpenter! We know
you’re in there! We have the place sur-
rounded !”

He got a quick glimpse of the desperado’s
shadowy form as he peered out.from behind
a Venetian blind of the Powell home. Then
four shots rang out and lead chipped the
cement sidewalk at Smicklas’ feet. Diving for
cover, the officer yelled: “Let him have it!”

Machine guns, rifles, pistols and shotguns
began to thunder and bullets smashed the
windows, bored into bricks and plaster,
gashed the woodwork and ripped the blinds
of the apartment, which the fugitive had
turned into a fortress.

Standing in the background, Mrs. Powell
moaned: “Oh, oh, they’re wrecking our place.”
Her husband patted her comfortingly, saying:
“They’ve got to do it, honey. They’ve got to
do it.” :

Trying to escape, Carpenter smashed
through the window glass in Powell’s side
bedroom. Like a circus acrobat, he dove
across a four-foot areaway, 25 feet above the
ground, and through a screen into an apart-
ment in the adjoining building.

* He landed in the midst of nine persons who
were crouched on the floor, petrified by fear,
as the firearms clattered outside.

“Out of my way,” screamed Carpenter, his
face a mask of blood from cuts suffered in
plunging through the screen. “Don’t try to
stop me.”

Like a cornered animal, he ran through the.

apartment, going first to one window and

“then another in the desperate hope of finding

an avenue of escape. But beneath every one
of them, he discovered, were grim-faced de-
tectives with guns in firing position.

He scampered next up the rear steps to the
third-floor apartment. Its occupants, Mr. and
Mrs. Alphonse Krolikowski, warned of the
danger by shouts from outside, had just
fled through the front door and onto the
street.

With all the tenants out of the building,
at least 100 policemen trained their guns on
the lighted windows of Carpenter’s new
refuge and cut loose. Others pitched tear gas
bombs into the place.

Led by Detective John Kennedy, the officers
charged up the front steps and kicked open
the door of the besieged third-floor flat.
Kneeling on floor, his arms outstretched in
supplication, Carpenter yelled:

“I live here! Don’t shoot! I live here!”

Just then, two sizzling tear bombs crashed
through a: window and the policemen ducked.
Taking advantage of the confusion, Carpenter
lunged for the holstered revolver of Detective
Theodore Sparrow. Another officer halted
him with a skull-ripping blow with a heavy
flashlight. Detective Frank Grazser rammed
his shotgun into Carpenter’s abdomen, warn-
ing: “Stand still or I'll scatter you in little
bits all over this room.”

Exactly 17 minutes after Powell’s frantic
call to Police Headquarters, Carpenter was in
custody. A subdued and bedraggled figure, he
was led to a patrol wagon through a hostile
crowd of 5000 persons who hurled curses and
threats and clawed to get at him with their
fists.

Men, women and children savagely chanted:
“Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!” And the
Powells went back to their wrecked flat, their
23 hours of terror ended.

At North Avenue Police Station, a few
minutes later, Carpenter again went on a
frenzied rampage, kicking, clawing, biting and
punching his captors. In order to subdue him
without inflicting serious injury, half a dozen
brawny officers threw themselves upon him,
pulled him down by sheer weight alone and
pinned him to the floor, ripping off his clothes
in the process and baring his powerful body,
which was deeply sun-tanned as though he
had spent many hours on the beach.

“Shoot me!” he screamed. “Why don’t you
shoot me?”

“That would be doing you a favor,” drawled
Sergeant Smicklas. “We’re saving you for the
electric chair.”

Quieting down, the prisoner admitted killing
Detective Murphy and wounding Patrolman
Kerr. He gave a sob story as his reason for
shooting the officers, but it wrung no tears
from his auditors.

“I’ve been lonesome all my life,” he whined.
“I spent some time in an orphanage when I
was a child and I was miserable and unhappy
there. I was absent from school a lot because
I had to help my mother support my two
sisters and I fell behind in my classes. The
other kids made fun of me and called me a
dummy.

“I finally got so old that the teachers
looked on me as a pest and wanted to get
rid of me. They graduated me from eighth
grade, but I really never got through the
seventh. When I did a year in jail for the
cab heist, I was more lonely than ever—
horribly lonely.

“I made up my mind then never to go back
to jail.”

Carpenter stated that he had committed so

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grabbed hold of the glass when he got out.”

Police Commissioner Timothy J. O’Connor
appointed Lieutenant James Lynch, head of
the Burglary Detail, as field coordinator of the
hunt and soon 90 squad cars were criss-cross-
ing the city in search of Carpenter.

“We'll get him yet,” vowed Acting Chief of
Detectives Harry Penzin. “We can only hope,
though, that ‘it will be before somebody else
gets killed.”

The manhunt soon assumed gigantic pro-
portions. Five thousand posters bearing the
fugitive’s photo and description were printed
and distributed. Hundreds of thousands of citi-
zens became familiar with Carpenter’s features
as his picture was shown hourly on television
screens and stared at them from the front
pages of newspapers. Forty-five persons who
resembled him were picked up in a one-hour
period and detained until they could establish
their identity.

Carpenter’s long-suffering mother, who had
been forced to go to work selling newspapers
on a street corner to raise her three small
children when her husband was killed in an
accident in 1933, tearfully claimed that she had
not seen her ne’er-do-well son in at least 18
months.

“But he’s not a killer,” she moaned. “My
Richard is a good boy.”

Despite every effort, including round-the-
clock work by many officers, Carpenter was
still at large Wednesday, 48 hours after the
slaying in the subway.

On that evening, Patrolman Clarence Kerr,
26-year-old rookie of the Hudson Avenue
Station, suggested to his young wife that they
attend: a movie. It had been a warm, sticky
day and she welcomed the prospect of a few
hours of air-conditioned comfort. After Kerr
changed from his blue uniform into a pair of
slacks and sports shirt, they left their two
small children with his parents and drove to
the Biltmore Theater on West Division Street.

During an intermission between the twin
features—The Road to Denver and Call Me
Lucky—Kerr got up and told his wife that he
was going to the lobby for a smoke. He re-
turned within a few minutes and in a low,
tense voice told her that she must leave at
once.

“There’s a man sitting in the back who
looks like Carpenter,” he explained. “I’m not
going to do anything until you’re out of here.”

Trembling, Mrs. Kerr accompanied him to
the street, where she begged him not to go
back alone.

MUST;; it’s my job,” he replied, simply.
“Tf I waited for help, he’d be liable to
slip away.”

Returning to the dark auditorium, Kerr
jabbed his gun into the side of a man who
appeared to to be dozing in a seat near the
rear.

“Police officer,” he announced. “Come with
me.”

The. man straightened up. “Okay, okay,” he
mumbled. “You got me.”

“March for the door,” instructed Kerr.

As he reached the aisle, Kerr’s prisoner
seemed to stumble and fall. But he bounded
to his feet, lightning fast, and a gun in his
hand began to roar.

The policeman was forced to hold his fire
momentarily for fear of hitting a couple and
a-small child seated between him and Car-
penter. One of Carpenter’s bullets struck him,
sending him reeling.

Carpenter darted for:a fire exit at one side

_—

of the theater. Holding himself erect with
difficulty, Kerr waited until he had a clear
view of his target and squeezed the trigger
three times. ~

The door was flung open, the desperado
slipped through and it slammed shut behind
him.

MAs bullets ricocheted off walls and into
seats, women screamed and most of the 250
patrons stampeded toward the exits. Kerr, a
bullet in his chest, stumbled into the lobby
and collapsed at the feet of his wife.

“It was Carpenter,” he gasped. “I think I
hit him. Call Headquarters. Tell them .. .
right away...”

Thomas Brandt, a pre-medical student at
Loyola University, who had crawled up the
aisle as the flash of gunfire brightened the
darkened movie house, bent over Kerr, trying
to halt the gushing flow of blood from his
wound.

“Tell me,” asked Kerr,” is it serious?”

“T can’t be sure,” answered Brandt.

“I’ve seen wounds like this before,” said
Kerr, his voice an agony-filled whisper. “It’s
not what you’d call a scratch.”

A passing priest joined the circle around
the wounded patrolman ‘and, at his request,
administered the last rites,

When word of the shooting was flashed to
Police Headquarters just seconds after it oc-
curred, Lieutenant Lynch dispatched six
squads to the scene by radio and instructed
the crews of 40 other cars to seal off a 3.5
square mile area around the movie house.

“Guard every street, every alley and every
gangway,” he ordered. “Don’t allow anyone
to leave until you’re satisfied he isn’t Car-
penter.”

Because of the huge concentration of police
manpower on the North Side, this command
was executed swiftly.

Taken to St. Mary of Nazareth Hospital,
Kerr was found to have been hit by a bullet
which severed a chest artery, punctured a
lung and creased his right arm. Physicians
gave him a 50-50 chance to live as they began
a four-hour operation and arranged for blood
transfusions.

At the scene, a woman told Deputy Police
Commissioner Philip Breitzke that she was
sure Carpenter. had been hit by one of Patrol-
man Kerr’s bullets.

“T was sitting near the door through which

* he escaped,” she said. “I saw him reel suddenly

as he fled and grab at his leg. He seemed to
have difficulty in running after that.”

Examining the carpet near the exit used by
Carpenter, Breitzke came across a trail of
blood. ss

“No doubt of it; Kerr did plug him,” he
said with grim: satisfaction. “The rat can’t
move very far now.”

Adding to the difficulties of the investiga-
tion, 2000 persons gathered outside the theater
within 15 minutes. As television and radio
flashed the news of the gun battle, more than
6000 others converged on the scene. Autos
piled up for almost half a mile in all direc-
tions and it required five hours to unsnar] the
traffic jam.

‘About this time, a woman hailed a police-
man and told him she had sighted a stranger
on the roof of a three-story building at
1929-31 Crystal Street, near the theater, a few
minutes before.

“T live in the attic apartment across the
way,” she explained. “I heard the squad cars
and looked out a window to see what had
happened. Then I noticed him, peering down

looking at the police officers on the sidewalk.”

Squads surtounded the structure. They
found a trapdoor leading to the housetop
from the porch was open. There were blood-
stains on the steps and on the roof. But the
man who had attracted the woman’s attention
had vanished. :

“Tt must have been Carpenter,” declared
Thomas Lyons, chief of the uniformed force.
“And when the witness saw him, our blockade
had been established for almost a half hour. So
we can be pretty sure he’s still inside the
quarantined area.”

Additional policemen were mobilized and a
search began of roofs, basements, porches,
parked autos and other possible hiding
places. .. .

As the huge manhunt roared on, the vicious
desperado sat in the darkened living room of
the Powell’s modest second-floor flat which
he had invaded at gunpoint. He had bandaged
a wound in his right thigh with strips of
cloth torn from a bedsheet and had made a
meal of milk and boiled ham sandwiches.
Every now and then, he peered out the front
window and watched squads cruising along in
search of him.

“I suppose, you don’t think so much of me,”
he said, becoming chatty as the night wore on.
“Well, I don’t care about anything. I’m going
to die anyhow.

“PUT I'm sorry about one thing: I never

did anything to make my mother happy
or my sisters proud of me. I led a lousy life.
I know they’re ashamed of me.

“One thing I want—I want to see my
mother before I die.”

Then he lapsed into a long brooding silence.

Finally, Mrs. Powell spoke up. “You seem
like you could be a nice person,” she said.
“Too bad you got yourself into such a mess.”

“I did a lot of bad things,’ Carpenter said
with a sad shake of his head. “Yeah, I com-
mitted a lot of heists. To get money, you
know. I wanted the easy buck. I guess the
easy buck comes the hard way sometimes.
Now I suppose half the police department is
after me.”

Powell glanced out onto the street and saw
a procession of squad cars streaking silently
past. “Half the police department?” he ex-
claimed. “It looks like every cop in town
is around here.”

Carpenter strode to the window and looked
between the slats of the Venetian blind. “Boy,
oh boy,” he said, “I sure have myself in a
tight spot.” Then he whirled around and
ordered:. “Turn on the television. We'll see
what’s cooking.”

Hunched in a chair, his revolver dangling
from one finger, he watched a newscast which
was devoted exclusively to him. Newspaper
photos of the detective he had murdered and
the policeman he had wounded were dis-
played. Scenes showing officers hunting him
with machine guns were shown. His own
picture also was flashed on the screen and all
citizens’ were urged to maintain a sharp look-
out for him. ‘

“That’s a good likeness of you,” remarked
Powell. “I’d know you anywhere.”

“This is a dead giveaway, like a brand.”
Carpenter lovingly fingered his neat mustache.
With a sigh, he said: “Well, I guess it’ll have
to go. Get me a razor, soap and hot water.”

While Mr. and Mrs. Powell watched, he
shaved off the mustache. ,

“Do I look different now?” he asked.

His appearance was not really greatly altered,

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eatly altered,

but Powell lied to keep him happy. “Yeah,”
he said, “you look like a different person.”

Powell, who weighs 225 pounds and has
muscles of iron, itched for hand-to-hand
combat with the outlaw, who tips the scale
at only 170, though wiry and powerful. But
Mrs. Powell sensed the thoughts that were
passing through her husband’s mind and
whispered to him that resistance would be
foolhardy.

“Remember he has a gun,” she warned.
“Think of the children. You wouldn’t want
them to be without a father, would you?”

Powell realized that she was right—realized
that he would only expose his wife and chil-
dren to even greater peril if he tried to
disarm the killer.

ARPENTER became aware of the low-
voiced conversation after a few moments.
“Nix on any funny stuff,” he warned,

lifting his revolver. “Don’t forget I killed a-

copper and I'll fry if I’m caught. But they
can burn me only once, so T won’t hesitate
to kill again. Keep that in mind, my friends.
Never forget it for even an instant.”

As he spoke, he walked restlessly back and
forth, sipping from the milk container he’d
taken from the refrigerator. ?

“Pye been afraid to go into a restaurant
for the last couple of days,” he said. “I’ve
been living on hot dogs and pop I bought
from those street peddlers with the little
wagons. I used to like hot dogs and pop when
I was a kid, but I’ve had so much of them
lately I’m sick of them.”

Noticing that Mrs. Powell had closed her
eyes, he urged her to go to bed and get some
rest.

“J didn’t close my eyes because I’m tired,”
she told him. “I did it because I was praying.”

“Praying for what?” he demanded.

She gestured toward the bedroom in which
her two small children slept. “Praying that
they'll escape harm,” she sighed. “You ought
to do some praying, too.”

“Jt’s no use,” he said. “The cops are praying
that they’ll catch me. God wouldn’t bother
with my prayers to escape.”

As the long night of terror wore on, Car-
penter often talked of the alternatives which
faced him.

“Tf I walked out of here now, I wouldn’t
last five minutes,” he said dispiritedly. “Those
flatfeet wouldn’t give me a chance. Even if
I tried to surrender, they’d plug me.”

“Telephone a priest or somebody like that,”
urged Powell, hoping for a way out of his
terrible dilemma. “If you gave up to the
right party, the police wouldn’t dare harm
you.”

“Maybe not, maybe. not,” muttered Car-
penter. “But then it would be the electric
chair. And I sure don’t want to burn.”

During the sleepless morning hours, Carpen-
ter learned through apparently aimless con-
versation that Powell was employed as a
chauffeur for the Willett Company and started
work at 7:30 A.M. daily. :

Shortly after dawn, Carpenter broke an
hour-long silence with the amazing announce-
ment that he wanted Powell to go to his job
that morning while he remained hidden in the
apartment. d

“Tf you don’t show up, somebody might
get suspicious because you live in the neighbor-
hood where I was last seen,” he explained. “So
get moving, Buster, and remember what'll
happen to your family if you snitch. You got
nothing to worry about if you play along

with me. Nothing at all. And I promise you
I'll be leaving here after dark.”

At 6:30 a.M., Powell left. He passed many
policemen on the street, but said nothing to
any of them. As he drove his truck that day,
picking up steel at mills, he tried hard not to
show signs of the apprehension that gripped
him.

Back at the apartment, Carpenter allowed
Mrs. Powell to dress and feed the children
when they awakened. He remained out of
sight in a bedroom with the door ajar until
they went out to play in the rear yard.

“They don’t know I’m here now,” he said,
nervously, “but they’re liable to mention I
was around last night.” .

“Diane was asleep and didn’t see you and
Bobby has forgotten,” Mrs. Powell assured
him. “They’re used’ to having Leonard’s
friends in now and then.”

At about 9 a.m., Mrs. Powell’s mother, Mrs.
Mary Karolkewicz, came up from her first
floor apartment in the same building. Car-
penter hid in a bedroom.

“Did ‘you hear about the terrible shooting
at the Biltmnore movie?” asked the older
woman.

Mrs. Powell nodded, wondering what her
mother would say if she knew the criminal was
hiding in the next room and listening to the
conversation.

“That fellow Carpenter is no good,” the
woman went on to say. “I hope the police
take care of him good.”

After she left, Carpenter commented: “Your
mother isn’t one of my admirers, is she?”

Later, Mrs. Karolkewicz called up from the
backyard. “Stella, come down here where it’s
cool.”

Carpenter, who now seemed confident that
Mrs. Powell would not betray him, instructed,
her to join her mother. :

“J know you're too smart to try a double
cross,” he said. “You realize, I’m sure, that

-if I didn’t kill you and the kids, I’d bump off

your mother and father.”

Believing that Carpenter was watching from
behind the curtains in the second-floor kitchen
windows, probably with his gun trained on
her, Mrs. Powell spent an uncomfortable hour

- in the yard. But when she came up, she found

him dozing on the couch in the living room.

“You must really trust me to allow me to
be out of your sight,” she said.

“J do, 100 percent,” he answered. Then he
complained that there was no. food in the
refrigerator, “And I’m hungry.”

“You ate everything I had last night,” she
replied. “This is the day I usually do my
shopping, so I never have much on hand on
Thursdays.” ;

“Well, why don’t you go to the store?” he
said. “I’m not stopping you.”

At noon, accompanied by her two children,
Mrs. Powell went to a grocery, a few blocks
away, and bought food for dinner. Everyone
she encountered was talking about the man-
hunt which had turned the neighborhood into
an armed camp.

“They say that Carpenter may still be
around here,” said a neighbor. “What do you
think, Mrs. Powell?”

“By now,” she answered, “he’s far, far

away.”

She pondered whether she should notify
the police that the desperate outlaw was alone
in her home, but decided against it, being un-
willing to imperil her parents and neighbors
who might be injured if a gun battle took
place. ‘

hints * é

At headquarters, in the meantime, Lieuten-
ant Lynch expressed the firm belief that Car-
penter was still in the quarantined area.

“He was on a roof last night,” he said.
“Maybe he’s hiding on another one now.
Searching all of them with ground forces is
pretty tough. He could see them coming and
hide in a chimney or ventilator. But I have
ati idea... .”

Calling the Glenview Naval Air Training
Station, he secured the loan of a helicopter,
which picked him up at Meigs Field on the
lakefront. Piloted by Navy Lieutenant Robert
Brower, the aircraft skimmed low over the
Northwest Side’s jungle of alleys, streets,
factories, homes, railroad tracks and weed-
grown prairies.

Lynch, equipped with a walkie-talkie,
studied the terrain through high-powered bin-
oculars and kept in touch with machine-gun
squads which had squares of white paper
affixed to their car tops for identification
from above. But he sighted nothing suspicious
in the sealed off 3.5 square mile section around
the Biltmore Theater.

Peering from a window of the Powell
home, the fugitive watched the helicopter
overhead and listened to a description of the
hunt as given by a radio newscaster.

“Man,” he exclaimed, “They’re looking for
me with everything but submarines.”

Another thing he learned from the radio
was that police planned to make a door to
door canvass of the congested neighborhood
that evening.

“That won’t work for them either,” he
observed. “I’ll just sit in the bedroom with
my rod ready for action. I'll listen. You'll
tell them you never saw me when they come
knocking on your door. You'll tell. them that
—or else.”

Mrs. Powell nodded with a sigh. “What else
would I tell them with you ready to massacre
me and my children if I don’t?”

When Powell came home from work at
6 pM., his unwelcome guest was waiting at
the door, his revolver in his hand. He grabbed
a newspaper that Powell was carrying and
devoured the contents eagerly. Big, black
headlines told about the hunt. Columns of type
described it and the shooting in the theater
on the previous evening.

“I guess I’m more important than Dillinger
ever was,” bragged Carpenter.

“What happened to Dillinger?” needled
Powell.

“They plugged him,” answered Carpenter
soberly. “He ended up on a slab at the
morgue.”

Mrs. Powell finished preparing a dinner of
hamburger, green beans, mashed potatoes and
coffee and served the gunman his portion in
the front bedroom, where he would not be
seen, before calling the children in for their
meal.

W HEN she went back for Carpenter’s
dishes, she found that he had scarcely
touched the food.

“Jt’s those damn cops,” he said. “They’re
getting under my skin. I keep thinking of
the electric chair and I lose my appetite.”

At about 9 p.m., Carpenter announced that
he had changed his mind about leaving that
evening. .

“Pm staying here until the heat dies down,”
he said. “I’d be crazy to make a run for it
now.”

Almost 23 hours had passed since Carpenter
had invaded the Powell home. The thought

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ups of rapists,
sn’t a pleasant
{ Dix must be

aper reporter,
‘rnoon at the
idmiration for

into the office
n McLaughlin

in the early
tures, listened

t her glasses,
d the captain,
ran, Captain.”
2 parolee and

‘ore he left he
you. I don’t
trying to go

ayer for you.”
viewed than
sad circum-
ably belonged

30 were men
; indecent ex-
: all-inclusive.

2d before her.
enant Martin
ned the sus-
job all of the
e kept saying,

le avenue of
picture wire,
at least 300
look at hun-
vers from the

fie

police files. Nothing seemed to bring results and the case
lapsed into the doldrums, so far as the public was con-
cerned, New sensations came along to take over the
headlines,

A coroner's jury returned a verdict of “murder by per-
sons unknown” at an inquest session. But Captain Mc-
Laughlin wasn’t a man to surrender. He assigned two of
his top men, Edwin Kocinski and John Scarnowski, to stay
with the Dix murder.

“You'll have other duties,” he told them, “but don’t let
anything stand in your way on the Dix case. If you need
time from your regular assignments, let me known. I have
a hunch you men will come up with something, some day.”

Kocinski. and Sarnowski watched the official reports
carefully for crimes similar to the killing of Dix and the
attempted rape of Miss Giddins. They saw her every few
days, or telephoned her, to learn if she had any new ideas
about the killer. They double-checked every crime in
which a .22 weapon was involved. And they carried with
them at all times the sketch of the fugitive drawn by
Sergeant Valanis, the police artist.

Months passed, and Carol Giddins’ terrible grief and
shock healed slowly. She and a fine young man, George
Houston, were married on June 11th, 1955. Carol still was
determined to do all she could to help catch the killer of
Richard Dix. Her husband, an understanding and sym-
pathetic man, agreed that to do so was her duty. Police-
men Kocinski and Scarnowski kept In touch.

The police robbery detail, meanwhile, was embarked on
a super-secret pursuit of a young man blamed for at
least 100 armed robberies in Chicago. He usually carried
two guns, he warned his victims they would be shot if they
disobeyed him and he fied from hig crimes on crepe-soled
shoes, f

The robbery men, under Lieutenant Frank Pape who
had killed eight desperadoes. in line of duty, finally got a
fix on this fugitive. He was Richard Carpenter, 25 years
old, an incorrigible criminal with a long record. Victims
of saloon, night club, gas station, grocery and, hotel
robberies picked out his photograph from police files. He
became the most wanted man—by the robbery detail—in
Chicago. .

Lieutenant Pape and his men played it cagy, with
authority from their top boss, Police Commissioner Timothy
J. O'Connor. Carpenter seemingly considered himself to
be a master criminal, immune from capture. Every man
on the robbery detail carried a photograph and description
of Carpenter. The order was to take him alive if possible,
but not to take chances. (3

The robbery detail kept secret the fact that Carpenter's
identity was known, for fear that Carpenter might disguise
himself, go into hiding or leave Chicago. Other depart-
ments of the police knew nothing of the manhunt. Word
of it was kept from newspaper reporters. The security
precautions worked perfectly—until the night of August
15th, 1955.

On that evening, Detective William Murphy spotted
Carpenter on a subway train, took him off at the Roosevelt-
State station and tried to put him under arrest.

The rest of the “‘Mad Dog” Carpenter story is well known.
He shot and killed the detective on the subway platform.
A motorist whose car he commandeered to get away
identified a police picture of the desperado.

Mrs. Carol Giddins Houston saw a picture of him in a
newspaper. It showed Carpenter with a small mustache
and she was doubtful at first. She talked it over with
her husband and they decided there would be no point
in going to the police at once, since the man who killed
Richard Dix and attempted to rape her had been smooth-
shaven, ook ;

Policemen Kocinski and Scarnowski talked with Carol
and she told them of her doubts. The policemen had an idea.
They went to Valanis, the artist, and had him draw a sketch
of Carpenter from the police picture, leaving off the mus-
tache. They then compared it with the drawing Valanis

had made of the Dix killer, from Carol’s description. They
were enough alike to be twins. Carol now made a positive
identification on the basis of the sketches,

A manhunt like the John Dillinger days now was in full
progress in Chicago. Sixty police squads were assigned to
do nothing but hunt for Carpenter,

Policeman Clarence Kerr spied him on the night of
August 18th in a West Side movie theatre. Carpenter shot
him through the chest and escaped through a side door
of the movie house,

The following day a young man who was a resident of
North Clifton Avenue, turned in a:.22 caliber revolver to
the Hudson Avenue District police. “I used to know Car-
penter and he gave the gun to me for safekeeping,” he told
them. .

When Kocinski and Scarnowski learned of the incident,
they got the gun and took it to Lieutenant Ascher at the
crime lab. The man, a respectable citizen, had no part in
Carpenter’s crimes. oes y . ,

Ascher fired test shots from the weapon but, as he had
predicted earlier, no positive comparison tests could be
made. The, barrel was sawed off so short that the slugs
were practically bare of rifling marks.

There were other things that pointed to Carpenter as the
Dix murderer, in addition to Carol’s identification by pic-
ture. Carpenter invariably wore crepe-soled shoes on his
crimes, He had been a taxi driver, which accounted for
his uncanny knowledge of North Side streets. His asso-
clates reported he had little heed for girls and that his love
life had been strangely lacking. That might explain his
failure to consummate his effort with Carol.

Capture came for Carpenter 23 hours after the Kerr
shooting and while the policeman (Continued on page 78)

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was near death. The bullet passed within
a fraction of an inch of his heart and sev-
ered a large artery in the chest, but sur-
geons saved his life.

Forty policemen surrounded an apart-
ment only a block from the theatre, Car-
penter had terrorized a family there since
a few minutes after shooting Kerr. He
surrendered as his hiding place was
sprayed with bullets,

Lawyers obtained a writ of habeas cor-
pus for the desperado. Under it he had to
be lodged in the Cook County jail and
made immune to any further police ques-
tioning or identification.

Mrs. Houston wanted to see him in person
before she made public her identification.
Since she could not view him in the jail,
Kocinski and Scarnowski took her to Fel-
ony Court on September 30th, when Car-
penter was being arraigned. She stood

searchingly at the prisoner's featuren,
watched his gestures and movements,

And then Carpenter, in handcuffs and
leg irons, caught sight of her. He gazed at
her for perhaps 10 seconds, Their eyes met
and held, They recognized each other. Car-
penter turned away and refused to face
her again. Whalen tried to get him to talk
so Mrs, Houston could hear his voice and
recognize it. But the prisoner kept mum
throughout.

“He is the man who killed Richard,”
Carol said after court. “I’m sure of it. I'm
positive, He knew me and I knew him,
There could be no mistake.”

The identification was a fulflling victory
for Kocinski and Scarnowski, after months
of chasing false clues and rumors. They
had been in on the gun battle in which
Carpenter was captured, too.

Carol went before the grand jury im-
mediately. On her testimony, Carpenter
was indicted for murdering Dix. He al-
ready had been indicted for killing Detec-
tive Murphy and for assault to kill in the
wounding of Policeman Kerr.

Carpenter is expected to go on trial early
in 1956 for the Murphy murder. If he
should escape the death penalty on that
one, he will be tried in the Dix slaying,

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(Continued from page 53)

“Where have you been since early eve-
ning?”

“At my job. At the Cafe de Paris in the
West End. I'm a waiter there.”

The dead woman's husband related that
he had left South Hill Park at about his
usual time on Wednesdays—around 3:30
the preceding afternoon. He had done one
small errand a block away from his place
of employment, then checked in for work,
commencing with the cocktail hour.

He only worked the cocktail hour every
other day, as fewer waiters were required
then than for the rush at dinner or supper,
And, because he had been on the early
cocktail shift, he had been allowed to
knock off at the exclusive night club
shortly before closing. He was tired and
had come straight home, as he nearly al-
ways did.

Crawford said, “If you were at your job
all that time, a considerable number of
people must be able to confirm it.”

“Oh, yes, a great number. I can give
you the names.”

“One of my men will attend to that.”

For three-quarters of an hour the de-
tective superintendent continued to talk
with and adroitly interrogate the slain
Hella Christofis’ husband. He learned that
Hella, who was 36 and of German birth,
had emigrated to England some 16 years
ago, in 1938.

It had been planned that Hella was to
return to her native Germany for a visit,
taking the three children with her to see
her parents and other relatives. This long-
anticipated trip to the Continent had been
scheduled for the approaching first week
in August. It was understood that Mrs.
Stylou Christofis would keep house for
her son in South Hill Park during Hella’s
absence.

According to Stavros, his wife was
pleasant to everybody and extremely well-
liked, It had not been too easy for her at

first, of course, with Great Britain going to

fi partly concealed behind Frank Whalen, an __State’s Attorney John Gutknecht = an-
assistant state’s attorney. She looked nounced. o¢o¢

vr office, an uu
Ww war with Nazi Germany and Hitler's big
j Am Not re | bombers raining death and devastation
td down upon the heads of her neighboring
Madwoman! Londoners, But Hella had never failed

In loyalty to her newly-adopted country,
She had labored earnestly in various war-
time pursuits, even while bearing her
first two children and Starting to raise a
family.

Since she had had no trouble then, she
had surely had none since. Her shocked,
unbelieving husband couldn't think of any
one who could be accounted Hella’s enemy
or suspected of plotting to do her such
terrible harm, he assured Crawford.

For the remainder of the night unl-
formed constables stood guard over the
Christofis house, to keep the prying and
curious at a_ distance. Superintendent
Crawford gave instructions to detectives
of his homicide detail, then drove to his
home to get a few short hours of rest while
awaiting the preliminary report which
would come from the autopsy specialists
at the earliest possible hour.

And when it was submitted, about 9:30
A.M., after a post mortem examination of
two hours’ duration, it gave some un-
expected findings. Mrs. Hella Dorothea
Christofis was, indeed, a murder victim.
But she had been strangled. Although bru-
tally bludgeoned, she had not died as a
result of this beating and she had not
been a victim of the fire.

“It seems fairly certain that death had
taken place before the burning,” Dr.
Camps, the chief examiner, deduced. “Even
as much as one hour before.”

A scarf had been fastened tightly about
the victim’s neck and death had been due
to asphyxia by this scarf, which evidently
had been cut off after the body had been
set afire. There was a fracture of the vic-
tim’s skull at the back. There were in-
juries to her face, severe bruises above her
right ear, deep lacerations on the top of
her scalp.

“All these injuries, except the lacerations
of the scalp,” declared Dr. Camps, “are
consistent with heavy blows from some
blunt instrument. The lacerations of the
scalp are consistent with a fall.”

From the nature of the burns it appeared
to the medical examiners reporting to New
Scotland Yard that “an inflammable liquid,
presumably petrol"—gasoline—had been

wa oak

poured over the vict:
consuming it utterly

The British police
tact and consideratior

public. And Crawfc
waited some hours bei
tofis’ neighbors to que
terrogation, however,
vanced. As soon as C
was given the nam
witnesses.

“There's an old lac
door who seems to k
was told,

The lady was 75 yea:
Isabella Boult had
countenance and calm :
distinguish many eld
She could not see the
investigator who now
cheerful sitting room,
ford’s hand in both
warmly, “This is an hc
the times, hear the wir.
Papers read to me. I kr
you do.”

“It’s all teamwork,”

Mrs. Boult remindec
of her affliction, her h
larly acute. At about
she heard sounds fror
den. Because of the la
fine summer night, sh.
an open window.

“I heard voices,” sh
and held down, yet q
voices. I regret I co
what was said. They
Ruages in that house,
and German.”

“I know,” Crawford s
intimation of nocturn
next-door garden he
further from blind Mi:

Another neighbor, Gc
three doors farther on.
impression gained by
had noticed the late g:
and he’d worried abo:
anybody burn rubbish
was the fire unattenc
spontaneous combustio:

“Just then—it was
twelve—I saw that the
fire was being supervise:
body tending it. They s
ing a dummy figure of
those models that dress
cided,”

“You say
sharply,

“I really mean—she.”

“A woman alone? Are

“No, sir. It’s a very
know. So I can't say I’m
I saw a woman tending

“You realize now, of
dummy you thought you
of your neighbor, the yo
tofis?”

“I realize that now,” P)
A typically conservative
ite, loath to “stick my no
ple’s private business,” h
gone up to bed and slep

Crawford's men, pursui
developed that there ha
amount of neighborhood
the unusual Christofis hc
the breadwinner, had a
one of London’s smartest
mother was a newcomer
53, but looking many yea
from a distant Mediterr:
spoke so little English th
miliarity was, in her cas.
of the question.

