Connecticut, M-O, 1807-1989, Undated

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VicKLROY, J,

en ae ae ne
~ . te

DETETIVE Pacn2Ve-

lewaBeR, LID

THE VICTIM——
shown as she posed in
her nurse’s uniform.

HE sultry August evening was heavy with fog that
rolled in ponderous billows from the Atlantic sea-
coast. It brought with it:a premature darkness, and
the nearly deserted streets of New Haven, Conn.,

appeared dim and wraith-like through the misty veil. -

Diffused light-from the street lamps gave an eerie
luminousness to the atmosphere.

But the gloomy aspect of the evening meant little to
three white-frocked girls who made their way down
Cedar Street, laughing and talking with each other.

y They were nurses at

New Haven Hospital,
SHE HAD A DATE—— and their freshly
and hurried to make starched uniforms ac-
herself presentable. centuated the firm
shapeliness of their

supple young bodies.
It was 8 p. m., and they were returning to the hos-
pital after a quick supper at a nearby cafeteria.
“Got a date tonight, Ann?” asked the girl in the
middle. ‘
Pretty dark-haired Anna Mae Johnson smiled ever
so lightly, and nodded her head. ;
“Who is it this time?” asked her talkative companion.
“Oh, someone you don’t know,” the girl replied
evasively. ‘“He’s an old friend.”
As they approached the door of the nurses’ dormitory
a dark figure hurried past them through the fog, coming
from the direction of the hospital proper. Ann grabbed
.the arms of her companions in obvious panic as the
figure rushed up the street.

“Why Ann Johnson, what’s the matter with you?” the
other two chorused. “You're trembling like a leaf.”

It was true. Ann’s face was white, and her lips were
pressed together in a firm line that told better than
words how she was fighting to regain control of herself.

“Pull yourself together, Ann. It was probably one of
the doctors, out on a rush call. What’s got into you,
anyway?”

“J thought—I thought it was someone else,” the girl

stammered. Her friends laughed as they led her up the’

steps and into the dormitory.

“You've been on the late shift all week, that’s what’s
the matter with you. What you need is some rest. You
get upstairs and take a. sedative. Forget your date.”

Anna Johnson nodded weakly, and slowly climbed
the stairs to her room on the third floor. The other two
waited until they heard her footsteps in the corridor
above, then looked at each other in bewilderment.

“Maybe we'd better go up and make sure everything
is all right,” one of them suggested.

They tiptoed up to the third floor, and stood listening
outside Anna Johnson’s door. What they heard only
served to baffle them further. The dark-haired nurse
was evidently moving furniture up against the door,
for there was the sound of a chair being dragged across
the floor inside, and the door shuddered under the
impact as the object was: slammed against it. The
coasters of the bureau squeaked in protest as it was
rolled across the floor.

The two eavesdroppers looked at each other in amaze-
ment, then tiptoed away. ‘They decided not to say any-
thing about: Anna’s strange behavior unless something
further came of it. They had no way of knowing how
soon they were going to be called upon to tell of this
strange incident. 4

Meanwhile, the little black-haired nurse somewhat
composed herself. She had a date to keep, and meant to
go through with it. She donned a summer dress, fin-

we —

ished powdering her nose, and stood undecidedly for a

moment in the center of the room. Then, without any .

further hesitation, she tugged the heavy bureau from
the door and set it in its accustomed place. She dragged
the chair back to the desk, sat down with deliberation,
and began to scribble on a piece of paper. She glanced
over what she had written, laid the pencil on top of her
note, then rose and went to meet her date.

: GH did not know that eyes watched her as she left

the building—kill-crazy eyes of a gaunt man well
hidden in the huge bush just around the corner of the
dormitory. Nor did she know that, as she disappeared
down Congress Street, the shadowy figure moved from
the bushes and made a dash for the portal that was
closing slowly under the pressure of a hydraulic spring.
He caught it just as the latch was about to click
shut, forced it open again, and slipped inside. Furtively
looking about him, the man proceeded down the long
corridor and crept up the stairway to the third floor.

He gazed for a long time at the entrance to Anna
Johnson’s room and was about to put his hand on the
knob when the sound of voices at the opposite end of the
hall startled him. He moved swiftly and silently to the
next door, thrust it open, and saw that the room was
devoid of furniture. He stepped in and shut the door
noiselessly behind him.

It was 11:30 that same night of August 10, 1935 when
Anna Mae Johnson reappeared at the Congress Street
entrance of the dormitory. Several nurses saw her
come in, and noticed a hurt look on her face.

“Bet she was stood up,” one commented. “She
wouldn’t be back so early otherwise.”

Other heads nodded in agreement. “Serves her right
for playing both ends against the middle!”

Anna Johnson acknowledged no greetings. She mount-
ed the stairs to the third floor, and made for her room.

She was no sooner in the corridor, however, than the
door to the room adjoining hers was flung open. For
the second time that evening Anna Mae Johnson’s face
went white with terror. She stared with horrified fasci-
nation at the figure in the doorway. The man’s left

hand was in the pocket of his jacket. A brown felt hat’

was pulled down over his eyes. In his right hand—
gleaming wickedly—was a razor!

“It’s you!” the girl whispered harshly.

The blood pounded in her temples and she stood,
paralyzed, unable to move. Then, suddenly she found
her voice and gave vent to an earsplitting shriek. An
instant later she was racing madly down the corridor,
the man at her heels. At the stairway she stumbled on
the first step and went plunging head over heels to the
second floor landing. It was there that the monster
caught up with her. ;

His feet straddled her prostrate body and the cruel
blade in his right hand flashed under the corridor lamp
once—twice! From his left pocket the man quickly
drew a penknife. He glanced at it for an instant, then
at the girl. The sound of doors opening and frightened
female voices calling in the corridors meant trouble. He
whirled, and as he did so the penknife left his hand and
clattered to the floor. He took the steps to the ground
floor three at a time, dashed across the lobby, and out
into the night.

Anna Mae staggered to her feet, blood streaming from
a ghastly wound in her throat. She had a vague knowl-
edge that she must get to the emergency ward quickly—
quickly. She swayed down the last flight of stairs,
careened out the doorway into the arms of a nurse who
was just coming in from a date. ;

At that moment, Walter. THIS DOORWAY——
Taylor, night watchman gave the former lover
for the hospital, who had e@"trance to the scene
been attracted by the hor- ©f his bloody crime.
rifying screams, came running up. It took him only an
instant to realize the sinister significance of the gaping
wound in Anna Johnson’s throat. Blood was pouring
from it profusely, and the girl’s head bobbled loosely in
her sister nurse’s arms.

“Get her into the emergency operating room as quick-
ly as you can,” the watchman shouted excitedly to the
stunned nurse,

' By this time nurses were pouring from the dormitory.
Several raced toward the hospital proper as soon as
they saw what had happened. A few moments later,
two white-coated attendants (Continued on page: 76)

OBSTINATE——

nna wa
a still he
in. speakin

s very cold

rsisted
Bari her.

> archer irmanaeD Ramee onmaen ©

M+ ee

SAO ge 1)

Devreronomy Et 19, 20.

a § *~ So poate thou put the evil aw ane) from atkins Jol

And thofe which rematn fball hear, and fear, and

aa pik teh commit no more any fuch evil a-

4 Mx BRETHREN,

a : | ‘ ? ’ IACDOLY. as the : et,
. aN slowed gall circimmdanccs, hath sasely, if

exer, fallen under.ours notice... Fhis numerous af-

7 Sable of all orders and characters, will attend

1 reverence to the counfel that may be brought
the word of God. Efpecially is f to be hop-

; thet bf, whole tragical death is to fucceed
is folemnity,: may. be all. attention to the laft

-fermon he will ever hear. I have ever confidered

that..1 preached: -to,-mertal mens. but» was ‘fie-

P J 3% calls 1c pach to one doomed to, den by.
-§ Bec no but a few hours. before his

ching into eternity,
i At amportant end of capital punifhment, as it
selates to.fociety and this eel, is pointed out in
ae wopds read. - This comprehends fundry pare
ticulars ; Tt. is to rid the flate ofa prefent nui-
fance---to prevent the extenfion of theevil—to re~
<r preferve ‘thofe who haye been, of might

motley of being, feduced by examples of
profligate

(6 oe qe Y

profligate wickednefs. So ral. hai por + tbe ani : te heefelonies-without. benefit‘of-clergy ; or, fn’ a
vil away. from among you. -And thofe whith+ res; | thee words, to be worthy’of inftant death.

main fhall hear, and fear, and fhall enceforth come; ‘TV dreadfut a-lift; inftead of diminifhing, -increafes bd
mit no more any fuch evil among you. A furthen, } pumaber of offences, > 'Theinjured, throtigh com-
end of capital punifhment will be attended to, as, | paftion, will often forbear to»prafecute : Juries,
it is a natural. confequence from the-words. ‘This: } through:c fion,-will fornetimes forget their

refpects the offender, and a future. woslds dae oaths, and either acquit the. guilty, Se
through com-

us firft attend to the former. _ 3 “og B mature of the alfieioe And j
Wra'r is here faid with. iumediate. relpea paflion,, will refpite'one half the convicts, and.
perjury is yaya to other crimes equally, Bota j ‘them: to the royal mercy. Among

nicious in their tendency. eign nedilienee pet id : fo-miany- chances of efcaping, the needy or hard-
civil m Fakes aond j' st

ene; Pened offender overlooks multitude that fuffer ;
quiry refpecting the evil ; an ity. Zhe bald

to put it away i the excifion en acter q » Pteli

is a duty which the civil guardians of:
nity owe to God and. susie. people, T
minifters of God, by him appointed-<eve
to execute wrath upon fuck vas eiesell 4
may. “‘ not bearthe furoed iss ovo acs
terror to.evil works,”

pay ow

— i , , eg. Be . :
Af peculiar. eA atpaiiy itr falling at
fice pee jong i impunity
Rie Ivins 40. conten.” "Ge
~~ crimes fo different in their natures as
2 “e a be fubjeted to the fame
4 oes 2 Po oy, ju ice and humanity alike re-
& pom? Pai, it. ‘‘ Death is of dreadful thing
= |e ie se mtena
authority,
4 tive of fanictions, and: placed before the’
| weatur of life, to-guard- ftom: invafion. what can~
timp ] not be: reftored.” It doth’ honor to the wifddrm'
cafes where the fovereign:of ‘life has: declaséd-hite }as- Swell, aéJenity of our legiflators, that not more’
will, or the public fafety clearly requires it. : <<a ' ‘than: fix crimies, are capital by our law. *
V mong the variety of actions which men are daily | 4 egies
i a liable to.commit, it is a melancholy truth,’ fays. ... ae ent f
a judge Blackftone, ‘‘ that scovleladhaenouth undead . jagins.
and fixty have been declared byiact: ef parliaiingnt.

= on to the pe i of a iallow-orusahis A jad
and. burnane ¢ were will recarite::it :

ht Bae

: nts dad with us. Takitutioat, eeees the pre
ade began sechia ent of public criminals of various dateripiinn, been noms falu-
thie in many staves,

ee
¢
~

THE INTENT OF CAPITAL PUN-
ISHMENT.

DISCOURSE
Delivered in the City of New-Haven,

OcToBER 20, 1790.

Pit Seda BOE

BeinG THE DAY OF THE

EXECUTION

QF
JOSEPH MOUNTAIN,
FOR A

R A P E.
esis ane
By ¥A4MES DANA, D.D.

Paftor of the firft church in faid city.

TLAPAUDOM Has

NEW-HAVEN;
Painmrep sy T. anv S. GREEN.

*96LT/02/0T

SUSABH

NT VINA OW

‘udercor

y fyoReTq

Wo
Ru nT

p98

MON

Oe ye es el ee

ack to Connecticut, tried for and
victed of the murder of the: ‘priest |
#mid his housekeeper.

A few hours before his death Mont-
ped declared that no go-called: “rea
gand” organization was concerned
Peith the crime. Previously ‘both
$§rakas and Montvid had asserted in
Sprbdal and written statements that
auch an organization was behind the
Spurders and gave the names of sev-
$81 persons they claimed were con-

nected with the society. Montvid, in
his last declaration repudiated these
statements and said that Krakas and
he were alone in the murders, anu
‘that no such organization referred tc
above existed.

he Sree

f 29,

639.
which the

-enant and

: that the
x adopted
id was to
plied to a
settlement
bring into

ie sections
»¢riptures.
iglish pro-
of God by
1 the mar-
of the no-
ty Colony,

1643, con-

sentially it
orption by
-_—
r 8 ew
ll to John
been lost”
1 in death
im.?® Thus
designed a
friend who
Sound.

Yctober 25,
‘al powers.
ign named
lays before
1ore or less
I'to punish

a sergeant. The commissioned officers were

‘ QUINNIPIACK BECOMES NEW HAVEN

him for an act committed some months before its own existence.
Once those organizational preliminaries had evolved, Nepaupuck
had little reason to complain of further delay. Within three days

' he had been tried, convicted, and decapitated, his head adorning

the market place as a grisly lesson to his brother aborigines. The
execution may have occurred on the Green, although the record
does not give particulars, Subsequent capital punishment in the
colony took place in the outskirts of the town, usually by hanging.‘

The second act of the new government, on November 25, 1639,
was to order the erection of a meetinghouse, “It is ordered that a
meeting house shall be built forthwith, fifty foote square, and that
the carpenters shall fall timber where they can finde it till allot-
ments be layd out and men know their own proprietys.” 41

At the same meeting the court organized a military force. Just
what provisions for defense had existed during the first eighteen
months at Quinnipiack are not indicated. Captain Turner and
Lieutenant Seeley probably set guards and watches as they saw
fit without much concern for routine or plan. On November 25,
1639, the court declared: “Itt is ordered that every one that beares
armes shall be compleatly furnished with armes (viz), a muskett,
a sworde, bandaleers, a rest, a pound of powder, 20 bullets fitted
to their muskett, or 4 pound of pistoll shott or swan shott at least,
and be ready to show them in the markett place upon Munday
[the 6th of December] before Captaine Turner and Lieutenant
Seeley under the penalty 20° fine for every default or absen[ce].” 42

The review and inspection conducted under this order of the
General Court marked the beginning of New Haven’s m
history and the long association between the events of that history
and the market place or central Green. For a long period the
“army” was known as “the train band,” a militia term transplanted
from the mother country. Numbering about two hundred men in
the early years, it was divided into four squadrons, each led by

ilitary

a captain, a lieutenant,
and an antient or ensign, who carried the standard. First holders

of these commissions were Nathanicl Turner, Robert Seeley, and
Francis Newman. Each soldier supplied his own matchlock or
firelock, with the town distributing the pikes and powder. The

See reer nee oe

r. The bones of the
hy t the corner
Aa to the
iterments took place

New Haven, p. 42.
_ A Puritan Church,

” Papers of the New
919. The treaty with
mnt with Montowese
in of Hartford, who
ind explain the terms,
the Davenport-Eaton
is he served as inter-
ecords of the Colony
ffany, and Company,
n, pp. 84-90.
{r. Townshend points
lian reservation in the

\innipiack: Quillipiac,
uinnepyooghq, Quiri-
led on “Quinnipiack”
iout. For a discussion
adians,” pp. 151-153.
‘land Historical and
History of the Colony

ds of the Colony and

\ @, of Municipal

listorical and Political
‘» Haven Green, 1638=
aylor Press, 1909), p.
and frontispiece map.
town planning in this
: in Colonial Connecti-

3; Atwater, History of

1c New Haven Colony,

he colony, belonged to .

a ee ee

¥ Ae

an
ta

_ ha

fi
ie
Wy,
Ree
¢
kent

REFERENCES

24. Thomas J. Wertenbaker, The Puritan Oligarchy (The Founding of American
Civilization series, New York, Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1947), pp. vii-ix, 74.

25. Morison, Builders of the Bay Colony, pp. 83-85; Calder, The New Haven
Colony, p. 83.
26. Leonard Bacon, “Civil Government in the New Haven Colony,” Papers of

the New Haven Colony Historical Society, I (New Haven, 1865), pp. 11-27.
27, Ibid.

28. Ibid., p. 14.

29. Records of the Colony and Plantation of New Haven, 1638-1649, p. 12.

80. Bacon, “Civil Government in the New Haven Colony,” pp. 13-14. Prof.
Calder feels that the Plantation Covenant was probably made at Quinnipiack.

31. Ibid., pp. 11-27; Records of the Colony and Plantation of New Haven, 1638-
1649, pp. 11-17.

82. The dates June 4, August 22, and October 25, 1639, are Old Style. They are
given here just as they appear on the records.

33. Records of the Colony and Plantation of New Haven, 1638-1649, pp. 20-21.
34. Morison, Builders of the Bay Colony, pp. 227-229.

35. Isabel M. Calder, “John Cotton and the New Haven Colony,” New England
Quarterly, III (January, 1930), 82-94.
86. See n. 80.

37. Calder, “John Cotton and the New Haven Colony,” pp. 82-84.
88. Ibid.

89. Ibid.
40. Records of the Colony and Plantation of New Haven, 1638-1649, pp. 22-24;

* Blake, Chronicles of New Haven Green, 1638-1862, pp. 44-45,

41. Records of the Colony and Plantation of New Haven, 1638-1649, p. 25.
42. Ibid., pp. 25-26.

43. Blake, Chronicles of New Haven Green, 1638-1862, pp. 119-120.

44. Records of the Colony and Plantation of New Haven, 1638-1649, p. 40.
45. Blake, Chronicles of New Haven Green, 1638-1862, p. 46.

46. Townshend, “The Quinnipiack Indians,” p. 153.

47. George R. Stewart, Names on the Land (New York, Random House, 1945),
pp. 44-52.

Chapter 3: The Period of Expansion

. Mather, Magnalia Christi Americana, I, 25-26.

. Records of the Colony and Plantation of New Haven, 1638-1649, pp. 91-93.
. Ibid., pp. 9-10.

. Ibid., passim.

Atwater, History of the Colony of New Haven, p. 69.
Ibid., p. 154.

See n. 2.

Andrews, The Colonial Period of American History, I, 144-194.
Care must be taken to understand that the town government of New Haven

$0290 SOS UC. Ce. BS

yt snails

commenced to function in October, 1639. The Colony of New Haven, which at

439

RISK =

REFERENCES

33. Records of the Colony and Plantation of New Haven, 1638-1649, p. 19.

34. Rev. Newman Smyth, “Mrs. Eaton’s Trial in 1644,” Papers of the New
Haven Colony H istorical Society, V (New Haven, 1894), 133-148.

35. Ibid.

36. Ibid.

37. Wertenbaker, The Puritan Oligarchy, pp. 212-214.

88. Records of the Jurisdiction of New Haven, 1653-1664, pp. 29-91.

39. Blake, Chronicles of New Haven Green, pp. 48-49; Henry H. Townshend,
“Judicial Administration in New Haven Colony Before the Charter of 1662,”
Connecticut Bar Journal, XXIV (June, 1950), 210-234.

40. J. Hammond Trumbull, The True-Blue Laws of Connecticut and New
Haven and The False Blue Laws Invented by the Reverend Samuel Peters (Hart-
ford, 1876), Introduction, passim.

Al. Blake, Chronicles of New Haven Green, p. 180, n. 1.

42. Calder, The New Haven Colony, pp. 162-169.

43. Ibid.

44, Ibid.

45. Andrews, The Colonial Period of American History, II, 144-194; Blake,
Chronicles of New Haven Green, pp. 219-220.

46. Records of the Colony and Plantation of New Haven, 1638-1649, p. 35.

47. Ibid., p. 135.

48, Andrews, The Colonial Period of American History, II, 144-194.

49. Ibid.

50. The account of the Phantom Ship in Cotton Mather’s Magnalia Christi
Americana (London, 1702) is based on a letter from Rev. James Pierpont to
Mather. The story there is substantially the same as that given in Longfellow’s
poem. Material bearing on both the historical and the legendary elements in the
episode may be found in Edward Atwater, History of the Colony of New Haven,
pp. 537-541, and in Alexander Johnston, Connecticut—A Study of a Common-
wealth Democracy, pp. 155-156. References to the fact that such a ship did sail
for London with a rich cargo in the winter of 1646 and that it was lost at sea occur
in both Winthrop’s History and in the New Haven Colony’s records.

51. Nathan H. Dole, editor, The Poems of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (New
York, 1893), p. 148.

52. Thomas J. Wertenbaker, The First Americans, 1607-1690 (A History of
American Life series, A. M. Schlesinger and D. R. Fox, editors, II (New York, The
Macmillan Company, 1927), 139-163.

53. Savage, editor, Winthrop’s History, II, 275-276.

54. Calder, The New Haven Colony, pp. 116-129; see also Ch. 3, n. 16.

55. Ibid.

56. Bacon, “Civil Government in the New Haven Colony,” pp. 11-25; Lambert,
History of the Colony of New Haven, pp. 25-26.

57. Savage, editor, Winthrop’s History, II, 99-106.

58. Records of the Colony and Plantation of New Haven, 1638-1649, p. 87.

59. Calder, The New Haven Colony, pp. 170-171.

60. Johnston, Connecticut, A Study of a Commonwealth Democracy, pp. 143-162.

61. Records of the Jurisdiction of New Haven, 1653-1664, pp. 4-18 and p. 112
See also Ch. 3, nn. 28 and 29.

442

THE NEW HAVEN COLONY

Newman’s barn; the organization of the First Church, August o2,
1639; the launching of the government on October 25, 1639.

Miss Calder has observed that “The phraseology in which the
Davenport-Eaton company clothed their plantation covenant and
the fundamental orders of June 4, 1639, is so obscure that the
settlers of Quinnipiack have been credited with having adopted
the Bible as their constitution.” What they actually did was to
adopt the Cotton Code, in so far as its provisions applied to a
brand-new colony (after all it had been drawn up for a settlement
already six years old)—and, as the years went on, to bring into
practice other provisions as they became indicated.**

An analysis of the Cotton Code has revealed that the sections
on crime and inheritance were drawn directly from Scriptures.
The civil sections, which bore direct relationship to English pro-
cedures, were shown to be in harmony with the word of God by
means of supporting passages from the Bible inserted in the mar-
gins of the document. Still other provisions and much of the no-
menclature were derived from existing practices at the Bay Colony,
as these had developed between 1630 and 1636.*8

The General Court of the New Haven Colony, after 1643, con-
tinued to modify and expand the Cotton Code; but essentially it
was the basis of that colony’s government until its absorption by
Connecticut in 1665. Although it is getting a bit ahead of the
story, mention might be made at this point that when the New
Haven Colony fell, John Davenport accepted a call to John
Cotton’s old church at Boston, feeling that “all had been lost”
at Quinnipiack. And when he followed his old friend in death
shortly after, he was buried in the same tomb with him.?® Thus
came about the final reunion between the man who designed a
Puritan government upon the laws of Moses and the friend who
put the plan into practice on the shores of Long Island Sound.