The Christofis youngst:
well-mannered, popular a:
la, their mother, the wife
described as “tall, dark-ha
ingly attractive.” But she,

‘they?’ ”

ORION:

|
{

tives did learn that when he got out of the
army he’d brought home a couple of
revolvers, like a lot of returning veterans.
He hadn't been in the army long, only a
bit more than a year. His kinfolk didn’t
know it, but the cops learned that Dickie
had spent most of his year’s service either
AWOL or in the stockade. He was dis-
charged as “undesirable.”

Dickie had been plying his bar ban-
ditry specialty more than a year when, at
1:45 a.m. on April Fool's Day, only 15
minutes before closing time, a_ tall,
slender, dark-haired guy, around 22,
strolled into the Wrightswood Inn on the
Northwest side of Chicago. He was wear-
ing slacks, with a sport shirt hanging out-
side his belt. The bartender told him he
had just time for a nightcap, and what
would he have?

The Kid didn’t say. He just pulled two
revolvers from under his shirt and cocked
them with a loud click. Down at the end
of the bar, a rookie cop, off duty and in
civvies, sneaked his service pistol out of
hits holster in his hip pocket, but The Kid
saw the move and swung his artillery to
cover him.

“Slide that gun down the bar to me,”
he ordered in a soft, mencing tone.

As the young cop hesitated, the
bartender urged him to do what the man
said, “I'll give him the money. I don’t want
nobody killed in here.”

The Kid gathered up the cop’s gun
and settled for the paper money out of the
till, only $60, and then he vanished like a
wraith.

“I never saw anyone run so fast in my
life,” the rookie ‘cop told Lieutenant
Frank Pape of the robbery detail.

Pape nodded grimly. - “Carpenter

Taking time out from the chase

ores:
3,

, fugitive holed up in this movie th
Kerr. Kerr tried to make arrest, was severely wounded for his trou

Sym :

again,” he said bitterly. “He’s pulled
about seventy jobs since the first of the
year. We've been looking for him for fif-
teen months.”

The files on Carpenter in the robbery
detail’s office had grown fat. Once he
took a saloon owner for $300 and was
gone before 25 customers in the joint
knew what had happened. Another time
he outran a fleet-footed bartender by
leaping into a cab and telling the driver to
“Get me outa here fast! I just got caught
with a dame by her husband and he’s got
a gun.”

“He'll kill someone before long,”
Detective William J. Murphy said as he
and other detectives conferred on the
case with Lieutenant Pape. “He hasn't
fired one of those pieces yet, but he will if
he’s cornered.” \

Murphy had no way of knowing he
would become part of the tragic fulfill-
ment of that prediction. Within five
months Detective Murphy would be
dead, with a bullet in his heart from one
of Dickie Carpenter's guns.

Before that happened, however, the
Chicago police tried everything under
the sun to catch The Kid. They had his
mug shot, and they flashed it on every
prisoner brought into the Cook County
Jail or the Chicago House of Correction.
They questioned ex-cons, pushers, call
girls and street hookers, madams and
‘pimps, stoolies and assorted underworld
hustlers who normally would sell their
own mothers to ingratiate themselves
with a detective. They tracked down and
questioned everyone who had_ ever
known Dickie Carpenter, going all the
way back to teachers he had in school
years before, classmates, neighborhood

Pare eur

; ome
etnias

folk, merchants, doctors, dentists, truant
officers—you name it. Nobody knew a
thing about him, where he was, what he
was doing, who he was running with, #
anyone. Every detective in Chicago was
carrying The Kid’s picture.

Then came the fateful night of Mor
day, August 15th. Detective Murphy, 4
years old that night in 1955, said goodby
to his wife and their two young childree
and left for headquarters downtown a
State and 11th Streets, to report for thes
p.m. to 4 a.m. shift. He took a bus to the
elevated line and boarded 4 train there. °
As it neared the downtown area, #
dipped underground and became a sub
Way.

At the subway station at State Street
and Roosevelt Road, a block from head
quarters, a crowd of people came mn
ning up the stairs, shouting like mad a
they scrambled to the exit.

“There’s a shooting downstairs! Call
the cops!” someone yelled. The cashier
made the call, then prudently ducked
down in the cage, just in case the gunphy
moved upstairs.

Lars Olson, stopped in his car for a
traffic light near the subway exit, noted
the commotion and was watching
curiously when suddenly a young gay
wearing a dark sport shirt and slacks
wrenched open the back door of tos
sedan and jumped in. “I just killed acop,
the young guy said, “and I’m ready to kif
you! Start driving and get me the hell ow .
of here!” He emphasized his urgency by
ramming a pistol muzzle into the back a
the car owner's neck. '

Olson, though terrified, did as he was
told. A few blocks farther on, his two-gus
passenger suddenly leaped out and was

eater, was spotted by off-duty cop Clarence
ble. “The Kid” stole cop's gun, disappeared

gone as quickly as he’d appeared. Olson
“went looking for a cop, told his story, and
15 minutes later he was at headquarters.
| He tned to cooperate, but it was dark, he
was scared, and he never really got a
good look at his armed passenger. But in
bes car, meanwhile, identification experts
were lifting one good palmprint and the
pnts of three fingers. The first card they
checked was Dickie Carpenter's. The
prints matched Carpenter's.

In the meantime, detectives at the
mbway station where the shooting oc-
cured had found Detective William J.
* Murphy dead on the platform, a bullet

trough his heart. Beside him on the plat-

form lay a mugshot of Dickie Carpenter.

Murphy's service pistol lay down in the

pi between the tracks,

» _ It was all too easy to reconstruct what
~ happened. “He spotted Carpenter on the
tain,” Detective Charles Bosquette
teorized. “Took him off here, pulled out
bes picture of Carpenter to compare it. In
fat instant he was off guard, Carpenter
him, kicked his gun to the tracks.”

As the Chicago police went grimly

» about the task of tracking down the killer

d one of their own, the Chicago Sun-
_ Times offered a $5,000 reward for infor-
* mation leading to Carpenter's capture,
i tad or alive. His description was on
* ery radio broadcast, his picture on
evision and on the front page of every

-hicago newspaper. Police were
“amped with tips, none of which led

. *ywhere. -
i But the sands of time were running out
for Dickie Carpenter. ‘Two nights
i ther Murphy was killed. Wednesday,
> Aegust I7th, Patrolman Clarence Kerr
* wesoff duty and he and his wife decided
®take in a movie at the Biltmore Theatre
i ® West Division Street. As they were
» ting the theatre after sitting through
film, Kerr told his wife he had seen
ter sitting in the theatre..*He
ed her to go to the car and wait
he. was going back to get

penter.
_ His wife went to their car and waited
*Vously for a few minutes, then edged
toward the threatre. Suddenly she
one shot, followed instantly by two

shots.
The frantic woman spotted a passing
®et-and called to him, asking the
5yman to go with her because she was
ad her husband had been shot in the

; They found Patrolman Kerr stagger-
Madown an aisle. He collapsed in the lob-
i yeSasping, “Carpenter—it was

=Penter— phone headquarters—it was
enter!” ,
tick medical attention saved the
Med officer's life, and from his
mal bed, Officer Kerr told detectives
hen he went back into the theatre
, - identified himself to Carpenter as
uer.and ordered him to come out to

the lobby. As they walked up the aisle,
The Kid pretended to stumble, hipped
out a snub-nose .38, and fired.Kerr return-
ed the fire. He was sure he had winged
Carpenter in the leg, but he got away.
Not until much later would all the
police in Chicago who were searching for
the copkiller know where The Kid went.
Minutes after fleeing the theatre, he in-
vaded an apartment only a block away at
gunpoint. He told the residents he was
Carpenter, that he’d just shot another
cop, and that if they didn’t do what he
said he'd shoot the truckdriver, his wife

‘and their two small children who lived

there. It was the beginning of a 23-hour
ordeal none of the hostages would ever
forget.

The young wife tore up asheet to ban-
dage the gunman’s leg wound. They
watched television constantly, and saw
and heard all the news bulletins on the
hunt for the cop-killer for whom every
police officer in Chicago was looking.
The young truckdriver, who was bigger
than Carpenter, weighed his chances of
Overpowering-~ their captor, but
Carpenter read his mind and warned:

Obstreperous while awaiting his trial,
bathe or shave; seven attendants were

Suspect Richard Carpenter refused to
needed .to haul him into courtroom

“Don't try it, pal. Think of your wife
and kids...” :

His wife mellowed the gunman when
she said at one point, “You seem like you
could be a nice fellow. I'm sorry you're in
such a mess.” a

The Kid told them he “didn’t want to
shoot either of those cops. They fired
first.” He also said, “If the cops don’t kill
me, I'll go to the electric chair.”

The ordeal dragged on all through the
next day, and the next evening, per-
suaded by the “argument that the
neighbors would become suspicious if no
one caine out of their apartment for so
long a period, Carpenter permitted the
young mother to take her children down
to the street. The fact that her husband
remained under his guns would insure
that she would not reveal the gunman’s
presence in their home.

And then, about an hour later, the
truckdriver, by virtue of a shrewd ruse,
managed to slip out of the apartment
himself. Minutes later the first of 30 police
cars came roaring to the scene and
seconds after that, the apartment house

(Continued on page 52)

Mat al

st gic So See

—

ee ie a

5 EAI pons Aaa

SS ME

{
'
1

“TUPn

—

{ For Theélectric Chair...”

1 = Z

r Ws : a a So
Detective William Murphy (i.) in referring to the bar bandit, declared: “He hasn't

shot yet, but he will if he is cornered. He'll kill someone before long.” Officer's
prediction was tragically correct—“The Kid” shot him dead on subway platform

E WAS ONE of those types
who seemed to invite a
nickname like “The Kid” long

after he had outgrown it in actual point of
years. Not that he had what’s sometimes
called a “baby face.” He didn’t. More
likely it was due to something a woman
spectator at one of his trials once said:
“You just want to mother him.” :

Just about four years before he killed
a cop, when he was being released from
his first stretch (a year for robbing a hack
driver of eight bucks, with a gun), the
warden was giving his routine going-
away speech to the group of inmates with
whom The Kid was being discharged.

“When you go out that door you'll find
two roads in front of you,” the warden
was saying. “If you take the right road,
keep your nose clean, stay out of trouble,
work for your keep instead of looking for
the easy buck, then I'll probably never see
you again.

“On the other hand, if you take the
other road—”

“Yeah, yeah, we know,” sarcastically
interrupted one of the old time cons in
front of him who had heard the speech, or
one like it, many times before. “If we turn
left we're headed for the electric chair.”

It was a line that stuck in The Kid's
mind, he would confide a few years later.

And every time someone lectured him
about the importance of going straight,
when they reached the point about the
options open to him, he used to fill in the
alternative mentally, saying to himself,
“Turn left for the electric chair.”

The.Kid was only 18 when he finished
that first year in stir. He promised his
family he’d be good, and he had been, for
a while. He went through a succession of
jobs, looking for a good one. The best of
the lot was driving a hack; with tips and
all, he was knocking down around $100 a
week.

But around the end of his third year on
the outside he began to do a lot better.
Wearing a pair of nondescript slacks,
with two pistols stuck in his belt and
covered by a sport shirt hanging down
over them, he’d walk into a tavern about
closing time. Before anyone realized
what was going on, he'd have everyone in
the joint coveréd with the two pieces.

In a way, his youthful appearance was
a plus for him. Everyone figured him for
a nervous kid who might get an itchy
trigger finger, so they believed him when
he’d say, “I don’t want to kill you, but if
you make one wrong move, I will.”

No one argued with those two guns.
They'd lay their money in a pile on the
bar, then step back. He’d stuff the dough

Oty “UT LNYVO

by CHARLES WALKER ~

Special Investigator for at
OFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES s

in his pockets then take off running”
soundlessly, in his rubber-soled shoes. He
could run like a deer, and he could scalea |
wall a foot taller than he was without ever
slowing down, and where he holed yy ¥
nobody knew. Or, if they did know, they 7
weren't talking. 5

The Kid was doing real well asa bar}
bandit, scoring for anywhere from $10)
to $400 or $500 a night, when he “work)
ed,” and he seemed to work about five
nights a week. For quite a while, the cops
were nowhere in their efforts to get a limes
on the bar bandit, due, understandably ®™
the confusion of witnesses who got ¢
cited after a long night of hard drinking
The lawmen got descriptions .on ay
given night from victims of the same gur
man that said he was tall, short, ave ‘
height; fat, skinny, chubby, stocky
redhaired, black-haired, sandy-hairedy
and bald; and his weapons were descr 7
ed as everything from a cannon to#§
peashooter. x

Oddly, however, everyone. alwayt
remembered what The Kid said: “I doa¥
want to kill you, but if you make a wrong
move, I will.”

So at least the cops knew it was the”
same guy, and in time, probably worki
on percentages in the descriptions, .
figured the guy they were after wass fet” 7
11, 175 pounds, dark hair cut short, with a
deepset dark eyes. And in due cours, 4
they finally put a name to that descr ©
tion. . ‘ 4

Came the day when they said, with ae 4
ifs, ands or buts, “We want Di
Carpenter.”

But Dickie was nowhere to be fousd
His relatives didn’t know where he w%
and they complained that the cops we
picking on him because he’d been bu :
once. Whenever they saw him he W¥ ©
good to his family. He'd buy things!

: “The Kid” had heard all the lectures
he kids, take them to the movies, 7 . . c , . =
rollerskating, give ‘em a good tne. Hes Many times and he knew whathis chances were inalife

never spent money on himself, exceptfot :
buying classical records. He loved that

see wg sr NE nae (Crime, but when he blasted a detective to kingdom come,
there was no turning back...

~~ Desperate as a cornered rat, gunman would not give up even when completely surrounded, was finally subdued by force

now. He was always pretty much of #)
loner, so there was no-.way of tra g
him through “known associates.” Dete™ ;

i
{

HES

t
lit

;

m meeting of the Bir-
No. 121 of the gajon

it Thuradey night. .
‘purpase im visiting the
of the South’ on this
Besides. making ®

Lpt the business: con- | &"*

vee 40 asRicipating. the
. he is: visiting em-
mployes of: the printing
Le nee pena
between the two,
t@ any theft £ find cos-
le in the:. country.)
hn she morgt shape it bas
fo partioulariy

however, seems ito be
if mot better than any

ee BS eS
ge eG ey

“9 Be Ae ae. cares yes
a ‘Assembly es f
-| /.Ettort X6 Obtain Dicatma-

rT
| cet
: tie

et
HEE
i

Ths Boe
pleased with prospects fer the schoo)
. The opening of Tuesday was well

b 4
"| attended.‘ The largest number of stu-
dents in. the histery’of the institute mar

triculated: aad @ number: of others are,
preparing. to eater soom, Those if
chargé of the school intend to plate:
workers over t county. to induce «4

who was ree
‘was

‘

a
>

. ln the opening. exercises. @ num,
of midisters. delivered brief ry
all special emphasis upon Spit-¢
ttugl treining.im connection wth the (ac?
tellectual... °-. LES) roby
Fey. president in ort Be he vores! 9
acheol propose that t wn if
now a wenlor high school shai) speed

gy be geveloped into a junior college

gradusly beimproved unt}! uiti-
shal}

heoume one of the hest”.
s #

Sotiie ee WU Phin SS SE a yay mpd
a ei > 3 Pe | a> ps3
as Drahaat sists: nil A RET
£} +)

art

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Dbdbatatctes
-_ ee

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eS en ag cae re oe
ri . she ve ~~ A

: aa he: Ne

Alice and Jimmie
ducks, coming slow!
stump, where the lady

thy: Season's
Now At

}

te Tren Crry _— ) Binders, CHAMPAIGN, ILL.

STATE OF ILLINOIS, as
County of npr ).

ene ae of. Ilinois,

: eg Seems, TERS Sete Nae eye
- before. me, , DR. . 1 “CAVENEE, Coroner, in ana for said County, ‘apon. view of the in

ABA te Chnw ve Sere

a ee

Bre Sure ee Re Be

Pies 3

_auly's sworn to inquire on the p par

“the death of, said_

aatiets Aas h ET- +e AGAR “andy whom,

ne oo Sa

eS the same was * produced; a in “what manner and when” _ ‘where ie said

= is
ee Beaty

3 irene

OP: Sets ie hast 0 5 Saree Gab sas ; crepe

ere: apes w

_IN WITNESS | WHEREOF, the said jury of Actiah inquest hereunto set their hands the cay and

CHURCH, Harvey, white, hanged

SP gr Lee Ste x

$ : : A
eg fan pang TE Re eas

Chicago, Illinois, March 2, 1922

! et
! nty'Be
eT -

Be Sat ns oe
ER} daw

eR De yt

wide et ee 4

and | mein ‘at.
4i@ay, and will then return immediately
.to:. Washington, to discuss , witu. Preai<

Harding
>“ While I have not yet’ been

| Sept, 44—-White.

jon ‘against

pend ees

g. for | dent and: other: officials de-
into?) tails to be: worked out at the conference.

otifled of my appointment on the Dis-

conference at: W

(the
the .o

foa.ia conviction that no international con-

Joudt that herieficial ef-
both ‘fa

ference. coul§ be held on Far Eastern

i C
eet i 4

- wg 2 am .
BLIGE ENCE POTD

erna tion

‘lton?: The “United States Shas decided | -

| te Timi larger conference here to
i

“q@ithout: consulting China. |-

The Jmmediate'weaction in Japan. how-
ever, to the firag-stories which linked
China with the gréat powers has been
such a@ to cause the Japanese to point
out in their. press and otherwise that
ne interests of the conference would
Detter served: if the major nations
fe: the rales of the conference, and
ted from time to time other coun:

Bast seemed to

| te’ explain ‘thelr views. .
It go: Meppened that Holland: Beh
sium were c ted .20

ace, it te mot
eines

Position.

be a member of

0, Biving

tion. :

‘hand information of ‘the most ‘optimis-|
pecial. | tic character. rein the
| Shoals proeposl :

| police,” telling .the: parta the three had

| volved-in the crime, isin: the custody | §
J of the police today: and is being ques- | ©
tloned to verify. easential ‘details ag told}:

aS we @ OA RT WN BU @ WME GS VDDD VTS Tas ‘ea
> 4 . ee ah aA

Daugherty. there at the. point of a gun
‘jafter:Daugherty,: Church: ‘and ‘Ausmus}

{ enma, 19" look : for: ed erty, suffered |;
Ja ‘almilar. fate. ‘

SS Nee .wwewes =

: ing ‘of the two viog inva, *:
l church's. garage,

: ihrer mits L Ante the <Desplanes River,
Parka said.

“| grand jury. as. the result,
«| inquest,’ speedy action in bringing |

c} when’ she learned of” ney, ee cont
sion yeaterday, .- oe

|e th,’ will be held at Equality Church,

to; receive paym

he pretended: he wis

Jate last: night,” confe:

aided: in committing: the crimes Dy. two

pececoplices 4 and implicated Leon Parks,

employed. in’ garage where = form:

erly /werked,. and Clarence.

another’ friend,’ as accomplices. ‘
‘Parks,‘ who bad. been: taken into cus-

‘tody” several days ago, when confronted

by Church,’ confessed.” according: to: the

played: in: the ‘two: murders.
he Wild third: man alleged to’ he':In-

murder, The only. reason . given;* by
Chareh in:- riginal. confession was
that he wished to obtain possession: of
the: $4,400: aatomobile: he was dealin

had driven to the Church home.’ Daugh~
‘handcuffed, bound. and «then

“Parks, in’ hie” "alle ed confession,
blames’ Church * with,

’The three dug a pity F grave.
where: they’: patied
Ausmus. They then ate supper and: ‘at
the nezt morning’ Parks and
took - Daugherty's ©

With - ‘Church. aiready:” haa aes inp

cane to’ tria}. was’ anticipated : today.
-Church's mother. today was in s cri
feat. condition’ here... having® colla

nilen. pouth * of ‘Rogkford,« in Coosa
Count

Jannouncement: has: just been made” by

bared the ‘real’ motive’ < of : the double et

‘5. arrite—it fhe ‘had: something
and mus
of.

Fel ‘blaming her? :

‘| Jumped off the. Brooklyn bridge,” or

| Something pathetic about it, too.

4 | Broa

Smnggle: Steel
ava Bo Pen

SHE: oper to be Wareatt

* Bhe wants to be a: DIR es
She's dying to see her’ name in ihe
Da, cra, and if she could’ only get: into
“Who's Who": she'd: walk the: @erth .in
&. perfect ecatasy «of: delight. :

“Now, Wo my: little - ‘friend | wanted: ‘to
to: say
AG: or. Durst. | 5
to” paint and : “must
and ‘BAiewn

It ‘ahe: w
nt or sicke!
if she had, in her the ‘genins: for
ting; if she everything in * the
of a drama; If her volce ached to
the: lines of ana great. dramat-

lovely ot® all tbe Bitte,” ‘ghe . eift of}
music...
1. What excuse. e would ‘the?e- be for

But she never thinks of any ‘of "Uneee
things at all. She’ has no divine gift
and no tormenting malady. 1g ex-
preasion. She juat ‘wants people. to look
at her and say:

- “There she ja—she'a - “the. girl who

“There's ‘the. woman. who “moyer eats
Shocolates."*
; Anything, anything. for attention!
8 Seagull Vearnings.
oo What a. strange, inexglicable thing. it
{e—this crase. for notoriety, There's

wi never see a little, vague, futile, in-
ept .person. longing for fame but I!
thinkin of & poor little boy standing in
“the street and crying because he could
not. fly Uke the seagull . which “roee
above his head and pent: Ate wild way
Out: to thé pea, .
The little -boy wasn't a seagullh—ne
Wea something a. good deat: better and
happier. - and a. thousand
imes ‘more useful.” But, no, all he
pould do waa to harken’ miserably

‘Weep’. beqauae~ he ar tnd Ol:

-X wonder: why ghe thinks 20. What ts}.
y there: about» the Hmelight: that fasci-
‘| nates #0: fatally; Lode many. pootisk liste}
: moths? ; ;

te.
t-3t? ihe had. been. born” with’ that moat h

lines. enthusias
American merc
It ts stated

Phas at<work a

accountants® se

_ | of accounting,
“| $80 @ day, with

tien of the:
thie force. will
the. total cost b
Other
Other charge

officials, shipp!:
fegrouped, : wit
created official
Placed over two
~ That. divided
large number o
Washington and
tricts has reat
confusion «in
shipe, bad routi
turn cargo and
sengers.
That America
fencouraged or }
foréign flags wh
were available
That a large
American , law
veraed in mariti
gaged and left f
to handle shippil
the board has
cotnsel and an
~ - favent
That in a ne
‘| board. property,
timated $1,000,0¢
cial employee .t
amall metallic
which tage can

‘may drop off, a

the present in
before, it ie co
Théeee are a
charges and crit
to the appropri
bers fram vart
other members o
man Madden, of
pected to invest!
all before appre’
the mnloping st

Pl year tl

the beating of xe wee forges winga and
the. earth... :

~ 10 COMP
+

BRYANT, Frank, white, hanved Pringfield, IL on December 18, 1908

Sgt ns yn A EIN NE DE ee ee

ee ce

N THE hot sun of that August
morning the city of Springfield, IIL,
shimmered with a promise of even

more heat to come. On the outskirts of
town an old house, standing well back
from the street, seemed to hide behind a
heavy growth of willows. Not a breath of
breeze was stirring as Chief of. Police
Wilbur Morris paused at the gate. The
decrepit old mansion might have been
painted on the landscape for all the signs
of motion or life that it showed.

Morris opened the gate which pro-
tested with a squeal of rusty hinges. He
was there following a telephone call in
which a man who could hardly speak
coherently, babbled out a story of murder
and savagery. He had identified himself
as a meter reader for the light and power
company who had entered the ramshackle
old place when no one answered, his
knock. What he had stumbled upon inside
had sent him racing to the nearest
telephone.

The house belonged to an elderly, ec-
centric but lovable character, Thomas
Brady. And for some strange and dark
reason, Old Man Brady had been mur-
dered.

The chief stepped up on the porch and
tried the front door. It swung open with
a creak. At that moment he heard a
crunch from the gravel path behind him
and turned. A quiet-looking man of
middle age was hurrying toward the -
house, his face pale and drawn.

“T’m Len Ollard,” he said rapidly.
“That fellow from the light company
phoned from my house. It’s right next
door here. I’ve been a friend of Tom
Brady for years. It’s horrible .. .”

“Let’s take a look inside,’ the chief
cut him off.

Ollard quickly removed his hat as they
stepped inside the musty hallway. ‘{Tom’s
in the parlor right here,” he said in a

WW, bee Mebee COE

/F 48

whisper. Chief Morris pushed open the_
door which stood ajar and waited until
his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the
shuttered’ room. From a broken slat a
‘single beam of sunlight struck through
like a golden finger. It rested on the faded
carpet and picked out a single gleaming
object—the pale, veined hand of an old
man.

Treading carefully, Morris approached
and knelt beside the body. Old Man Brady
had. been 79, a tall figure ‘dressed in
threadbare black. It was hard to believe
that anyone would have had motive to
kill him, much less kill him with such
ferocity, for his head had been crushed
with blow after blow of a heavy ax. The
weapon had been slung into a corner.

Morris rose to his. feet, not wishing to
disturb the body ‘before the coroner’s
arrival:

The neighbor, Ollard, shifted his feet
nervously. “Gosh, but it’s quiet in.here.
Never heard it-so quiet before. Tom was
always full of talk and full of fun. But
now it’s so quiet...” he broke off and
then: his glance darted around the room.
“Sakes alive, now I’ve got it—the reason
for the silence. It’s the clocks !”

OR the first time Chief Morris was

aware of a singular feature of the
parlor. It was jammed with clocks. There
were three on the mantelpiece, every table
held one or more. Some hung on the walls,
one great grandfather’s clock stood in a
corner. Yet every clock was silent.

Quickly Morris crossed. to a window
and threw open the shutters. In the burst
of sunlight the room lost some of its eerie
quality. But the veteran officer felt even
more keenly a note of something bizarre
and strange. For the hands of every clock
in the room pointed exactly to eleven!

He turned to Ollard. “Mr. Brady kept
these clocks running ?”

“Sure he did. Said they kept the house
from being so empty. and lonesome. He
‘was a pretty good mechanic when it came
to clocks. He kept them in fine shape and
they all kept good time. They’d pretty
near strike in a chorus on the hour and
that used to amaze people.”

“Then the clocks would have been run-
ning up until the time when this hap-
pened? I mean Brady wouldn’t have
stopped them himself for any reason?”

The other. only shook his head in
amazement. He was thinking hard. At
last he said, “I was over here yesterday
to see Tom. He wanted me to write a
letter for him. In the last few years his
handwriting has been so unsteady he was
shy about writing a long letter himself,
afraid it wouldn’t be read easy. So I used
to write some of his letters for him and

mes a Mn ai |

+
erie |
4
4
;
4
*

: eS
Bees
ES

The chief turned back to the mantelpiece. Care-
fully he inserted his finger and raised a lever.

ee een

he'd sign them. Well, last night—Sunday
—was the time Tom always wound his
clocks. If he’d been killed before he got
the chance they’d have run down. . .”

“But not all at the same time to the
minute,” Morris observed.

“That's right. They’re all eight-day
clocks that work on weights with pendu-
lums. They’d have run until today.”

Morris stepped to the mantel. Gingerly
he opened the case door of the largest
clock and touched the pendulum with his
finger. It’s regular tick, tock echoed
through the still room. “This clock never
ran down,” he said. “I’d give a lot to
know at what time these clocks were
stopped.”

“Maybe we can find out,” Ollard said
with excitement. “I remember Tom tell-
ing me once how you’ve got to be careful
when setting a pendulum clock that you
set the striking mechanism after you
move the hands around. There’s always
a little trip lever behind the pendulum
where you can adjust the striking.”

HIEF MORRIS turned back to the
mantel. Carefully he inserted his fin-
ger into the open case and raised aminute
lever. The clock whirred and then struck
a musical note. Then another. Both men
held their breath, counting. Seven strokes.
“There—that’s what I mean,” Ollard
said vehemently. “Those hands point to
one minute past eleven! That means that
the clock must have struck six and not
seven when it was stopped. So what hap-
pened here must have happened between
six and seven.”

Chief Morris tested this theory on the
grandfather’s clock and got the same re-
sult. But why had the hands been set at
the same hour, approximately five hours
ahead of the time when their owner had
been struck down?

The chief beckoned Ollard to follow
him and they left the house of death. The
hot sun outside was reassuring. They
closed the front door and went over to
Ollard’s house where Morris telephoned
the coroner. While waiting for him to
arrive the chief took up his position on
the front porch where he could watch the
old Brady place and make sure that no
one entered it. He took this opportunity
to question the neighbor about Brady.

However much mystery hung about
his death, about the life of Thomas Brady
there was none. The Brady family had
been one of the most prominent in the
community in years past, but their for-
tunes had declined.

Old Thomas Brady had lived in the
family home in the center of town until
the bank foreclosed the mortgage. The
property was sold and on the proceeds
after the mortgage had been paid off,
Brady had lived ever since. The old house
in which he died had been all he had
managed to salvage—that and his pre-
cious collection of antique clocks.

Brady was known as an eccentric but
benevolent character. Always a religious
man, he had in recent years become in-
terested in evangelism and had declared
that were it not for his advanced yeats
he might have become a _ revivalist

preacher. However, for his age his health
had been good. More, a heart condition
from which he had suffered had improved
to such an extent that the old man was
actually healthier and spryer than he had
been for over a decade.

He ascribed this improvement in his
health to his strengthened faith and gave
liberally from his very modest means to

missions and various religious charities.
On one occasion he had given $200 to a
home for the aged, joking that he might
have to ‘go on the county” himself
some day.

On another time he had put five dollars
in the tambourine at a street meeting,
saying that although he had little himself
there were others who had less.

DARING

T,
souls
“Tfat
right
helt
come
peop
old

voice

one of the most neighborly
souls I ever knew,” Ollard concluded.
“If anybody was in trouble or sick he was
right on the job doing what he could to
help. He always enjoyed having people
come and see him, and he liked young
people. He claimed that a man was never
old until he got so crotchety that the
voices of youngsters irritated him and he

DETECTIVE

said he had no intention of ever get-
ting that old. Now why do -you sup-
pose anybody would want-to kill a man
like that?”

The chief shook his head. “No telling —
yet. There are as many motives for a kill-
ing as there are people that the victim
has known, sometimes. Did the old man
keep anything valuable in the house?”

‘The clocks might be valuable to an
antique dealer, but that’s all.”

The arrival of the coroner’s deputy
ended the conversation. Ollard remained
at home to stay with his wife who was
much upset by the tragedy which had
struck so near to them and which had so
brutally taken the life of a close friend.

An inspection of the body only con-

PER To on pence pena ar st es

TAR CONFE3SI0N.
He was carried tu jail accused of the crime,
; That alterndou he confessed ty a minister wip
; Visited Dum, und am Novemwver 1, at Nis preiminary
examination, he confessed tu a cunsidersbid
;. audience of peuple. ‘Ihcre js nu doubt vu at toms
| time he Was guilering from tie most acute re}
morse, Me wade tue iollowiug writteu CUBICZs
4 Vavparia, Il, Nov, &® 1 |
| On Tharsday night, the 29th of Oc uber. B74 at aboug
halt-past eighe o’clock, Eojett Vandalia with a ing
named Waller Jurner, went east on the Vandalia roa
; aAbuutone mile anda halt from Vaidalia. ‘bie bested
1 Was watched and «aaried by 2 ma@ panied J. Ww,
Kobbins He and I bad sume diMicuity abo. a un, og
whe charged we with Anne the gun, JT went under uid
trostie work to a biirroak bush, about twenty otros
from where Robbing wae sitting af @& Wendow
in the bridve houw. YT shor Robbins from thig
bush with adoubve-varrelled shutgau., Purner atood af
ny left side with a revolverin mv tace, saying that at {
dil not shoot Roupins be would shevtine. He (furuer,
swore he lad made mauy ado'ar wich bia cevulver and
intended to make More. TL abot both Darreia at oubina,
The first snotia the one that Killed Kobbina; the second
shotdid no execution, Kobbinn said, “Oh, my God. Tai
shot! and praved. NAITMANIEL BURG Ups,
AN AROUSED CONSCIENCE. !
In addition to the above cunfession Burgess
sarc (hat the motive for the crime was bota ie;
vense and plunder. kobbina lad jart been pai
ow by tae railroad company aud nad $50 ip Cie
fi bis ponses-fon. He also related tuat when ny)
fired at Kobujus ke waited # Inoment and then
rushed up to the hut to accomplish the rotiverny
By this thine Bis victim bad risen to his koeed

aud Was praying. As Burgess got tu! |

tne door the dying man sud, “0 Gor,
Nave Mercy: on the wretched being whu
has thus Violently Bent my youl td
| your bosom.” Horror sctzed the ussasain, and,
| appalled by what he bad seen and heard, be ned
precipitately into the wouds. He first went tu
nis father’s house in the amei#hvorhood. But he
could Dot sleep, A Durridle vision natatet his
eves. Me got up aud bid the gun (woica was, to
deud, the vneihe had stulen from Rooblun) and
taen went vack to ved. but the phantom sit!
hauated nim and the prayerol the expiring vic;
tim = centinually rung io ais eara The
nexé day the apparition atill followed
him and he fed to the woods, Whonid
secreted in the woods, a sudden desire to onca
more behoid Bis Victim seized bin. Tais singulas
lumpulse Re could Mot resivt, and Wus on Lin way
to the joquest when met oy s suminons. He pro
feased great remorse for the deed, aud expresned
A perfect Wilkimzucas tu suder tae peaaty Ul tue
law.