As soon as the new government had been set up on October 25,
1639, it commenced to exercise its judicial and political powers.
The first official act was a trial for murder. An Indian named
Nepaupuck had been arrested for that crime a few days before
the court had come into being; he had been waiting more or less
patiently in the stocks until a state could be organized to punish

him for an a
Once those «
had little re
he had been
the market |
execution mi
does not gis
colony took |
The secon
was to orde:
meeting hor
the carpent:
ments be la\
At the sa:
what provis
months at (
Lieutenant
fit without :
1639, the co
armes shall
a sworde, b.
to their mu:
and be rea
[the 6th of
Seeley und
The revi:
General Cr
history and
and the m
“army” was
from the m:
the early y:
a sergeant. |
and an anti
of these co:
Francis Ne_
firelock, wi

JEREMIAH VI. 8.

» Be thou alrntied, O ) Jersfalem, ie my foul depart fre
F phere: ia ce

OLEMN and deeply affe€ting to the feeling mind is th La,
- prefent fcene | We here behold a truly pitiable FR
object, one of our guilty race, who, left to the guidances
- of.an uninftruéted mind ; or father to the uncontrouled in-
| Auence of the direful affions, malice and revenge, has pers
ecrnsed a crime which freezes the mind with horror.
he has been fummoned before the Civil Tribunal ; and, after! 4
, a fair and impartial trial, was convicted of a crime for§
B which fhe is this day to fuffer.
' The cry-of innocent blood hath entered into ie ears f the, :
orp of Sabaoth ; but this day will filence its claipas,
| Mes; ina few hours, will be executed the fatal, thé”
} dous fentence which puts a period to the life of ¢ one, Who hadis
_ never learned to live.—In the beginning of life, a marderer, Tae
psutice forbids that the should sive out bat her pres: for--=78

es TA 9M a i ‘

[ 6 ]
This is the Voice of Juftice and of the Gop of Juftice: Theres
ore “© a man that doth violence to the blood of any
fee to the pit---let no man flay him.’ |

its claims ?-——-On the one hand, thé. poor prifoner loudly
laims every moment as her own: for that her laft fands are
ow falling, and that in a few hours fhe muft launch into that,

oon, very foon to clofe this mortal life; and:the eternal ftate
pf each be determined according to-his prefent improvement
of divine inftruction. And, how big with important in-
ruétion is the melancholy event, of which we are this day to
be witneiles | Principally then to my Auditory let the
prefeat opportunity be devoted. ©

To thisI the more readily confent, from a conviction of the
mpraéticability of adapting a Difcourfe, upon this occafion,
9 the improvement of one who, until within a few weeks,

Was 1

Nefe to heathenifh darknefs in a Chriftian land... Yes ; my
b:cthren, this poor prifoner, when* committed to gaol, ap-
peared to have no higher principle than the ‘pleafivre of
grafying her ungoverned paffions.--+And fo far from having
the fear of GOD before her eyes -O tell if not in Gath!
--fhe hath repeatedly declared to me, that fhe did. not.
know that there wasa GOD, before fhe was told it after
ner imprifonment,

Are there any in this affembly whofe confciences reproach
them with the fame cruel inattention to ¢feir Children and
Servants ? Such are this day called to their duty in language

Mich muft pierce a Parent’s heart. May every fpectator of
this day’s painful ‘fcene, learn the importance of faithfulnefg
in the relations of Parent and Matter,

4<@ 3?

~The’ >

Lviels

9%Gen. 5.6. = | Prov. 23. 17,

V boo foeddash Man's blood, by Mai foall his blood be hed *
person, foall.

The prefent feafon is all-important :---How fhall I anfwer ,

orld whence there is no return.---On the other hand, are the:
nterefts of this numerous affembly of fellow-men, who are alfo' ~

norant of the firft principles of Religion ; having been’ —

- -righte

ee a

_ . The melancholy event, which we are now.called. to ‘xcend
+ template, fpeaks to us in thunder from the Merey-Seat.-
@ Though wrath is kindled againft us ; yet Heavies addreffe
§ us as he did his chofen people : Be thou inftruged, O Jerkfa
| lem, left my foul depart from thee. aa
his paffage of
04
In a word therefore : thi
rophet in the name of the
» Lorp, at a. time when Judah had almolt filled up the mea
® ture of her. iniquities, and éxhaufted. the patience .of ‘hert
@ Gop. . In the verfe preceding our text we have her characte
@ ter. As a fountain ipetlbout her waters, fo foe cafteth ou
4 her wickedne/s : violence and fpoil is.heard in ber, before met
@ continikally is grief and <wounds,: Then follows our text : int!
@ which we behold the mercy and compaffion of her Gop.”
@ -Though he had fent unto them all bis Servants the Propbets
p Saying, Obey my voice and I will be jour GOD, and ye foait he
a % people. But they hearkened not, nor inclined their ear,
4 but walked in the counfels:and imaginations of their evil heart.
»@ Gop, at length wearied with their incorrigiblenefs, is about
Eto pour out upon them the fury -of his juft indignation.--~Yet
ee foall I give thee up E, braim !---Mercy interpofeth and ,
? ey tae Be thou inftrudied, O Ferufalem, lef iy BR
| ¥ art, or as the origi i ft
es Ps iy alts ginal more ftrongly expreffes it, de),
@ prefent occafion ; in doing which, le

>. I may not enlarge in fhewing the oceafion of t
= For this I fay, brethren, the time is fhort.

@ thou doef, do quickly, ———.

‘qi paflage was delivered by the P

a ads
eh

We haften to apply this paffage to the

t us

I. Attend particularly to the inftru€tion which

tte Gop, in di
e . . 2. gee
ous judgment, is this day calling us to recei "

ve.”

# il.
; | ftructio

“
a,
Confider the argument by which attention to this in- ||

n is here enforced.---Lef# my Soul depart from thee,
ei

a First, We are to attend
» which Gop, in righteous judg
™@ receive,

a
a
particularly to the inftruétion |
ment, is this day calling us to)"
ae

7 * rie
; a ef
SS ol

[ 3°]

Various are the ways in which the Most Hicw inftru@s

is. peoplea+His works lie as an

j DPR volume to be read ©
by all. The invifible things of GO

world, are clearly feen, being underftood by the things that aré 4
is Word 4

fpeaks in plainer language ; and is profitable to direé, tomake ;
to all . 3 gin tia’
vy good @® One of the truly unhappy confequences ‘of this neglect, welll
7 ; Be ‘thot et
@ inftrugied, O Ferufalem, left_my foul depart from thee... Ai

nade, even bis eternal power and Godbead.t---

the man of GOD perfect, throughly furnifbed un

works .*

But thefe means of inftruction, without the fpecial influen> 4, behold in the ignominious. end of this poor girl who is now,

ces of divine grace, are of no avail :---For, the heart of the
hildren of men being fully fet in them to do evil, they bear-
ten not, nor incline their ear. We have Joved pleafures, ang
after them will we go. *.- : | ;

But, when Gon fpeaks in the thunders of ° Th
people, if not left to a judicial blindnefs and: hagdnefs of heart,
hear and fear and do no more fuch wickednefs.

them there is great reward. The adverfe events of Provi+»
dence, frequently, affect thofe whom. nothing elfe could affe&.
--~Senfible objects gain attention, where an addrefs to the
underftanding will not be heard. ‘The Senfes are an avenue
by which there is an eafy accefs to the heart. ‘When this
brought to efpoufe the caufe of virtue, the underftanding
eafily convinced.
The melancholy event, of which*we are this day to be’
witneffes, confidered> with all its attendant circumftances,
addreffes every tender feeling, and .cannot fail to reach -the
heart.---Struck with horror at the bloody deed----Amazéd at
fuch an inftance of cruelty and revenge in-one fo young.---=
And every tender emotion of the foul awakened at heholding
this early victim facrificed to Juftice :---Will not every one
‘prefent, with earneftnefs enquire---Wherefore has our land ;
been thus ftained with a crime, which, with.all its painful
circumftances, ijt has never known before ? Wherefore are
lswe called to this fcene of woe ?---What doth the LORD
require of ust I anfwer,”
+ “Rom, 1.

20. =

2 Tim. 3. 17.

from the creation of the +

t; th @ ' '
Pucgment 5 TF @ “ Paulthe Aged,’ rather than the Youth whom the.requeft

: dnefs. By thy Fudge |
Merments, faid David, is thy fervant warned: and in keeping of ©

195.7

as cred

_ Shameful and unpardonable, my” brethren, is the alsiott
| univerfal neglect of family Inftruétion and Government

a z

* to pay the forfeit of life into thé hands of jultice.
@ When refleét on the nature of the duties in which Gop
@ is now inftru€ting us, to which therefore we are now to at-

@ tend; I could with that the {peaker_had-been fuch an one ag

@ Of. the prifoner* has calléd*to- addrefs you upen this oceas
@ fon. Bur fince this may npt be, permit me, with tha
p Fefpect which is due to my auditory, in the warmth of Joveil

¢
Ww

P tomy Country andthe Souls ef men, and with that fidelity # i
§. which I owe to our great Mafter and Lorn, to point out)

@ fome of thofe duties ; to the difcharge of which you ‘are obli-
| gated as Parents and Majters ; and to the négle& of which
- the melancholy fcene of this day is in a great meafure to b

charged. | ;

Family Devotion, though a vety unfafhionable,” is;

® however; avery important part of the duty of the Head of
@ a family, if he would walk in bis houfe with a perfe heartme Oe
q ---‘* Every houfe fhould be a Bethel, and every mafter of {Ee Be

a family, in his houfe, a prieft of the Most Hicu Gop.” &

_ A daily reverential attendance upon this duty, early impreffes
- the young mind with a fenfe of the divine omniprefence, dnd
p teacheth the fear of that Gop whofe eyes ard in every place.™
Shall the heathen, my brethren, guided.by the dina light’ of

| Nature, bow down at their family altars» ‘and fhall the fa-

@ milies, in which the Sun of Righteoufnefs thines with the

@ clear light of divine Revelation, pay no worfhip'téthe true
Me ; : Mise = ge ed

is. ?
°* Pfal. 101. 2. cls

[ 10° ] a 4 | [ wu ]

3op ?——sAre there no family wants to be fupplied ? No qa folyent, and confign you to that -prifon whencesthere is.
amily blefififigs to be acknowledged ?---Or are a like Tfraekt difcharge sill thou baft paid the uttermoft fa : ig.--- The
fold, ‘* who fat down to eat and drink and rofe up to play?” blood of fouls will be charged to your account.-"* ink well
r.- She did not know, faith Gop by his Prophet, that I How will you difcharge it I haften t
save her corn and wine and oil, and multiplied her filver and. age. N0ther part of the duty under confideration, |
bold, which they prepared for Baal : Therefore will I return ee : ae pees a an
and take away my corn in the time thereof, and my wine in #e _ 3. Early inftil the great principles of Religion and vir it
the feafon thereof ; and I will recover my wool and my flax tue.---Thofe under our Care fhould be taught that great firftiiy
riven to cover her nakednefs.”’+ il principle of SS erenpoedte is aGOD.---As the young?®
F ; : _ @ mind enlarges,‘it fhould be made aequaues with the glori-

2. Children and Servants fhould be early taught to read. OS Perfections of Goo. | ‘This will lead to explain and en-

This is an advantage which the children ina family generally @& force our obligations to him as our Creator, Preierver ancaag
njoy. Bur are not our fervants, my brethren, too often for- ™@ Redeemer, Did the Redeemer when on earth take little iy
otten ? How few have the means of inftrudtion ?’ Moft “i Children into his arms and blefs them? Can Chriffians then
bf thofe who have, inftead of being fpurred to that applica- forget to devote theirs to him: who thus loved them f3>=
ion, without which there can be no proficiency, are conftantly. @ Foine, pen to their Saviour on the crofs, and let his\agoni~ jie
interrupted by our many calls. At length ambition agi am 2108 ah eee them a: ee, fin, and its dreadful ponith+ 7
Mand, being difcouraged, they trifle away the little time allotted The beauties of holinefs and its glorious rewards, ae
hem. ‘Their confequent little progrefs is now imputed to # alfo to be fet before then in language adapted to’ thei

diftinguifhed from his brethren, and highly favoured will be -@ pha eek
that fervant, who is not left, either to heathenith darknefs in & The beginning of our days is an important part of ha

‘

a want of genius peculiar to their complexion. Now, Capacities, and calculated to reach the heart,
:

a Chriftian land, or to fpell out unaffifted the principles of #4? life.