— sees empeeeene

* Johnson County Journal
Vienna, Illinois
July 5, 1878

A.H. Burklow Swings off into Eternity

The original horison had scarcely been illuminated by the rays of the morning sun,
when the people from all points of the compass begun to pour into our little village until
its by-ways and hedges were crowded to their utmost capacity; nor did they cease coming
until he had reached the zenith of his height. It could not have been anything but idle
curiosity that called this large concourse of people, as only fifty, including reporters and
ministers, could be admitted to witness the execution. The scaffold was erected near the
jail door. At 2 o’clock, Sheriff Carter and his deputy, W.R. Wiley, lead the prisoner to the
jail door, when he stood on a platform at the head of the stairs and spoke as follows:

“T haven’t much to say. I did think I would make a long talk, but it is hot. I will say,
friends, that this is a hard sentence I have got. I further say that this has been stated in the
papers as well as I can state it. I have been treated very bad by some. I hope God will
forgive me for all the sins I have done. I have no malice against any one.”

He was then lead to the gallows, where his spiritual advisers, Revs. Field and John-
son conducted devotional exercises. The prisoner knelt in prayer, and while singing the
second song: “That awful day will surely come,” he showed considerable feeling, but did
not shed tears. His arms were tied; then, shaking hands with all on the scaffold, he stepped
on the trap-door, where sheriff Carter placed the black cap over his head and adjusted the
noose about his neck. W.R. Wiley then cut the rope, and he dropped at 2:20. At the first
minute his pulse beat 66; second, 36: third, 60; fourth, 30; fifth, 54; sixth, 108; seventh,
108; eighth, 72; nineth, 78; tenth, 54; eleventh, 72; twelfth, pulse impreceptable; thir-
teenth, 78; heart beat, fourteenth, 90, very low. At 25 minutes he was pronounced dead;
at the 30th minute he was cut down and placed in a coffin, and the remains turned over to
William Burklow, the prisoner’s nephew.

So ends the chapter. Burklow has paid the penalty of the law. But whether society
has been improved by this inhumane act is the question.

BURKLOW, A. Harrison

White, hanged, Vienna, Ill., July 5, 1878, Had mrdered
David Wagoner at Furman on July 5, 1877, They were both
employed as laborers at a sawmill and had always been

on friendly terms, On July 4h, 1877, both had been
drinking and they had some words, The next day Burklow
met and shot Wagoner near the mill in ppite of the appeal
of the latter for mercy and without further provocation,
Burklow maintained remarkable coolness and made a brief

speech from the X¥XX gallows,
NATIONAL POLICE GAZETTE, July 13, 1878 (2-l)
Rpplealed and affirmed 89 ILLINOIS 123

A Cold Blooded Murder Expiated.

Catgo, ll., J aly 5.~A. Harrison Burklow was
hapged at 2:30 o'cluck this afternoon at Vienua,
Ul, for the murder of David Wagouer at Fur- °
an, just one year ago. The crime. was ove of
‘the most deliberate and cold blvoded ever r:-
corded io this portion of the tate. David
, Wagoner and Burklow were employed as laborcis
| &¢ 8 saw mill, and had always: beeu on the bist
(-Of terms, On the 41h of July, 1877, both bad
been drioking and had gome words. The neit.
day Barklow met and shat Wagoner near tic
mill, in epite of the Sppeal of the latter fir
meroy, and without further provocation, « .
~~Burklow made a abort 8peech-on the soaffult.
‘after which the black oap wag placed over Lis
| face. He fell nearly six feet, and hie peck. waé
broken, Burklow exhibited remarkable coc:
nees throughout, though there was nothing of

| the bravado in his conduct.

w/| ~€4 L . v OA a

ythe premises. Take the fect that
‘Tobia - : in shooting Albers. was acting
under one of the _ moat powerful
provocations, that cau frenzy a human heart, the
dieoovery of the infidelity of hie wife, and tho
other fact that euch circumstance hae been
‘Admitted time and again in courte of Justice to
‘be & palliating one, a0 often. indeed, as to be
virtually recognized as a justification of the deed

{ia law, that numerous cases may be mentioned
|} of men ina higher walk of life who have not been

deprived of life or liberty for a precisely simi-

"| lar offense, with nothing whatever to cntitle

oe ere nee bs

hae

them to auch special dispensation tu kill udleas

'/i¥ de-their:superior wealth® or social standing.

‘Where, then, 1¢ may well be ‘asked, ia the | JUetice
in thie special’ severity in the case of the
humble, bat tried and true soldier, Michael
Tobin ?. Ie nut his life worth as much -in the
peyes of the law? Or-tenortte howor of his ome
‘acknowledged to possess the va'ue of that of
more luxarious ones that his life should be for-
d because he has aveuged its desecration as

long a8 men remain. men?

‘a humbly eubmit that these qaestions merit
the careful consideration of the legal authorities
and of the public, and we trust they may speedily
receive it to the effect of saving the life of thie

brave, bat vufortunate veteran,

Opening of the Fe cas,
(Subject of Hlnstration.)

Our artiet has given on the first page a spirited
and pleasing picture which needs no explana-
tion. The season, delayed almost beyond prece-
‘dent in the memory of the present. generation,

en | has opeued with a fervor that appears to aim at

aon: -our-ennusl-share_of tropical weather.- The |

past two weeks have wituessed a. hegira fromthe.

heated walks of the city to cool, rural nooks,

; | and the invigorating atmosphere of the eea-side,

that bas been all the mure tumultuous for being
80 long delayed as to cause the presence. of the
favored ‘ones of the world amidst their toiling
‘brethren and sisters at an unwonted time.

So rapid has been the clearing out that already
the city has assumed its orthodox; mid-eummer.|
-air.and ie divested of all but the regular. corps.
of workers to whom all seasons’ are, alas, alike

the othera in imagination to where the roar of
Ocean falls with a musical cadence upon the ear ,
accustomed to the- routine of city sights and |
sounds, where lis rubust breath breathes new life”

mer e0journ will be alive for weeks to come with

air resound with feminine shricle and sali very

leaghter.

. |_The Gravesend Poisoning Case.

Oa Tuesday, 2d inet., Ooroner Simms, of,
Brooklyn, concluded the inquest in the case of
| Mrs. Maria L. Hubbard, of Gravesend, who died
on June 18th from poison in some lager beer
which she drank. Mr. Hubbard was not present |

er men have done and as other men will do‘as |

making up in degree what we have lust of length |

Harris hen said, TT will jeave it to thie gentle-
man if you do not owe we an apology.” ‘he
gentleman thought that he did, and eaid «0:
Moore again refused to spologize, and Harris
applied the aame name to Mvore, who slapped
Harris in the face. A ecufile eneuod, and Muore

of a pocket-knife. Moore was carried Off to bed,

but afew minutes developed the fact that it was
bound 4o prove fatal, Jobo Harrie is » son of
Nim. Garria, ex-Sherift of Mercer county.” John
Moore is from Lewie county, Mo., and closely
related to Jobu Glover, of St, Louis; He ie now
one visit t. Dr. Tum Kyle. There is much ex-

——
Anshan mdevians:mcshery!:”

Troy, N. Y., Joly 1.—Thomas Buckley, treae-
urer of the Hosiery Mille at. Albia, drew $3,000
from a bank this morning, intending to pay ot!
the operatives at the mill for the month of J une,
He entered a street car about.ten o'clock. Two
men also gut on. at different points. “A livery
hack followed the:car.. When the outskirts of

arm under Backley’s chin, turcing his head back
Over the seatand preventing any outcry, Au-

other hastily abstracted the package of money.

from Buckley’s pockets. There were fourteen
| passengers on the car, but the robbery was tuo
, Sudden and adrvit for interference befure the
; men had jumped from the car and into the cui-
riage, which was close bihmd. Mr. Buckley
drew a revolver aud fired several times at the
thieves, but failed to stop them. One of then
| ahot back, but without effect.

After driving furiously for some distance the
robbers abandoned the coach, divided the money

the woode. The carriage was stolen from th:

railroal depot an hour before the theft. Chic!
of Police Markham and about twenty special
policemen and detectives have been engaged
since in ecouring the sur. ounding country, but
have not yet made any arrests, Great oxtite--

ment prevails in this city over the be trans-

action,
Se

in the matter of labor. ‘These cannot but follow,

into jaded systems, and where the hard, pebbly ©
| floor of the beach at the favorite places of sum-

‘gracefal forms of female beauty, striving with:
| dainty timidity to familiarize themeelves with:
| Ocean’s boisterous caressings and making the

A Cold Blooded Murder Expiated.

Catgo, ll, Jaly 5.—A. Harrison Burklow wos
hapged at 2:30-o’cluck this afternoon at Vienus,
{il , fur the murder of David Wagoner at Fur-
man, jast one year ago. The crime was oue vf
the most deliberate and cold blooded ever r.-
corded in this portion of the state. “David
‘Wagoner and Burklow were employed as labore! §
ata saw mill, and ‘liad always beeu on the kis!
of terms. On the 4th of July, 1877, both had
been drinking and had some words. The next
‘day Barklow met and shat Wagoner near !!.«
mill, in epite of the appeal of the latter ft
meroy, aad without further provocation.
-Burktow made-e-short-speect on-the-scaffo!
atter which the black cap was placed: over lis
face. He fell nearly six feet, and his neck was
broken. Burklow exhibited remarkable coo:
negs throughout, though theré was nothing :!
the bravado in his conduct.

was stabbed in the stomach with the small blade |

‘and hie wound at firet pronounced not serious, 4

‘Citement about the niatter, both ‘partice-having.......
ined Sends, Harris gave himself up at once.”

the city were reached one of the men thrust! is ~

aud disappeared in differ ent directions”throwrn —

, ee
in the face, ©

FIGHTING WAS QUICKLY BEOUN.
Aimmernian plauted a well-directed aude
-blow upon Hmmet’s nose. Both men use
fiste pretty lively, although » little -wil
perhaps fifteen ur twenty seconds, Th
were abunt even, aud for that length
there was 10 disposition to interfere.
‘je the larger man of the two, being ne
feet'in height aud well proportioned. /
man, though of shorter statare, is. stoc
muscular. ;

After the surprise of the first mipy
‘paseed away, it occucred to several ot th
~ present that Ewmet had been bouked
firet act of the performance. Bo befure
~ teat. had been-carried to s decivive issue

“en were Ly yarated.. y thie time Add

" Qairk appeared: “The fighters had edge

way into the lobby uf the theatre and the
or so much of xt as could, with them.
Allen and other friends of Aimmerman
geparated the men, pushed their man i
Union Place Hotel, and locked him in hi
The officers, at the request of Mr. Pals

> gan tu clear the lobby and. asked who

the disturbance, Sume one pointed
“Emmet, who, bleeding profusely about ¢
was tryiug to make his way into the bo

The officers promptly arrested him, »
“were driven in coupe to

‘ THE MERCER STREET POLICE STATIO!
Sheridan Shook, John T. Raymond, Ja
Culluugh, Thomas Riggs and other frie
lowed in carriages. Scveral of the part

- direction of Manager McGuuley, went di

Captain Byrnes’ house, hoping to ee
immediate release of Emmet. :

In the police station a. charge of di
conduct was entered againet Mr. Eam
face was washed and bis slight wanno
dressed. He- wore se conspicacus-—lig

‘which, by bis copious bleeding at the n

become sadly unpresentable. A carri
sent to his hotel fur a black coat, and
brought clean linen and a neck-tie for hit
the party and Captain Byrnes went to th
son Market Police Cours. It was learne
ward that Zimmermau’s friends had
Officer that he would be in court ton
complaint. This was not the intention
gentieman, however. He got into @ cab
deen quietly smuggled out of the hotel,
Allen and another friend drove. into th
borhood of the police atation, The thi
went into the police station to learn how
progressed, as Zimmerman thought
might be arrested. It was his inten
- friends said, if there was a difficulty in ¢
present himeelf and say. that he wished
NO. CHARGE AGAINST EMMET.
It was recess when the Emmet party
the court house, and messengers were
haste in all directions to find Justice
who, otherwise, would not return until 3

~ “—He-was soon found-and-ae-Zimmerman

appear, Officer Quifk was compelled
the charge ot disorderly conduct, enter¢
police atation.. The examination waa co
in the Justice’s private room, and after
cer had been closely questioned it was

< phils aiid St Leals packet company lize,
< ead wos Inytng ot the wharf’ in this city
i whea Campbell soaght and obtained em-
5 perryrt trol ek she St

Leaila. =>"

, Bae exada the trip from Cairo to Mem-

Csiro, Campbell

‘inkl Bia partner, and another negro deck-

“ band knows 29 “Steve,” went to Doyle

end demanded pay for the time they bed
bean taboriag oa the boat.

3 ~ Dayle it seems told them that be would

‘pay off bo more men. until fhe boat bad
. mede the roand trip, (from St. Louis to
“Memphis and return to St. Louis,) and
‘ thas if thoy left the boss before reaching
, & Leate they would forfeit their pay.

Although they wore much disappointed

_ et not receiving their pay here, they con-
claded to goon to St. Louis. .

Shortly after the above took place, a
laden: with coal for the Grand
ower came alongside, and the deck-bands
were ordered to put the coalin the boat.
Campte!l! went to the rear of the boat af-
ter w shovel, procariig which be started
‘to gd out to the barge to
go to work. - But-oa bis way
he wee met by the captain of the watch
who eaked hia if “he bed bad any trouble
with the ‘old mei,” (meaning Doyle)

apd at the came time added that he (Doyle)
bad just driven “titeve” (Campbell's part-
ner) from the boat. Campbell said be had
pct bed any trouble with Doyle, and
started for the barge. Bat be hed gone
but a fow steps when be was mot by
Doyia, who wanted to know “where be
was golog with that shovel.” Caurpbell
replied that he wes going to help put the
Ytoal om the bost. Doyle thea ordéred
~ him tu give up the shovel, and, go. “deck
. oashe boat” Campbell, fearing that if
he gare up the shovel to Duyle that he!
>. would strike him with it, retained bia hold |

the handle, and succeeded in getting Jt

. torua, bat before be could get out of

q Deg W's seesh,, wie: Aerenk. on tee Does
- with the blade ef the shovel.

eit Rees CAMPBELL LEFT TUE OAT. |

‘<hnd did wot not retara, Sroruy after
* this ocoursed, the Grand Tuwer, baving
Wansscted ell hee business af this place,
Wh for Gt. Loale. Camptell remsined ts
Was city and worked st odd jobs until the | «
Greamk Tower again, came to Taira

a ba heenetintorl get sad re

‘

Sie gonad Sacer Galen gs the Werle

end whee oa her wey back to StJ

" pm the handle. Doyle aiso took bold of |

tarned a “true bill” cbargin

—_ the willfo! marder of Doyle. S aes
TEE TRIAL ,
was eet for Monday, Augcst 4, 1873, aed
oa that day Campbell was brought into
coart. He was asked by Judge Biker
whether he hed counsel or the means to
procure attorneys to conduct his defense.
He replied that he bad neither and wished
the court to assign him counse).

~-Jadge Baker uppolated Judge Jobo H. |
| Mulkey and Hoo. D. T. Linegar as coun-
sel ta defend Campbell, and that they did
their full duty a6 such counsel is-known to
everyone who knows anything about the
trial. In fact too much cannot be said
in their praise for the manner ia whicd \
they, conducted tts Cale.

Hos. Wo. J. Allea, Hon. H. Watson
Webb and County Attorney P. H. Pope
appeared for the people. ies

oe SELECTING THE JURY. —

As above stated Campbell'strial began
on Monday morning aod if was about
noon Tuesday before | & jury was ob
tained.

ae or z
¥

| PE OPENING SEAECBES —
were made by Hon. H. Watson Wedd for
the prosecution, aud Hon. D. T. . Lineger

for the defense.
THE EVIDENCE.

- For the prosecotion only feur witnesses
were introducad. Mitchell Alexander,
and Geerge Young, colored men, and
‘stokare on the Grand Tower; and Chief
of Police McHale, and Dr. H. Werdoer
of this city.

Mitchell Alexander testified to Camp-
belil’s having came aboard the Grand
Tower and making enquiries after Doyle,
stating that be (Cempbell). bad @ “ bill to

seattle it for along time bat be bad never
bad. a -good chance;”’ but that “be in-
tended tosetioitthal sight.”
George Young saw Campbell on the
Grani Tower cartying a heavy elab; be
saw Campbell standing at the gaogway
of the wharfboat ; be also saw hi rua of
be boat after striking Doyle.

Chief McHale ewore to having arrested
Campbell] and,to whatte (Com pbell} est
| op thal occasion.

‘De. Wardner testified ds batlag—eoeet—
Doyleboth before and after bis death, and

This was all the evidece far tbe pote
cation. |

* ~ °

“i ‘yon Tas Dayesss |
there wag introdeced © mumber of ca-
ered men, old river “reustsboats,”
wo according to their own tosimony,
each hed ai some time ia his life been

’

| counsel, and eulogizing them for the eff-

‘Baker ordered the prisvoer: to be returoed

eettie with bim, that be bad wanted to/

foand guilty; the reasuns lor overrunog
the motica for s new trial e ntered by bis

elent manner ia which they had conducted
his casa, and remarking that the ‘court
hed appoloted the best legal talent at the
ber for bis defetee, and bad they beeo
largely feed they could not have dove
more furbim.” As fora new trial to be
grented by the suprgme coult oo... account.
of any error committed by the court, such
athiog was possible though aut probable,
for had thia court erred—at all, i was on
the side of the prisoner, who bad from
Grst to last the sympathy of the court.

It now became the painful duty of the
judge to Drannnnea the fatal waede that
were to consign Campbell to another
world; aod he counseled the prisoner to
taxe no comfort to Bimself that a uew
trial would be granted bim, or that exec-
utive clemeocy interfere, lat to prepare
to “meet bis God, fur in a few days he
woald be a dead man!’ The sentence of
the court was then pronounced, which was
tbat the prisoner be banged on Friday,
the 29 th day of August, 1873, between
the houre of 12 m. and l oclock pm.

BaCK To His CELL.
~ At the conclusion of the senteace Judge

to bis cell, there to remaio until the day
of executive. |
S + CAMPBELL.

“Since the craoclusion of bis trial we have
bad almost daily interviews with bin.
Generally be was in good spirits aod will-
ing to give any infurmativa desired. But
for the past week, and especially since
Tussday lacy with the exception of a sia-
gis dey, Wednesday, be has not teen sw
communicative andon one of two occa
sions bas gave us to understand that be
did not wishto talk to us or amyoae else
Although within distinct hearing of every
stroke of the hammer as they were applied
by the carpenters in putting up the ea-
closure in which he was to be banged, end
knowing what it all meant, itdid not seets
to badd him in the least. |

THR ERCLosURE +
In which Campbell was bung is situated
in the southeast corner of the jail-yard
and froats ‘any fect on Wesbingtoa ave
nue, by twenty-five fest on Tweatleth
street. Iti built of boards, eixteca fest
higt,and was without roof of covering of
anykind,
y From a deem ruaniag across the entire
width of the eacloeare aad restiag ca
and stayed by a strong joist, was sud-
peaced two iron pulliee—one at the end
of the beans and the otaer in the cegtre.

I deck dart om the Grand Tower. ‘They

BOG 280 Lad & Zw Liiguse some
communicative with thoes with whom I
was well acquainted, bot did sot want!
be bothered by newspaper reporters «
thoee who came to see bim ‘just becau

he was to be bung.”
It was cow nearly Sfteea minutes pe
ten o'rleck and the crowd outside was ot
growing larger, and it was becoming
parent that a titthe excitement “prevaite
THIRTY ARMED MEN.
“Ata few minutes pest tea o'clock
posse of thirty armed mea under cos
mand of ex-Mayor Thomas Wilson, we
marched intotbe jall yard, where th
were divided inty reliefs of tan men &
on lit om the euteide of the }
yard. © --
Chief of poiice McHale with the eat
police furce aiso arrived as stout the sa

time, and at oace forced the crowd to |
tire to the opposite side of the street, e
by order of Mayor Wood, closed seve
saloons in the vicinity of the court-bou
where it was feared too much Nquor *
being sold. :
CAMPBELLS SPIRITUAL ADVISERS.
Shortly after tea o'clock, Rev. Jacksoo
the African M. B. church of thie city
rived, and in company with Mra. Cac
bell, Mr. Jenkins aod one of two othe
proceeded to Campbell's cell, and st
engsged in prayer with him, This se
ice was continued for upward of and bo
when the mother of the prisoner b
bim ao last farewall, and took her depx
ure. The separation of the motber «
son on this occasivn waa truly efectia;
the mother weeping bitterly, and the ¢
whose life wasso soon to be forever b
ted out, speaking words of comfort +
cheer to ber. Mrs. Campbell wast
taken away from the cell, and taken
the house of a friend Ia the lower part
the city.

Rev. Jackson and che rest of the p
shortly after also retired and the ao
was loft alone. aie

‘Ie was now 11.20 eélock, asd al!

“ PRELIMIWAR{ES BEING PERIRCTE
for the last act of the terrible-——the
eution of the prisoner. Sherif Irvis
eovl and deliberate a+ we have “ever
bim, evinced o determisation which
truly commendadle—that of leaving }
ing undone that would tend to shorte
vafterings of the doomed mas.

, - “Tims ws wee Dis0,”

and the time of Willem Campbell:

— le now Secs than thiAy ininates.
- gma chow § anoct tw® Exciosur

deca Sateuve teh fre, ama all eyes

turned ia the direction of the entree

An inch hemp | rope weg passed. tbroagh

eh. ant ~% thea same

Cea ae MOVING TO THE OALIOWH —

a | W. Hall & Co. ve J. A. Mabry.

wet

Be hy ee At rd nf ‘
aia 3 bee is ab aed
bah be hal} age aNe 4

Ne a ee \
| was intondud to carry out tho roq ultgiments
of the Qonatituti Provisions are made
by this act under @xhich «@gorpofations for

1, Various purposes, therein specified, may be

pa olla by application to the Chancery
“otirts. As tothese corporations, the ob-
ect of the constitutional requirements are
iuficiently accomplished and provided for.
Phe objection to the act is confined to those
provisions in which the Legislature has

e assumed that power could be conferred on
the Chancery Courts to organize other cor-

ib porations than those designated and speci-
| ally provided for, In this respect, we are
|of opinion that the Legislature miscon-
o | ceived and transcended tho powers invested
jin them by the Constitution.” We do not
S| hold that a general law might not be so
r framed as to authorize the organization of
| COrporations for ¢arrying on any business
or pursuit in which tho combination of
1 | capital, ski) and labor might be desired,
but such general law should contain such

; an enumeration of the powers poe Bese

oes Lo be enjoyed by such corporations as
would leave nothing to the diserétion
g|of the Chancellor, and limit his

} action simply to the ministerial duty of re-
e | celying the application, and, when conform-
@|ing to the general law, ordering it to be
| spread i le his minutes, and then to be

| registorod, as required by law, We find no
3 | such yoneral provision {n the act of 1871

under which the Chancollor was authorized

l to organize the potitions as a corporate
body in the business of hotel keeping with
1) out assuming powers which vould only be
exercised by the Legislature,

Tho constitutional powers of the Logista-
tusze to devolve upon the Chancery Court's
jurisdiction to create corporations nnder
the act of January 80, 1871, was considered
at tho Supreme Court at the Soptember
t) terin, 1872, at Knoxville, in the case of C,
It was a
petition by Hall and others to have amend-
nents nmiule to a muacadamized turipike
| | charter, granted in 1806, The petition waa
domurred to upon the ground that ‘the
General Asmeinilty bax no power to delegate
authority to the Chancery Court to grant
charters of incorporation, or to amend
charters of incorporated companies asa
Y |} praved for. ‘The court held that the Con

j stitution explicitly prohibit the Legisla-

| ture from creating corporation by any
‘ Peet law, and as clearly directs tbat it
ris mall “provide by yeneral laws for the or-

i ganization of all corporations,’ to bo here-

ver-erauted., Atd f, was further hold that

ovistion has been made by the general

woot January $0, N71, for the organiza-

son Of corporations by the Chancery Court,
+) This law, says the Court, “is a general one,
extending to every case in which an appli-
eation may, or can be made for coporate
privileges.” By this language we under-
stand the Court to hold that the law
{| referred to contors upon the Chancery Court

no power, in any case, to create a corpora-
| tion, but that in every case in whieh provi-
|} xion is made by general laws, Hence the
court divs in Gonelusion: "Weare there-
fore of Opinion that the Chancery Court
has power uneder the net of January 80, 1871,
1) Cooorpanize corporations: for the construc
FS ion of Maacidamized yroded turnpike or
: (rank rodds the roads specially
provided for in secthonm 2 awetoot din
uary 80, 1X73,

haytrage

| But we tind ne poneral Taw either dar the
©} code or in Subsequent acts, which provides |
hor the creation of corporations for carrying
fon hotels, with the speemtio privilewesy to be
{ exerejsed, tiaiel dow Noostteh provissons
. for Che creation of sich cor orations tea bay
{ ] beer mando dey petenal Laws, it follows chuat
| Home steby ean bes cng send hy tho € tae
Hhoery Court tinetib Seame gonerap baw prs)
s | Ainge for sted corporations shall been
. | Acted. Neo oother thom qituisterial duties
jand powers can be constitutionally exer-

eised: ty Che Chancellor in omgriizing cor
{ | portions, nod therefore Chere was mo error
In the refusiatof Chancellor Cooper to pera

j¥n oappent, bis deeree is atirmed with
é4 costs,
t Ip is important as a matter of record
t and with a view to comparison as the

Cline from year to year, that statistics
be kept correctly. We, therefore, take
the liberty of correcting: the Appeal's
| statistics of oar most iiaiportant branch
t} of commerce, In its annual review,
| | published on the Ist instant, the Appeal
~‘vea the average weight of the cotton
ndled in Memphis last season at HW)
unds per bale, which at) ciphteen
, | cents and ‘fifteen mills,’’ (we presume
, | our neighbor means fifteen hundredths),
. | Shows, according to its figuring, a total
valuation of , $87,500,000,
| AvanaNonte in

Interests of our city may prosper or de-*

.pvard for in tlegs

& LINGERING IN BARIS

Sight-Seeing in the Finest City
in the World.

Versailles and its Antique Re-
mains of Royalty---The Tuil-
leries --- Pantheon --- 8t.
Cloud --- Gobelin.

PARIS, August 4, 1873,

EpITtokR AVALANCHE—Our third
day was spent

IN VERSAILLES,

some twelve miles from Paris. This
was formerly the second town of
France, having 100,000 people, mostly
nobility and gentry. The splendor of
this city undder Louis XIV, who had
Mansard to build him the palace and
lay out the parks and gardens at an
average cost of forty millions sterling,
ceased with the unfortunate Louis
XVI, for Paris, Louis Philippe had
it devoted to a museum for the glories
of the illustrations of France. ‘fhe pal-
ace js divided into thrée great divi-
sions. We went through some of
these once famous buildings, which are
filled with the -nost wonderful collec-
tlon of paintings relating to the history
of France. The chapel is one of the
finest we have seen, The ceiling is
eighty-six feet high, with magnificent
frescoes, and mosaic pavement of great
beauly.

The Grand Triagon is'a small palace
400 feet long, built by order of Louls
ATV, in 1683, in the grounds of the
park. It was the favorite residence of
Napoleon J, aud is the usual residence
of Queen Victoria when in Paris. Mere
are to be seen many of the relicajof the
former monarchs of France, showing
What royalty was.

PRESIDENT M'MAHON
and the Assembly@re now in session
here, but we could not even look in
upon them, Soldiers are seen drilling,
canbon are pointing out, and the sur-
roundings scens warlike,

The vardens are the most extensive
And untgniticent LT have seen. Sixty
wiles of yround are occupied by them
and the parks, There are eighty foun-
tains, some of them the largest ever

Mid These play only on Sundays —
other. only onee a qaionth, and the
whole of them only onee a vear Phe

Pearden= are kept in fine order, but the
| hundreds of statuary around (hem are
nepdected, Moss seerus to be yrowing
on thems. We felt “like ohe who treads
lone some banquet hull doserted?’
Whenever we wentover these antique
remains of royalty, vet they are grand
in there loneliness, ‘Phe orangery was
planted as hur back us 1420, is artistd
cally arranged in lure inelosures, 80 as
to dnove them in the houses during
winter,

We retarn to the city by the tram-
Way railroad, whieh iyo lurge two-
sfory omnibus runbing within andron
roiliog. On the top oof this we had a
fine view of the country along the
Senne, ft is densely populated, and a
good purt of the way is a villaye,

8T, CLOUD,

We piss St. Cloud. Tt is a pretty:
little Cowen, celebrited for its palace,
Which was destroyed during the war.
It wus the favorite resort of Napoleon
1, and has a park ten miles in eireum-
ference. AS we pass the gate Into the
city, a halt is made to sve if there fs

ale

which: can be used for various purposes.

any contraband, i! hie is a find::bou

Tit BiFGw AN

stone columns across
ch, the double track
Under it is a fine arcade

‘. | UPON THE wHo
I consider Paris the finest city I have
ever seen. Nature has done much for.
the location, and countless milliong
have been spent to beautify and adorns
it..The Academy of Music, near where
Tam writing to-night, issaid to be the
finest building in Europe. It is rapid-
pe rerovents from the devastations of
the war, and if McMahon proves sac-
cessful in his government, will soon re-
gain its former prosperity. The motto
“ LIBERTY, EQUALITY, FRATERNITY,”
is seen all over the city on the publi
buildings and man other pikbeae :

The position of Paris is very much
the same as that of London. The Seine,
over which are’ built twenty-five
bridges, divides it in the same manner
that the Thames divides London. The
form of Paris is nearly circular. It is
entirely surrounded by a fortified wall,
at the different gates of which the cu3-
toms are collected. It hus twelve pal-
aces, forty Roman Catholic chure 68,
sixteen Protestant, one hundred orna-
mental fountains, thirty-eight markets
and twenty hospitals. "Its ulation
is about two mi ons, one-third having
been added in the last twenty years.

For those whose Inclination Idads
them to fashion, amusement, music and
gayety, Paris affords more facility than
any other city. The citizens are tntel-
ligent, polite, affable; and partial to
Americans, Who were under many ob-
ligations to France in the. tiie of her
greatest need. I gazed on the noble
Lufayette the other day with much in-
terest. Well do I remember seein
him when he visited our country,
think in 1824, when he was welcomed
everywhere as the ‘ friend of liberty.”
He stands prominent in a largé palnt-
ing of the surrender of Yorktown.

Ve leave here in the morning for
London, I may say ‘something more
ot Puris before I close these sketches,
for much may be truthfully said of this
city without exhausting the subject.

SAMUEL Watson.
_— 1?

A FELON'S LAST KICK.

The Hanging at Catro, IL, of Clark
Campbell for Murdering the Mate
or the Sleamer Graud Tower.

Cairo (20th) special Cincinnati Commercial,

At twenty-one minutes past noon to-
day Willitnr Clarke Campbell) was
hung at the courthouse in this city, tor
the murder of Thomas Doyle. As this
was the first death penalty ever intiict-
ed in this county, the execution attract-
ed much attention, and made a lasting
impression Qpon many minds. The city
Wat unusunily quiet last night, and the
large Concourse of people who thronged
the streets near the place of excution
to-day were quiet and orderly. ‘This
morning Campbell ate a hearty break-
fast and appeared jn good condition and
sprits, but would speak ta no one but
his mother and spiritual advisers. The
mother took her leave at 10 o’clock. A
few minutes later Sheriff Irvine received
a dispatch from Governor Beveridge
stating that he would not interfere in
the case. At five minutes past 12 the
prisoner was brought Into the inclosure,
As he came from the cell he bade every
body yood bye, and att he door of
the jinclosure he waved his hat to the
crowd in the street, saying: “Good bye,
good bye boys, Tum going to leave you;
furewell all; I’ve wade my peace with
God, and [in willing to go; { am going

to be hung unjustly, but Iam willing
to go.

The prisoner joined in singing a
hymn, und listened attentivly toa
prayer and the burial service.