Religion, and every truth which refpeéts his eternal falvation. @ “* Jutt as the twig is bent the Tree is inclin’d,” wa
ard is their lot! Humanity drop a tear Iwould @ | The fubfequent periods of life will take their ftamp froniq
here anticipate an objection which may perhaps'be made to # that of childhood. Happy is it when the firft impreflions are in ie
the idea of duty in the relation of Mafters to Servants. @ favour of virtue, To effect this there quft de line upon Hines
; » “and precept a precept. The firft openings of the mihd:
Objection. Servants bought with .our money are our abfo. jm 2° f° be carefully watched ; and every opportunity of’in-
ute property ; and may we not do as we will with our own? 3 gp Hilling that which is good, faithfully pay oved. as:
@ Here, I am aware, will ftart up that frightful fpectre, prego
“While he, who is not fteeled to the feelings of a generous Mp J/4#@¢e Of education swith which fome ten appear panie="f
mind, blufles at this objection; I am not careful to anfwer 9 ftruck. To deliver themfelves from this, they exert themfelve: .
in this matter. But, in a word ;---they are not your own: @ °° the utmoft : ‘till’at length, having effected their purpofe,. sag
for they are ought with a price. If you alienate them from @% their lives fhew that to be delivered from, what they at ey
his fervice who hath bought them even with bis own Flood, @ the prejudice of education is, in other terms, to be divefted:§
the debt contracted on your part will, I fear, render you in- of every virtuous and religious principle. Far be it, howéver,

folvent, @ from any one tomfuppofe thas " fhould have age tabi

t Hofea 2. 8, 9.

ss _ «££ game

‘ei

JHE man paced the vacant room on

the second f!

Home, waiting. In his pocket he

had a freshly-honed straight razor.

Through his head ran a line from one of

the few poems he had ever read, Oscar
Wilde’s “Ballad of Reading Gaol.”

The man smiled grimly, cynically as

he recited the words: ‘For each man

kills the thing he loves...’’ and he

~ nodded to himself and mulled — with
twisted philosophy — over what he felt:

was the amazing truth with which the
poet spoke.

For he did love Anna Mae; there
could be no doubting it. And yet a
demoniac something told him he had to
kill her, It was strange, incongruous. But
if he did not commit murder he truly
believed the torture which afflicted his
heart and tormented his soul would
never stop.

While he waited he smoked cigarette
after cigarette, heedlessly grinding their
still-burning butts into the carpet of the
room with the toe of his shoe. And
every’ now and again he took furtive
peeks out the open window, across the
darkened courtyard and toward the
illuminated building entrance through
which Anna Mae must soon pass..

Finally she came. She lingered on the
stoop, and the handsome, sportily-
dressed man was with her. For a long
moment they stood together and she
gave her lips to him, pressing her ful-
some form against his, her arms holding
him in a tight embrace.

And then she said: ‘Goodnight,

floor of the Nurses’.

‘ 4 it hh aA Py, ke
f Sa ig Vag

honey! Gosh, it was wonderful tonight.
The beach — and that fun we had — was
glorious!”’ She laughed. She kissed the
man again, and then they drew apart
and she said: “Goodnight! See you
soon!”’,

The man smiled as he walked away,
rubbing his hands together in a self-
satisfied fashion. He crossed the pave-
ment, boarded his car and drove off.

Anna Mae entered the building. She
tripped lightly up the stairs. She came
down the winding, twisting corridor,
humming and singing in a brief moment
of forgetfulness.

The man in the vacant room opened

the door a crack. He waited quietly
until Anna Mae had taken the last bend
in the corridor and was abreast of the
room. Then he threw the door open
wide and called out in a low, choked
voice: ‘Anna Mae!”

She, did not try to run. She did not
scream. She had been expecting some-
thing like this for a long while, and now
that it was upon her she was not sur-
prised, Yet the song on her lips died
when she heard the man’s voice and saw
the flash of steel in his hands and the
look of weird determination in his eyes.
She stood there, thinking — a vast awful
period of her life rushing past her as she
thought. Would he strike?. . .

It was the hot, sultry night of August
1Oth..'The woman, Anna Mae Johnston,
worked as a nurse’s helper in the New
Haven Hospital and lived in the Nurses’

_ Home, at the corner of Congress Avenue
and Cedar Street.

SOONER FRETS FORCeEN REET REFETD:

tk \Alebhthits heads hebhiabondbathadaien

2 CAM Photos. wied inthis story were specially posed by
ne Ny \y Brofessional models): ee

She was thirty-two years a
Brunette and winsomely pretty, she
a full, well-rounded figure which roe
the eyes of men and which, in t
ultimate analysis, was the underlyi
cause of her predicament. :

She came from the mid-west. She wi
married, but two years before her hu
band had desérted her in favor of th

unexplored attractions of a girl of si %

teen. Stranded in New Haven, she tod
refuge in a rooming house. She lookd
for. work, desultorjly. For a long whi
she found nothing to suit her, and they
finally, her money was all gone.

Anna Mae was vain — proud and vai

She was too proud to admit immedia \)

ly that her life was tinged with ev
temporary failure;she could not bri
herself to write home for money
inform her parents of her difficul tie
Nor could she take the path of eag
virtue.

Yet she liked men. Indeed, she’ wal
passionately devoted to men — ri
men, handsome men, sports with bi
cars and “‘class’’, as she knew it. But shi
could not bring herself to ask those met
for odd bits of money for her favors 5
money with which to buy clothing
food and shelter.

On the other hand, she would have
made some rich, handsome man‘ at
appreciative mistress. She would have
been content as the private darling of 4
man of affairs, her vanity satisfied, had
some such proposition been made her -
preferably one colored with the tinsel
aura of romance. :

CODE FIVE DETECTIVE, October, 1975 ©

+ ew guinyereqneenmeaenes*it

‘, His wage wasn’t large, but he made
her take enough of what he had to pay
her room rent. When she protested he
opened her pocketbook, slapped the
money inside and told her: ‘Forget it,
sister. Don’t worry. I ain’t after
nothing.”’

‘But he was after something, though
he himself may not have consciously
known it. For years he had been with-
out a woman, and now the nearness of
Ahna Mae crystallized within him urges
which had long lain dormant.

He took her out and bought her a
warm meal, Afterward they stopped: by
a‘ liquor store and acquired a bottle of
gin. “Hell,” he said. ‘““What’s money for?
A drop will cheer us both up!”’

That night they got cockeyed to-
gether. She was so drunk she forgot
what he looked and talked like. In the

‘intoxicated privacy of his room she

treated him just as she had treated many
another man — royally!

So it began — the series of events
which had their climax in the corridor
of the New Haven Hospital’s nurses
home on a summer’s night nearly two
years later, tay

He fed her regularly. He bought her
clothes. Weekly he paid her room rent,
and gave her spending money. Soon the
nails were pulled out of the door which
separated their rooms; they began refer-
ring to the place as their ‘‘apartment.”’

The landlady caught on. For .a
moment she was disapproving. But
when Anna Mae told her that she and
the man were going to get married as

‘soon as they could both get divorces,

she was readily conciliated. She began
calling Anna Mae “‘Mrs.’’ That appel-

_lation, coupled with prompt rent settle-

ment, apparently lent the situation an
aspect of rooming house morality.

But to Anna Mae’s own mind she was
undergoing the most immoral phase of
her entire existence. She was having an
affair with a man for whom, when
sober, she had no desire — an unmiti-
gated sin. It was worse than that. The

man revolted her. Each evening she

dreaded his homecoming. The days on
which’ he did not go to work were
marked for her as days of gloom. She
recognized fully her ghastly mistake:
failing.to become the mistress of a rich
handsome, educated man, she _ had
become the doxy of a poor, ugly, ignor-
ant one.

Yet he was good to her, on that score
she could not complain. He deprived
himself in order that she might have. He
enjoyed taking her to restaurants, the
fancier the better. But she insisted. on
going only to cheap holes-in-the-wall;

not that she was doing so out of con-—

sideration for his pocketbook, but for
fear, in better class places, of being seen
with him by people she had once known
— or aspired to know in the future.

He was boastfully proud of her, she
bitterly ashamed of him. Eventually the

ee On

“T’ll worship you the rest of my life,” Anna Mae whispered to her new love.
“That will be a long time,” he said. She knew better than that.

thing became with her a morbid sore.
She grimly resolved not to stir out of
the house in his company, Whereupon
her depression caused him to urge her
the more. He was constantly suggesting
movies they should see together, public
beach jamborees they should attend. He

‘said that going out more would do her

good — take her out of herself and
relieve her mind of troubles.

She began lying to him, deceiving
him. She faked illnesses and indisposi-
tions. She accepted money from him for
doctors with whom she never made
appointments, for medicines she did not
buy. When he was not at home she
denied herself lunches in order that she
might hoard lunch money as well, She
was getting together a stake. . ,

By February, after having lived with
him for several months, she felt she
could tolerate him no longer. Yet by
then she had for him a peculiar alle-
giance. She did not want to hurt him;
she wanted to make the break with him
as gentle a severance as possible. Or
perhaps it was that she did not want to
hurt herself — or be hurt.

One day while he was at work she
packed her bag and quietly slipped out
of the house. Traveling across town. she
took another furnished room. But her
new landlady required a reference of
her, and she was therefore forced to
supply the name of the old.

Eventually, apparently through cor-
respondence which ensued between the
two rooming house operators, he trared

ner and came storming, angry and
pathetic — yet more pathetic, actually,
than angry. Pathetic and worried.

“Oh, God!” he eried, relieved when
he saw her. “Damn you, I didn’t know
what in hell had happened to you. I was
afraid... Jeez, Anna Mae, you was so
low like in your mind I was thinking
you’d gone off and done yourself
in...Honest, Anna Mae, you oughtn’t
treat me this way...”

Now that he’d found her he seemed
to presume that she would return to
their ‘‘apartment” without objection. It
was difficult for her to dissuade him. He
took the news hard, a blank, bewildered
look on his face changing slowly to
quivering lips and tear-brimming eyes.
He turned and stumbled blindly down
the steps of the house in which she had
found refuge. Silently he staggered
toward the gate.

He had been good to her. She
couldn’t stand what she knew she was
doing to him -— so abruptly. She called
him back,

“Look,” she explained. “I want a
little time to think things out. Maybe
I'll see you some more; I don’t know. I
just want to be by myself a few weeks,
days maybe,” She turned her eyes away,
lying awkwardly. ‘My folks sent me
some money. I can live all right by
myself for a while, I’m going to look for
a job, Maybe if I get a job we’ll get on
better together. As it was, I felt all the
time I was sponging on you...”

Yet after she had given him this hope,

ae ee

“I did not!”
“We had an argument, a good old-
fashioned fight, and I left, her at
the door .. .”

“You had a fight with her?”
Eagen interrupted, “What was it
about?”

RYAN stared at Eagen and said,
“Suppose you do a little explaining
yourself. What’s this all about?
Why did you have the state troop-
ers bring me over here? Is going
around with a girl a crime?”

“When that girl is murdered,”
Eagen answered, “it makes you a
very definite suspect.” j

“Murdered?” Ryan’s eyes open-
ed, and a puzzled expression came
on his face. “Who’s been murder-
ed?” :

“Anna Mae Johnson,” Eagen shot
back. “Somebody slashed her throat
in the nurses’ dormitory at about
the time you took her there last
night.”

“Anna Mae murdered?” Ryan
said hoarsely. “I can’t believe it.
Who would murder her?”

Detective Eagen reached behind
him and picked up the felt hat
found near the dormitory. “Suppose
you try this on,” he said to Ryan.
“We think the killer dropped it.”

Ryon put the hat on. It was
three sizes too small for him and
sat on his head like a top.

“Listen,” Ryan said, still wear-
ing the hat, “I didn’t murder Anna
Mae. I did go to the door of the
dormitory with her, but we had an
argument, and I walked away
from her. Frankly, I’m a married
man, and’ Anna Mae was writing
me letters, and I wanted her to
stop. That’s what we were arguing
about. She wanted me to get a
divorce, but I wasn’t doing any-
thing like that.”

“Mrs. Johnson received some
threats on her life,” Eagen said.
“Did she ever mention this to
you?” ‘

“No, she didn’t, but I know there
was some man who was sweet on
her, and she was scared whenever
she saw him. One time we were
driving down the street, and she
pointed this man out and ducked
down in the car. I didn’t get a
good look at him. All I know is
that he was an Irishman. Seems
that he and Anna Mae were pretty
close for about a year.”

“Can you describe this man?”
Eagen asked.

Ryan shook his head. “I just saw
his back. He wasn’t big, and he
wasn’t small, Just an average-look-
ing guy.”

“Do you know’ where Mrs.
Johnson lived before she went to
the dormitory?”

“She never told me, and I never
asked. She was at the hospital
when I met her.”

Ryan wasn’t held, but he was
asked to remain in New Haven.

Ryan exclaimed.

The fact that the hat—didn’t fit
him seemed to eliminate him from
the case as a suspect. But the two
detectives didn’t’ want’“him out of
quick reach,

AFTER questioning Ryan, they
were as much in the dark as they
had been when the case first broke,
There seemed to be a strange
mystery hanging over the life of
Anna Mae Johnson before she en-
tered the hospital which nobody
seemed to be able to penetrate.

Then came one of those strange
breaks in the mystery, Detectives
Eagen and Monahan returned to
the hospital. They were greeted by
Mrs. Halstead with the news that
some man had been at the hospital
looking for Anna Mae Johnson and
didn’t seem to know that she was
dead.

“He said he was a process
server,” Mrs. Halstead explained.
“He had a summons for Anna Mae,
and I took down his address,”

The name and address she gave
the detectives was that of George
Baxter, a well-known process
server. Eagen and Monahan hurried
to his home. He made no attempt
to hide the fact he had tried to
serve a summons on the murdered
woman and gave the detectives the
name of the lawyer who had drawn
up the paper.

The lawyer was cooperative. He
explained that he had been hired
by the owner of a rooming house
to serve a summons on Mrs, John-
son for unpaid rent, amounting to
around forty dollars. Mrs. John-
son had lived at the rooming house
prior to going to the hospital and
left owing rent. The landlady had
repeatedly asked her for the money
and finally had turned it over to
the lawyer to bring suit.

“What is the address of this
rooming house?” Detective ‘agen
asked eagerly.

The lawyer gave the address, and
twenty minutes later Detectives
Eagen and: Monahan were talking
to a garrulous landlady. She said
that Anna Mae Johnson had a
room in her house for two months,
but when Eagen asked if she had
any men vistors, the landlady got
indignant and told the two detec-
tives that she was a respectable
woman and ran a_ respectable
boarding house.

So Eagen tried another line. He
said, “I thought. maybe her
husband lived with her. An Irish-
man, about medium build .. .”

“That wasn’t her husband,” the
landlady interrupted. “That’s a man
she used to go with. She told me
that much, but she didn’t go with
him when she came to my house.
She said she was through with
him because he was no good and
couldn’t hold a job. But he was
always coming here, trying to see
her. I told him she didn’t want to

see him. He wouldn’t take no for.
an answer and. would stand “‘out-in-:.
the street and wait for her.”

“You. don’t let anybody in your
house without references, do you?”
Eagen inquired.

The landlady looked surprised, .
said, “Of course we don’t.” ”

“Then you have the references
Mrs. Johnson gave you,” Eagen —
said. “You must have the address
of her last rooming house before
coming here.”

“I certainly do have,” the land-
lady answered.

SHE went to a desk and fumbled
through some papers, picked one
out and handed it to Detective
Eagen. The address of the room-:
ing house was on Edgewood
Avenue. Eagen and Monahan drove
there. This landlady was tall and
slim and not as talkative as the
other one. However, she said she
had rented a room to Anna Mae
Johnson and that a man friend of
Mrs. Johnson’s had a room on the
same floor.

“They talked about getting mar-
ried,” she hastened to explain,
“and so I thought it was all right
for them to have rooms on the
same floor, But after a while,
Anna Mae’s affection for the man

‘Seemed to diminish greatly, and at

this time the man began to show
traits of a vicious temper. That
was the reason why Anna Mae
Johnson moved, The man left a few
weeks later.” |

“What was his name?” Eagen
asked, :

“Joseph McElroy. And I think he
is a steam fitter, but he never
seems to have any job long. The:
last I heard he was a handy man
around an apartment house, but I
am sure he hasn’t that job any-
more.”

“When he left,” Eagen question-
ed, “did he leave any forwarding
address?”

“Yes, he told me he had to get
a cheaper room, and he moved to.
a house on George Street.” Eagen
and Monahan wasted no time get-
ting to this house. There they were
told that McElroy had a room

The story told by this man
helped police solve mystery.

. seein, Abate RES SM
wei AE RRA ERR A TR UN 9 a sae
0 PR ny natch 7 a aad “ . ~

there, but that’ he hadn’t been seen
“around the hhouse since the day. be-

- fore. The landlady added that he

wasn’t. at work because he hadn’t
had a job for over a month. The
two detectives got a description of
McElroy. He wag about five feet
four’ inches in height, forty years
of age, weighed 150 pounds and
had blue eyes and light brown hair.
His upper teeth were false, and the
lower ones were in bad shape.

The search for McElroy, which
extended to all parts of southern
Connecticut, came to an end three
days later when Detective Wallace
Driscoll of the West Haven Police
was driving along Jones Street in
West Haven. He stopped for a
traffic light and saw a_ short,
brown-haired man, hatless, stand-
ing under a tree. When the man
saw the detective was looking at
him, he turned and ran.

- Then it clicked in Driscoll’s mind
who the man was. The newspapers
were carrying McElroy’s picture,
and every precinct station had been
flooded with posters of the want-
ed man. But before Driscoll could
give chase, the brown-haired man
had disappeared.

A phone call to the West Haven
station brought twenty detectives
to that area. A dragnet was thrown
around it, and at four o’clock that
afternoon Patrolman William Erff
saw a gray coat behind a boxwood
hedge surrounding a garden. He
pulled his revolver and started for
the hedge,

A man came out, his hands up,
yelling, “Don’t shoot... don't
shoot...”

“All right, McElroy,” Erff said.
“Let’s get handcuffs on you, and
then I won’t have to shoot.”

“My name isn’t McElroy,” the
man protested. “I am Charles
Madden of New York City.”

_ “Well, McElroy,” Eagen said,
“your pictures do you justice.”

The man _ stared at Eagen,

shrugged and said, “Okay, I am

Joseph McElroy.”

The strange mystery now came
to a dramatic end when McElroy
was taken to police headquarters.
Abruptly and without questioning,
he said, “I killed Anna Mae be-
cause I loved her. She wouldn’t

_ have anything to do with me. That

wasn’t so bad until she began go-
ing out with other men. I sneaked
in the hallway, and when she came
in, I pleaded with her. She brush-
ed me aside. I had a razor, and J
grabbed her and slashed her throat.
I guess that is all there is to tell.”

McElroy was tried and convicted
of murder in the first degree.
On February 8th, 1987, he died in
the electric chair at the Wethers-
field Penitentiary, the first con-

.demned man in Connecticut to die

in the electric chair,
—THE END—

SR Tyee oer reserrere een, Seah Be an eae See on

. a perhaps, to Anna Mae. But in the end

F R 0 M A L 0 V E - C R A Z E D pest she defeated her own purposes, Not one
pte gin” of her admirers who go gratuitously
: K | L L E R y . H E L E A R N F D her up in the style to which she aspired,
£ io. ; Her shoes wore thin. Her clothing
became frayed. She ate from hand to

a in the upstairs hallway of the rooming
FR OM THE PR | S 0 N OF house in which she lived. And it was

: then that she met the man — the man

: who now held the razor at her throat. . .

AN UNSAVORY PAST! He was older than she, yet not a great

ole tes deal older.

An Irishman, he had come over from

ambition to bring his family to America
B U T E A ¢ H S T E P as soon as he could afford their passage
, " money. But he was caught up ‘in the

maelstrom of war. He served with the

. soldiers .— jobless.. He drifted down to

1 : the States. He landed in New Haven.
D 0 0 M Cl 0 S ER LY aie With never more than five or ten dollars
ahead of his room rent and eating

sent for. He grew ashamed. He stopped

writing to them. he 7

His life was broken to even a greater

well as spiritually broken. He Paid no

attention to his clothing, let his physical

appearance go to pot, Rarely did he

ed. There was nothing or no one for
whom he gave a damn or who gave a
damn about him. He, too, was friend-

The distinction was obscure — except

accepted her favors, felt inclined to set

’ TH E R E | . N 0 FE S C A p ' 4 mouth — and sometimes not for days on
. ae end. Once she fainted from sheer hunger
He was small, insignificant looking,
[ N P A N i ¢ S H E R A N Dundock prior to World War I. Married
ao 6 and the father of a child, it had been his
B R 0 U G H T H ER Canadian army. After the armistice his
Hi : was the plight of thousands of returned
money, his wife and children were never

degree than Anna Mae’s — physically as

shave or bathe or have his clothes press-

less, desolate and alone. . ;

It was a strange meeting. His room
was next to hers, only a nailed up door
intervening, Though for weeks they had
lived side by side, suffering their hun-
gers for normal, human relationships
separately, they had never ‘previously
spoken.

It was he who found her when she
fainted. He picked her up and carried
her into his room. and laid her gently
down on the bed — his room because
she was locked out of her own.

He fanned her He rubbed her wrists.
When her eyelids t!uttered and she ivied

weakly to sit up, he brewed hee a pat of
tea on a tiny electric grill whicn he Kept
secreted in his wardrobe -- away, he

hoped, from the prying, disapproving,
utility-bill-conscious eyes of the land-
lady.

He held a teacup to her lips. He spoke
to her kindly. He asked: ““What’s the
matter, kid? What got you?”