While

* a Pe Ree Dy ‘ rr
ap ttwo wocks after this, me
‘hot quite so long, the. ‘ower
arrived at Cairo, on a down trip, and
landed at pane & Brothers’ wharf-
boat. Hearing of’ ‘her arrival, Cam
bell got a hickory stick two inches thi
atoneend and smaller -at the other
and going aboard,.the Tower: asked
where the mate, Doyle, was. The fire-
man to whom he directed the eesti’
was , and without quitting his
work ed, in reply, what he wanted
with Doyle. Campbell said he hada
little bill to settle with him, and had
been wanting to settle it some time.
Campbell then: came on board the
wharfboat, passed back to the after
ngway, on the shore side, across, and
Rat along the other gangway to the
8 lank of the Grand Tower, where
he halted and leaned against a post In
the kelson. He had starcely atop
when Doyle came near to the foot of
the plank and looked him full in the
face, Doyle then stooped down and
Campbell hit him on the head with his
club, Campbell stated that he came
on board the bdat with the club, iIn-
tending to (hit Doyle to ret
even for the blow Doyle struck him
with the shovel, but that he did not
think he had killed him. Doyle fell
mortally wounded; his skull was frac-
tured from the ear to the crown of the
head, and death ensued in less than
twenty-four hours. After striking the
blow Campbell dropped his.club and
escaped up the levee and disappeared
In the darkness. When he struck the
blow he thought that all hands were
back aft, and that he and Duyle were
alone. But as he started to run he Baw
two negroes and a white man sitting on
acorn pile close by, and he said if those
men did not see him etrike Doyle they
were blind, sure. When he realized
that the deed had been seen, he became
alarmed, and when he had ran nearly
tu the top of thelevee he stopped to see if
thealarm had been given. But seeing no
one coming after him, he sauntered off
upgtown. Two days afterward, when
it was known that Doyle had died,
Officer McHale found Campbell stand-
ing in front of a saloon, within a square
of the scene of the murder, and arrested
him. Campbell did not then know of

the death of Doyle, and an the way to |

ail cqnfessed that he had struok the
low—that he did it to pet even with
Doyle, and he “only wished he had
killed the Irish son of a ”’ At the
trial this testimony was the strongest
brought againt hii,

Mr. Thoimas Doyle, the first mate of
the Grand Tower, whom Campbell
murdered, was of Trish descent, about
thirty-elght years of age, of mediym
height, stout built, light conplected,
with sparkling blue eyes which seemed
always ready fora laugh. He was mate
on the Tower from the time she came
out, and was a very efficient oftileer.
He worked men hard, as all mates have
to, and insisted upon having his com-
minds obeyed without parley or delay.
te was schooled to defending himself
tguinst desperate men, and having
come out first best in many a squabble,
Was looked upon as q inagn Wwhoty deck-
hands ould call “dangerous.” All
Others, however, faund him genial,
prompt, pleasant and ayreeable, and he
therefore ranked very high as an officer,
ye was of great value to the “Anchor

sine.’

— 9 en 1
THE VIRGIN MARY.

How She Appeared to Little Berna-
dette inthe Grotto of Marsablelle.
Lourdes (France) Correspondence ot New
‘York Herald,}
LouRDES, July 26.
So Bernadette sat down on the frag-
ment of a rock and began to take off
her stockings. It was noon by this
time, and the Angelus’’ sounded trom
the steeples of all the towns and vil-
lages of the Pyrenees. Bernadette had
just taken off one of her stockings
when she heard around her a marmur
like-the sig i$
aetSNe

thought that a hu

of, a wind sweeping |:

still upo:
gin, wit
rane |
sign of |
had don:
to utter
lieve in |
full of gr
as.ubual,
the Fat
suddenly
Bernat
told her
mother,
children
Her mot
dismisse
word ‘‘n
Bernade':
Soubiron
do itaga
retourne
maternal
under It
the Virg
eminent
who, as
Divine \
out of
have not
Berna
till she
called th
gon, agu
frighten:
also of ne
event, mu
day, thr:
had first
syaded |
the ‘grott
The chi
sugyreste
holy wat
tle with
the devi
“he will
him wit!
have to
draw ne:
mon, de;
Berna
chaplet i
the groti
“Letu
tell our |
The ch
begun t
Thon, al
dette wa
extraord
all her {
With a
feet plan
OUS Visi:
eyes,
Look
Puadette;
nothing
which cl
lantine,
howeve:
her wore
je t!
mend. 'T
bottle
its cont
stood wi
ietorior «
a You
said) Ber
Innigruagee
with her
and activ
vanced |
She seen
of Berns
tude, oN
“Ifyou
near,’ bi
majesty
dave toa
She only
recite dv
seemed
beads o1
had sata
ished for

THIRD A
The fa:
consider

eeoeees, Joacseerogasee®

Beker Te atetae™ 3 00
Fae cesses OS

coo “BY THE. Sete

a ge tats ae at

‘SCENES _AT THE. “SCAFFOLD.

(eee

GAME TO. THE ENP _OF- LIFE.

A mo OES “AND AN
mate DEATH.

2 eS

oe a tee

Goxs OUT FORGIVING IF > NOT

copy FORGIVEN,
cab? 2 a tat [-
|

TKN THE SCAFFOLD TO.
GLORY, 32+

Seong yee Tc % ‘
>? tr.

“< BWthoogh Tux BuLcerim has already
“eontrined an sceoant of the arrest, trial

ead wavicticn of William 0. Campbell,

_ he wea hanged yesterday for the mur-
daz @& Thomes Doyle, we believe it is
“ect tinproper | ‘at this time under the cir

“Saamistances te agnin—ge ‘ever the whole

_qrewnd, nd give car readeff a'full and

Sse oppicblte side of the epried: end heed

** toes ewe

“THEO CAIRO DAILY BULLETIN, -skTORDA

é& a

withia a few steps of where Doyle wes
standing., A few minutes afterwards
Doyle was heard to utter s loud cry, aad
whew those who heard it got to bim they
found bi@ lying on the Gvor of the wharf-
boat in en insensible condition. At the
same time Campbell was seen to drop-bis-
club and ruo of the wharfboat and up
bver the levee at the top of hiss speed
Doyle was takes gp abd carried to hia
quarters in the texas. Dr. H. Wardoer
was seat for aad ezémined and dressed
the wounds, bat, esthe skin was not broken,
stated that.it would require the lapse of «
few hoursA#e determine «the nt of
Doyle's t«jteies. The a readtromer
baving (@dsacted all of her business at
this place, deperted for Memphis, but be-
fore reaching that city Doyledied. Three
days after she returned to this city, when
& post mortem examination of Doyle's
bead was made. It was found that the
skull was fractured from near the crown

of the head to the bese of the leftear, and |
{that about an inch above the ears smal!

piece of bone not larger than a grain of
prin had = broken off aoe re rorees mie
; ARREST OF CAMPBELL.

- On the night that Doyle was struck, the
eaptein of the Grand Tower, sent for
Gherif Irvin and Chief of Police Mc-
Hale, to whom he gave a description of
Campbell, and requested them”to feave 00
stone unturned to effect bis arrest.

Doyle was struck on Thursday even-
ing, April 24, and on Friday evening, the

.| 26th, Sheriff Irvin and Chief McHale

got track of Campbell, and succeeded fa
capturing him. When arrested, Camp-
bell asked what be waé arrested fur, aad
what they would do with him. McHale
tald him for striking the mate of the Grand |
Tower;-- amt (sot knowing: tbat
Doyle was dead) said be would
probably be sent to the calaboose for s few
days. At first Campbell denied striking
Doyle, bat finding thet it. ould do bim
BO good’ “to deny tt, sald, “Well, I did
strike Tom Doyle, and I wish 1 bad killed
| the s—n of a b—2. aor

Campbell was taken to the county jail
and locked.up, where he remained catil
the July special term pe seeniennert

atonrst? 2 ,, 06 whan tha wren tev e

jest | bates:
door | of the jary room opetied,

| ruled, and then

all the atéorneys te the case

Jadge Beker ordered thet
this jury'be besaght lato court. “The door
and es the mem-
ptecentéd » determination of countenance
which of itself was almost sufficient proof
that they bad determined to return a ver-

the prisoper at death. f
They took their seats in tbe jury box,
and thelr names being called, and the fail
og=

yoa agreed “upon e« verdict.” Answer
was made in the effirmative The fore
man of the jury then stepped forward and
banded to Qircuit Clerk Yocum their
written verdict, which found the prisoner |
“guilty of murder as charged in the ios
dictment,” and in the wordy of the ver-
dict itself, “we do further ficd that be
shall suffer death by bangiog.”. The read-
ing of the verdict produced « “sensation.
of awe, aod au expression of justice,
througbout the court-rocm.

_The attorneys for the prisoner asked
that the jury be called, and a+ the names

of the jurors were-extted— rhequrestion
whether they were Aatistiod with the ver-
dict propounded h distiactly ‘answered

set as the dayjfor argueing the motion,
Allday Monddy, abd the greater part of
Tuesday 13, ocoupled in argusieg
the question. Bag the motion was over-
r. Linegar entered 2
motjon | for an raat judgement which
motion “wasalso overruled. "1
@ENTENCE OF THE COURT. _
Theymotions fora new trial, 3 er
‘reat.of jodgement having tebpostipecsd
of, it-became the duty of the ecurt to pro-
noungce sentence upon the ptisoner.

The prisoner was requested to stand up,
when Judge Baker called upon him to
state ifheknew.any reason why sontence
of death should not be pronounced upon
him. Campbell made no reply tothe
question, possibly not understanding what
the jadgesaid, as there was considerable
confusion ta-the coart-room just at that
moment, axpryone trying to get as near
as possib} lo'the judge’s stand.

the erin

dict of guilty, and fix the. _ponishuneat. of ‘

twelve—tign suswetia
Judge Bakgrtaquired—Geotteavth bare

{-William Campbdell.

Order being: testored aad the by-stand-
erg called upod-to, maintaza silence, Judge
Baker, la the maces impressive manner,
reviewed to the prisedier the enormity of |
of which be was charved and

Xan grass " paanrge + wae ‘corris

fob the romaine Of Pos doomit}-isg
ae. ‘be éarried to their, tact’ "pent

ip such

the jail.
INCREASING.

All thie ti

“was “lacregsing, end Anrrale ie a
to say that: by ten * ther

was fully §ftcee bundred ee on th
ground. Rut while the crowd lary
| wad constently increasing there was ord:
and good pebavior on all sides.
REPORT Uf & RESPITE FOR THE PRISONE
Ata te™ winates before ten o'clock,
rumor was circulated about the cour
bouse and jail that Mr. Oberly of Tr
Boruetin, bad received a telegram fro
J. J. Bird, stating that he had succeed:
in getting Gov. Beveridge ract Cam
bell a respite for 30 days.
everyone on tip-toe to ascertain
in regard to the matter, and it was pot
tit Sheriff Irvin announced that be b
not been notified of any such actionz
the part of the governor, that the bebb
created by the reportsubsided. _
(nom FEE COVER NOR ——
~ Atten o'clock Sheriff Irvin reomy
the following telegram from Gov. _Bev
idge: 2 See

Spatxerietp, Tis ieae

_ Aagust 2 79-820 sahara =)
To A. H. Irvin, Sheriff:
I decline to interfere a _the case

(- Jouw L. Beveatnor, Governor
This settled the matters, and that tbe ¢
of doom for Campbell was at band.+
settled beyond adoabt. ~ i-
——\.couLD wor egx CAMPBELL.
Several times duriog the morning 7
Beier reporter tried to get to ses
prisoner, but was always met oy the #
remark, “Campbell don’t want to see &
one but Bis relatives, personal friends :
| spiritaal advisers this me ing.” Val
to seeOempbell himesif, we sought-J:
Fitzgerald, whom we felt sare coald
ws es much about Campbell ss
prisoner, bimself could. a Mr.
gerald we learned that - = ,
CAMPBELL RAT AB nicsusenety mee
3s mae vase oo
that he was in eood spirits and he

4b Wee BUW bev Y bees, merger pay

PRELIMINARIES BEIXNO PERFECTED
for the last act of the terrible—the exc
cution of the prisoner. Sheriff Irvin, &
coul and detiberats as we hsve- svor bee
bim, evinced a determination which wa

traly commendable—that of leaving potl

meet wwene ~-

] be boat after striking Doyle.

Chief McHale ewore to having arrested
Campbell and to what ‘he (Campbell) eaid
on that occasion.

‘De. Wardner testified to paving? been
Doyle both before and after bis death, and
to have made post mortem examination

abywing woe tb Bes Omsk, bo Usd ve CMW ors
to worry him In the least.
TAB EMCLOSCRE =
In which Campbell was bung is situated
in the southeast corner of the jall-yard
aod fronts Afty feeton Wasbington ave
nue, by twenty-five feet on Twentieth

Stay from bim.—Campbdell-
td tee, but before be could get out of

Doyle's reach, wes struck on thd beek
| Wid the blade of the bhovel.

| < CAMPBELL LEY? THE BOAT. of thu bed street. Its built of boards, sixteen feet | ing undone that would tend to shorten tk
‘tea aia pat not retara. Sbortly after is iS ae high,and was without roof or eres of | ,ufferings of the doomed man.
This was all the evidence for the prose- kind, bd
this ocourred, the Grand Tower, having eution, err my i “TIME Is WENDIEG,"

From ea beam ruoning ecross the eatire | and cae tise of William Campbell apo

Arensected all bez business at this place, {° FoR THK c DEPEMSE

Yat for Bt. Louls. Campbell remained in
hea city and worked af odd jobs until the
. Grand Tower agela eames to Cairo.
_ When be went to the Captain and re-
‘ @ulved pay for the work be bad dune on
“er, ond loft the boat apparently satisfied,
wavhke teld-some vf the yun Wal Ba bad”
- Get his pay and it was all right now.\
WRARLY TURES WEEKG Ar BaWanp ~

there was igtroduced a number of co!-
ored med, old river “roustaboats,”
“who according to their own tealdiony

deck hand on the Grand Tower.

{he “eseertion that he was a bed and dan-
gerous man. He wasin the bebit of carry-

each bad at come time in his life been a

They
all knew Doyle, end Were unanimous ja

width of the enclosure and resting on
and stayed by a strong joist, was sus-
pended two iron pullies—one at the end
of the beam and tbe other in the centre.
‘Auinch hemp rope was passed through
these pullies, aad at the end of the rope

earth is now less than thirty minutes.
THE CROWD ABOUT THE ENCLOSURE

began to move to and fro, and all eyes we

turned in the direction of the entrance.

esis: _MOV{EG TO THE PALLowa, —
At precisely four minutes past 13 o'clo:

“WeItito Ths side Of tha easlOMUN WES Et
tached two iron weights weighing in the

a murmer ran through the crowd in fro
of the ball leading into the jail, of thes

ing concealed weapons, and did nut haei- aggregate in the neigkborhood ‘of four proach of the prisoner from his cell. :

| “¢be Grasd Tower. agsia 06
Pte Memphis landed at the whar!
|

er way to| tate toknock colored man un the head | Seadred pounds. By meane of a smell | fy, minutes past 12 Campbell, ourevans
this city, as the least provocation. In fact, eccord- rope also passed through the pullies, these by a ea
\ nd “made fast” at: the Cairo City wharf-|{tg to this calculation of non-dessripts, wéights were drawn up to a bight of ten . WRONG ovagD,” “™

dost, owned by Messrs. Halliday Bros. It
- "wos between 8 and 9 o'clock in the even-
fag, and the work of transferring freight

feet, where, tne small rope Leiog made
fest toe stake driven deep in the ground,
they were securely held.
At an carly bour yesterday morning.
PEOPLE BEGAN TO CONGREGATE -
On the sidewalks and in the streets around
the county jail. By eight o’clock. no leas
than five bundred men, women and chil-
dren bad come together, and the crowd
was gaining cew accessions every minute.
However no one was admitted to the jail
yard but those who could produce tickets
signed by Sheriff Irvin.

Doyle was the meanest man that lived io
his dby.

TUE ARGUMENT OF COUNSEL,
consumed the greater part of two days.
Hon. H. W. Webb madethe frst speech
for the prosecution. He was followed by
Judge Mulkey, who made an able argu-
muent of over an ‘hour's duration.
County Attorney P. H. Pope followed
Judge Mulkey, Hoo. D. T. Linegar and
Judge Allen making the closing speeches,
wbich were not concluded aatil iste on
Thursdsy morning.

lead by Sheriff Irvin entered the op
place between the court-bouse and the ¢
closure. As Campbell stepped down ;
of the porch be caught sight of the lar
crowd on Twentieth street, the gree
pertof which was negroes. As hesew th
he took off pia bat and arsed at the top

bis volce : r
“goop-BYE, BOYS,

Stepping inside - seeeste be con

| . wea belng done by gas light.

| ae Campbell, with s beavy club, went
* gboard the Grand Tower and inquired of.
| ” ete of the stokers whére Doyle was, stat-
| i fag that “he had o bill to settle with bim ;”
| Fe eante mek weetet 80 1 it for a long

” Camptell then leit the Grand Tower and
: Wweat out oupo the wharfboat and took up

7@ st of the gang-way next _\ pustacctisa THE JUBY. ; ABBIVAL OF CAMPBELLS MOTHER, ned:
‘. tothe levee. Geo. Yoong, another of the} It was nearly 4 o'clock when Judge At about nine o'clock Mr. Camptell,| «Thank Ged, I am , going to reef:
+ globers of the Grand wer, saw Campbell | Baker concluded reading the instructions mother of the doomed man, made|this troublesome world The Lord

to the jary, efter which the case was gives ber sppearance at the gate of the jail
to them fur their decision. A few minates | yard, in company with Mr. Thomas Jen-
past 6 o'clock they were conducted to the] kins und Anthony Ramsey.” She was ad-
Aa Jeary room, afer which court edjourned. mitted to the yard and conducted to the
Hae whate to deposit tretgs « it wes taken THE VERDICT. corridor on the ground floar of the: jail

fa ee tha, wharfbest. He was standing} On Friday morwing 01 10 lack the | where she and ber friends were seated.
. cape Qe a8 Pet = ae ted thet fort Bor annousced their readiness to reare Scarcely bad they sat down when

(reed my soul, thank God Tun gets;
rest. I bave made my peace with G
and Iam willing togo. ¥ am bung

justly, bot I om willisg to-go, Mi.

vin, I om willing to. go: k Swett,
o.”*

te thes } sat dows ta" “ shale Bh

ee it a i ie, te

338 The Chicago Came Book

affair at the precinct-and Lieutenant Frank Pape, glancing at

my report, dated April Fool’s Day, 1955, put the finger on
the culprit.

“It’s a certainty that this job was pulled by that young
hoodlum Carpenter. This 1s his seventieth hold-up, but T'l
get him if it’s the last arrest | make.”

Frank Pape was really angry. He was an experienced
officer, well liked by his comrades, and hated by Chicago's
underworld. In various gun battles between the police and
the city’s mobsters he had accounted for eight men who had
lived by murder and robbery.

After my talk with Pape I returned to my office and took
out the bulky file on Richard Carpenter, wanted by us since
December, 1953. He was five feet eleven inches, weighed
about 165 pounds, and wore a crew cut and sometimes a
moustache. His eyes were deep set and his age was twenty-six,
He had many robberies to his discredit, but during the last
fifteen months reports had come in thicker and faster than
ever. Carpenter, it ceemed. never moved outside Chicago and
robbed only small places such as grocery stores, gas stations,
taverns, modest hotels, laundries. He never attempted to
disguise himself and worked alone, and, although he had not
killed anyone as yet, we were sure it would happen sooner or
later.

From all we knew of him it appeared that Carpenter first
cased every place he stuck up and made his get-away without
the aid of a car, He was agile and a fast mover and invariably
carried two guns whose hammers he would click to frighten
his victims. We had worked out his routine, and it seemed
that he needed about twenty-five dollars a day. For example,
if he secured a hundred dollars from a hold-up it would be at
least four days before he tried again, and whenever he stole
twice that amount he would rest up for a week, The taverns
he preyed on found bin with his guns in his hands always
just before closing time, when the cash register was likely to
show more money than at any other part of the day. In some

: : Mama's Boy 339

- of these drinking places he would sit for hours with a beer in

and ultimately we received a whisper that he was to be foun

Carpenter's activities had become a challenge to every poli

_ hoped that some woman would lead us to him. Consequent
_ every street-walker, call girl and house madame was quizz

a, a i
ant iia ah ae

front of him, and after the hdld-up he always broke the glass
so that his finger-prints would not be left behind.

One of his victims told me that Carpenter had said to him,
“Use your brains and don’t get upset or nervous. See how
calm I am, and you’d better stay calm too. J don’t want to kill
you, but you'll get it in the guts if you make a wrong move.”
Another tavern owner said Carpenter had stuck him up for
goo dollars without his customers knowing what had hap
pened until the police arrived.

A taxi driver, whom Carpenter flagged, after a robbery
told us the young gunman had told him that he wanted to get
out of the neighborhood quickly to escape a murderou
husband who had caught him in his wife's. bedroom. The
driver thought he was saving his fare’s life by stepping o
the gas, but all he got for his trouble was a ten-cent tip
Carpenter was mean to everybody except his own famil
and, unlike most hoods, never threw his money around.

On one occasion he bad lived for several months at th
Krakover Home for Deaf Mutes on North Carolina Aven

there. We surrounded the house, only to discover that Ca
penter had left two weeks earlier. ;

Two months after his robbery of the Wrightwood Inn v
were still in the dark as to where he could have holed u

‘man, and at a conference we decided on new tactics al

and shown his picture, but none of them, much to
agrin, was able to recognize him. We tried the sa
qjmethod with known dope peddlers, reception clerks at che
\otels, small-time crooks and our contacts in the underwo!
wit again failed. Carpenter, it seemed, had no friends. 2
vas ajackal strictly on hisown. poe
Perhaps we needed a psychiatrist to-analyze for us his li

340 The Chicago Crime Book

*
moves. There was, of course, more than a possibility that he

was living in some respectable suburban home and masquer-
ading as a night-shift worker to cover up his prowling.
Chicago, though, is a big city and it couldn’t be combed so
easily.

Carpenter was born in 1929; reared at a time of economic
depression in a divided home whose parents fought each
other. The inevitable divorce tock place when Richard Car-
penter was a boy of ten, and shortly afterwards his father was
killed in a car accident. There was no insurance. The boy’s
mother aged quickly under the strain, but she did her best to
keep a poor home going and to look after her adored son and
his two sisters. The three children were markedly fond of
each other, and, of course, Richard was passionately fond of
his mother. He liked to sit in her lap and be fondled and one
day he wept because he felt lonely. “Mother, I’m terribly
lonely,” he said. Under such circumstances it is understand-
able how easily he became a mama’s hoy. T hings got so bad
in an orphanace in Milwankee. This may have been the
beginning of everything that was to happen later. The boy
was not treated unkindly, far from it, but he was unhappy
away from his home, and his teachers could do little with
him. He behaved himself well enough and was by no means
devoid of boyish charm, but he made no progress and could
not be persuaded to take an interest in his school work.

At sixteen he was too backward to share classes other than
with children. who were much younger, and by then he had
become slovenly and dirty. When he left school he moved
froi® one job to another, shipping clerk, truck driver, dish
washer and various menial occupations, Nobody kept him for
long, and whenever he was sacked, as invariably happened,
he would turn for sympathy to his mother and complain that
he was unhappy and lonesome. | fen :

At eighteen the army took hold of young Carpenter, but
he spent so much time in the guardhouse for various infrac-

~“Mama’s Boy 34]

tions, including damaging military property, that he was
_ discharged as being undesirable. He thus left the army hav-
ing learned only one thing—how to use a gun. Strangely
enough he had a passion for serious music, operas, sym-
phonies and concertos, and would spend many a Sunday
_ afternoon playing over classical records to his mother. All his
spare money went in building up a record collection.
Inthe early stages of his crime career the police picked him
up twice. The first occasion was for illegally carrying.a gun
after his army discharge. Many ex-soldiers did the same and
- Carpenter received nothing more serious than a warning.
Eleven months later, though, while cleaning a pair of guns at
home he accidentally shot his mother. She was not seriously
hurt and when the police wanted to know what had hap-
pened she accused them of hounding her dear son.

In 1951 Carpenter was arrested for pulling a gun ona taxi
driver and robbing him of eight dollars. Although the key
witness was not absolutely certain that Carpenter was the
culprit, even though he was arrested shortly after the hold-up
and fouud io be in possession of eigitt dollars and a gun, the

court had no doubt of the prisoner’s guilt and he was sen-
tenced to a year in jail.

Carpenter took his medicine badly and made no friends
among his feliow prisoners. His mother on her visits brought

_ him sweets and cakes which he shared with nobody. His cell-
Mates tagged him “Mama’s boy” and never let him forget it.
_.. When he came out of prison Carpenter promised never to
play with guns again and found a job as a taxi driver which
_. brought him in eighty dollars a week. There was a streak of
Puritanism in him and he would refuse any fare to a gam-
‘bling hall or.a bordello. He remained as ever the lone wolf,
but would occasionally take his sisters and a cousin to the

Movies or a skating rink. The cousin told us later, “He
himself didn’t know how to skate, but he didn’t like us going
Sut alone at night. He was a real brother to all of us.”

penter bought clothes for the three girls, while he

342 The Chicago Crime Book

himself walked around unkempt and shabby. He possessed
only one suit and usually his shoes needed repairing. His
grandfather declined to believe even when the boy was on
the rampage that he was a dangerous criminal. “Dickie was
always a good little boy,’’ asserted the old man, “‘but just
strange in some ways. When he was driving a cab he never
forgot to bring me two or three cigars every day—and they
were good cigars, too.”

The family thought that Richard’s unhappiness was due to
the police and a lack of sympathy shown by the courts. On
December 4th, 1953, he broke out once more. He stole a car,
which he subsequently wrecked, and held up a grocery store
for a hundred dollars. He never returned home from that day
or ever again saw his family. As a fugitive he moved+around
in crepe-soled shoes carrying a pair of guns and ran up a
formidable list of robberies.

For eighteen months he managed to avoid arrest, although
every policeman was looking for him—that is, until one tragic
day in August. 1955. when it so happened that my good
friend and colleague Detective Murphy, a bespectacled rob-
bery investigator, was travelling on the subway from his
home to headquarters. In the train, Murphy, who had at-
tended all our staff meetings on the Carpenter robberies, saw
the young gunman and walked over to him and arrested him.
He took him out on to the platform of Roosevelt Road and
State Street and in an unguarded moment, took out a photo-
graph of the wanted man he was carrying to compare it with
the man he had arrested. Carpenter saw his chance, puiled
out gun and killed the detective with one shot. The
photograph fluttered to the ground, and Carpenter, threaten-
ing the crowd with his gun, backed into a limousine which
was passing the subway exit. He opened the limousine door,
quickly reloaded his gun and said to the driver, sixty-three-
year-old Mr. Charles A. Koerper, “I’ve just killed a man, and
I'll kill you too unless you drive on and keep quiet.” 7

Frightened, Mr. Koerper drove on to Chicago's busiest

Mama's Boy 343

corner if the heart of the Loop, Dearborn and Madison
Streets, where Carpenter jumped from the car and sprinted
away.

Koerper gave an account of what had happened to the first
policeman he saw. Now our finger-print men inspected Koer-
per’s car and found a palm and three finger-print markings.
They were identified as Carpenter’s.

Carpenter had killed a police officer, and everyone on the
force was determined on his arrest. We all swore we would
get Carpenter—only it was easier to swear than to lay hands
on him. We had, though, an additional clue. Mr. Koerper

had told us that the man with a gun was sun-tanned and

looked almost dark. I decided we should visit all bathing
beaches on Lake Michigan. It was a long shot.

But nothing happened. The newspapers were filled with
sensational stories and we received endless false tips. A re-
ward of 5,000 dollars was offered by one of the Chicago
papers. The F.B.I. sent its agents to help us—only Carpenter
was not to be found.

On the third day following the murder oi Detective
Murphy, it happened that Policeman Clarence Kerr and his
wife left their children at home and went to an air-condi-
tioned movie to escape Chicago’s summer heat. Ironically,
the film was Call Me Lucky.

As they entered the theatre Kerr saw a man sleeping in one
of the back rows and recognised him as Carpenter. He told
his wife to return to the car and wait for him.

His wife was hesitant and wanted to phone for help, but

her husband insisted, “This is my job! Let me handle it my

way.”
» Kerr bad only been with us for a year. He was new, and I

wish he had listened to his good and thoughtful wife. The
_ officer awakened the dozing Carpenter and said, ‘Hew come
~- you're sleeping here?”’ - |

“It’s none of your business,” came the drowsy answer.
“I'm a police officer. Follow me into the lobby.”

-
344 The Chicago Crime Book

Carpenter followed slowly as if he were not quite awake
yet. Kerr held a gun in one hand, his badge in another.

“I just wanted to cool off. That’s not against the law,” said
Carpenter.

They had entered the lobby when Carpenter appeared

to stumble, but again he had pulled his gun and he shot Kerr

in the chest. Kerr returned the fire, hitting Carpenter in the
leg as the criminal ran through the theatre to the emergency
exit. The theatre was still dark, filled with 250 people. The
lights snapped on—Carpenter had escaped once more.

Kerr's wife, having heard the shots, ran into the lobby,
dragging with her a startled priest who was passing by. They
watched as a medical student, Thomas Brandt, gave first aid
and tried to stop the blood gushing out of Policeman Kerr's
chest. Kerr, close to fainting, muttered almost unintelligibly,
“It was Carpenter—Carpenter—I know it was Carpenter . . =

At St. Mary of Nazareth’s Hospital Kerr was on the operat-
ing table for five hours. Chicago's most famous chest and
heart surgeon, Dr. Edward A. Avery, performed an operation
that saved the officer's life, which hung on a very, very thin
thread. An artery near the heart had been injured. The
doctor later explaimed to us, “Half a heart-beat saved Kerr
from certain death. His heart was contracted when the bullet
went through his chest. If it had been expanded, the bullet
would have nicked the heart and killed him. He'll live now.”

The story of Carpenter's latest brutal escapade took its
placg in the newspapers aud on television and radio, and
commentators didn’t forget to speculate on where he had
gone into hiding. The answer to that was a police problem
and not new to us. But there was one consolation—[ knew
that a wounded man could not get far without a car and that
the city was aiert for the killer. This time the public might
come to our aid and in the meantime no fewer than sixty
police squads had been assigned to search for the gunman.
Every hospital had been notified that Carpenter might seek
surgical help and in the meantime at police headquarters we

Mama's Boy 345

settled down to await results. We had men posted at railroad
and bus stops and were tipped off by some pretty wild stories
from crackpots who telephoned declaring their certainty that |
the fugitive was hiding in some apartment or store or that
they had seen him limping along on the other side of the
street. He was supposed to have tried to buy a new suit, to
have been noticed boarding a Lake Michigan boat and of a
certainty seen hopping a freight car. Half a dozen young
men, bearing no resemblance to Carpenter whatever, were
picked up and then released, and someone started a scare that
he was hiding on the roof of a movie. When squad officers
searched the building they found the sole occupants of the
roof were a couple of giris—sun-bathing.

The arrest of Carpenter under prosaic circumstances
would have been sheer anti-climax, and it was not fated to
happen that way. What happened was really in the Holly-
wood tradition—as if fiction had come to life. It began on the
night that Policeman Kerr was shot in the theatre and im-
volved an ordinary American family—Leonard Powell, a
truck driver, his wife and their two children, Robert (seven)
and Diane (three) . They lived on West Potomac Avenue.

The Powells, on the night in question, had celebrated
their ninth wedding anniversary with a dinner to which

|. » yelatives and friends had been invited, but by ten twenty-five

the guests had left. The couple’s little girl was fast asleep, but
the boy was watching television in another room. The night
was terribly warm and there was not a suggestion of a breeze.

~_. Leonard went to the kitchen to get a coid drink from the

refrigerator when he heard a knock at the screen door. In
4ront of him stood Carpenter with a gun. “I guess you know
who lam,” he said.
Powell nodded.
“ve just shot another policeman. If you do as I say,

fi nothing will happen—nothing, I promise—but if you refuse
= to open this door, I'll shoot you now. Open up and let me

ete

nished

1onths

from
sually
m. I
if you

owner
in the
ppen-
time,
er, he
ig the
n and
et me
inno-
sually

long,”’
| now.
f he’s

tragi-
ionths
bullet
in of

e and
ssible
usive
more
vy of
e he
t into
fouse
re of
Ex-
pros-

titutes, madams, anyone who might be
willing to trade information for a
possible break when they came into

court, was questioned intensively. No-°

body—but nobody—knew Dickie Car-
penter. Schoolteachers, residents of
the district where Dickie had lived
with his mother and sisters—his father
died when he was ten years old—could
tell you what he was like then, “moody,
surly, uncooperative, but intelligent,
bright,” but no one knew where he
was now. None of his victims had ever
seen him a second time.

“He’s probably rooming in some
private home” Lieutenant Pape theo-
rized. ‘Pretending to work nights.
That leaves him free to prowl.”

The detectives studied his picture,
carried it with them at all times.
Throughout the city of Chicago they
looked for Dickie Carpenter.

On Monday evening, August 15th,
1955, 34-year-old Detective Murphy
said goodbye to his wife and their two
young children and set out for head-
quarters downtown at State and 11th
Streets. He was due on duty at 8 P.M.
He took a bus to the elevated line and
boarded a train there. As it ap-
proaches downtown the line dips un-
derground and becomes a subway.

At the subway station at State Street
and Roosevelt Road, a block from head-
quarters, a dozen or more people came
running up the stairs, shouting as they
fled to the exit, ‘“There’s a shooting
downstairs! Call the cops!” The cashier
dialed “O” for Operator and asked for
the police, then ducked down in the
cage.

Out on the street Charles Koerper,
63, stopped his sedan as he saw people
pouring wildly from the exit into the

street. A youth wearing a dark sport
shirt and slacks wrenched open the
rear door of the sedan and vaulted
in. He had a revolver in his hand.
“T just killed a cop,’ he said, “and I’m
ready to kill you. Start driving and
get me the hell out of here.”