She tried to smile, but ended up
crying. He did just the right thing —
nothing. He let her cry herself out and.
then he listened, sympathetically, to her
tale of woe, the twin of which he knew
already from experience, -

It was a Saturday; he’d just been

Pert iste res:
FOPERED SS:

( 24 )
the truth... Your paft unptineipled and: fiamtelefs:

character, ak ti only, can explain that appatént

indifference to your ftate, duting a great partiof
your-imprifoament, which hath. aftonifhed ug
Should you with to leave behind you:a,character,
for fkill. and bravery. as a thief er robber, a seta
in the fpoils of your fellow-men—-Should you

think of thus outbraving. the: wrath of java
HIGH, the laft aétof your, life would be yet mere

eto ayo or alt yout great tranfre
ree Aban-habous

Sian. re

Cieswitc of. ehos | Ente u : ,
ednefs—that you fhould gp thea with st in your,
heart go an to the dead. Your/name, Crimes,
and. punifhment will be remembred, :we

that others may hear and fear,.and commit no fach. |

evil. Though young in years: FOU are gol jofine,
Were a pardon fom san shis day.
how would itaffe& you, wh © yO or tree:
‘bling for “fear. of: the tragical death i you?
But it is unfafe for the world that yousfhould Jive.
You have lived a nuifance on. earth. »--¥ou-mut:
therefore be executed. - There. ASN reprieve, for.,
you. . Yet.a pardon from, God.-is-even nowoffers:
ed.you, if you repent ; otherwife, youanuft perith
—— deplorable fenf,than is.implied |in.;
unithment which, -awai

ee
God is much. more... ‘There is a world’ to comer
There is an omnifcient, holy and righteo 1 Js
The great Redeemer will be sevealed ivorhertes |
en in ‘flaming fire. Then fuch as have, rampled
him, under foot, fhall be punithed 2 tana

Tf def.
anan. be,a ‘terrors crn tet

( ag )
ing’deftruction frotm*his:ptefence, In that~day
foch will-be the lively hertonef hardned, but then
too late awakened finnérg;' that-they: will cry to
the roaks and ‘rhountaine-to-fall ‘on-théms and: cos
ver them: from: noe er of the: Lamb,-whiofe: wrath

jndgment, not fines i in-thecongre-
gationsof the tighteous.”. Of what-vaft-moment
thely is-it;: that you ‘* acquaint "ave NOW. sriah
him, and be in J ripest er a — ov

ea@ceie

of the world ? 21 fearyo cans

t A few
moments-are yet ekeaare: WW ‘ette tall but-Gud
have mercy a There 4s plenteous-redemptt«
al down before him in the:deeps
eft conttition Of fouls! “-Owmethe ‘tities of yout
foitentony In the: depths of:dittréf.cry- to: himy
* Lordy fave me miepertenl Porn or ete tt
x-the:Methator -b& your plete « ‘I-be*
yéuy be: econeiled £8 God: = béfedch yoit
as-an ambaflador of Chrift, anddimliisftead; who
msie peace by the blood’ of-his crofs +: tn whom
elifelnéfdwells ; who-hath the words of eternal
life #wh@ hath the keys of hell and of death ;-whs
wall come dh piney vand call you aad all man kind
t@account:s:-wh6d: will pronounce: the. finak &ine
tenge, ** Comey blefied;”or,:#f ‘curts
@d.sreln his ftead 4-beleech yous: forthe lait times
Rematonesie mo Gios +: did baton
D “My

Li Mod ti ee
RARE IE Be

( 26 )

My; hearers, we have before us one;=avhofe
boaft:it-has. been, that. he was: pre~eminentimiths
fill .and. valour‘ ofan: highway+man.;: who feems
to have accounted ‘this an honorable :acquifitiof
and hath-blended. with. it, as: thé. natural confe-~

uence, various.other, and equally:atrocious crimes:
The laft, for which: he.is to: fuffer:death;* befides

its.cnormity..in its own-nature, wasattendedawith -

citeumftanees. which:{hewed: thatthe had. caft .off
all thame;;andeveniall fear’ of detection ;:that ‘he
that of Gadi ayo". “4S coogeds ad teat ott
_ He began his career of wickednefs at or before

feventeen. This is the:moft critical andidanger=

ous.. ftage. of life. : From this cireumftance;-and

this example, I may therefore very pertinently take —

oecafion to, caution our: young people-againit the
follies-and: remMae ions. t 44 75 bye Hexperi~.

ence and: impethofity:expofeé them. See"in thie
inftance of what Paneutit is to form early:habits
of virtue—to hear.counfel, and:turnat reproof—
to fhun the paths of vice. . Happy:the:youthswho
‘‘-walketh notin the.counfel.of:the ungodly; nor
ftandeth..in the way: of finners, nor fittethan the
feat of the {Cornful.” . Small: finseleadaor great
ones. ‘The beginning of a vicious cohefessas. that
of Arife, is like the Jetting oufmwatéer:: “Wherefore
‘‘ abftain fromall appearance of evil.” . Refift the
firft folicitation;, as-he, ‘How. can I do this:great
evil, and fin againft God?” | Whenever:tempted;

allow time for this reflection, ‘*‘ Thow, Lotd, feeft:

me.” « Can the ethiopian change chisafkin, .or |

the leopard his {pets 2 then mene

| Oret fraud, or extortion, or otherwife, deeply: in-

| they-may not be as verily guilty concerning their

( 27 ) ,
beeii':actuftomed™to'do évil; learn todo well.”
How melancholy a ‘comment on thete'words doth
the-prefént’ occafion: afford ?Whéi finners have
affumed the boldnefs ‘to'leap over the boundaries
of laws human and divine, they graditally: lofe all
tendernefs of confcience, and proceed from. évil to
evil... ‘What is particularly faid-of the iffue ofun-
lawful pleafure, may be applied to any other vicious
Courfe st is. the way-to hell, going downto the
chambers of death:” ‘ We therefore befeech thofe
whoare yet young,’ by the forrowful example they
= behold, that they forfake not se e of
thei gopth ; that “they | be not avifé iv their’ Own
eyes: Porthel aa, cddeate fon ‘evil.”’,.. The
choice they. make, the; courfe they-enter-upon in
early youth, is, of unfpeakable importance, both
with tefpedt: to-this. world and another.. Would
to God that the prefent warning may not-be-an ut

profrertie-one | that they may fee the neceffity and —

advantage of fubmitting to ‘falutary reftraint, and
truft the wifdom of their-fuperiors, inftead of do-
ing whatfeemeth right in their own eyes. When
the fcorner. is pnaihdd, the firmple is made-wife.
. Furuse, have-any by ‘falfe accufation; or fe-

jored their fellow-men ?: They-will-do well to afk,’
whether, /in the view of the heart-fearching’ God;

brother, as.:thofe who have injured him ‘mere
gtofily, and are, fubjected to ignominious puni
ment from civil gevernment?. Do the checks’ of

con{cience; or force of human laws, or a fenfe of

| publicyfiame,.reftrain men from fuchenarmities

-( ej)

as the:prifoner hath Weer addicted to ? And fhould not
the all-fecing eye of God reftrain from all inpaftice to
men? . yea, from all fineither againft God, or.man, or
ourfelves ?, Should it not influence to keep: the . heart
With all diligence ? Do men take pains to fave appear-
ances ** How much greater reafon have they to ap-
prove themfelves to him who fearcheth the reins and
hearts; and will gt¥e to: ¢very man according to his
works ? | } ’

May all who. indulge vicious. paffions she: warned
by the event of this day. May the confequences of
idlenefs, gaming and diffipation, of luft and. an Ce.
verned fpirit, falfhood and greedinefs.of, gain, the 3
se and eternal confequences, be well confidered,

hefe things impel men. into courfes’ deftructive of
their peace, and of theif fouls. - From {mall beginnings
they mcreafeto more ungodlinefs. Tho’ timid ar firft,
they foon become capable of bold exploits, arid prove
_ veterans in. vice. But few who enter thefe paths, re<

turn again. The few who.do, find it extremelp,difhs
eult to tread: back the wrong. fteps they. have takeps
The gains of yice.are hard, perilous and momenrary.
The triumph Of its votariesis fhort. They travel witla
pain all their days. They know not the way, of peace,
Becaufe they fear not God. ~ Their own counfel caft-
eth them down. ‘The heaven fhail reveal their ini-
quity; and the earth fhall rife up -againftthem. They
fhall be driven from light into. darknefs, and. chafed
out of the world. The Lord’s throne:is in heaven. His
eyes behold the children of meg... He tieth the righte-
6us; but the wicked and him that loveth violence .his
foul hateth. Upon the wicked -he fhall rain {nares, fire
and ®runftone, and an horriblé tempeft:° This fhall be
the portion of their cup.” But the fear of the Lord is
4 fountéin-of life, to depart from the fuares of death.

MOUNTA I N, Joseph, hanged New Haven, Connecticut
on October 20, 1790,

Rites of Execution

SFoPERE

Capital Punishment

and the Transformation of
American Culture, 1776-1865

LOUIS P. MASUR

New York Oxford
OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS :
1989

NATHAMEA SEEMEY WAS A RESIDENT OF FAIRFIEND. THIS IMEANS THAT THE FONDKING __

| Tee f Ce AT His HOME THERE. HENCE (1. (VAS AT FAIRFIEKD WHERE AIARK MEGES
Ww MAY-JUNE, 1650 3x | /NCIDENT ek sepa

, NESSES 10 THE EXPO HON i> THE “ADUSTURER:.” ABR THN HAVE
| psaaprvensyo LY YON 15 DOUBTLESS
behinde her, and w'" his armes clasped her aboute y® midle, put BEEN NOWE OTHER THAN THOMAS NEWTON. THE OTHER CONDEMNED

his hands vnder her aporne, (if not worse) but told her he would
feele whether ther were a boy ther or not. She strugled to gitt
from him, and told him it were best for him to let her alone, but he
held her by strength, turned her aboute till her face was towards
him, told her that ther were no boy, asked her 2 or 3 times
(at least) whether he should gitt on, she sd no, at last he lett
her goe, & went away: Marke Meggs being questioned aboute
this cariage, acknowledged that he drunke Tobaco, and was twice
in that house that day: he confessed some foolish speeches, and
cariage, that he asked her how long she had vine married,
whether she had yet a boy, and told her he doubted she would
prove some such barren thing as his wife; he confest he clapt her
on y* shoulder as he went forth, but denyed all y’ rest: herevpon
the Gouerner minded him of his iike former Altiynes & mis-
cariage w'* William Fancy his wife* and how stiffly he denyed it,
though the Evidenc was sufficient for his punishmer:t, the remem-
brane wherof, might haue kept him both from this adulterous
cariage, and from denying it after: he told him lie must either
put in bayle, or goe to prison: that night Robert Basset bayled
him, but Marke Meggs his wife being sicke, anc wanting his
help, the Magistrats and deputics were y*® nezt day called

tocether. al OF NATHANMIES SEELEY ACHINST
RK THECES TORT ONOAING HS Wi

AT A COURT HELD JUNE IITH 1650

Marke Meggs appearing, and Nathaniell and his wife being
present, she was told what Marke Meggs had confessed, but that
~ » he had denyed y* passages, wherin y* greatest parte of his guilt

and outrage laye; she was wished to open y® cause fully but w'#
a due respect to truth, whervpon she charged him w® all the
particulares formerly mentioned by her husband, and told him his
Conscience knew they were every or: true. Marke Meggs here-
vpon confessed them all, onely he pretended hee had no ill intent
in asking her whether she lay alone, at home in her husbands
absenc, but his other cariag being considered, he gaue no satis-
faction therin; he also said he remembered not that he spake to
her any more then once to gett a boy of her. The Court hauing
heard y® charge & confession, sent ‘or y® Court booke, and read

* See N. H. Colonial Records, i, 237.

New Haven Town Fecords 1649-1662. Vol.I

dited by franklin B. Dexter
ree hoy New Haven Colony Historical Socyety, 19/7.

NEW HAVEN TOWN RECORDS :

his former filthy and bass cariage towards William Fancy his
wife in y* yeere 1646 and y* punishment then Ordered for y"
same; he was told that his filthynes and boldnes are many wayes
agravated, as he is a married man, he goes on sinning against y°
remedy, as he hath formerly bine punished for y* like miscariage
in this place, and hath now win these 14 dayes seene one
executed for Adultery, and another vnier y® senterce of death
for vnnaturall filthynes, his sin hath a great mixture of pre-
sumption & Atheisme, it tends also to tempt & cor:upt another
mans wife, beside y® strength & force hee used, w™ had ‘he
proceeded might haue tended to a rape und that he might justly
except both to suffer bodily punishmt and to pay a considerable
fine, but y* Court considering his estate & hauing respect to his
family ordered y' he stand on y® pillsry tomorroy an hower
before Lecture, w“ a wrighting ouer his head, shewing y* Cause:
and that after lecture he be severly whipi, but they wished him to
take heed least his vnruly lust brought hin to an vntiraely death :/

[24] AT A GENERALL COURT HELD AT NEWHAVEN JUNE 17TH 1650

George Laremore was admitted a member of this Court and
tooke the Free-mans Charge :/ ,

The Orderes made the last General! Court, for the Jurisdiction
were read: and y® planters advised to take care that ther be a
due observing of them :/

The Gouerner informed the Court that Mt Crane had given him
notice of a surgion or phisitian,* that was lately passed through
y® towne towards the duch, that he heard had lived some consid-
crable time in Plymouth Pattent, and hath bine of good use ther
as app's by sundrie testimoneyes he had to show, vnder the
hands of diveres of that Jurisdiction: and seing M? Pell is now
goeing away, whether it may not be goad for this “owne to vse
some m::anes that he might be staide here, and that 1imselfe had
written .o Capt Astwood that if he was vet at Milfo-d hee might
be desirzd to staye, that wee might further consider aboute it:
and accordingly the thing is done, and the man is come backe:
now therfore the Court may consider what they vill doe: the

*In mirgin, Mt Besthup.

Ais PARAINOUR, EL/ZABETH JOHNSON, NHO/S DEFINITELY KNOWNTO H. ‘BEEN REPRIEVED.
32

Court liked well of

desire he should stay
trats and deputies t
his staying here as th

The Court was inf
take libbertie to lett
the Saboth day, whe
w™ the Court looked
be so, and to prevent
abroade in y* night, a
cleerly prove that the
particular Court shal
they shall judg meet

It is Ordered tha
Marshall is once to
win one weeke af
demanding.

The Treasurer in
ahwiiier var ve paid
told that if the debt
ceived ther would
Ordered that they sh
then he may show t
and if they see cause
a whole or halfe a ra

John Harriman pr
keeping the ordinary
not attend y® publiq
or hindered in ther
spared. The Court
and requires his pres
y* when by reason 0
attend the publique |
provided that when t
(25) M* Ling was c

Allen Ball so long
and M* Dauenport h
bee freed from trayr

* On Chapel street, r
3

|
|
|
|
|
|
|

LR OMAR SOT OM ET a BS

432. HISTORY AND GENEALOGY OF

Nettleton, Samuel.

From Wethersfield to Branford, 1644, with tie original settlers ;
also bought land. at Fairfield. His wife Mary* d. at Branford,
29 Oct. 1658.

Died at Branford and not long after his wife died; Inv. recorded
at Branford, £77; the land at Fairfield appraised by Henry Jack-
son, Francis Hall, Henry Whelpley; house and land at Branford.
John Ufford received Est., and gave bond to pay the children on
demand. Schedule of amounts due to the heirs, John Nettleton
(double share), John Ufford, Mary, Esbell, Sarah and Betty
Nettleton, and Samuel Nettleton. Mary Nettleton receipted 13
May 1659 to brother Ufford; Thomas Smith zeceipted for wife’s
portion, 8 Dec. 1659, to brother John Ufford. On 26 Oct. 1658,
Thomas Smith of Milford on behalf of John Nettleton son of
Samuel of Branford, leased the Fairfield land to Richard Williams.
Action on this estate is found both at Branford and at Fairfield.

Children: 3

Hannah, m. at Branford, 10 July 1656, Thomas Smith.
Martha, m. at Milford, abt. July 1657, John Ufford.
Mary.
; Isabel, m. (rec. Guilford) 19 Mar. 1659, George Chatfield.
John, d. at Killingworth, 18 Mar. 1690/1; m. at Killingworth, 29 May
: . 1670, Martha Hull.
Sarah, m.- (rec, Middletown) 6 June 1666, Thomas Miller.
: . Betty [name erroneously rendered Lettice in previous accounts].
‘. Samuel, m. at Milford, 8 Feb. 1681 [1681/2], Martha Baldwin.

= Ee SD BL ee EO ee

ie A i a he

iewton, Thomas. Deputy (Fairfield) to Conn. Leg., Apr.
1645, EXECUTED FOR ADULTURY AT FAIRFIELD 27 MAY /650.
Married (1) Dorothy - :
Married (2) at Flushing, L. I., 31 Mar. 1648, Joan Smith, dau.
of Richard, Sr., who d. in 1664.

An original settler in Fairfield, he was one of the five farmers
at Green’s Farms [Westport], 1648. A ma of substance and
influence, he was charged in 1652 with being the father of the
Widow Elizabeth Johnson’s child, which as he was a married man

Ba EI hae

“It has always been a matter of wonder to the compiler why, when the name Mary
happened to be spelled “Marie” in early records, some family historians should insist
on retaining the spelling Marie or even convert it into Maria.

“ AN ERROR. THIS WAS HIS DAUGHTER-IN-LAW.

THE FAMILLS OF OLD FAIRFIELD 433

was then a capital offense under the laws’ of Conn. Colony.

Through th nivance of friends, | livered from jail
while awaiting trial and sought refuge under the Dutch govern-

ment. He settled in Newtown, L. I., where also he was prominent,

and d. before May 1683,

His farm at Maximus, Green’s Farms, or Bankside, as variously
known, came into possession of Robert Beacham, from whom it
descended to the progeny of Joseph Lockwood.

Children [by second wife] :
Thomas. -
Abigail, b. abt. 1654, d. in 1745; m. Lodowick Updike, of Loyd’s
Neck, L. I,
-++-James.

Israel, d. at Kingston, I. I., in 1720; will proved 9 June 1720; brother
James nephew Richard Updike.

Newton, James, s. of Thomas. Capt., first company, Colches-
ter, May 1716; Deputy (Colchester), May 1713, May and Oct.
1714, May 1715, May and Oct. 1716, May and Oct. 1717, May

and Oct. 1718, May and Oct. 1719, May 1720, May and Oct.
1721, May and Oct. 1722, Oct. 1723.

Married Mary Hubbell, dau. of Sergt. Richard.
He settled in Fairfield, where he was bapt. 30 Dec. 1694;

removed to Kingston, R. j., where he resided 1703, 1713; removed
to Colchester.

James of Kingston, R. I., conveyed 5 Jan. 1703 [1703/4] to

Richard Hubbell all righ: in Est. of Joseph Hubbell of Killing-
worth dec’d.

Children (second to fifth recorded at Colchester, but not born
there) :

Dorothy, b. at Fairfield, 22 Mar. 1681 [1681/2]; m. Quintin Craw-
ford, of Stratfield.

Alice, b. 28 Feb. 1686; m. by 1709, Robert Ransom of Colchester.

James, b. 3 Apr. 1696, d. 4 Aug. 1756; m. at Colchester, 31 May
1716, Susanna Wyatt.

Ann, b. 13 Apr. 1692, tapt. at Fairfield, 16 Dec. 1694, d. 14 Aug. 1769;
m, at Colchester, 3 jan. 1710/1, Jonathan Kellogg.

‘Israel, b. 5 Mar. 1694, bapt. at Fairfield, 16 Dec. 1694, d. at Cape
Breton; 24 May 1745; Major; m. by 1716, Hannah Butler.

IN PARTICULAR. COURT ENTRY

WHO WAS
fA

ORK. SO FAR EVER

ANOTHER ERROR.

/7 WAS HIS SON, THOMAS Je.
AS COVFUSED THE

A MAN ABOUT NEW
KNOWN HISTORIAN
WITH THE SON.

AE.
SLEEPING

SAKE TURNS
ETC. NEVER IS A DE FACTO ESCAPE MENTIONED.

fini

” BECAUSE HIS NA,

"WEGLECTING

ARE FINED FOR

OF 7-850 /N WHICH SEVERAL FAIRFIELD MEN }
Td WATCH THOMAS NEWTON THE PRISONER.

UP IN NEW YORK, THEY THINK THA
NOT SO! THEY WERE MERELY CARELES

DURING THEIR WATCH,

MEN CONTRIVED HIS ESC

SE
5 WARDERS — PERHAPS

T TH

EVERY HISTORIAN HAS MISINTERPRETED

Y
THER
a

Huqst AB, 1988

Jk. lh. WAtt ESPY
LAPITAA PUNISHMENT RESEARCH PROJECT

2.0.B0X £77
Q0AAND, PK 36345

DEAR WATT:

A Subden BREAL THROUGH IN A HITHERTO IFFY CONNECTICUT CASE.
THOMAS NEWTON WAS DEFINITELY EXECUTED AT FAIRFIELD FOR ADULTURY ON
27 MAY /6509.

THE ChINCHER CAME WITH A REFERENCE NOTED IN THE NEW HAVEN
TOWN RECORDS UNDER THE DATE // JUNE /650.[SEE ATTACHED) 17'S ENOUGH
70 CONVINCE ME OF CONFIRMATION.

Some TIME AGO / SENT You MATER/AK CONCERIVING THOMAS NEWTON
And ELIZABETH JOHNSON OF FAIRFIEKD, CONN. DO You STILA HAVE IT?
THEY WERE BOTH INDICTED FOR AN UNSPECIFIED CAPITA CRIME ON 20 FEBRUARY
/650 AND CONDEMNED FOR IT ON /5 MAY [650. (1 HAD CORRECTLY GUESSED
THE CRIME To BE ADUbTURY)- 1 COMMITTED THE SAME ERROR AS EVERY OTHER
HISTORIAN BY MISINTERPRETING AN ENTRY IN THE RECORDS OF THE PARTICUAR

COURT’ DATED 8 JULY [650 IN WHICH SEVERAK FAIRFIELD MEN WERE FINED FOR
" VEGLECTING THEIR WATCH OF THOMAS NEWTON THE PRISONER * THIS ENTRY HAS BEEN
THOUGHT TO MEAN THAT THEY WERE BEING PUNISHED FOR CONTRIVING NEWTON'S ESCAPE
BECAUSE A THOMAS NEWTON SHOWS UPATTHE SAME TIME iN NEW YORK — Abk THE MORE
CONVINCINGLY MISSLEADING BECAUSE OF THE ENGLISH COGNOMEN "THOMAS NEWTON AS

SOMETHING AS A RARITY /[N THE DUTCH JURISDICTION.
THE TRUTH |S THAT THE NEW YORK NEWTOW WAS THE SON OF THE FAIRFIELD NEWTON.