Koerper did.as he was told. At the
intersection of Dearborn and Madison
Streets his unexpected visitor jumped
from the car and ran swiftly out of
sight, his steps soundless in crepe-soled
shoes. At the next corner Koerper
found a policeman and told him what
had happened. Taken to headquar-
ters, he was shown a picture of Carpen-
ter, but could not identify his passenger
from it. It was dark and he had not
had a good look at the gun-toter. But
when they dusted his car for finger-
prints they found one good palmprint
and prints of three fingers on a rear
window. The prints checked to Car-
penter.

Meanwhile officers had found Detec-
tive Murphy dead on the subway sta-
tion platform, a bullet through his
heart. Beside him on the platform lay
a police picture of Carpenter. Murphy’s
gun lay between the tracks.

“He spotted Carpenter on the train,”
Detective Charles Bosquette theorized.
“Took him off here, pulled out his pic-
ture of Carpenter to compare it. In
that instant he was off guard Carpenter
killed him, kicked his gun to the
tracks.”

Now Chicago police grimly went all
out to capture the killer. The Chicago
Sun-Times offered $5000 reward for
information leading to Carpenter’s cap-
ture, dead or alive. His description
was on the radio, his picture on tele-
vision. Reports poured in from all

over the city. But none led to capture.

The night of Wednesday, August
17th, was a steaming hot night and
Patrolman Clarence Kerr, off duty,
decided to take his wife to the air-
conditioned Biltmore Movie Theatre
on West Division Street to cool off. As
they left the movie house, after sitting
through a double bill, Clarence Kerr
said to his wife in a low voice, “I saw
Carpenter sitting back there. You go
wait in the car. I’m going to get him.”

His wife protested, begged him to
summon help, but Kerr, who had been
on the force for less than a year, felt
it was his job and turned back into
the theatre. Nervously his wife waited
outside by their car.

And now began the next to the
final episode in Richard Carpenter’s
bloody war with the Chicago police.
As Mrs. Kerr moved back to the theatre
entrance to stand there tensely, her
hands gripped together, a wordless
prayer on her lips, there came the
sound of a shot, followed instantly by
two more shots.

The frantic woman saw a _ passing
priest and called to him, “Come in with
me, Father,” she pleaded. “I’m afraid
my husband has been shot in there.”

As they raced into the theatre,

‘Patrolman Kerr staggered down an

aisle and collapsed in the lobby. Blood
streamed from a wound in his chest and
he was hemorrhaging from the mouth.
He gasped, ‘Carpenter—it was Car-
penter—phone headquarters—it was
Carpenter.”

As the priest bent over the wounded
officer, administering the last rites of
the Church, a medical student who
had been in the audience tore open
Kerr’s shirt (Continued on page 81)

Fugitive killer’s second victim was Pthman. Kerr (r.), who tried to arrest him in a movie house. Kerr recovered, identified him

‘y, August 18th,
etectives Frank
ll. He gave his

venter’s in my
e, alone. Come

livan said. He
id alerted two
‘ In reserve in
rpenter. These

chine guns and

arrived at the
their search-
ing. From one
d, ‘Carpenter!
is in the air,
‘ou haven’t a

ndows of the
ppeared. Four
succession, but

shouted, “All
—lie down on
start shooting.
ws.”
f the robbery
otguns. Detec-
rt Ladkow of
with machine
fring pistols.
isted into the
‘struction.
‘nt Carpenter
ing to lift the
, across a 4-
in the next
cupants were
r ran up the
he roof, but

wiraa=) and
es d in.
ap "here

nding up the
red into the
oor, his arms
he cried. “I
esperately he
officer who
pped him on
' held in his
of Potomac

olice station
ib a police-
1cked to the
to batter his
1 his wrists.
dges, a box
th no band,

apartment
iowed Lieu-
s where he
stole from
‘ully loaded,
no explana-
volver, then
eman,

- Mary of
is identified
Carpenter—
err said.

) Bridewell
scalp, sus-
h two win-
ape, were
’ close the
ded to re-
enue police
’ an angry
xen instead
and State
overnight,

st ee

h, as

fice in the

‘e, after a

the killing
*

of Detective Murphy, the wounding of
Patrolman Kerr, and between 50 and 100
robberies. :

He first tried to make a deal. ‘“What can
I expect? What will I get, if I tell all?”

“You'll get no-promises of any kind,”
he was told. “We want the truth.”

But after reading over the 15-page
statement, which had been transcribed as
he talked, Carpenter crossed out numer-
ous paragraphs of it and finally refused to
sign it until he had conferred with his
attorneys.

Arraigned in felony court before Judge
Joseph F. Geary, he was charged with
the murder of Detective Murphy, and
assault to commit murder in the shooting
of. Patrolman Kerr, and with the robbery
of the Wrightwood Inn. Judge Geary set
bond of $100,000. State’s Attorney Gut-
knecht said the state would demand the
death penalty.

While in-prison, awaiting trial, Carpenter
continued to be recalcitrant and obstreper-
ous. His behavior sustained the insanity
plea put forward by his lawyers, Daniel
Ahern and James O’Malley. He refused
to bathe, shave or have his hair cut and
railed and ranted noisily.

When his trial began before Judge Gib-
son E. Gorman in criminal court, early
in November, 1955, he refused to eat. It
took seven bailiffs to bring him into court
in handcuffs and leg irons. Once, during
the testimony of a witness, he leaped to
his feet and screamed, “I didn’t sign any
confession. They don’t know what they’re
doing.”

Preceding the last day of his trial,
November 11th, however, he was forcibly
bathed and shaved and had his hair cut. In
a new jail uniform, he now looked re-
markably neat in contrast to his former
unkempt appearance. But the guards still
had to drag him into the courtroom, and
once he threw himself on the floor and
howled like an animal.

He sat motionless in his leg irons and
handcuffs as the jury of 8 men and 4
women filed back into the courtroom, after
deliberating for one hour and 10 minutes,
to deliver their verdict. They found
Richard Carpenter guilty of the murder
of Detective Murphy and recommended
death in the electric chair. Held by the
bailiffs, Carpenter leaned forward as the
foreman spoke, as if he could not believe
the words he heard.

Returned to his cell, Carpenter con-
tinued to refuse all meals. Meanwhile his
attorneys awaited a hearing on their
efforts for a new trial and an appeal of
the death verdict. The following day,
November 12th, he had to be dragged
again into court and he fought his guards
violently as Judge Gorman sentenced him
to die in the electric chair on March 16th,
1956.

~Pemoved to Death Row in Cook County
jail, he abandoned his hunger strike as
his attorneys worked valiantly in his be-
half. But the testimony of psychiatrists
that he was sane, that although a psycho-
pathic personality, he knew right from
wrong, defeated the insanity plea. And as
the months passed and, one after another,
the motions and pleas of his attorneys in
his behalf were denied, it became ap-
parent that only executive clemency from
Governor Stratton could save Richard
Carpenter from walking that last mile.

And now it was the evening of December
18th, 1958, and in the first few minutes of
the 19th he was doomed to die, unless
Governor Stratton should respond to the
appeals of Attorneys Ahern and O’Malley
and halt the electrocution—the first in
Chicago since March, 1953. But if Dickie
Carpenter was hopeful of a last-minute
reprieve from death, it was not apparent.
That he was still angry at the world was
obvious.

When his 19-year-old sister and an aunt
came to see him—the last visit he would
have before keeping his appointment with
the chair—he railed and ranted, as was
his custom. “I killed Murphy! I killed other
policemen,” he shouted. “I’ll come back
from.the dead and kill more policemen!”

But then; he quieted down. He sang
some of the Irish songs he used to croon
for his kid sister when she- was small.
“Remember all those records I used to
have? I’ve been thinking about them,”
he said. He chain-smoked cigarettes and
listened quietly as they tried to tell him
there still might be hope—there were still
a few hours left. Then he said suddenly,
“l’m sorry for the grief I’m causing Ma,
and all of you.”

“You were good to us,” they told him.

“I was always lonely,” he said. “I al-
ways wanted to have a friend, but I don’t
think I ever had one.”

Then there was nothing more to say.
And weeping, the two women left the
prison. When they had gone, Carpenter
refused to see the Catholic priest who
came to his cell.

“Tt don’t believe in God,” he told Sheriff
Frank Sain, who was his last visitor.

“Did you kill Detective Murphy?” Sheriff
Sain asked him.

“Yq rather not say,” Carpenter an-
swered. “I’m going to the electric chair,
and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Sheriff Sain said later, “A big tear ran
down his face when he said that. He knew
he wasn’t fooling anyone but himself.”

At 11:45 p.m. Richard Carpenter’s head
was shaved. Dressed in a sleeveless under-
shirt and blue shorts that reached only
halfway to his knees, 18 minutes later he
took the first of the 22 steps to the grim
black chair. Guards guided him, because
his eyes were covered with a black blind-
fold.

At 12:05 he sat relaxed in the chair as
guards fastened the straps and the black
visor was lowered over his face. “Get it
over with, quick,’ he said in a muffled
voice, as the guards backed away from the
chair.

As official representative of “the people
of Illinois,” Sheriff Sain stood 10 feet to
the right of the chair. At the left, Fran-
ciscan Father Cronan Murphy stood, pray-
ing. The witnesses sat silent, facing the
chair.

In a cell only a few paces from the death
chair the other slayer who had won from
Governor Stratton a 30-day reprieve told
County Jail Warden Jack Johnson he did
not want to be moved from the cell. “I want
to pray for Richard,” he said. “I want to
stay nearby, where I can do him the most
good.”

At 12:06 a.m. Carpenter’s Adam’s apple
moved up and down convulsively as he
swallowed his last gulps of air. Suddenly
his extended fingers closed into fists and
his body jerked rigid under the impact
of 1900 volts of electricity. From the top
of his head and his right leg, where the
electrodes touched the skin, a thin puff of
smoke arose.

At the end of 65 seconds the current was
turned off and the body went limp. From
the brine-soaked sponge on Carpenter’s
head a trickle of water ran down his left
temple, dripped from his ear onto his
shoulder and chest.

At 12:10 a.m., after testing for heart-
beat, Dr. Achille Chreptowski, Dr. Victor
Levine and Dr. Myron Charkewycz pro-
nounced Richard Carpenter dead

The short, sad life of Dickie Carpenter
was over. The lonely youth who loved good
music, who wanted friends but did not
know how to have a friend, had never
learned ,jhow to live in the world. The

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sisters proud of me. It’s too late now. If

the cops don’t kill me, I’l] go ,to the electric

chair.”

The hours wore on. It was stifling in
the apartment. Carpenter had closed the
windows and the Venetian blinds, lest
police see the lights burning late and come
to investigate. Mrs. Powell went to her
bedroom and tried to relax for an hour or
two. Carpenter went to the bathroom and
washed the blood from his shorts and
slacks. Then he returned to sit in the
living room, draped in towels, while his
slacks and shorts dried in the bathroom.

Powell told him, “I’ll have to go to work
at 6:30 a.m. If I don’t show up, my boss
will be looking for me. The neighbors will
notice, too, if I don’t go out as usual.”

After giving it some thought, Carpenter
said, ‘Okay. Go ahead. Only remember,
your wife and kids will be here with me.
Don’t do anything foolish.”

Dawn came at last. Mrs. Powell made
breakfast for her husband and Carpenter,
but Leonard Powell was unable to eat. At
6:30 he left the house, desperately trying
to think what he could do. He did not dare
call the police—not while Carpenter re-
mained in the apartment with his wife and
children. He had to figure some way to
get him out of the house, first.

At noon he called his wife. “We’re
okay,” she told him. “I’ll be glad when
you get home at 5 o’clock.”

“Don’t do anything to alarm him, or
anger him,” Powell warned her. “Don’t do
anything.”

“T won't,” she promised.

While he was gone, she persuaded Car-
penter to let her take the children down
to the yard, where they habitually played
every day. He finally agreed, apparently
confident that she was too terrified to talk
with anyone. She came back promptly and
went about her housework. Carpenter
meanwhile shaved and dressed himself.
And finally it was 5 p.m. and Leonard
Powell returned.

Mrs. Powell made a supper for them,
hamburger steak, mashed potatoes, green
beans, and coffee. She and her husband
and the two children ate in the kitchen.
Carpenter took his plate thto the living
room. After the meal was finished Powell
suggested to Carpenter that his wife should
take the children down to the porch as
she usually did in the evening. “It’ll look
strange, if she doesn’t, this hot night,” he
added.

Carpenter shrugged. “Sure. Let ’em go.”

A little later Powell, still thinking des-
perately, suggested,: “Look—I’ve just re-
membered—I promised yesterday to see
my father-in-law tonight, to talk about a
business matter. He lives in the flat down-
stairs. If I don’t go down, he’ll come up
here.” >

Carpenter shook his head. He frowned,
lifted his gun. “No,” he said.

“I won’t be more than a few minutes,”
Powell urged.

“Well—” Carpenter stared at him, “make
it snappy. And don’t forget your wife and
kids—you don’t want anything to happen
to them, down there on the porch.”

Powell raced down the back stairs,
leaped a fence and ran around to the front
of the house. In a breathless whisper he
told his wife, “Get the kids out of here.
Take your mother and father’ with you,
down the street. I’m going to get the
police.”

Mrs. Powell did not hesitate even for
the space of a breath. Meanwhile Leonard
Powell ran down Potomac Avenue. There
were children playing in the street. He
called to a man standing at the door of a
tavern, “Get the kids off the street—get
everybody inside—Carpenter’s in my
house! I’m going to get the cops.”

Within a couple of minutes West Po-
tomac Avenue was deserted.

PA We

It was 9:01 p.m., Thursday, August 18th,
when Deputy Chief of Detectives Frank
O’Sullivan got Powell’s call. He gave his
name and address. ‘‘Carpenter’s in my
home,” he said. ‘He’s there, alone. Come
and get him.”

“We'll be there,” O'Sullivan said. He
radioed all police cars and alerted two
special squads he had held in reserve in
the event they located Carpenter. These
had high-powered rifles, machine guns and
tear gas guns.

In moments 30 police cars arrived at the
Potomac Avenue address, their search-
lights trained on the building. From one
of the cars a voice roared, ‘Carpenter!
Come out with your hands in the air.
We've got you covered. You haven't a
chance.”

At one of the front windows of the
Powell apartment a gun appeared. Four
shots blasted out in quick succession, but
none found a mark.

Sergeant Emil Smicklas shouted, “All
you people in the building—lie down on
the floor. We’re going to start shooting.
Keep away from the windows.”

Lieutenant Frank Pape, of the robbery
detail, and his men fired shotguns. Detec-
tives Ray Hauser and Robert Ladkow of
the special squads let loose with machine
guns. Other officers were firing pistols.
Tear gas cartridges were blasted into the
house. It was organized destruction.

Within the Powell apartment Carpenter
fled into a bedroom. Not pausing to lift the
screen, he leaped through it, across a 4-
foot gap, into an apartment in the next
house. There the terrified occupants were
lying on the floor. Carpenter ran up the
stairs, seeking an exit to the roof, but
found none. He peered out a window and
bullets and tear gas cartridges poured in.
He ducked back. He was trapped. There
was no escape.

In a moment feet were pounding up the
stairs. A dozen officers poured into the
room. Carpenter lay on the floor, his arms
outstretched. “Don’t shoot!” he cried. “I
live here! I live here!” Then desperately he
tried to grab the gun of an officer who
bent over him. The officer clipped him on
the head with a flashlight-he held in his
left hand. The bloody battle of- Potomac
Avenue was over.

At the West North Avenue police station
Carpenter again tried to grab a police-
man’s gun. He had to be knocked to the
floor and held down. He tried to batter his
captors with the handcuffs on his wrists.
He had on him six .38 cartridges, a box
of aspirin, a wrist watch with no band,
some loose keys and $10.80.

Later, taken back to the apartment
where he was captured, he showed Lieu-
tenant Pape and other officers where he
had hidden the revolver he stole from
Officer Bosacki. It was found, fully loaded,
in a ventilator pipe. He gave no explana-
tion as to why he hid that revolver, then
tried to seize one from a policeman.

Then he was taken to St. Mary of
Nazareth Hospital, where he was identified
by Patrolman Kerr. “That’s Carpenter—
he’s the man who shot me,” Kerr said.

Carpenter was next taken to Bridewell
Hospital, where gashes in his scalp, sus-
tained when he crashed through two win-
dows in his attempt to escape, were
dressed. It took 11 stitches to close the
wounds. The police had intended to re-
turn him to the West North Avenue police
station afterward, but because an angry
crowd had gathered he was taken instead
to police headquarters at llth and State
Streets. There he was held overnight,
guarded by four policemen.

The next day, after a breakfast of coffee
and a bologna-on-rye sandwich, he was
taken to the state’s attorney’s office in the
criminal courts building. There, after a
lengthy grilling, he admitted the killing

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Three Years
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(Continued from page 53)

and tried to check the flow of blood. With-
in minutes police cars and an ambulance
were at the scene and the gravely wounded
patrolman was removed to St. Mary of
Nazareth Hospital.

There Dr. Edward A. Avery, Chicago's
most noted chest surgeon, operated on
Kerr, while transfusions were being given
in an effort to hold back death. Dr. Avery
said afterward, “Half a heartbeat saved
him. His heart was contracted when the
bullet went through his chest. If it had
been expanded, the bullet would have
killed him. He will live now, barring com-
plications.”

Meanwhile, at the theatre, Captain Frank
O'Sullivan, deputy chief of detectives, and
Captain Philip -Breitzke, deputy police
commissioner, were in charge. All streets
and alleys in the vicinity were sealed off
by toot patrolmen. Inside the theatre drops
of blood were discovered, leading from
the aisle to a fire exit. One person who was
in the audience told an officer, “I saw the
man run to the fire door. He was limping
and there was blood on one leg of his
trousers. I think the policeman shot him.”

It did not seem possible that Carpenter
could escape the concentrated manhunt.
Details of police were assigned to check
hospitals, doctors’ offices, nursing homes,
where he might seek treatment for a bullet
wound in the leg. Railroad, bus, subway
and streetcar stations were watched, as
were public parks, beaches, restaurants,
saloons—even garages and parking lots,
where a car might be stolen. By morning
there were 60 police squads engaged in the
manhunt.

From his hospital bed later that day
Clarence Kerr was able to report what had
happened. He went up the aisle and spoke
to the man he had recognized as Car-
penter, nudged him and said, “I’m a police
officer. Come out to the lobby. I want to
talk with you.”

The man said, “Okay, but I haven’t done
anything, I’m just trying to keep cool in
here.”

Then, as they walked down the aisle,
Carpenter, pretending to stumble, pulled
a snub-nose .38 from under his flapping
shirt and fired. Kerr, who had his gun in
one hand, his duty badge in the other,
returned the fire, but Carpenter was run-
ning down the aisle and the bullet only
struck his leg. Then the house lights came
on and people began streaming out in
terror. And Kerr, near death, could do no
more.

Throughout that day the search went on.
Lieutenant James Lynch, head of the
burglary detail, borrowed a_ helicopter
from the navy and flew over housetops in
the area, peering down through high-
powered binoculars. But no sign of a
limping man rewarded him.

In all Chicago there was just one man
who could have told the searching officers
just where Richard Carpenter was—and he
wished with all his heart that Carpenter
was somewhere else. But at the moment
there was nothing he could do about it.

He had not even heard about the shoot-
ing at the theatre that Wednesday evening,
August 17th, when at 10:25 p.m. a knock
came at the door of his second-floor 5-
room apartment on West Potomac Avenue
a block from the Biltmore Movie Theatre.

His wife and their 7-year-old son were
watching television in the living room.
Their 3-year-old daughter was in bed,

asleep. Leonard Powell, 31, a 6-foot-4
Chicago truck driver, went to the door.

On the other side of his screen door
stood a man with a gun in his hand. His
right trouser leg was soaked with blood.
“I’m Carpenter,” said the man. “I guess
you've heard of me.”

Powell nodded numbly. Like everyone

else in Chicago—in fact, throughout the |
country—he knew of the grim manhunt for |

the gunman who had shot down Detective

Murphy in cold blood. And the gunman’s |

MEN PAST40

i
|

|
|
|
|
|
|

picture had been in all the papers. This |

was Carpenter, no doubt of that.

“I just shot another policeman,” the un- |
welcome guest said. “If you behave, you |

won't get hurt. If not, I'll shoot you. Open
the door and let me in.”

With the 38 revolver—it was the one
Carpenter had stolen from Officer Bosacki
at the Wrightwood Inn on April l1st—
pointing at his chest, Leonard Powell
could not argue. He opened the door. Car-
penter stepped into the kitchen.

This was the beginning of 23 tense, ter-
rifying and unforgettable hours for Mr.

and Mrs. Leonard Powell. Their children, |
luckily, were too young, too well cared |
for, to be aware of what was happening |
in their home on that stifling August day. |

After putting her young son to bed, Mrs.
Powell, hearing voices in
came to the door. Seeing the

the kitchen, |
fearsome |

stranger pointing a gun at her, she gasped. |

Her eyes flew fearfully to her husband’s.
“It’s Carpenter,’ Leonard Powell said

in a taut voice. “He says he won't hurt |

us, if we behave.”

“T want a drink of water,” Carpenter
two

said. And, after thirstily drinking

glasses of it, he said, “I want bandages.”
“We haven’t any,” Leonard Powell said

quickly, “I'll run down to the drugstore—”

“You'll stay right here,” Carpenter said

in a cold voice.
“I—I can get a sheet—”
offered, her voice shaking.
“That’s better.”

Mrs.

She brought one, fresh from the laundry.
Carpenter tore it into strips and bound his |

wounds. One of Kerr’s bullets had gone

clean through his thigh. The other had |
“Just a scratch,” he |

grazed his abdomen.
said contemptuously.

Afterward he asked for toast and coffee,
but he did not eat much. Instead, he went

to the refrigerator and got a glass of milk. |
Then he suggested that they go in the |
living room and watch television. “‘There’ll |

”

be news,” he commented with a twisted
grin.

There was news. Bulletins were flashed
on the screen at frequent intervals, re-
porting the shooting at the movie theatre,
the desperate condition of

with warnings to residents of the area to
be on guard for Richard Carpenter. At
a report that he had been seen miles away
from there, on the South Side, Carpen-
ter laughed shortly. “Let ’em look for me
there,” he said.

At moments the husky

He outweighed Carpenter by 50 pounds,

he figured, and was 5 inches taller. If he |

could catch him off guard—

Carpenter read his mind. “Don’t try it,”
he warned. “Think of your wife and kids.” |
Powell ventured, “You seem like |
I'm sorry |

Mrs.
you could be a nice fellow.
you're in such a mess.”

The words seemed to soften Carpenter |
somewhat. He still held the gun on them, |
but he seemed less menacing. After lis- |

tening to a later bulletin, reporting that

Patrolman Kerr might live, he said, “I |

didn’t want to shoot either of those cops.

They fired first.” Then, after a moment, |
he added, “One thing I’m sorry about—I
never did anything to make my mother and

Powell |

Patrolman |
Clarence Kerr, who lay at death's door, |
and the search for the wounded gunman, |

truck driver |
eyed his unwelcome guest speculatively. |

Afflicted With Getting Up Nights,
Pains in Back, Hips, Legs,
Nervousness, Tiredness.

If you are a victim of the above symp-
toms, the trouble may be due to Gland-
ular Inflammation. A constitutional Dis-
ease for which it is futile for sufferers
to try to treat themselves at home.

To men of middle age or past this
type of inflammation occurs frequently.
It is accompanied by loss of physical
vigor, graying of hair, forgetfulness and

often increase in weight.

Neglect of

such Inflammation causes men to grow
old before their time—premature senil-
ity and possible incurable conditions.

Most men,

if treatment

is taken in

time, can be successfully NON-SURGI-
CALLY treated for Glandular Inflam-

mation.

If the condition is aggravated

by lack of treatment, surgery may. be

the only chance.

NON-SURGICAL TREATMENTS

The NON-SURGICAL New Type treat-
ments used at the Excelsior Medical

Clinic are the result of discoveries
recent years of new

techniques and

drugs plus over 20 years research by
scientific technologists and Doctors.

Men from all walks of life and from
over 1,000 communities have been suc-
cessfully treated here at Excelsior
Springs. They found soothing and com-
forting relief and new health in life

EXAMINATION
AT LOW COST

When you arrive
here our Doctors who
are experienced spe-
cialists make a com-
plete examination.
Your conditionis
frankly explained
and then you decide
if you will take the
treatments needed.
Treatments are so
mild hospitalization
is not needed—a con-
siderable saving in
expense.

Write Today For Our $

The Excelsior Med-
ical Clinic has pub-
lished a New FREE
Book that deals with
diseases peculiar to
men. It could prove
of utmost importance
to your future life.
Write today. No ob-
ligation.

EXCELSIOR
MEDICAL CLINIC
a Dept. B4551

MH Excelsior Springs, Mo.

RECTAL-COLON
Are often associ-
ated with Glandu-
lar inflammation.
These disorders, we
can successfully
treat for you, at
the same time we
treat Glandular In-
flammation.

REDUCIBLE
HERNIA

is also amenable to
a painless Non-
Surgical treatment
that we have de-
veloped. Full de-
tails of this treat-
ment given In our
Free Book.

NON-SURGIC,
TREAT, Men.

OlséAses

“ILLUSTRATED
BOOK

; [

ESC 00 memican come ~

1 Gentlemen: Kindly send me at once, your
a New FREE Book. ! am interested in full

a information
87 Hernia

(Please Check Box)
C2 Rectal-Colon

C) Glandular
Inflammation

= oe
>
°o
o
za
m
“
w

g STATE

ieee teeta ee Et

MISCELLANEOUS ~~“

i)
o

DATA

OFFICERS" LAST NAME:

OFFIEERS' FIRST NAME:

OFFICERS’ HIDOLE NAHE:

DEPARTHENT:

STATE: &

DEPARTHENT CLASS: ed

DEPARTHENT REPLY?

PERSONAL TRIPS?

POPULATION CODE:

SEX:

RACE:

AGE:

RANK: .

JO3 CLASSIFICATION:
JO3 STATUS:
LENGTH OF SERVICE: *

DEATH TYPE: *

WU RY Wy |

————2

WW) LLIANI

CHICAGO PD

(o) (1) (2) (3H (4) (5)

> 4

(Y) (N)

a) @) GG) 6) @p
ee
Cy

(w) (8) (1) CH) (Ce) (A) (UY)

3
WEN

(F)) (RP) (s) (u) (Ra) CX)

(1=0N) Qo~0FF)) (3=uNK)

Y=5

(F)J (A) (vu) (R) (8) (0)

———

DID DEPARTNENT KNOW?: Cox-res)} (N=NO) (U=UNK)

DATE OF INJURYS
TIME OF INJURY?
DATE OF DEATH:
STATE OF DEATH: *

INCIDENT TYPE(S): 4

WEAPON TYPE(S): *
MHEHORIAL(S): *
SEARCH: &

ee
OFlSIYSS

O)0OPM

O8-) S-)9SS

DEFENDANT LAST NAME: ee Gea y LIN

van
DEFENDANT FIRST NAHE: R3 CW ARD

OEFENDANT NHIOOLE NAHE:

Sex: YY)
« Gay (2) (1) (a) Ce) (AD (0)

RACE:

Weer ab

*Coy (2) G) (4)

~. 0 @) ow
«C) 2) Gy)

———

FUGITIVE:

KNOWN FUGITIVE:

CRIMINAL RECORD:

ARRESTED IN DEATH: * 1) 2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

CRIME CHARGED WITH: /

CRIME CONVICTED OF: /

Doerr.
( (y=vEs)) (N=NO) (U=UNK)

NEANS OF EXECUTION: *

SENTENCED TO?

EXECUTED:

J3-)-]IS&
Chicago Tribune
a (8) Gy (4) (2)
O3-)&-)ISS

EXECUTION DATE:

SOURCE NAME:

SOURCE TYPE:

SOURCE DATE:

AUTHOR:

CONTRIBUTORS

CONTRIBUTOR ADDRESS:

ciTY:

STATE: *

ZIP:

CONTRISUTOR TYPE: ad

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#28

Van Raalte Research

S HEAVY AS:
ED SPUTNIK

resident Reveals |

Mystery.Shot

| BY PHILIP. DODD...

( Pictures end) diagram dn

L. back page)

{Chicago Tritrene rem Gervice]

Washington, ‘Dee, 18—The
8,800
und ‘Atlas missile into orbit
orld Thursday
ident t | Eisenh¢ wer'|

ited States put an

und
‘ht, 3

2
pea)

5:02 p,m
Bo mystery |s

ae hat i the
use|, annol nce: th
, ile ha

re miles’ owt

ssile hon

Asce ind off ta ica,

The} asl ds ent’s ite ge ii

2 \that Hea s was, in|-

di was nate his|; press

race »sames eae ire
‘the ire rye is i in

nt Wes aa it

The | I-datenbe “departm

lowing ’ ‘up! on the | ie

188 | re anobacernent. said]

itutes
| ‘din
$,”. the fect

. atin blasted
1g pat at Cape

ite}
| inter-

> United States missile was

t leabt 4,000 pounds heavier

an R ssia’s largest sputnik;”

Put 'Its Life at 20 Days ° al

The reference ‘Was to sput:

<- JO) - which

weig hed
25.53. pani according. to].
ssia@n'’ announcements,| or
§ than’ half the weight of

e new, | ‘America ah satellite,

The ‘deferise department
data’ indi-
ted the| Atlas was orbiting

d preljmia

e earth once every 100

, reaching a high point ot

a at n
int of 116

e satellite \was expected to
main' in. §p iis about 20

Mee Lr

Te, sate ite | contained Ta-
ment designed to re-
rmation from; earth]

ive eqhipe

d then return. the data to
rth’ tatia \pre-determined

ne and point:
Ike's Voice in ‘Atlas?

Pentagon s¢ientists hinted
recording, by
nhower. may ;be

at a: iyice
esident Rise

e of the | thessages trans-
ittéd to’ the “memory” de-

ce in the Atlas satellite! for

broadcast back to earth,

The scientists declined to

y flatly whethg the Eisen-

entpyaed on Lon 13, eal 1

4 ‘

pf ULLCE Aer.

LXeEC

}
\

“LOOK HOW CAPITALISM. HAS BUR

Alsat Ky, Dee. em
Ite ody a ughed | when Mrs.
tii te Mika sat ‘down to
play the hice (They did later},
| '|"It was just horrible,” she|
a mitted. “know I don't play
too well,| but it sounded like a

Phone your
gift eri
today! |

entertainment, helpful
service and unmatched |

a gift sabscription to the |
Chicago Tribune by home |

hame delivery is not

as $1.95 depending on
length of subscription.
There is still time
Delivery will, sta
eins Day in a gay
h

name. Pho

§ shopping days toiGhristmas |

Let your gift bring daily |
‘coverage of the news. Give

delivery oe by mail where.

available. Cost: an low |,

order,

iday er with | |
fa card bearing your — :

SUperior . |

_|Seems they'd also stopped at’

| Coalie must have got wind that

jon the organ pedal.

'|she mu

rdcord. player that’s rejbetingy
the time,".

- She tried ‘again~ af her

h vom icamé home. . |Same

thing; only worse. |

'He pul ed the organ| away
trom the ‘wall, arid Mrs, Ger-
lach peeked i in the narrow slot
at the back near the top.

[ek ‘There were two: ‘green
eyes staring at me. I; ‘pearly
‘ped amie | : :

Told to Keep Calm

‘That's when Mrs. Gerlach
telephoned the’ music com-
pay |

You know that organ 3 you
| delivered | to. me today? Well
it has a black cat in it with
bells on!” |

i Now keep calm, rads)” th
salésman suggested. * You'l
bé all right. Wheh’s your hus
band coming home? ”

“ Look,’ " gaid Mrs. tI

“Pm a Methodist ... i)”

‘\“ Why not lie down.a little
while? ‘ the man continued. |

I'm egld sober. There is a
big black jcat in there. And he
has on a red leather collar
with two. bells on it./

‘Besides, my husband’s al-
ready home.”

The salesman finally
checked with the movers.

Mrs. J. S, Wright’s to move a
piano- into her new home.
Coalie Is Missing '

A call to Mrs. Wright .
and news that her half-Persian
cat, Coalie, was missing.

“Our new home has no
basement,’ shé said; “and

we wert planning to ‘pve her
away.” |,

Mrs. Gerlach thinks Coalie
jumped into the van. apd sat

“A flap opens when the
pedal’s ‘pressed down, and in
have igone.” :

_If there's ‘no new |
[Friday, Mrs, | Frances |
- | Timbli , 70, of 1134 E, }
st., Rockford, will Teceive
from |the University of} Chi-

of arts ‘in education which
has
since |the convocation in Au:
gust, aa ihe (4

Half :an hour before) that
convocation, Mrs. Tim lin,
then Fant Goldsworth, had
put on her mortarboard,| and,
with her gown ‘over ‘her | |arm,

cago the degree of bachelor’
en. withheld” from her.

started for graduation exer-

ae
SEs

= | assault char ges.

y Mrs, Timblia |

cises in the old Mandel chapel.
On Ineligible List |
En route, ' she was told that

her name ‘had been posted
among those not eligible for

__|degrees. With a sinking heart,
“she ran to Coby hall

iin-
vestigate, and fognd that the
information ‘was true. . |

"She was told she was lack-
ing credits in algebra and Eng-
lish, She thought she had made
up those courses but here
were no records showing this.
-f WasT disappointed! "
Mrs. Timblin said. |

“I finally, got over this
blow. I was not too unhappy
because, after. all, I was tobe
ja. fall bride, ‘Billy [the late
‘Dr. William 18. ‘Timblin) got
his M. D, degree that jsameé
August. from Rush Medi¢al

college. Billy, was. one the
school’s best) runners, but I
didn’t let him get away.| We

were married that Novem
Move to Rockford

The bride’ taught for
Lyear in the Cook county open
air tuberculosis school in
River Forest, Her husband be-

ber.”

‘one

{came a cardiologist, and he

and his: wife’ moved to, Rock-

to college and carat de-
grees.

In 1940, Mfs. Timblin { ate
to ‘the. unjveysity, asking her
status on her earned dits,
because she wahted the de-

about . her, but t she doten't get
along with. me cat we eve | al-
ready got.!':

Coalie, mesntime, is bedded
down in th¢ Gerlach
house far from keys and ipes.

Mrs. Gérlach can keep the
cat if she| wish
‘“ My ihe

ys are crazy

| Doubt Mrs,/Gerlach's
She's g mt saps pr ve it.

were born there, went |away|gra

“to
join the alumni associationy In
a letter of reply she was fold
she wag still deficient Lin me

gree in order to be ‘able

ematics and English,”
Eligible on R eview |

Mrs. ‘Timblin an iI
that she would ever om per
degree to the collection{ in
the family. It cam as a Dig
surprise when thane or
Lawrence A. Kimpton wrote
her recently telling ‘het he
was eligible to recetve the
gree and inviting it Rock
day’s convocation in Roc
ler.chapel at 3 p. m.

A spokesmun for the
versity said Mrs. arin
tire school record had
reévaluated in. the light i)
day’s standards, ‘making
eligible for the degree. §

She dug up ‘her ald cap
gown. In'the cheering se
yill be her daughter, Mrs,
tilie McGehee, B. A, M.

n-
n
te-

‘A.

. fand her son-in-law, Judson cl

Gehee, B.A., M. A., and Ph
Northwestern universt y
lish professor. Her) sons,

liam, B. S., of Ottawa, t.,
and Robert, B. S* and PhD.

coach, sent: messages of
tulations. .°

“! Now if Billy only:
there,” she said wi

Boy Admits Starti bis

night. He was
watching firemen

ordered out of
dance |

\(Special] — A Michigan state
‘labor goon

j~ one of
jwhom later

—| For mor
| following

fe ee his mt labor

two oecks ago amid
tions that he was motivated by] ° ;

"Sgt. Konetshny, who stuck
carefully , td his account de- :
sts and| .
defense} |'

fs) : cloudy; high, 15-20.:
: ILLINOIS: Mostly cloud

oa
bul
cf Neos

een

Protection by

‘Soapy’ Told

Sheboygan, Wis., Dec. 18
policeman.
testified
Thursday
that a Detroit §

admitted as-
saulting two
Kohler |co m-
pany workers

died — and. boasted: thata
powerful union bos 4S never
would permit Michig n Gov.
G. Mennen .[Soapy] ? Williams!
to send him back ta Wiscon-
sin. for trial. 4

The surprising testimony of
Detective Sgt. Conrad Konet-
shny came) like a bombshell
before a throng at the Munic-
ipal court preliminary hearing
of assault charges against
John Gunara, former organ-

Workers union.
Tells D
e attack..on J
4, 1954, th
Michigag: by Gov.

Williams’ efusal to p ermit his
extradition. The go} ernor,

s stand
accusa-

reversed

spite | vigorous prot
cross-examination ‘b
counsel testified that Gunaca
srt ie statement tor him

Sept. 9,°1954, asi he was
taking e goon froi
to jail at reniingiag
after hig arrest on a
warrant: stemming

Mr ain

- Assault Vietim

| . Gunaca. is charged|
lonious | | assault upon}

iwith dh
William | .
Bersch Ir.,: 83, and hig father,
William Sr., 65, both ponstrik-

ing workers at the’ Kohler.
plumbi g ware gompany
where the UAW has been wag:
ing. an unsuccessful strike
Since April 5, 1954. :,

The two men werg beaten
in a Shell filling station in|
Sheboygan, Falls where the
younger Bérsch was working
part time as an, attendant and
e-| his father was visiting him on
-|the night.of the attack

The elde Bersch yeceived

(Continued on page 4 col. 4}

THE WEATH ER

FRIDAY, D CEMBER i 1958

CHICAGO | ND VICINITY:
Cold wave warning’ Friday;
mostly cloudy; high, in Jow
40s; becoming much colder

in rena and night; Jow,
5 to 10; s¢attered snow flur-
ries; winds shifting from
southwest to north 18-26
m. p. h. in afternoon. Satur-
day: Much colder ard partly

Friday,
colder in most sections iby night; |
Spow flurri¢s im extrejpe north.
Saturday: Partly clondy and cold.

TEMPERATURES IN CHICAGO
+39
141
a4
es.
att
41,

. Waring

jon, F Jont0-15

coe

» m.,

Lin the County jail’'s electric

izer for the pars Auto

ate of Sta ment.
than féur : years

e slugger } as given,

t bewett

. mm. 38%

uted

Yl The rao Goon Boast of GOES TO CHAIR

AS 20 SLAYER |
GETS REPRIEVE

: ‘Townsend Spared

for 14th Time

Richard D, Carpenter, OT;
\Slayer of a policeman, was
executed at 12:10 a. m. Friday

chair.
A stay of execution saved
another condemned man from

dying at the,same.hour. It |
was the 14th feprieve for ,

Charles Townsend, 23, a driig
addict who. Killed a holdup ©
victim with a brick. The stay,
delaying Townsend’s execu-
tion at least uatil Ave 17, was
granted Thursday) by Justice
Tom Clark of a United
States Supreme court. « —
Refuses to Act

Clavk refused to interfere
| with the execution of. Car-
penter when a \petition from ,
Carpenter’s: lawyers reached ©
Clark at his home in Washing:
ton at alate hour, | -

‘Carpenter shdt and killed

way platform, ug.. 15, 1955,
jand shat and rounded inoth-

RI CHARD CA RPEN: TER:

er poficeman in the man hunt
that ended in his capture. He: |
was convicted Nov. 82, 1955.
One of Carpenter’s last acts
was to tear.a heel off one of

his shoes. “] on’t want anys.
body else to stand in my.
{shoes,” he told. a guard.

he was taken to. the electric

ceived three éJectric jolts, then
was pronounced: déad. :

- Carpenter Hopes Fade «
Carpenter’s lawyer, Daniel |
Ahern, had filed a petition in .
Springfield seeking executive
clemency by Gov, Stratton.”
The governor Teferred the
matter to the parole. board.
As time passed and it ap,
peared that Stratton did no’
intend to intervene, Ahern
and his partner, Kevin Kill

tion to Justice Clark in Wash-
ington seeking to delay
Carpenter’ 8 execution. 7

They asked Justice Clark to

appeal to the Sypreme court
from a federal District court
order refusing a writ of habe-
‘as corpus which would have
‘postponed the execution. The
‘United States Court of AR

|peals also denied the writ.

| Justice’Clark came into the
cases because he is the justice
,in charge of appeals from the

-(7th circuit, made up of Dlinois,
.| Indiana, and Wisconsin‘ Emer-
‘}gen¢y appeals from the fed-
{eral Court of Appeals are re-
ferred to the justice in charge .

of a particular circuit.

. -=
es
eet

« eo

mt ig,

a county jail tradition as

they waited for the last hours

Carpenter didinot speak as :

chair at 12:04 a, m. He re- '

ogly, sent a telegraphic peti- .

‘grant Carpenter the right to |

Both. men had maintained .

sine ayerwipemengiitenan
" :

= eel

7 : Seer ces a open? >= as 34 aes ae = Bs~ 53% <, 6 me =
Fo eee a ae er ee ina, sos o Sage age Ot, SPD re Mate eS indir Pie eS
fs % . ees sae as ee Pete :
liad OEE Ang < WRIA RT 2 RAIMI Se Coton w Paap 5b 23 ee cothg na AGA dele Salk a aetna ds eu sitee xa : i ae
® iy » . 4 CKD SS — wre. 4 enh Or fa). “ en, PR a Ae * ne
x0 t a ¢ ” » as - - ’ Pica, Pr tip . *
+ . > 2 * td

Lat

i Pe

- quits with butter, ‘a pound of

- Townsenil said, “That's

. ‘\ granted, it would. mean a re-

_ Johnson a letter ta deliver to

“served that his fate was, in

- $was ‘convicted Feb; 18, 1955:

ge ‘much of the nearly 40 months

‘ee “ve. oe ene

-* + Kae ere SY we
2 ce ~ . wee ‘ oa

Chica a Baily Trihund r

Friday, December 19, 1958 .

tg pas that meant life o
—_ Both ordered beat}
tot privilege’ by cu
" extend to cond so ome
Carpenter told Warden Jac
Johnson he. did not want an

' thing special.

‘ “ Just a goed meal of salad
sirloin steak, baked potatoes
biscuits and butter, a vegeta;
horas coffee and cream;” he.

«Last Meal’ Anyway!
nsend got a bonus after

i *

_ word received of his Pe.
prieve. Warden Johnson dij
. rected that he get the meal hel’
“had ordered in the expectation

. And ‘what a meal it was—

_ one whole stewed chicken, al
sweet potato. pie, a dozen bis/

well done rice with chicken
gravy, a raw onion, a 12 ounc
bottle of 4 carbonated bever-
age, and a pint of black walnut)
ice cream. =

When Warden Johnsox: in-|
formed bim of the FEpTiEve}

the)
will of God.” He asked about
Carpenter, and was told t
was no change in Carpenter’
status.

. By Jan. 17, the. day Town-
send’s stay rims out, his attor or;
Ney, George N. Leighton, is to
file with the,high court a peti-
tion for. 4 writ of certiorari. If

-view-of the case by the court.
“a will at least delay the éxecu-
tion further, until the court
acts on the matter--
| Asks for Minister el
Townsend .gave Warden

_ Atty. ighton. Johnson re-
” ported that in it To! send) ob-

'God’s: hands and‘ expressed
confidende ‘God not for-
‘sake me.” He askéd that the

| Rew. Lewis Boddie, 4624 SsSt.
»Louis av. call on tim’ in the
- Nail. !
* Town nd datany beat Jack
‘Boone, » Of 3754 Michis -
_fav., in #1953; eb i,

+ Carpen er, who at times has
acted like a madman and who
shad refused to speak during

dhe had spent in jail,
ce ‘in religion,

sought no
or! appar-

bee oe

: said he
: ‘reprieves

ere forts ta ‘solve
s

| EA Eon
Sa eeaeoet tad

¢ Features iret

|. 6\Jumble......... Pt 2, p.7

4\Line ’e Type or Two Page 12 |

movies TV and Radlio, . .. Pt. 3, p, 12

; i vdesbi: art 3/Today with Wom m...Part 2

| Goren | . .Pt, 2, p. 12/Tower Ticker... . Pt. 2,p. 12

ten are Well. 'P e12\Want Ads... af .-+. Part 4
ia a ARTOONS He?

5 ec Divot ..,...|.....Spt.3 |.

Spi oon Mullins . ety Spt. 1

ostly Malarky. :| Pt 2, p. 12

10|Muffins ........ Pt. 3, p.8

Nuts and Jolts.. .| .Pt. 2,p.4

Stage ....... ‘| Pt. 3, p 13

Orphan Annie. . .| Pt, 3, p. 13

Peamuts......... Pt. 2, p. 12

Smilin’ Jack ....| Pt. 4,p.6

Smitty .........,.Pt.2,p.6

Terty ......... .} Pt. 3, p. 13

.15|'The Neighbors...) . “Page 12

. 15|Winnle Winkle. . Pt. 2; p. 10

Deaths, _ghituaries Pia. 14

_News summaries. on page rt

’ St: Louis, Dec...18 [ pecial]
| —A baffling chain of inister
“circumstances {- | |.
|was found by |
police: Thurs: .
day in:their ef-

the ambush.
slaying of fe
James §. Bul-
lock, 27, af
newlywed. fot: ;
mer Choir
singer, ’ and

"| | Bellet
f ‘ane .

university | ’ tangther man whd seemed to
night student. be pursuing him. - “He said
They proposed a lie detector|the second man ‘had “some-

beneficiary of his | $40,000!
worth 'of life insurance, and
real estate; But her emotional,
state prevented it, 43 4.)
They, algo. ‘questioned her!
former; husband, Glennon F.
Englemian, a St. Louis dentist.
ftom whom Mrs. ‘Bullock was
divoredd two and a half years
ago, but he “was released
dfter signing’ a; statement of
his activities the) night of the
slaying, 4 |
They; said Engfeman had
given them a'.22/caliber target
‘pistol. when quebtioned at his
home; and when they’ brought
the dentist into | hearquarters
Thursday ‘night| they farried
three’ .22 calibe rifles which
they said belonged ta mem-
bers of Engleman’s family.

‘Left on ighwa

‘Inves igators ‘assembled: ~a
quantity of eye witness infor-

c” al

mation; in licating: that|.a per-

intercepted. Bul-

atedip nigh school
,,/pursued: and},

the . ve left,

widd on a'h ghway! where

e was | acc entally struck by;

ias |he: lay | dyi g.

Quiz Bride and Ex-Mate
in. Slaying of Student, 27

. "he was driving thru the park
.|when he saw a man of Bul-

A the street where he fran-

jthe man’s

test for his tearful bride, Mrs.'thing in his hand,” which in-
_~|Edna Bullock, 23, a: kinder-| vestigators sippdsed was ~8
“| garten| teacher, who is the! gun.

séum ‘which is not a usual
parking place for couples.
Louis Gola, 22, a clerk, said

lock’s description run out
from the museum and into

tically waved his arms in an
‘ap effort to stop a car
‘and help: |

Gola said he saw blood on
ce as he ‘passed

,and, loo beyond him, saw

| -Vietim Bit hy Car
Gola ‘said the car in front
of him swerved around. the
iwaving man and went on, and
Gola did likewise. He told his
‘story to polite after learning
‘a ‘man had been slain there.
Lester Rodwald, 30, 2 night
student at Washington univer-
sity, said that a few minutes
later his car accidentally
struck a man—-later discover-
‘ed to be Bullock—who was
lying in the street. Rodwald
said; he was distracted by
another - mutorist, who —pre-
viously had seen’ the prone
figure, and had got out and
was paving his arms a pass-
ing ,
“Shot in Head, Chest
Bullock died a few minutes
after, being found at 7:37
p. m., about half an ho ae a
he left home. at

shot twice with , calten
bullets, in the bee and in}
the chest; and eight birdshot

fags were. injured, | apparently
from being run Tt by R

baad gar.
2 hou 4'bétcre the

Fan g, J. J. Wi ering said

x ribs | were broken and :

|tend he never recovere

“|lated his constitution:

llets had pierced his chegt.|P

GOON BOAST
PROTECTION
WILLIAMS T

Detective Testifi

Gunaca Hear

[Continued from first

a four inch gash on se
and a broken verteb
spent 19 days in a hosp
died 16 months later-
a heart disorder was |.
the immediate cause of
imembers of his fam:
from the vicious beatir
Sgt; Konetshny, te:
under a subpena ser
Tuesday, said that Gun.
lowing his original a
talked freely to ‘him ab
labor trouble at Kohl
which his union, had s«
as an organizer of strik
ities. i
The state detective
asked Gunaca if he h:
in the gas station in |
gan Falls and that th
izer replied: |
“Yes, we went to
filling station. Bill, a s:
working there. His c
Was going to give us
We worked him over
worked the kid-over, t:
we jerked the phone f
hook and left.” —
Tells Faith in “So:
Sgt. Konetshny also
Gunaca as saying to hi
“Sarge, this will n.
you. any good. Maz
never leave Soapy 5
back to Wisconsin.”
Emil Mazey is se
treasurer of the inter
UAW, whictris a politi
er in Michigan. |
The detective’s te
came as a surprise to
counsel, Atty. B. Char
ston of Detroit, law pe
Emil Mazey’s brother,
Marston lost a vigor:
test to have the de
story excluded on the
any admission Guna
have made to a police

against self-incrimina'

“You bet I was/and
believe him. You ca
e on that.” ,

In éarlier testimon
hearing, which is| for
pose of determining
Gunaca will be beunc
Circuit cpurt for t
younger Bersch |gav:
tailed acc unt. of | the

s|he and ‘hig, girl

narl ad ee the

Victim! Names G:

1°" GHRISOULAS, Peter, white, let, Cook’County, Illinois, October’ 15419376
wo SS (Chicago TRIBUNE). *

|Killer Goes to || 1,000
) Chair Tomshe. || SUP oN BLOCK aT
OF ‘GHETTO BENCHES’ ||C hair Tonight; || ‘pe yrcnas AncTiON

apart @ ~
WARSAW, Oct. 13—(7}—Extra po OneF rail Ho Fredericksburg, Va, Oct. 13—({Spe-
a cate ee pet Pp ciaLJ—About this little town and for *
; antiSemitie outbursts ce! 7 ~~: {miles around dogs are barking to-|_
morrow due to the decision of Jewish Peter Chrisouslas, convicted slayer |night, and they are not barking at
university students to strike against of Irving Fehlberz, theater manager,|the moon. Tomorrow about _ 1,000
tnauguratioa of “ghetto benches.” is scheduled to die in the electrjc|dogs will go on the auction block
Rectors of all Polish universities on chair in the county jail shortly after|/under the hammer of Nathaniel
Oct. 5 ordered seats in classrooms to} midnight tonight. He has one frail| Bacon Kinsey. Kinsey does not care
be marked with a distinguishing let- hope left—that the state pardons} whether somebody offers $500 for a
ter to signify whether they were to board will recommend an eleventh | bird dog, or whether a ragged urchin

ink

oe “ , LStOD [be occupied by a Jew ora gentile.| nour clemency at a result of the hon holds up five fingers, meaning he has
z ; ‘Moore, Jewish students prepared to appear ing before it yesterday in Springfield. |a nickel to offer. ga ei Te
be = cg m the |2¢ the universities tomorrow morn}. Attorney Willlam Scott- Stewart, The custom started down here 210
~~ 2 “ttom, |'2% read @ declaration of protest, and Pleading for the fourth time to save|years ago. Wealthy farmers, retired
: rm irae pe f eB walk out. It was feared ‘the the condemned man, contended at the | army officers who have taken estates
At demonstration would lead to rioting. | hearing yesterday that Chrisouslas is| about bere, and young farmer boys,|
= hed Disturbances accompanied the open- insene now and was insane when he black and white, yill bring their dogs
£ De aaa ing of @ new semester at. Vilna unt shot Fehiberg to death on March 14 tomorrow. =, “s
: rm <, ‘eatied versity yesterday. Gentile students / 1906, after the theater manager ques It’s all fun, Auctioneer Kinsey says,
bao, Moore | Pere threw Jews out of the ciass/ tioned him about the complaint ef a/and there is no profit in this ancient
te “ hos |FOCms. On Sunday at Suchawola win- smail girl that he molested her. . _ | custom. It was originated to make
: eee =) andes | COWS Of synagogues and of hundreds Aldea by Deputy Consul. -- {friends with the Indians, who sur
‘S “3 Ae sunced | Shops were stoned and broken by Johu D. Dritas, Greek deputy com [rounded the earty settlers of this com-
wet oe ee antiJew‘sh rioters... __| suff general.in Chicago, and Attorney | munity. The planters and settlers :

}
4

a Mi
Bg

Joha C.-Gekas also appeared in de-{ possessed dogs.. The Indians had no
half of Chrisousies” Pa

q
5

ZEPHYR MAKES >:
A TRAILER OUT OF
‘DONALD’S TRUCK

ineker ia DeKalb county, sulle _..Chrlsousias was found suaty- be PASTOR, HEAD OF “¢

jury on
ton:tracks at @ crossing near Water-| berg in

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Whiskerg

the chin,
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Was a
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he had
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n fol-
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A a AH eR

pees

<mees

money just about as fast as it accumulated,
or spent it on clocks. He lived frugally,
which had enabled him to be benevolent to
others, and it would be hard to find anyone
with a more generous philosophy about life,
He was Benerous to a fault, his friends said.
He had had a noble soul and all mourned
his Passing, ‘

In ‘time Morris called
Brady’s closest neighbor. He had not ques-
tioned Ellis immediately, for he had wanted
to give him time to think things over.

“Tom was one of the most neighborly
souls I ever knew,” Ellis said. “If anybody
was ever sick, or in trouble, he was right
on the spot doing whatever he could.”

“You say he asked you to write a letter
for him. What was that letter all about?”

“Well, now that ‘Tom’s dead I guess
there’s no harm in revealing his private
affairs. It was written to a man
by the name of Henry Johns.
Tom and Johns owned
erty up there that had
money,
had been paid Over,
because the last half

on John Ellis,

“Hm-m-m! That might be our clue. What
was the address of this man Johns?”

“I don’t remember exactly, but it was
somewhere on Clark Street,”

The Chief made a mental note of the name
and street. He was

Etus was employed as a railroad watch-

man. On Saturday, which was believed to
have been the day of the crime, he had
worked from eight in the morning until six
in the evening, coming home an hour for
lunch. It was during this hour that he
had gone over to write the letter for Brady,
which he had posted for the old man on
the way back to his work. He had walked
home in the evening with a neighbor, who
also worked for the railroad company, and
this neighbor had visited him during the
evening, arriving shortly after supper.
They had talked to almost ten o’clock, when
the neighbor left for home and Ellis went
to bed. fully substantiated
by both the neighbor and members of El-

observed,
He again went through the house and
through Brady’s private Papers but found
nothing that could be called a clue. Noth-
ing except the clocks. It made him shiver
a little to see all those clocks stoppéd at the
hour of eleven.
Going back to his
found the coroner’s

Office late at night he
report ready for his
signature. It was a form report and he
noted that one line, headed “Witnesses,”
was blank. He seized a pen and wrote in
that line:

“Thirteen Clocks.”

The next morning the Chief was on the
job early. He spent the day talking with
neighbors of the slain man,
claimed to have seen Brady in
three o’clock Saturday afternoon, but no
one could be found who had noticed a light
burning there that evening.

During the afternoon

it helpful in running down criminals. They
had not been able to secure convictions on
fingerprints yet, but clear prints had en-
abled them to trace and identify several
killers,

gone to Chicago for the
prisoner after all, for he had wanted to wait
ax and the findings of

In Summing up the case before the Dis-
trict Attorney late Tuesday night, the Chief

“He could have had that first eight hun-

ed, or part of it at least, hidden in the
house. Someone could have known it was
there.”

“Who, for instance?” the D. A. asked.

The Chief shrugged his shoulders. “That’s
the rub. The old man had many close
friends. But I’ve got to find out first when
this money was received, If it came lately,
he might have Still had some of it, but if
he got it a couple of months ago he’d prob-
ably spent it all or given it away.”

“A man as hospitable as Brady was, might
feed tramps and vagrants on his premises,”
the D. A. said. “One of these may have
Come back and murdered him for whatever
he had.”

“Yes,
found seven dollars

that could have happened, yet we
and a watch in his
pockets. Seems to me a man after money
would have gone through his Pockets.”
“Who was known to visit the house reg-
ularly?”
“No one visited him regularly, I under-

stand,

that the second eight hundred would be
few days. The Payment
had been held up because of legal difficul-
i finally being. ironed out.
“I’m sorry it didn’t come through before
this happened,” he said, “It might have
made some difference,”

“What do you mean?”

Wr Brady was here to see me about
t

“I see what you mean. So he definitely
had three hundred hidden in
the house?”
“Yes, not over two weeks ago. It was his
first trip to Chicago in thirteen years.”
Johns explained how he and

had acted as agent for it, the sister having
asked him to sell it. After the settlement
of the estate, Brady had come into posses-
sion of this land, “He needed money, he
wrote me, so I offered him five hundred for
he sold it to me.

provements in that neighborhood and Tom’s

share of the sale Was sixteen hundred.”
“Much obliged for the information,” Mor-

ris said. “Now I know why Tom was killed.

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Somebody wanted that three hundred.
That gives me something definite to work
on.”

During his return trip to Springfield,
Morris got to thinking again about those
clocks. There might be some way of telling
from them just when the murder occurred.
As a boy he recalled the peculiarities of a
pendulum clock his father had owned. It
recorded both the days of the week and
month accurately, but occasionally the
striking mechanism got out of order and
his father would have to tinker with it each
time to get it striking correctly again. If

without allowing time for it to strike, that
was what threw it out of kilter.

He went to see a local jeweler, Frank
Hastings, and asked him if he knew any-
thing about pendulum clocks.

“Sure,” Hastings said, “up to a few years
ago when they went out of style that’s about
all I worked on. I know all about ’em.”

“Good! Will you go with me and have
a look at thirteen of them? They’re all
very fine clocks.”

“You in the clock business now, Chief?”

“No, I’m not. But I’ve got thirteen of
them out here in town that might be able
to tell us who murdered Old Man Brady.”

They went out to Brady’s house and Has-
tings had a look at the clocks. “Not a bad
collection, I’d say. There are some rather
good ones. This old grandfather’s clock,
for instance, is worth quite a bit of money.”

“Well, that is interesting,” Morris com-
mented. “Now, I would like to know be-
tween what hours the murder occurred.
If the slayer stopped all the clocks at eleven,
that’s understandable. It would naturally
have been somewhere around that time.
But if’ he moved them forward or back-
ward to eleven o’clock, it seems to me he’d
not have had time to wait for all of them
to strike the hour and half hour. If he did
that, why, he’d have been here yet. If
these hands were ‘moved around rapidly
and the hours were skipped, these clocks
would be completely out of whack, wouldn't
they?”

“Yes,” Hastings agreed, “they would be
off kilter sure enough if he did that. To
get them all striking properly again would
be a whale of a job.”

“What I want to know,” Morris said, “is
this: if those hands. were moved rapidly,
wouldn’t it be possible to tell from the way
the clocks strike now. at what, hour. they
last struck?” Ta, Sprays Ee

“Surely. Take this -old grandfather’s
clock, for example. It now stands at eleven.
If it had stopped of its own accord at eleven
it would strike twelve next time. Now, Pll
turn the hands to-the-next hour—twelve—
and we'll see.” ; es ste
- The jeweler moved the minute hand to
the half-way mark and the ponderous old
clock’s gong sounded once hollowly. He
moved it on around to twelve o’clock. ,

After a brief whirring of gears, slowly it
began to strike.

“It struck seven times,” the Sheriff ob-
served. “That means it struck last at six,
is that right?” .

Pe ee a a a a a Se aia!

E. E. CONROY said:

"We adults are the stewards of youth. We
must discharge that stewardship well lest
we be called to account at a later day
for mishandling the trust reposed in us.”

x « k& *

“That is correct. The hands were moved.
some time between six and seven, accord-
ing to that. Now let’s try another one and
see what it says.”

The jeweler moved the hands of a clock
on the far wall. At the half-way mark it
struck once and when the hands reached
twelve o’clock it began striking rapidly.

“One,” Morris counted, “two, three, four,
five, six, seven.”

“There you are,” Hastings said, “that
proves it. But let’s try some more. Now
take this old Seth Thomas, for example. It
records the days of the week. On the cyl-
inder it reads Saturday. That means the
clock was stopped between six and seven
on that day, but it doesn’t indicate whether
it was A.M. or P.M. Do you get what I
mean?” .

Morris nodded. ‘Yeah, I think I do.
When we turn it around to twelve o’clock
it will jump to Sunday.”

“It will, providing it was evening when
it was stopped. But if it were stopped in
the morning, say, the cylinder showing the
days of the week would not trip until the
next time around, when we reach midnight.
All these clocks are set to change dates at
midnight, so now we will advance it to
twelve o’clock and see what happens.”

HE minute hand was given one com-

plete trip around the dial, pausing mo-
mentarily for the half-hour signal, and
when it reached twelve the clock not only
began striking but the dates changed. The
cylinder now read Sunday and the date
hand had jumped from the 23rd to the 24th.

“But it struck only seven times,” Mor-
ris said. “How come it changed dates at
seven?”

“It didn’t. It changed at twelve midnight,
right where the hands are now pointing.
The striking mechanism was thrown off, so
the strokes at the present moment mean
morning. You have to go by the hands
themselves, which operate the dating de-
vices.”

“I see,” Morris said. “But how would you

_regulate the striking device so it would
! record the hours properly?”

Hastings pointed to a little trip lever
which could be seen by peering up under
the dial. He pushed on it and the mech-
anism whirred. The gong sounded once,
and the next time he pushed the lever it
struck eight times. Hastings kept on trip-
ping the lever until the striking mechanism
was in step with the dial hands. “There
you are. Now all you’d have to do to start
it off would be to turn the hands to the
proper time, letting it strike each hour and
half hour.” “s

They tried other clocks and got the same
results.

“Well, that’s all I want to know,” the

' Chief said. “The murder occurred between

six and seven on Saturday night. We've
got thirteen dumb witnesses that say it
did.” ,

“Not so dumb maybe,” the jeweler
laughed. “Those are mechanical witnesses
and you won’t catch them lying.”

Brady’s funeral was held the following

x *

ke *& & & w& k&

day and Morris maintained a close Vix)
over about one hundred persons who came
to the little chapel to pay their respects to
a man who had never been too poor to help
others less fortunate than himself. But he
observed no suspicious characters. All were
the old man’s steadfast friends.

At the end of a week there still wasn’t
much to work on. Morris knew only that
the murder had been committed during the
commission of a robbery and that it had
occurred between six and seven o’clock on
Saturday night. .

He learned from Mrs. Ellis that one eve-
ning Brady had been to a street-corner
meeting at which a girl—one of the mem-
bers of the charity organization—had sung
his favorite hymn. He had been so im-
pressed that he invited her and a girl
friend to his house for dinner. They had
accepted and he had prepared them a fine
dinner, cooking and serving it himself.

“He was very proud of the fact that he
had been able to entertain two young
ladies,” Mrs. Ellis said, “and for a couple
of days he talked of little else.”

Morris later went to his office and called
in several of his men. “I would like you
fellows to cover every street meeting in
town,” he said. “Old Man Brady was at-
tending those meetings and he spread what
little money he had around. It may be that
he became acquainted with someone who
followed him home and killed him when he
resisted robbery. Pick up anyone who
looks suspicious and ‘question him. If he
can’t give-a clear story, call me.”

Later in the day the Chief attended a
meeting of city officials called by the mayor
for the purpose of discussing finances. As
the affair broke up Morris stood talking
with the city clerk. Suddenly he reached
up and took hold of the clerk’s coat lapel.
His thumb rested on a fraternal emblem
showing a clock with the hands pointing
at eleven.

“Tell:-me,” the Chief said intently, “what
does that mean—eleven o’clock? I’ve gota
very special reason for asking.”

“Iv’s a long story,” the clerk said. “It
goes back to the beginning of the organ-
ization. The Elks’ Lodge was originally a
fraternity of actors and theatre people.
There’s an old saying among theatre folks
that eleven o’clock always comes, No mat-
ter how badly the show went or what catas-
trophes happened, the final curtain even-
tually went down at eleven o’clock. The
meetings were called at eleven then, be-
cause the members couldn’t make it before
that time. Later the organization grew and
we've retained the old insignia of the clock,
with the hands pointing at eleven.”

“Does eleven o'clock still have a special
significance?” :

“Yes, but it wouldn’t mean anything to
anyone who was not a member of the
lodge.” ;

“T see. Do you know if Old Man Brady
who was murdered was a member?”

- “Tf gon’t think so. But you could check
with the secretary and make certain.”

Morris lost no time calling on the lodge
secretary, only to learn that Brady had not
belonged to the lodge. Since he had al-
ways lived in Springfield, it was doubtful
that he had belonged to it in any other town.

Morris decided to look up the two girls
Brady had entertained at his home on the
chance they would be able to tell him some-
thing. He found them at the headquarters
of the charity organization, where they
lived.

“Tell me about Mr. Brady,” he said. “He’s
been murdered, as you probably know, and
we haven’t a clue. Perhaps you can re-
member something that would help us.”

“I don’t know what it could be,” one of
the girls said. “Mr. Brady was very inter-
ested in our work and came frequently. to
our meetings to join in the singing. When
he asked us to’ dinner we hesitated, but

Suddenly
She turned
young fell
door?”

“Oh—hi
while we *
Mr. Brady
They talke
Brady cal

was a frit

Mr. Brad:

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and ha‘
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‘ one hundred persons who ie
e chapel to Pay their respects to.
had never been too poor to help:
ite than himself, But he
0; lous Characters, Al] were
a dfast friends, =
GQ Of a week there still te
ork on. Morris knew ay: ‘that ha
had been committed during the =
a a robbery and that it had =
i a S1X and seven o’clock on 2
‘d from Mrs, Ellis that one eve.
had been to a Street-corner | :
Which a girl—one of the mem- 4
charity organization—had sung |
_ hymn. He had been so im-
he invited her and a girl a
; house for dinner,
1 he had prepared them a fine ~
‘ng and serving it himself Be
Ty Proud of the fact that he |
ble to entertain two young q

ilked of little else.”

r went to his office and cal
his men, “f would like you
ver every street meeting in
id, Old Man Brady was at-
meetings and he spread what
1e had around. It may be that
cquainted with someone who
home and killed him when he
ery. Pick up anyone who
US and ‘question him. If he
i story call me.”

’ Officials called by Liaianell
se of discussing finances. As
ice up Morris stood talking
clerk, Suddenly he reached
old of the clerk’s coat lapel
sted on a fraternal emblem
ck with the hands pointing

ictors and theatre peo
saying among theatre fallen
N -
© show went or wil aa |
‘d, the final curtain even-
Nn at eleven o’clock. The
called at eleven then be-
TS couldn’t make it before
the organization grew and
e old insignia of the clock
ointing at eleven,” ;
clock still have a special

ouldn’t mean anything to
S not a member of the

‘ know if Old
d “~ a tetakest as
30, ut you could
Mees alee Serta
ume calling on t
learn that Brady age
odge. Since he had al-
ingfield, it was doubtfyl
‘d to itin any other town
0 look up the two girls
ned at his home on the
De able to tel] him some-
‘em at the headquarters
sanization, where they

. Brady,” he said. “}70"

‘ou probably know, a
erhaps you can re-

that would help us.”

iat it could be,” one of

Br as very inter-
na frequently. to
- nging. When

er we hesitated, but

Merris maintained a close vi ae

They had © |

Ellis said, “and for a couple =

finally went because he had always been so
nice to us. He cooked us a fine dinner and
we sang some hymns for him. Later we
went home, and that’s about all there was
to it.”

Chief Morris was thoughtful for a mo-
ment or two. “Have you ever told anyone
about this dinner—I mean any of the people
you meet around here?”

“No, I don’t think so. That was a couple
of months ago and we’d forgotten all about
it.”

“What happened the night of the dinner—
anything?”

“No, nothing unusual.”

Suddenly the other girl’s face lighted up.
She turned to her friend. ‘How about that
young fellow—the one that came to the
door?”

“Oh—him. Yes, a young man called
while we were at dinner. He knocked and
Mr. Brady got up and went to the door.
They talked for a little while and then Mr.
Brady came back to the table. He said it
was a friend of his, but he didn’t say who.
Mr. Brady said his friend was a little girl
shy and wouldn’t come in.”

“Did you get a good look at him?”

The other girl spoke up. “Yes, I saw him
clearly. And later I saw him at one of our
street meetings. I remembered it was about
two weeks later, on a Saturday night.”

“Do you mean a week ago when Mr.
Brady was killed?”

“No, it was the week before that.” -

“Describe this fellow as best you can.”

“He was about nineteen, I guess, maybe
twenty. Not very tall.”

“How tall?”

“MH, about my height, I’d say. I’m five

feet seven. He was dark complexioned
and had very dark hair and eyebrows. He
wore a red sweater.”

After questioning the girls for another
half hour the Chief had a fair description
of the young man, but he did not know his
name. He went back to the office and wrote
out a lengthy description, after which he
had several copies made for his men. He
then ordered a thorough shakedown of the
town’s underworld element. He had re-
sorted to one of the oldest police tactics
known—a dragnet to pull in everyone who
might fall into the category of a suspect.

But the total sum of this effort was a zero.
Everyone brought in gave a clear account
of himself. The young fellow in the red
sweater had not turned up.

Morris again visited the charitable organ-
ization. He knew that ex-convicts some-
times went there for aid and he thought it
possible some of the girls had become
friendly with one of them. He knew that
out of pity for these men girls sometimes
innocently fell in love with them. There
had been such an example recently when
a girl, devoted to the cause for which she
had enlisted, had fallen in love with an ex-
convict who had played on her sympathies.
He had claimed that all the police were
against him and that no one was his friend,
and just to show him that everyone in the
world wasn’t as bad as he thought they
were she had married him, only to regret
it later when he was again arrested for
breaking into a warehouse. Having this in
mind, the Chief went directly to one of the
supervisors of the organization.

“Yes,” the woman said, “we’ve had a jit-
tle difficulty lately with one of our girls
who’s been going out with a former sailor.
It’s no reflection on the girl, however, for
she has a fine character. It’s just that this
man is good looking and has a nice appear-
ance, yet we happen to know he’s an ex-
convict. We transferred the girl to the
Chicago division to break it up, but I’m not
sure we have succeeded. This man hasn’t
been seen around here lately.”

Obtaining the ex-sailor’s name, the Chief
made inquiries, but he appeared to have

left town. He could no longer be found
around his old haunts.

At a pool room the Chief picked up a
lead. A young man he found there ac-
knowledged acquaintanceship with the man
Morris was looking for. ‘Sure, we call him
Sailor White around here. He’s an ex-con
all right. Did a year and eight months in
Joliet and brags about it. He’s done time
in Pontiac Reformatory, too.”

“When did you last see him?”

“Oh, maybe two weeks ago. I’m sure he
hasn’t been around since.”

“Know who any of his girl friends were?”

“No, not exactly. He told me once he
was going out with a little charity worker
but later he said she’d quit seeing him.”

“He didn’t belong to any lodge or frater-
nity, did he?”

“Well, now, Chief, that’s a funny ques-
tion. I asked him the same thing last time
I saw him. He’d been down to St. Louis
visiting his folks for a couple of days or so,
and there was another chap with him.
When he came back he brought a pennant
with a lodge emblem on it and I asked him
then if he belonged to that particular lodge.
He said no, he didn’t, but that while he was
down in St. Louis there had been a con-
vention there. He got in with some of the
members and they took him to their room
and treated him fine.”

Morris’ interest was mounting. “What
else did he say?”

“Well, about all he could talk about was
the way those fellows treated him. He told
me how they set all the clocks in the hotel
at eleven.”

“At eleven, eh? What was the other fel-
low’s name—the one that went down to St.
Louis with him?”

“He didn’t say.”

“All right, .you’ve been very helpful,”
Morris said as he got up to leave.
“If you hear of Sailor White, we’d appre-
ciate it if you’d let us know.”

Convinced now that he was on a hot trail,
Morris went straight to his office. And
there he found a surprise waiting him.

“T think we’ve located Sailor White,” one
of the officers told him. “He’s living with
a respectable family over on the other side
of the tracks.”

“Come on!” Morris said. “Let’s go.”

AKEN into custody as he was raking

leaves in the back yard, White admitted
his identity. But he disclaimed any knowl-
edge of the Brady murder.

“When was the last time you were in
trouble?” the Chief asked.

“Never, sir.”

“Ever in the Army?”

“No, sir.”

“Then where’d you get that ‘sir’? You
didn’t get to using it in these Springfield
pool halls. Sounds like Pontiac or Joliet.
Which was it?”

White grinned sheepishly. “Both, sir.”

“Now, that’s better. Under what name
did you do time?”

“Burch—Joe Burch.”

“How much did you get out of Old Man
Brady when you killed him?”

Burch’s face suddenly went white. He
glanced toward the door only to find it
eas by another officer. “I didn’t kill

im.”

“When was the last time you saw Brady?”

“A couple of months ago. He had us to
his house for dinner.”

“You and who else?”

“Me and Frank Sullivan.”

“Where’s Sullivan?”

“I don’t know—honestly. We split up
and I guess he beat it.”

“You and Sullivan did time together,
didn’t you?”

“That’s right—in Pontiac.”

“What name did he go under?”

Burch glanced anxiously around the
room. “Say, what are you trying to do—

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pin that killing on me? I had nothing to do
with it and I’m not talking any more, see.
You can’t make a murderer out of me—so
don’t try.”

Despite all he could do, Morris could get
no more out of Burch. He was locked up
for further investigation.

Meanwhile it had been learned by other
officers that Burch and Sullivan had lived
in a shack down by the levee up to the time
of the Brady murder.

Scattering his men through shacktown,
the Chief began digging up information.
But it was not very helpful. The officers.
learned that on the afternoon of the mur-
der, Burch had staged a drinking party in
their shack and had been drunk until nearly
eleven o’clock, at which time he visited a
pool hall, leaving there about 2am. Dur-
ing the entire afternoon and evening noth-
ing had been seen of Sullivan.

The thing that troubled Morris was why
Burch had not claimed an alibi, for he had
a very good one, apparently.

Morris asked the Joliet authorities for a
list of those discharged the same week
that Burch was released, and especially
those who had been friendly with Burch in
prison.

HE Warden sent him a list of names and

called particular attention to one man,
who had been a close associate of Burch’s.
His name was Frank Bryant and he had
been released the same day Burch had.

The Warden also sent along this man’s
photograph with Burch’s. The latter, in-
cidentally, was on parole from Joliet and
the Warden asked that he be held pending
action of the parole board.

Morris selected some other “mug” shots
from his own files and mixed them up to-
gether, then he took them down to the
charity organization.

“Ever see any of these men?” he asked,
placing all the photographs before the girls
in the organization.

The girl. who said she had seen Brady’s
visitor in the doorway on the night of the
dinner, at once picked out the photo of
Bryant. “That’s the man right there, I’m
sure.” . . if , 3 Meee

The other girl looked at it.. “Yes, I’ve
seen him hanging around our meetings. I
remember now, he had a date once with
Kitty Smith.”

Kitty was the girl the local organization
had transferred to Chicago!

Taking the photo. of Frank Bryant into.

shacktown, the officers quickly identified
Bryant as Burch’s pal, Sullivan.

“Bring Burch in,” the Chief ordered when
this information: was before him. : 9"); «:

The prisoner was ushered in and in sullen,
silence sat down facing the Chief. _

“There isn’t any use in trying to cover up
for Frank Bryant any more, son,”. he said.
“The two of you got to know Brady through
his generosity in helping ex-cons.. The old
man was trying to keep you out of trouble,
and one of you murdered him. Now come
clean, which one was it?”

“It wasn’t me, Chief.”

This Morris already knew, for Burch had
an alibi. “Go on,” he said, “tell me how
Bryant did it.” ws

“Well, to begin with, we met that girl,
Kitty Smith. I took her out once and then
Bryant took a fancy to her. She liked him
too and they.began going regular. I guess
he wanted to marry her and needed money.

I wasn’t with him that day the old man was °

killed. In fact, I didn’t see him all day, but
I guess he did it all right.”

“How did he know Brady had three hun-
dred dollars in the house?”

“Well, one evening when we were there
Brady showed us his clocks. Later Bryant
said to me, ‘Didja see the roll of jack in
fi big clock? It’s stuck up behind the

ial.’

“I said no, that I hadn’t seen it. He told

me that some day soon he was going back
and stop Old Man Brady’s clock, whatever
that meant. And I guess he did it that
Saturday.” :

“Look,” Morris said. “Isn’t it a fact that
he told you he did it and that he was leav-
ing town?”

Burch hesitated. “If I told you, would I
have to testify against him in court?”

“You probably would, but I believe we've
got enough evidence to omit your testi-
mony. I can’t promise that, of course.
That’s up to the District Attorney. But if
I were in your shoes I’d come clean. It
might mean the rope for you if you were
to be charged as an accomplice.”

“All right then, I’ll tell you everything.
He did tell me. He said he’d killed Brady
with an ax and that he’d found the money
still in the clock. He offered me some of it
the next day before he left for Chicago, but
I wouldn’t take it. I didn’t want any part
of it and told him so. He said, ‘All right,
you're out of it clean as a whistle, but if
you ever rat on me it’ll mean your goose
is cooked. If I don’t get you, some of my
pals from Joliet will.’” ;

“Don’t worry about his Joliet pals,” the
Chief said. “We'll take care of them. Now
tell me—did he say why he had set all the
clocks at eleven?”

“Yes, he did. In trying to get the money
out he stopped the big clock and couldn’t
get it running again. He got to thinking
that this would show the hour he had killed
the old man so he turned the hands around
to eleven. After he had done that he got
to thinking about all the other clocks and
what a good idea it would be to turn them
all to eleven, and that’s what he done, just
like they turned all the clocks to eleven
down in St. Louis during the convention.
He thought he had pulled a pretty smart
trick on the cops.”

Morris nodded. It was a simple answer
to the baffling riddle but it clarified matters
once and for all. Those clocks, after all,
were the thirteen dumb witnesses that
would send Bryant to,the gallows.

“Kitty’s in Chicago, isn’t she? And Bry-
ant’s with her.”

“Yeah, and they’re probably married by
now. He planned to marry her on that
money he got from Old Man Brady.”

Morris telegraphed the Chicago police
and had Bryant picked up. He was found.
at a hotel near the charitable organization
where Kitty worked. And they were just
in time, for the couple had planned to be
married that evening. -

Wher informed that Bryant was under
arrest, the girl fainted. “It can’t be true,”
she sobbed, “Frank just wouldn’t do that
to me.” es :

But the fact could not be denied.

RETURNED to Springfield and confronted
with the evidence along with the story
his pal, Burch, had told, Bryant wilted. His
confession verified in almost every detail
Chief Morris’ reconstruction of the crime.

After he had thought the matter over for
a few days, however, Bryant repudiated
his confession and announced through an
attorney that he would plead not guilty and
stand trial.

Three nights later a jailor heard the rasp
of a hacksaw and traced it to Bryant’s cell.
The prisoner had sawed through two bars
and was about ready to walk out. He was
transferred to a more substantial cell and
a few weeks later a jury found him guilty
of first-degree murder. On December 18th,
1908, he was hanged from a scaffold in the
yard of the Sangamon County jail.

Burch, who was not directly connected
with the crime, and who testified for the
State, was returned to Pontiac to finish his
term.

Eprtor’s Note: The name of Kitty Smith
as used in this story is fictitious, to save
embarrassment to an innocent woman.

SING SING. Sing Sing Prison, “The
Big House on the banks of the Hudson
River, thirty miles north of New York City,
obtained its name from the village in which
it is located but the village has long since
dropped the name Sing Sing, because of its
prison flavor, and is now known as Ossining.

In the early part of the 17th century, a
tribe of Mohegan Indians occupied the five-
mile by two-mile area on the banks of the
majestic Hudson, now identified as Ossining.
This tribe was known as the Sint Sincks.
As white settlers crowded out the red men
more and more, the community of Sink
Sink, subsequently Sing Sing, came into
being.

Sing Sing was known for its marble quar-
ries late in the 18th century and the quar-
ries brought greater numbers of pioneers
to the hilly settlement until on April 2nd,
1813, with the population approaching the
1,000 mark, the Village of Sing Sing was
incorporated. Kill Brook, which cuts
through the deep gorges dotting the village,
was named Sint Sinck on early maps, dated
as far back as 1609. From this, historians
deduce that the Indian word, Sint Sinck,
which has never been fully defined, iden-
tified the Mohegan tribe with the brook
winding through its camp site.

By 1825, the reputation of Sing Sing
marble had grown wide enough to attract
the attention of the State Prison authorities.
With a view toward developing this re-
source and at the same time providing work
for transgressors of the law, the State in
that year moved a large number of con-
victs to Sing Sing. Flush at the river’s
edge, these prisoners built their own cell
blocks: and shops of the native marble and
Sing Sing Prison was established as a rap-
idly growing penal institution.

In fact, the name Sing Sing became more
synonymous with “prison” during the next
twenty years than it did with marble or
the community in which it was quarried.
The stigma created by the prison so over-
shadowed the marble, farming and fishing
activities of the peaceful, law-abiding cit-
izenry that the people of the community
dug up another appropriate Indian name
and in 1845 had the village and the unin-
corporated town area outside of it re-named
Ossining by special act of the New York
State Legislature.

Ossin, in the Chippewa language, sig-
nifies stone, Osinee or Osineen is the plural,
meaning stones. A few residents preferred
this name to Sing Sing even before the
prison was built and historians have found
occasional reference to “Ossin-ing,” later
shorn of the hyphen when popular senti-
ment forced the breakaway from the
strongly resented Sing Sing.

Ossining today has a population of 18,000.

Sing Sing Prison, on November 15th, 1944,
had a total of 1,696 inmates, several hun-
dred more than did the village from which
it took its name at the time of its incor-
poration but considerably less than that of
Prohibition-gangster era, when it housed
well over 2,000 convicts behind its high,
sprawling walls and steel bars.

—Epwarp J. KELLY

years. O!
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‘ ANCESTOR CHART xX
Beginning Genealogy Great Grand Father
; Born
Person completing chart & address Xx
Married
Grand Father Died
Bom 4
Married
Died Great Grand Mother
Born
Died
X
Birth Father X
Born Great Grand Father
Married Bom
Died x Married
Grand Mother Died
Borm xX
Died
Great Grand Mother
4 Born
Died
Yourself
Born
X
Place
Great Grand Father
Born
X
Married
Grand Father Died =
Bor x
Married
», 4 Died Great Grand Mother
. Bom
Birth Mother
Died
Bom
Died
l xX
Great Grand Father
Bom
© 1997 x
Married
Grand Mother Died
Johnson County tom
Genealogical and Historical Society x
Died
JCGHS Great Grand Mother
PO Box 1207 7

Vienna, IL 62995

Died

Illinois Pioneers in 1835

The following was taken from a news article written by
Lester R. Davis. It was origianally titled How it All Began;
a story of his ancestors. Although it depicts life in another
area Of Illinois than Johnson County, it is typical of life in
that era that all pioneers experienced.

It is late October in the year 1835. The first frosts have
come and both man and animal are preparing for the winter
that lies ahead. The hard sugar maples are now a golden
yellow, and their falling leaves, combining with the russet
browns of the hickory, are covering the forest floor with a
deep rustling carpet. The golden-rod has bloomed in profu-
sion in the open spaces. The leaves of the sumac have
changed from green to a variation of colors. Both will soon
lose color and blossom as they enter another cycle of rest
and growth.

Late summer and early fall were at that time the best for
traveling. The streams, many of them nearly dry, were easy
to ford. The freezing and thawing that would soon make the
‘Trail’ impassable would soon be at hand. Then, horse and
rider could make the trip, but not the wagons. But now, the
‘Trail’ was in fair shape and many travelers were passing
through.

Most were going farther west by way of St. Louis or
Kaskaskia. Some did however, stop overnight, and perhaps
some stayed to become a part of the settlement. The Silk-
wood Tavern Halfway House was only a little over a mile on
down the road and it was no doubt very busy.

Soon though, practically all travel would cease and
those who had more or less become permanent settlers were
faced with a long winter of isolation from the so-called civi-
lized world. It is doubtful, though that this was even given
a passing thought for they were all too busy.

The Means and Davis families had now been here two
years. During this time they had been able to select home
sites, built temporary cabins and plant a garden.

They probably spent the Winter of 1833 and the Spring
of 1834 living with old friends, or just any one who had
room for them. In those days it was customary to give food
and shelter to all. Conditions were, of course, crowded, but
this concerned the women and children the most, for the
men spent much of their time in the woods, hunting, trap-
ping, clearing the timber and exploring.

While exploring they naturally made visible trails, but
some of these, especially where they went for any great dis-
tance, would take months or perhaps years to become estab-
lished. Each step they took away from the Trail was into
virgin territory for them. The Indians, of course, knew it
all; the game trails, the small springs and creeks, but now
practically all of them were gone, and only the visible signs
of their camp-sites remained.

But now, as they made their preparations for winter,
there was little time for anything but work. Each, now had
a part, even the smallest children could be helpful. They
could gather walnuts, hickory and hazel-nuts and store
them where they could be cracked and eaten, while sitting
around the open fire place on the long winter evenings.

Two of these little children were no doubt more in the
way than they were helpful. One was a little girl named
Orpha, the other a little boy named Welcome. Both were
dressed alike, as was the custom then for small children.
They both wore long dresses, and their hair was allowed to
grow more or less free, with just an occasional trim with
scissors. Both were two years of age, but they would eventu-
ally grow to adulthood, marry, and become my paternal
grandparents.

Of all the tasks performed, those of the women, were no

doubt, the hardest and most time consuming. They knew of
many roots and hebs they would gather, dry and store, for
both food and medication. They would also gather the wild
goose plums, pick wild berries, then cook and preserve
them. They had no sugar and only a meager supply of
crockery and jars. They would also assist in the curing, by
smoking or drying of the wild game and fowl. This, of
course, was all done along with their regular work of wash-
ing, cooking and tending the children.

Some had dug root cellars which they stored with any-
thing edible, from both the hunting and the harvested crops.
Wild game being plentiful, they harvested it as they did
their crops.

They killed deer and bear, ‘coon’ and ‘possum,’ quail,
turkey and prarie chicken; also geese and ducks during their
migration.

Sought the most was the passenger pigeon which was
so easy to kill and so plentiful. Flocks of these birds would
at times darken the sky, and their weight, when the would
settle to roost in the trees would often break the limbs.
Their numbers were estimated by reliable persons to be in
the hundreds of millions. They are now extinct, only a
small number lived into this century.

It was also the time to hunt and kill the pigs that had
been allowed to roam free in the woods and fatten on the
mast that was so abundant. This fresh pork was a welcome
change from their wild game diet. Many of these were
never found, and a wild breed developed that could of
course be dangerous. This was, of course, a task for the
men. Some hunted on horseback with dogs, and it eventu-
ally developed into a sport, but remained essentually a
source of meat. This fresh meat had to be butchered,
a and cured, no part of which was an easy job to per-

orm.

Wood had to be cut and stored in a lean-to by the cabin
wall, fire place chimneys mended with wet clay, walls re-
chinked, animal hides tanned.

In fact none of the preparing was easy, but, considering
all this rugged work, their difficult times, their precarious
living conditions, they were no doubt much happier and
more content than are the great masses of the people today.
They were both self-reliant and self-sufficient.

First Chewing Gum

William Semple of Mt. Vernon, Ohio, was granted a
patent on Dec. 28, 1869, for his special concoction for
chewing gum, described as “a combination of rubber with
other articles.” First known American chewing gum mar-
keted was State of Maine Pure Spruce Gum, made in 1848
by John Curtis, using an old Franklin stove.

Westward — Ho!

From Vienna Artery, 1881, a Johnson Co., IL newspaper.

“On the average there are about ten wagons through
this town, each day, going west; and five wagons, returning.
The West should be full soon.”

Noteworthy Exhibit

From Johnson County Journal, 1877, a Johnson Co., IL
newspaper.

“Drs. McCall, Elkins, Benson and Dameron performed
complicated surgery last Tuesday. They removed the upper
part of the femoral (thigh) bone from J.N. Rushing. Dr.
Elkins has the bone in his office on exhibit.”

Importance of Genealogy

Genealogy, for our purposes, may be defined as the
study and collection of knowledge of our ancestors. There
ol i better definitions but we feel that this serves us
well.

The following article appeared in a local area newspa-
per in 1956, concerning genealogy. We thought it would
ribean those who have not begun to compile their family

istories.

One of the deplorable aspects of family life in many
parts of this continent is the ignorance of family history.
Most people know something about their own parents,
though not always, with the extraordinary amount of di-
vorce and remarriage. Many know little of their grandpar-
ent. In questioning people who are about to marry, I ask
them if there is anything significant in their background,
and am often told, “I really don’t know much about anybody
except my mother. One survey found that nearly half of the
population is unable to give the maiden name of the
mother’s mother.

This represents a great loss of family feeling; and it is
wholly unnecessary. Knowledge of one’s own forebears,
with a legitimate pride in them, helps men and women to
lead better lives. The study of genealogy has been too often
discredited because of wrong emphasis—because an attempt
was made to play up descent from some famous individual,
say William the Conquerer. Probably the great majority of
all persons of English ancestry are descended from William
the Conquerer—if they had full knowledge of the enterven-
ing generations. So what of this?

Anoter reproach is the tendency to whitewash the occa-
sional black sheep in a pedigree. Professional genealogists,
tracing the family tree of newly-rich persons, are accused of
this in numerous old jokes. The researcher finds that a cer-
tain man was hanged, so he writes. “This outstanding indi-
vidual came to an untimely death due to the fall of a plat-
form, in the course of a public ceremony in which he was
playing an important part.”

Family history does not need to offend in such direc-
tions. Older people, particularly, should start at once, if
they have not done so, to collect accurate information about
their backgrounds. Dates of birth, marriage and death may
occasionally have real importance, but every little anecdote
is worth setting down for the benefit of young people.
Grandparents should make a record of the places in which
they have lived, the organizations to which they have be-
longed, the work they have done. What if there was nothing
conspicuous about any of it? “Life is like that.”

Give young people a chance to know who they are.
They can only know, if they have some information about
those who came before them.

While the above plea for genealogy may be somewhat
short, it does declare the shortcomings of our present gener-
ation.

There has been a public cry for family values in all po-
litical spectrums in recent years. We members of the Soci-
ety interpret this as a cry for family togetherness. What
better way can parents present the values of past generations
to their children than by compiling a history of their own
families.

The Johnson County Genealogical and Historical Soci-
ety is dedicated to preserving the public and family history
of this county.

A new era in the life of JCGHS has begun with empha-
sis on including all families in Johnson County. We wel-
come you to become a member and enjoy our rich heritage.

Beginning Genealogy

All persons who have a desire to record their family
history must start somewhere. We hope that we may be of
help to all who need ‘someplace to start.’

In this month’s issue of the Heritage Journal, we are
including an ‘Ancestor Chart.’ These are sometimes known
as ‘Pedigree Charts.’ We feel that ‘pedigree’ is more befit-
ting of animals rather than humans so we use the term
‘ancestor’ rather than ‘pedigree.’

Please make copies of this chart rather than fill in the
one in this issue. Several copies will be better—it is less
costly than ‘white-out.’ Next month we will include a fam-
ily group sheet that will record more information.

Make this a family project! Everyone will be able to
contribute and benefit from this.

Before filling in this chart, we suggest the purchase of
a notebook. This will be useful even in later years as a refer-
ence.

On the first page of the notebook, list all family mem-
bers, beginning with children, parents, grandparents, great-
grandparents, etc., in that order. Beside each of their
names, note their relationship to the family.

Beginning with the following page, write the name of
each of those persons at the top, continuing on through the
notebook with a separate page for each person.

On the individual pages, list these items (one on each
line): sex, date of birth, place of birth, father, mother (use
the mother’s maiden name), spouse, date of marriage, place
of marriage, date of death, place of death, place of burial.
For living persons, all this information may not seem appro-
priate, but making all pages identical will be a good prac-
tice.

Next, fill in the blanks as completely as possible from
your own personal knowledge. There will, of course, be
information which will not be known at this point.

After filling in the blanks from personal knowledge,
contact relatives and ask them about the things you do not,
as yet, know. An evening or afternoon with ones own par-
ents will reveal many things that have never been discussed.
It can be a very pleasant experience.

As you find additional information from relatives,
make a note of the source of information on the same line in
the notebook. The value of this will become more evident
later. Don’t neglect this—it is one of the ground rules of
good genealogical research.

Charts that are convenient, such as the ‘ancestor chart’
in this edition will be useful for organizing information but
it is evident that sources of information cannot be listed on
it. The notebook will provide this record for later use.

After this preliminary search for information, we sug-
gest a family outing. Plan for a visit to cemeteries where
ancestors are buried. Locate their graves and make a note
of information about birth and death that is engraved on
their headstones. Again, record the source of information
in your notebook.

While at the cemetery, take a look around. Make a
search for others who may bear the same family name or for
other relatives that you may know of. Familiarize yourself
with who may be buried beside ancestors. Sometimes there
is a relationship between persons buried in close proximity.
Often, in later burials there is not, but in early burials, fami-
lies often buried their dead close together.

Next month we will feature a family group sheet. This
will provide for more information that may be recorded
about family members.

During this next year, we plan to present a course in
‘Beginning Genealogy.’ Start today and enjoy the fun that
others have found in “Tracing thier Roots.’

Johnson County Genealogical

and Historical Society
PO Box 1207 — Vienna, IL 62995

Address Correction Requested

FIRST CLASS MAIL

January 1997

Publications For Sale by JCGHS

JCGHS Members—use discounted prices.

1870 Johnson County, IL Census — softbound edition

nonmembers—$25.00...........ccccccesseeeees members—$22.50
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The History of New Burnside — by Ned Cross
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Vienna Fraternal Cemetery Records to 1974
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The Life and Times of Sophie B. Cummins — Revised
by Mabel Slack Shelton
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A Century in Egypt — by J.A. Elkins
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1876 Map of Johnson County — from Illinois Atlas
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by PRIEST COLLINS.

CHICAGO, ILL., AUGUST 17, 1955

@ Sitting in his cozy kitchen on this, his
ninth wedding anniversary, Leonard
Powell opened a newspaper and read
the headlines: “90 Squads Hunt Desper-
ate Cop-Killer.” Below was a photo of
the slayer, described as a “cool, danger-
ous crook with iron nerves.”

Just then a scraping sound attracted
Powell’s attention and he stepped over
to the screen door to investigate. He
found himself staring into the snout of
a revolver held by a wild-eyed stranger
on the porch outside.

“Take a good look at me,” snarled
the gunman, sweat coursing down his
sun-bronzed face. “Do you know who
I am?”

“T’ve got a good idea,” Powell an-
swered slowly, a feeling of numb help-
lessnéss sweeping over him. “I’ve seen
your picture in the paper.”

“Yeah, I’m Dick Carpenter.” There
was a boastful note in the voice. “I
killed one cop Monday and I just
plugged another. And I’ll bump off any-
body else who gets in my way.”

“What do you want with me?” asked
Powell, trying to hide his uneasiness.

“Tet-me in,’ Carpenter said, rattling
the door.

Powell lifted the latch and into his
home stalked the desperado who at that
moment—10:15 p.m., Wednesday, Au-
gust 17, 1955—was the object of one of
the most intensive manhunts in the his-
tory of the Chicago Police Department.

As the fugitive crossed the threshold,
Mrs. Powell came into the kitchen from
another room. She halted, paralyzed with
fear, when she saw the gun in the stran-
ger’s hand. ?

“Take it easy, Stella,” begged her hus-
band. “Don’t scream. Don’t run. This is
Carpenter. He won’t hurt us or the kids
if we do what he says.”

Mrs. Powell sank limply into a chair.

“That’s it, lady,” said Carpenter. “Just
be nice, be good.”

From the living room of the second-
floor apartment came a sudden blare
from a television set. Tense. and alert,
Carpenter sprang toward the door lead-

continued on next page

ae aEL

Carpenter bled badly after escape attempt through window—but that
didn’t stop him from trying to grab an officer’s gun after capture. if

crowded movi

aS
P «

RRP emery

ated. Next
all right.

sealed off.
e?”’ asked

ght smack

door, tell
instructed
‘ll always
sight. And
a double

s?” asked

in a rug,”
iying here

ire for the

vas turned
h wedding
nd vicious
ry police-
ill or cap-

awry had
1950 when
been ar-
of a cab

Lntiehaning

“I’ve decided to stick around, folks .. . I’d sure be crazy to make a run for it now!”’

driver and sentenced to a year in the
Cook County Jail. After his release, he
worked for a while at odd jobs and po-
lice believed he’d reformed.

In 1953, while speeding to the scene
of a holdup alarm, Sergeant Emil Smick-
las, ace thief catcher of the Detective
Bureau, came across a late-model sedan
wrapped around a trolley post and
abandoned. Witnesses to the robbery
told him that the lone bandit had es-
caped in a similar car.

The license number of the wrecked
vehicle ‘was traced to a citizen who said
he had loaned the auto to Carpenter, a
grammar school friend.

“My son is not a crook,” maintained
Carpenter’s mother when squads in
search of him raided her Schiller Street

home. ‘“‘He’s a good boy, my Richard.” *

But during the next 12 months, more
than 100 businessmen, most of them
saloon keepers, identified Dick Carpen-
ter’s picture as that of the gunman who
had robbed them.

He had all the attributes of the suc-
cessful outlaw—high intelligence, ruth-
lessness, icy nerves and a deceptively
commonplace appearance. Also, he oper-
ated alone.

Except for the foray on which he
wrecked his friend’s auto, he did not use
cars in his getaways, a fact which made
him a freak among Twentieth Century
bandits. Instead, he vanished into the
darkness on silent rubber-soled shoes
with the speed of a trained athlete.

He showed satanic cleverness at evad-
ing manhunters. On one occasion, as he
fled from a robbery scene with two
fleet-footed detectives in close pursuit,
he leaped into a taxi and told the driver
to step on the gas.

“T was with a doll and her husband
arrived home unexpectedly,” he ex-
plained hurriedly. “And, look, here he
comes with another guy and they have
guns!”

The cabbie, believing he was aiding a ..

Don Juan in distress, took off at high
speed and carried him to safety.

Carpenter’s next closé brush with cap-
ture was in a tavern on Wrightwood Ave-
nue where he took $40 from the owner,
Martin Chowanski. Among the patrons
was an off-duty detective, Medard Bo-
sacki, who suddenly whipped out his gun.

Quick as a flash, Carpenter seized two
women customers and held them in
front of him as a screen, preventing the
officer from opening fire.

“Drop your rod and kick it over
here,” ordered Carpenter without a trace
of excitement in his voice. “If you don’t,
Pll start tossing lead and you won’t be
able to return the compliment without
plugging these dames.”

Realizing that he was licked, the ofh-
cer cursed and allowed his gun to fall to
the floor. Carpenter snatched it up,
backed out slowly and escaped.

N another saloon, not long. after-

wards, a bartender grabbed a pistol
and opened fire on him. Dropping to the
floor, Carpenter feigned death as his
adversary prodded him with his foot to
detect whether there were any signs of
life.

Satisfied that he had bagged a bandit
for himself, the tavern employe swag-
gered to a telephone in the rear to call
police. When he got back, he found that
his quarry had vanished.

So quietly did the desperado operate
that he sometimes was able to hold up

crowded drinking places without the
patrons knowing anything was wrong
until after he had departed.

Now and then he would order a glass
of ginger ale or a small beer while siz-
ing up a barroom. He always took the
glasses with him in order not to leave
fingerprint clues.

But Sergeant Smicklas had recognized
his description on the very first of these
forays and thereafter showed Carpen-
ter’s picture to all holdup victims.

Lieutenant Frank Pape, head of the
Robbery Detail, listed Carpenter as the
No. 1 quarry of his squads and provided
all his men with rogues gallery photos
of him.

“Carpenter is a quiet, fairly good-
looking man of average height,” said
Sergeant Smicklas, briefing the man-
hunters. “He is 25 now, but looks a
little older. He wears neutral-colored
clothing, usually casual sports outfits.
He never stands out in a crowd and
people don’t (Continued on page 61)

When he calmed down after his arrest, Carpenter gave this sob story: “I’ve

been a lonesome guy all my life, horribly lonesome.” Not an officer wept.

, Joe’s al-
a mother
ual. But if
id that to
ert, crazy,

e ball roll-
night less
w that he

zan to ex-
ney agreed
me time—

s probably
t the time
said could
t to accept
d as final,

ed Albert
had hal-
ideas. But
iin things,
-mory was
ivolved in
patient is
facts and

pinion

rt, he
ations
ss—and it
n to com-
he charges
ympulsive
, and he
or not.”
e that Al-
r part of
:mination
t he could
amination
ns of this

nonths to
er he did,
0, shortly
rdered it
in to pre-
» Superior

1 now for
and grant

ransterred
ite Hospi-
he talked
imagined
and over
for what
poor lit-

the boys’
ridest boy
is now in
hing that
him and
d him sit
0ked like
-ves,”” she
hart “He
ina
'Who

_ when
he doing
He’s as

: ¢ { couldn't

get through to him in his mental condition and
so there was nothing I could say. Nothing.”

The wait for word on Joe seemed endless
for Mrs. Taborsky. One day, while Mr. Berg-
man was arguing Joe’s case at the Superior
Court hearing, a friend drove the woman to
an Episcopal monastery on Long Island, N. Y,,
for a few days of rest. There, she talked to a
priest who became interested in the case. He
prepared a pamphlet on it and before long
Mrs. Taborsky was to receive mail from all
over the country, from people sympathizing
with her and her Joe and telling her to con-
tinue to pray and have patience, that every-
thing would work out all right.

Then, suddenly, the hearing was over and
Mr. Bergman was informed that his request
for a new trial for Joe had been turned down.

The lawyer broke the news to Mrs, Tabor-
sky. Then he went out to the prison and told
Joe. “But don’t worry,” he said. “We'll do
something . . . something.”

It took years before anything could be done.
In that time, Joe tried to make the time pass
as easily and quickly as possible. “Mama al-
ways brought me newspapers and books,” he
said later, “and I read a lot and I even got to
improve my English some by all that reading.
It was hard waiting but always I had a faith,
a faith in God and in justice, that something
would happen . . . When I wasn’t reading, I
thought about Albert a lot. I was bitter about
him at first, about what he’d done to me. But
the more I thought about him and how bad

off. he was there at Norwich, the bitterness
began to fade away and all I could feel was
sorry for him, sorry and full of pity for my
little kid brother.”

Attorney Bergman, meanwhile, stuck with
Joe’s case, gathering more psychiatrists’ re-
ports on Albert, talking about it with judges
with whom he came in contact, arguing against
the decision made by the one judge who had
turned down the appeal he’d made for Joe.

Then, early this year, the good news came
that the Supreme Court of Connecticut had
decided to give the case its very careful con-
sideration,

“This could do it,” Mr. Bergnmn told Joe,
still sitting it out in death row, one afternoon.
“This could be it... .”

In May, Mr. Bergman presented his case
before the five judges of the court. Then, three
long months later word got out that a decision
had been reached, that the decision would be
released sometime on the morning of Wednes-
day, August 3. .

Mr. Bergman notified Mrs. Taborsky im-
mediately. Then he went to tell Joe to stand
by.

The lawyer got to the courthouse early on
the morning of the third. He waited around
for nearly an hour before he was called into
the chambers of Judge J. Phillips. Judge Phil-
lips rose when Mr. Bergman walked in and
shook his hand firmly, “It’s unanimous,” he
said. “The court has ruled that Joe Taborsky
is entitled to another trial.”

Mr. Bergman smiled and sat down on the
nearest seat. He continued smiling as Judge
Phillips handed him the decision. He read it
over hurriedly the first time. The first words
he saw were: “Error; judgment directed.” He
read on. “The evidence now available as to
Albert’s sanity could have a persuasive influ-
ence upon the jury. In the shadowy area
where proof which is insufficient to establish
guilt beyond a reasonable doubt merges into
proof which is sufficient to establish guilt be-
yond a reasonable doubt, the ‘new evidence,
and especially that of Albert’s undoubted and
incurable insanity as revealed shortly after
his trial, might well be sufficient to turn the
cause in favor of the applicant.”

He phoned Mrs. Taborsky, who wept un-
ashamedly when she heard that Joe was going
to be given another trial, a trial which would
probably set him free.

Then the lawyer drove out to the prison... .

Joe sat forward on his bunk when he saw
the big, steel door open. He watched Mr.
Bergman as he walked briskly down the long,
pale-gray corridor.

The lawyer was only half-way to the cell
when Joe saw the smile on his face, the big
smile.

For a moment, Joe closed his eyes and
whispered: “Thank you, God.”

And then—as always—he added: “And take
care of my brother, Albert, and make him
well . . . and forgive him, God, please, for
what he’s done to me!”

The Desperate Hours

continued from page 4]

remember him. His appearance, manners and
a lot of other things have made him hard to
catch.

“But it’s always easy to recognize a Carpen-
ter job. He’s deadly calm about his crimes,
never shaky. He tells his victims: ‘Now don’t
get nervous. See how calm I am. Don’t be
nervous and you won’t get hurt.’ But he makes
it plain he won’t tolerate any nonsense. He
carries two snub-nosed .38s and frequently
clicks the hammers to remove any suspicion
that they might be toy guns.”

As the string of Carpenter’s robberies mount-
ed past the 200 mark, efforts to apprehend him
were intensified. A 24-hour watch was main-
tained over his mother’s 70-year-old home in
a blighted section where the streets resemble
alleys. His boyhood companions were ques-
tioned and placed under surveillance. But Car-
penter had evidently cut his ties with his past,
for no trace of him was found.

“Study his picture, keep your eyes peeled,”
instructed Lieutenant Pape. “Sooner or later,
if we’re alert, we’ll catch sight of him.”

On the evening of Monday, August 15, 1955,
34-year-old Detective William Murphy swung
aboard a bus near his home on West Summer-
dale Avenue. He waved goodbye to his wife,
Shirley, and daughter, three, who had wheeled
another child, a nine-month-old baby girl, in
her perambulator down to the bus stop to see
him off.

He transferred to an elevated-subway train
near the lake front and rode on toward the
Detective Bureau, where he served on a Rob-
bery Detail squad on the 8 p.m.-to-4 a.m. shift,
At’ the Washington Street stop in the Loop
subway, a broad-shouldered, deeply-tanned

chap with a dapper hairline mustache boarded
the almost empty car.

Detective Murphy blinked behind his shell-
rimmed glasses and surreptitiously drew out a
picture of Carpenter. There was little doubt
of it, he decided. His fellow passenger in the
casual type sports clothing was the long-hunted
holdup man whose shadowy trail he had been
following for months.

As the train drew into the Roosevelt Road-
State Street Station, half a block from Po-
lice Headquarters, Murphy walked up to the
suspect. His hand on his holstered gun, the
detective showed him the picture, smudged
from much handling.

“This is you, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” The reply was calm.

“You’re under arrest. Come on,”

THEY stepped out onto the underground

platform. The car doors slid shut behind
them’ and the train streaked off toward the
South Side.

“Okay, Carpenter, up those steps over there.”

His shoulders slumped, Carpenter shambled
in the direction indicated. But suddenly he
leaped to one side and whirled around, snaking
a gun from under his shirt, which he wore
outside his trousers to conceal behind-the-belt
armament. It blasted lead and flame and the
policeman staggered and fell. But he raised
himself feebly and sent three ineffectual shots
after the hoodlum as he fled.

Twenty witnesses to the shooting scam-
pered up the stairway, running past the ticket
booth on a higher level in which a woman
sat alone. Someone yelled: “Look out! Guy
with a gun!” Dropping to the floor, the

woman pulled a. telephone off a shelf and
dialed Police 5-1313.

When investigators reached the scene after
a dash from headquarters, all the witnesses had
vanished. Detective Murphy was dead, his still-
warm revolver a few feet from his body. And
nearby, fluttering’in a dank breeze from a
ventilator, was the rogues gallery photo of
Carpenter.

“He must have done it,” decided Sergeant
Smicklas, looking at the photo. “What other
reason would Murph have for taking out this
picture ?”

Proof that Carpenter was the killer was
forthcoming after Charles A. Koerper, 67, re-
ported that a gunman had entered his sedan
near the subway entrance and had forced him
to. drive to the Loop just a few seconds after’
the below-the-ground gun battle.

Said Koerper: “He told me: ‘I just shot a
cop. Look straight ahead. Make no bum moves
or J’ll drill you, too.’ He opened his revolver
and showed me five empty shells and said: “I'll
polish you off with the one that’s left if you
get smart.’”

Koerper had driven the gunman to Dearborn
and Madison, in the heart of the teeming
downtown district, where he had leaped from
the car and walked swiftly away.

Holding up a picture of Carpenter, Sergeant
Smicklas asked: “Is this the gent?”

“T don’t know,” answered Koerper. “I did
what he said—looked Straight ahead. I didn’t
see his face.”

But experts from the Bureau of. Identifica-
tion found Carpenter’s fingerprints on the side
window of Koerper’s car.

“IT remember now,” said Koerper. “He

Within minutes after the call the house was surrounded and
all eyes were on the window behind which stood the killer.

ing to the front part of the house, his
gun pointed forward. As he sprang, a
few drops of blood dripped from one of
his legs.

“Who's in there?” he called. ‘“Who in
the hell else is in the joint?”

“Just our two kids,” replied Powell
hastily.

“Where are they? How old are they?”

“Diane—she’s two—is asleep. My boy,
Bobby, seven, is looking at TV.”

“Tell them I’m a friend of yours if
they get nosey, understand? And no
monkey business unless you want to
give the gravediggers some work to do.”

‘Don’t let my son see your revolver,”
begged Powell. “He’d be frightened out
of his wits.”

Carpenter took a seat at the table,
holding his weapon out of sight, as young
Robert bounded into the kitchen. The
boy halted in surprise when he saw the
stranger.

“A friend of mine from work, son,”
lied Powell. ,

The child seemed apprehensive.

“Tt’s nothing, Bobby,” said Powell.
“Mr. Jones has been drinking too much,

that’s all. That’s why he looks a little
wild.”

Satisfied with this explanation, the
boy dutifully kissed his father and
mother and trotted off to bed.

“You handled him fine,” said Carpen-
ter approvingly. “Real fine. Now get me
some bandages. That lousy cop nicked
me.”

As Mrs. Powell started for the next
room to comply with his demand he
warned: “Don’t even think of calling
the law, babe. Remember I got my rod
trained on your hubby. One false move
by you and he’s a dead pigeon.”

While waiting for Mrs. Powell to re-
turn, the desperado flipped on the table-
top radio and punched the buttons one
by one.

“Another flash on the Richard Car-
penter hunt,” he heard suddenly. “Four
hundred policemen have drawn a tight
cordon around a large area on the Near
Northwest Side in a hunt for this cop
killer, who escaped on foot after shoot-
ing another officer just a few minutes
ago.”

The newscaster gave the boundaries

AEE PISS TP IRE) SINTON

of the section the police had sealed off.

“We're inside it, aren’t we?” asked
Carpenter.

“Yeah,” nodded Powell, “right smack
in the middle of it.”

“If anybody comes to the door, tell
him you haven’t seen me,” instructed
Carpenter. “T’ll hide, but I'll always
have you, your wife or kids in sight. And
Tl plug them if you try a double
cross.”

“UST what are your plans?” asked
Powell nervously.

“T’m as cozy here as a bug in a rug,”
said Carpenter. ‘And I’m staying here
until it’s safe to go outside.”

Thus began a long nightmare for the
Powells whose pleasant home was turned
into a jungle lair on their ninth wedding
anniversary by the dangerous and vicious
two-gun murderer whom every police-
man in Chicago was out to kill or cap-
ture.

Carpenter’s career of outlawry had
first come to official notice in 1950 when
he was 21 years old. He had been ar-
rested then for the robbery of a cab

*. Doctors gave Kerr 50-50 chance before they operated. Next
day, they told him and. smiling wife that he’d be all right.

“D’ve «

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thinks of another
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s Carpenter that
visit his in-laws
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” he said.

nd nods. “Okay,”
m to be careful.”

, Len Powell in- -
it he usually drops '

cher-in-law in the
go,” he says.
ter’s eyes narrow.

up here if I do.
hat's wrong. Then
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s drum. nervously
Then he sits up.
ays, “but you get
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thing if he wants

nember, I'm going ~

ou.

es the apartment
vorking, but inside
his stomach. Out
his time approach-
he gets to her, he

“Take the ‘kids and

; up. Gingerly she
d, calling softly to

» follow her. Her-

em move out of the
ae street, and he
a gangway where
him

a second to leap the
eet begin to pound
is now nearly nine

side. “Man is on the secon

- @’clock, and, when he reaches a phone

booth at Division and Damen, he dials

lice. His voice is steady but hurried.

en he hangs up, he slumps against
the back of the booth.

“In the stationhouse, Dan Dowling
listens to the click on ‘the other end.
Then he radios instructions to squad
cars cruising through the city’s North,
floor of
the building at 2040 Potomac. He is
armed.”

Six minutes pass. Squad cars race

’ toward the home of Len Powell, their

sirens muted. Detectives on foot are
picked up and brought there. Outside,
a: crowd begins to gather.

And Dickie Carpenter senses some-
thing is wrong. He hears the murmur
below, and he looks out a window, then
ducks back behind a curtain.

In the stationhouse, Dan Dowling
radios. more toned cars to the scene.
The cops on duty are tense, knowing
that the fugitive has nearly reached the
end of the line.

In the Powell apartment, he paces
bad back and forth. Inside him the

lesperation begins to grow. He knows
he may. only have seconds left.

He looks out the bedroom window
again. Below he can see the crowd

ather. And on the stairs he can almost
fae the soft, careful treads of ap-
proaching cops against the swelling
murmur of the people below.

He looks across the way. It is his
only chance. Only four feet separate
the building the Powells live in and the
one ‘next to it.

Suddenly he smashes the window.
Below him, a crowd numbering in the
hundreds gasps as he leaps the four-
foot space, 25 feet above the ground.
For a split second he is caught in police
spotlights.

Momentum carries him through a
screen in the home of Stan Sciblo, a
railway car lapectoss and into hi
dining room. Sciblo is entertaining
friends, and they stare in wonderment
at the blood-spattered fugitive with the
crazed, wild look in his eyes.

“Get out of my way,” he snarls.
He shoves Stan Kuczek, Sciblo’s friend,
across the dining room and begins rac-
ing through the home. In and out of
rooms, searching for an escape.

When he enters the bathroom,
Sciblo and Kuczek get their wives out
of the kitchen. Seconds later, the gun-
man—who has left his revolver in the
Powell apartment—races back through
the dining room, trailing wet footpristts

from the bathtub. .

He tears into the kitchen, and the
two families flee the apartment, down
the stairs and into the street. Sciblo
tells the police where Carpenter is.

The crowd in the street now num-

bers well over a thousand. Detectives,

are racing back and forth, then starting
up the stairs. Behind them, other cops
begin pouring machine gun bullets,
pistol and shotgun fire into the build-
ing. And then tear gas.

Carpenter is turning and twisting in
the apartment. Suddenly, he races to
an enclosed third-floor porch, then in-

side its apartment. It is a flat belong-.

ing to Al Krolikowsik, and tear gas is

‘and knees.

exploding all around it. ‘4

p the stairs come the cops. In the
lead is Patrolman rig Kennedy. He
keeps his gun in his hand while he.
begins to kick in the door to the apart-

ment. -

Suddenly, Carpenter's outstretched
hands lunge through the door jamb.
Behind the .door, his voice p leads,
“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot. I haven't got
a gun. I give up.”

Kennedy grabs his wrists and the
cops begin to force themselves inside.
Just as they enter, Carpenter. twists him-
self free and falls to the floor.

When they get in, he is on his hands
is arms are outstretched.
“I’m not Carpenter. I live here in the
building,” he-moans. .

It is dark in the apartment, and the
detectives don’t recognize him right
away. When they do, tear-gas shells
shatter a window and sputter into the
living room, aim g it with a weird
apple blossom smell.

The cops push the feigning fugitive
to the floor, trying to duck the fumes.
Suddenly he lunges for Ted Sparrow’s
pistol, but the other cops twist him away
and jam a shotgun into his belly. The
hunt for Dickie Carpenter is over.

Minutes later, as they lead him down
the stairs and into the street, the crowd
surges toward them shouting, “Kill him,
kill him.” But Dickie Carpenter is not
to die that night.

In the stationhouse, detectives strip
him while hunting for concealed wea-
pons. He is manacled hand and ankle

-and taken to talk with the state’s at-
torneys.
It is now well after ten o'clock,
August 18, 1955, and Dickie Carpenter
twists:and turns in his chair, ;

But he still tries ‘to fight. “What can:
I expect, what will I get if I tell all?”
he asks. “I don’t want to die. If I
come clean, will you give me life in-
stead of the chair?”

The attorneys and the’ cops refuse to
make any deals. Slowly, Dickie Car-
penter realizes he hasn’t a chance. The
words tumble forth.

He tells of the shootings. He says
Murphy and Kerr shot first, although
later he will change his ‘story, which
Kerr has already denied. It is not long
after that that he signs a 15-page con-
fession.

In the days that follow, Dickie Car-
penter stands stoically in hand and
ankle manacles while a coroner's jury
recommends that he be turned over to
the grand jury for the murder of Detec-
tive Bill msg

Carpenter’s lawyers announce that
they will admit the ex-convict shot the
two policemen but argue that he isn’t
guilty because he was insane before,

uring and after the shootings. If the

case goes to trial, they say, ea will
make an insanity plea in an effort to
save him: from the electric chair.

‘But for most people in Chicago the
case of Dickie Carpenter—scheduled
to go to the grand jury on August 31—
is already closed.

One cop is dead. : Still another is
recovering from bullet wounds. And a
killer has been brought to bay.

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away,” he said. He lashed their hands, then forced Dix
into the rear of the car. \

He bound their ankles, using eight lengths of wire
previously cut into 4-foot strips. When they were help-
less, he got behind the wheel and began to drive. It was
a strange, wild ride. The man apparently knew the North
Side thoroughfares perfectly. He wheeled down side streets,
but skillfully avoided dead ends. He knew the tricky,
diagonal streets, too, Carol wondered if he might have
been a taxi driver. It was a shrewd deduction.

The gunman announced at the outset of the ride that he
was going to rape Miss Giddins. He talked little and what
words he did say were mainly boastful. “I’m not new at
this,” he said at one point. “I’ve done this before.” ,

Again he mentioned, “I spent 11 years in San.” That
was not only a boast, but a lie as well, if he was referring
to California’s San Quentin Penitentiary, as seemed likely.

He stopped after a half-hour or so on a street unfamiliar
to Carol and attempted to remove her blouse. Changing
his mind when a couple of pedestrians passed, he drove on.

Carol studied his face in the light from the car’s instru-
ment dash and from street lights. She was wearing her
glasses until he removed them and put them in the glove
compartment when starting to attack her anew. The girl
memorized every detail of his features, every inflection
of his voice.

In the back of the car, Dix was struggling desperately
to free his wrists of the wire. The sharp strands gouged
into his flesh to the bone. After nearly an hour had passed
one strand gave way—then the other. In Richard’s pocket
was a small penknife the gunman, had overlooked. Dix
got the blade open and made a sudden lunge. He ap-
parently was striking with the knife for a vital spot in
the back of the neck. The kidnaper must have sensed the
young man’s movements or have caught a glimpse in the
rear view mirror. The car was parked at the moment. The
.22 revolver cracked five times—and the world began to
end for Richard Dix. He fell to the floor of the car. He
moaned a few times and his breathing was rasping.

Immediately after the shooting, the gunman drove on. He
apparently feared the sound of the shots might bring

At inquest Carol Giddins told of tragic ordeal. “I'd know the man if I saw him,” she declared. “I’d recognize him anywhere.”

trouble for him. Finally he parked again on Troy Street
near Belmont Avenue, a dark location. He fumbled and tore
at Carol’s clothing. The front seat was cramped for space
and he took her into the back where Dix was dead or

‘dying on the floor.

Unable to accomplish his purpose with Miss Giddins’
ankles bound, he untied the wire on her legs, but the
excitement of the shooting seemingly had made him im-
potent, temporarily. Cursing, he adjusted his clothing and
got out of the car. He ran south on Troy with the swift-
ness of a trained athlete. Carol noted that his footsteps
made hardly a sound. He was wearing crepe-soled shoes.

Within 15 months he was to become the most hunted
man in Chicago’s history, with the murder of one police-
man and the wounding of another chalked up against him.

Her ankles now untied, Carol managed to get out of
Richard’s car and totter to a nearby building. She rang
a doorbell until help came. The first police squad pulled
up within five minutes.

‘Richard was rushed to Belmont Hospital, only to be

pronounced dead on arrival. Carol fainted when informed
of it at the Shakespeare Avenue police station. “The gun
was s0 little,” she said, when she recovered. “I didn’t
think it would kill Richard.” i

Dix had been a turntable operator on radio disk jockey
shows for NBC and ABC stations in Chicago. Carol was a
telephone switchboard operator for a meter manufacturing
concern. They had known each other for a year and had
talked of marriage.

On duty at once at the police station came Captain
Thomas J. “Rosie” McLaughlin, commanding officer of the
district. Captain John Golden, homicide chief, was on
the job, too, They are two of Chicago’s most highly re-
spected murder experts.

Squads toured the area, stopping every man they saw
on the streets. Carol Giddins, fighting back her grief and
horror, had told the: full story. Her description of the killer
and would-be rapist went by radio to every police station
and prowl car in Chicago. Sods

“I'll know the man if I see him,” Carol said, over and
over. “I’d recognize him anywhere.”

nny ae

a CS aee wEM.
He boasted, “I’m not new at this. I've done this before.”

.
diy hy

The broken blade of Richard’s penknife was found in

the front seat of. his car, the handle on the floor in the

back. A lack of blood on the front seat indicated the killer
was unwounded,

Autopsy surgeons removed three .22 slugs from Richard’s
body and sent them to headquarters, Lieutenant John
Ascher, head of the crime lab, examined them under a
microscope and shook his head. “These were fired from
a .22 with the barrel sawed off short,” he said, “Even if
we got the gun that fired them, we wouldn’t be able to
prove anything. The barrel was so skimpy, it left hardly
any rifling marks on the slugs.” ‘

Carol’s story gave Captain McLaughlin an idea. He was
convinced the murderer lived near Troy and Belmont,
where he left the girl, and that he knew the district well.
“I’ve driven around this area a lot,” the captain said, “and
even I can get lost here. This fellow knew the district like
a native. If he got out of here, he must have used public
transportation, a taxi or a bus. He couldn’t have had a
car parked on Fletcher, where he kidnaped .Miss Giddins
and Dix, and walked back there from Troy and Belmont.
One of our squads would have picked him up.”

McLaughlin assigned detective teams to make door to
door checks of every building over a mile-square region,
fanning out from Troy and Belmont. He also had notices
posted in every taxi and bus garage to alert the drivers.
There was not a fingerprint of value in the murdered
man’s car, .

“I remember now,” Carol said when she heard that.
“That man wiped off the steering wheel and instrument
dash with a cloth from the glove compartment.” The point
indicated to police that the murderer was no novice.

The killer had left the girl at about 2:00 A.M., when a few
taverns would be open in the Shakespeare Avenue Dis-
trict..Captain McLaughlin’s men checked all of them on
the chance that the fugitive had stopped for a nerve-
quieting drink and to telephone for a taxi. The results
‘vere nil.

Carol spent two hours with Police Sergeant Adolph
Valanis, an artist with highly unusual talents, He had the
girl describe the man’s nose, eyes, mouth, chin, ears, facial
planes, brows and hairline. Valanis drew a dozen sketches,
one after another, from her descriptions. He drew, erased
and started all over again. At last he had a drawing of
which the girl said, “That looks exactly like him,”

Copies of the final sketch were distributed to Chicago
newspapers and television stations. A police circular bear-
ing the drawing was circulated to all police agencies in
northern Illinois. It turned out to be one of the best jobs
Valanis ever did.

A thing that might have terrified many young girls and
grown men, too, took place about 8:55 p.m. on the Tuesday
night following the murder. Carol received a telephone call
at her home and a man’s voice said, “You had a bad night
last night, didn’t you?”

The girl thought she recognized the voice as that of
the killer, and she replied cautiously, hoping to get some
information from him, “Yes, I did.”

The man continued, “You aren’t going to give me a bad
time again, are you?” Then he disconnected.

Arrangements were made after that to monitor calls to
the Giddins home with the hope of tracing them. When
the murderer—if it was he—called back again, he might
be trapped. But he never called again. A less courageous
girl might have been terrorized by the phone call. But not
Carol Giddins. She settled down in Captain McLaughlin’s
battered office in the dingy Shakespeare Avenue station.
It became her home away from home for days. Before her
Passed the scum of Chicago, the rejects of decent living,
the failures of the parole system, the graduates of dozens
of tough penitentlaries. She was frightened, at first, and {Il
at ease throughout, but she had a job to do. She had a ring-
side seat for one of the most intensive roundups of rapists,
robbers and gunmen in Chicago history. It wasn’t a pleasant
thing to watch, but the murderer of Richard Dix must be
caught.

The writer of this story, a Chicago newspaper reporter,
watched Miss Giddins for most of an afternoon at the
station. No observer could fail to feel deep admiration for
her.

A parolee from San Quentin was brought into the office
and placed in a chair facing the girl. Captain McLaughlin
questioned him, asking where he had been in the early
hours of Monday, while Carol watched his gestures, listened
to his voice, studied his features.

She looked at him, both with and without her glasses,
as she had seen the Dix killer. Finally she told the captain,
without hesitation or doubt, ‘That is not the man, Captain.”

McLaughlin gave a nod of dismissal to the parolee and
said, “That’s all. You can go home now.”

The man scurried from the station. But before he left he
told the pale girl, “Thank you, Miss, thank you. I don’t
know what this is all about, but I’ve been trying to go
straight. I’ll ask my wife and kids to say a prayer for you.”

There were far less desirable men to be viewed than
the unfortunate parolee caught in a net of sad circum-
stances. Pale, shambling creatures who probably belonged
in mental institutions were gathered up. So were men
convicted dozens of times for such offenses as indecent ex-
posure or molesting children. The roundup was all-inclusive.

Carol needed only a glance at some of them to say, “No,
that is not the man.” Others she looked at and listened to
for 15 or 20 minutes. A total of 202 men passed before her.
Captain McLaughlin, Captain Golden, Lieutenant Martin
Joyce and Detective Leon Sweitzer questioned the sus-
pects in relays, but Carol had to be on the job all of the
time. She cleared each of the 202 men and she kept saying,
“When I see the right man, I’ll know him.”

Captain McLaughlin neglected no possible avenue of
investigation in the case. He tried tracing the picture wire,
only to find the same brand was sold in at least 300
stores in the Chicago area. He had Carol look at hun-
dreds of pictures of rapists, gunmen and robbers from the

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for the disk jockey

In the back of the car a young man, shot five times, lay dying.

In the front a girl, wrists and ankles bound with wire, begged for mercy

by RAY BRENNAN

Richard Dix, slain in attempt to reseue girl from gunman

Lhe heaby—

9 (SE .

Toe TERRIFIED YOUNG GIRL flinched as the
gunman reached for the buttons on her blouse.
She drew away from him desperately on the
front seat of the car. “Please!” she implored him as
his hand reached out again for her. “Please let me
get Richard to a doctor.” Her captor’s reply was a
snarled “Shut up!” The pretty, dark girl was help-
less. Her wrists and ankles were tightly lashed with
picture wire. She begged for mercy, but the gun-
man-rapist had none. In the back of the car, Richard
H, Dix, 24 years old, was breathing his last on the
floor. He had been shot and wounded five times in
the chest, abdomen, left arm and left wrist. Internal
bleeding was killing him.

The girl was 19-year-old Carol Giddins. The scene was a
residential street on Chicago’s North Side. The time:

2:00 a.m. on Monday, May 10th, 1954. Two hours of horror
were bringing an end to a pleasant, innocent date by Miss

~Giddins and her escort, Dix. The previous day had been

Mother’s Day and the couple had spent it with Richard’s
mother, Mrs, Elsa Dix, of North Sawyer Avenue. It was
the usual kind of family outing, with visits to relatives
and friends.

They dropped Mrs. Dix off about midnight at her apart-
ment. Richard then started driving Carol to her parents’
home on North Whipple Street. They parked briefly to
say. good night. in the 3000 block of Fletcher Avenue. That
was when the terror began.

A young man of about 25 came up to the driver’s side
of the car. He carried a .22 revolver. “This is a stickup,”
he said. ‘Do what I say and nobody will get hurt.”

Carol cautioned her stalwart escort, Dix, not to resist.
“We'll just give him our money,” she said. The gunman
took her purse, containing $10, and Richard’s wallet with
$12. ,

Then he brought a coil of picture wire from his topcoat
pocket. “I'll have to tie you up to give me time to get

ow oe

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- CHRISTMAS, John Edward, black, 26 hanged Urbana, Illinois, on 10-21-1921, C4: Atel

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want

SEASONS FIRST SNOW
MISSES CITY, INDIANA
HAS FOUR INCH FALL

Chicago and its southern suburbs
narrowly missed the first séason’s

ma commission will function as a

unit, -

:| AUTO OF DUCHESS

“STARTS TAXICAB

ROW IN LONDON

s
a
*

ivan
where the
taree friends.
-Crivers_ went.

Movie Slayer

Dies in Chai
eq in Chair
OcT# 1/5 /937
- (Picture on bach page.)

Peter Chrisouslas, 40 years old, lost
bis year long fight against the electric
chair this morning. He was put to
death in the county fail a few minutes
after midnight in front of an orderly
audience of 100 men, several of them
out of town sherifs. Thus the state
avenged the murder of Irving Fehl
berg, a movie house executive. |
The doamed man walked:calmly to
the death chair. In this he upset
earlier fears that he would have to be
carried. Throughout the afterncon
and evening he had shown signs of @
collapse. He sat in the electric chair
without help. At 12:04 a m. the cur
rent was turned on, and at 12:10 he

made up their

Regains Calm, |:

\
tion between a

And China keep on fighting
Jong as Japan

ter and a servan
or the victor and the vanav bs ape

tains her attitud

of conquest. Thé Chinese people have

and build up their

destruction and
to the Chinese | people Japan is
ering the Chin

eool Friday;

Gxy -ecleady and +f
- sifeht!y warmer,

+ showers at night. fof

* bE peta ter Se 43
fe baverseerece Be
PP ep ¥

CSHransey.

PPRPP PPP

why

yf
{

an soaen a ates

ds to maintain the!

£7

a
5

go, Cook Co., Ill., 10/15/1937

CHRISOULAS, Peter, white, eleé,, Chica

. brown

e the head
legs intact.
is tattooed
‘re a heart
,” @ cupid
and Paul”

-five years
last meal
ted in his

this fifth
ntification
om out of

or Cowles
ion in the
this mys-

Cingsbury

ts around
ical killer
| torso m
id’s West

me upon
iward, as
: and the

ion, was
victim’s
irk gray
< oxford
; on the

sce

le thing
to have
y a dog

yet to
anderer
y Run,
‘ernible
‘Y pool
st 37th

Plate

face), con-
gang that

committed $18,000 Cleveland [fy
bank robbery, is shown just

after federal judge had sen-
tenced him to 45 years in prison

(Above) Trailed tor seven
weeks through ten states, An-
thon Sapienza, hatless and
shackled to detective, returns
to Chicago to face murder
charge. (Below) Horace

, flanked by two detec-
tives, on his way to start life

tence at E n Penit

tiary, Pennsylvania, for slaying
of State Motor Policeman Broski

— and
Hanley slugged a
guard, stole an auto and es-
caped from the honor farni
at Statesville, Illinois,

are pictured after their re-
capture by Chicago police

(Right) Alfred W. Gregg, paroled ex- fi
convict, wears a worried expression in }
court as he learns that the man he shot ##
in a Philadelphia holdup has died
and that he now faces murder charge

Scena: aati aaa, Menta
His last hope for clemency gone, Peter
Chrisoulas, cond d Chi slayer,
kisses the hand of his spiritual com-
forter just before walking the last few
faltering steps of the last dreary mile

}
model HKenee

boy friend, Salvatore Sabbatella,
hed threatened to mar her beauty
- unless she gave him $100.

POTLIGHT!

- COMEDY-AND TRAGEDY-IN DRAMATIC
: PICTURES FROM THE NEWS OF TODAY.

0), Tot
{} / / y J
q Coke ASL Kestio£

LANL ONG G& 5 f

“ea

Metadata

Containers:: Box 13 (2-Documentation of Executions), Folder 24
Resource Type:: Document
Description:: Frank Bryant executed on 1908-12-18 in Illinois (IL)
Rights:: In Copyright - Educational Use Permitted
Date Uploaded:: June 29, 2019

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