ALSO - SINCE THE NEW HAVEN TOWN RECORD ENTRY ACTUAKAY CONFIRMS AN EXECUTION,

/T PROVES THAT THERE WAS NO ESCAPE. Nok /S AN ACTUAL ESCAPE EVER MENTIONED

IN THE ENTRY OF 7-§-50 - ONLY THE WORD "NEGHECT ” WHICH NOW DOUBTAESS MEANS

MERELY SLEEPING WHILE ON GUARD DUTY OF THE PRISONER OR SOMETHING SIM/A/AR .
ANOTHER THING - EVEN THOUGH NEWTON AND Eh/2. JOHNSON ARE MOT MENTIONED

BY NAME /W THE RECORD OF 6-11-50, hh THE DATES MATCH EXACTAY WITH WHAT /S

OTHERWISE KNOWN OF THEIR CASE.
THIS WAS A DIFFICULT CASE 70 RECONSTRUCT. HAD 70 CONTEND WITH MISTAKEN

HISTORIANS FIRST OF ALA AND AbSO WITH THE FACT THAT SINCE CONNECTICUT ONY
AND NEW HAVEN COMOWY EXERCISED AAATERNATE JURISDICTION OVER THE TOWN OF
FAIRFIEAD, THE RECORDS WERE SCATTERED BETWEEN THE TWO.

BUT CONFIRMATION GE A PREVIOUSLY UNKNOWN EXECUTION FOR ADUKTURY /S SOMETHING
OF 4 HISTORICAL BREAKTHROUGH — /5 1T NOT ‘<

ve
TAs a

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Pate Oa SO a Fae gh Ae =e

- WARS AND RUMORS OF WARS

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THE FAIRFIELD PLAT BETWEEX 2648 AND 3657. | -

they were sold by Alexander ‘Bryan, a lawyer and real estate agent, of oo 2. =F?
Milford.’ The same year the one on the Ludlow Square was purchased of =~ --#5237;
Bryan by Andrew: Ward.(who had previously purchased John Thompson's ©. °°.
home-lot, west of Hide’s Pond), while his place on the Newton square was
occupied by-Nathan -Gold, who removed from Milford in 1649, and first
occupied John Foster’s lot in the Frost square. Gold’s purchase of this
place was not recorded until-the 5th of December 1653, he having previ-
ously sold it to Thomas Sherwood.~ Soon after purchasing Thomas Newton's
lot, Nathan Gold purchased the lot next above it first granted to Richard | Bae ia
Perry in 1649, and he sold the Newton lot to Dr. Thomas Pell. Henry -
Gray left the Frost homestead, the use of which, by William Frost's will,
was given to him and his wife during their lives, and entailed to their son,
Jacob Gray, and he also became one of the Bankside farmers. - -
__ The house and home-lot of John Gray, who appears to have settled at
{Newtown, Long Island, was purchased by Bryan and sold on the 18th of |
March, 1649, to Henry Rowland. Richard Westcoat, who had owned the .
!. “house and home-lot between John Gray’s and John Nichol’s, died soon .
after he-settled at: Fairfield. His widow married Nathaniel Baldwin, of

ede hrnat oS DTI Rey

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4

at
ri a4 ’
eee

EY) A Le 5 on sae”
See natin, pul

The terrified teacher, who had been
peering over their shoulders at her
beloved pastor cold in death, uttered
an exclamation of dismay.

“Where’s Miss Gilmanalis?” she
cried. ?
The police knew both the priest and
his housekeeper, but until that mo-
ment had not given the woman 4
thought. A hurried search of the first,
floor revealed no trace of her.

“Look around upstairs,” Rawlings

Bamforth led a pair of officers in
a search of the sleeping chambers but
could ‘not find her.

Second Yictim Found

The police chief meanwhile had
telephoned Dr. Thad E. Burns, the
medical examiner, who came at once
to the parish house. He found three
bullet wounds in Father Zebris’ chest
and abdomen.

“He was shot at close range,” the
physician said. “While he was dying,
the killer twisted the rope around his
neck and strangled him. That was
really the cause of death,” although
any of the bullet wounds would have
been fatal.”

The police had five shells, but’ the
medical examiner had accounted for
only three bullets. A fourth slug was

‘found in the hall baseboard, where it
had gone wild, but the fifth remained

undiscovered.

“Miss Gilmanalis could have been
shot, too, and her body concealed
somewhere about the house,” Raw-
lings theorized. - “Go over this place
from top to bottom,” he ordered his

officers. “Leave nothing unsearched.” |

The cellar was combed, closets ex-
plored, even trunks opened, ‘but still

the housekeeper could not be found.

Miss Gulauskas advanced a theory.
“There’s an attic,” she told the police
chief, “with a narrow stairway lead-

It was in a tiny cubicle under the
eaves of the rectory that Bamforth,
acting on this information, found Miss
Gilmanalis. The housekeeper had a
flesh wound in ‘her right arm, and
there were pieces of cord and heavy
rope twisted around her neck. It was
evident from the appearance of the
body that she, too, had been strangled.

It was a double crime which
stunned the New Britain police, as it
was later to shock several thousand
parishioners of St. Andrew’s Church
and the entire. city. But who had
done it, and when and why, were
questions which remained unan-
swered, or only partly answered sev~-
eral hours after the bodies were
discovered.

Dr. Burns was able to supply one
lead. “They've been dead approx-
imately ten hours,” he said. “That
would fix the time of the crime at
around 11 o’clock last night.”

Father Zebris was wearing an over-
coat over his clerical garb, and over-
shoes over his house slippers, indi-
cating that he was on the point of
going out, possibly to the church,
when he was slain.

Since it was his nightly custom to
visit the church before retiring, his
attire helped to substantiate Burns’
theory of the time of death.

Miss Gilmanalis was dressed in a
wrapper over her nightgown, and this,
too, helped in the construction of a
theory as to what had happened.

A key was found on the inside of

the locked front door, but there was
none for the back door, which ap-
parently had been locked from the

outside.

the
4 urdet:
= peas -. William j. King F
e ’
ee psn i Chief of Po into New
pespme tM per . St Andrews parish Bogor investor conferring ¥
“ 00 of of \ th Father pic
Arrow indice dit pr night ne mis \\Wwo Gilman?
e hous
where the wi \ mid al d
Lebris and

The police, in reconstructing the

tragedy, believed that the front door-
bell rang around 11 o'clock on Mon-

day night, February 8. Miss Gilman-
alis, who was preparing for bed, went
down to answer it, the officers con-

jectured.
It was

sued her.

rafters.

In escaping, it was believed, the
slayer secured the front door from
the inside and emerged through the
kitchen exit, locking this door from
the outside and taking the key with

him

Serg

the killer, and he asked to
see the pastor. Father Zebris, who
was. dressed to go to the church, came
out of his study upon hearing the man.
The slayer then drew 8 pistol and |
fired five shots. Three of them struck
the priest, one pierced the house-
keeper’s arm and the fifth went wild.

Miss Gilmanalis apparently ran up
to the attic to hide, but the killer pur-
Lengths of cord, similar to
those found around her neck, were
discovered hanging from the attic
The murderer apparently
snatched several of these, garroted the
woman, and then went back down-
stairs and strangled the pastor.

Money In The House

eant Bamforth went over the
knobs and woodwork for fingerprints
but found none. Since it was winter,
the killer probably wore gloves, he
reasoned.
But what
tive for this ‘horrible crime?: Miss
Gulauskas, who was familiar with the
household affairs of the rectory, told

could have been the mo-

FRONT PAGE DETECTIVE

Menril, chaste cL C4.

panama eee

last

THE COWARDLY MURDER OF
THE CONNECTICUT PRIEST
WAS A CRIME WHICH CRIED
TO HEAVEN FOR VENGEANCE

“I noticed the stranger particularly when
| helped take up the collection," the
church member told the police. "There
was a greedy look on his face when he
saw the money already in the basket."
(Photo specially posed by Professional models.)

hci er SS es

HE CLASSROOMS of St. An-

drew’s parochial school were cold,

as though the furnace had not been
tended that Tuesday morning. The
children could not sit long in the chill
halls, teacher Anne Gulauskas rea-
soned. She wondered where Ilva
Gilmanalis, housekeeper at the rec-
tory, could be.

It was the housekeeper’s morning
duty to open the drafts of the school
furnace before the janitor arrived, but
apparently she had neglected to do so
on this February day.

Miss Gulauskas waited until after
9 o’clock, theh put on her coat and
went next door to the St. Andrew’s
Lithuanian Roman Catholic parish
house, where Miss Gilmanalis acted
as servant for the pastor, Rev. Joseph
Zebris.

To her dismay the teacher found all
the doors locked, the blinds drawn
and a light burning in the front hall.
She knew that Father Zebris usually
turned out the rectory lights at 11
o’clock each night, that the house-
keeper generally raised the shades on
arising each morning.

Miss Gulauskas felt instantly there
was something wrong in the parish
house. She was sure that even had
the thrifty priest been called out sud-
denly overnight, he would not have
left the light burning. And granting
that some urgent matter had sum-
moned Father Zebris away, where
was Miss Gilmanalis?

The teacher called a boy pupil, who
forced a basement window and en-
tered the house. In a few minutes
he came running out, screaming
wildly, “He’s in there on the floor—
all full of blood!”

Miss Gulauskas raced back into the
school and telephoned the police of
New Britain, Conn., where the church
and school were located on Church
Street. The rectory was at No. 396.

Police Chief William Rawlings, De-
tective Sergeant Samuel Bamforth
and a quartet of uniformed officers
responded. They went in through the
cellar and found Father Zebris lying
in the first floor hall, just outside his
study door.

As they had been informed, the
pastor’s frock was bloodsoaked.

However, even before the officers
stooped to examine his wounds, they
saw the priest had been slain. A piece
of heavy cord was twisted around his
neck; Father Zebris’ eyes bulged from
their sockets, and his tongue pro-
truded from between his teeth.

“Shot and garroted!” gasped Raw-
lings. ‘‘He’s been dead for hours—
probably since early last night.”

The detective sergeant nodded, then
began picking up .32-caliber pistol
shells from the polished floor, until he
had five. “An automatic was used,”
he commented.

— ——

there was
which ap-
from the

ucting the
‘ront door-

k on Mon-

ss Gilman-

bed, went

ficers con-
o

>» asked to
tebris, who
hurch, came
ing the man.
pistol and
them struck
the house-
h went wild.
sntly ran up
e killer pur-
cd, similar to
neck, were
m the attic
apparently
_ garroted the
back down-
pastor.

douse

believed, the
nt door from
i through the
ris door from
the key with

vent over the
or fingerprints
it was winter,
ore gloves, he

been the mo-
crime? Miss
miliar with the
,e rectory, told

T PAGE DETECTI

Sistas ah a a Scscllte i Cedhe

Chief Rawlings that Father Zebris was
known to have considerable church
funds in his Possession on Monday of

each week.

In addition to the Sunday collec-
tions, the pastor generally performed
between eight and ten weddings on

Monday. . This was “marrying day”
in the St. Andrew’s parish.

Church collections usually ran to
$200 or $300, while the fees for wed-
dings were $25 each, with $10 rebated
on Wednesday if the bridegroom
stayed sufficiently sober to come
around and collect it.

Father Zebris had instituted this
system to cut down insobriety, which

usually accompanied a Lithuanian

had to be summoned.
The system had had a salutary ef.

who tried to fete 3
. out of a police ways rive
‘ cath ériminal career Boe
Pedi the end of a hangman

gling

Peter Krakas,

fect, for most of the grooms returned
in fair condition two days after the

ceremony to get back the rebated por-
tion of the fee.

on the day of his death,
should have had in excess of $300
in the house, unless he had banked it.
This amount would interest any thief.

Miss Gulauskas told the chief that
Miss Gilmanalis also should have had
considerable cash in the house, for
it was her custom to save money for
the women of the parish.

Searching the priest’s desk and
other possible hiding places, police
found only 50 cents. Robbery seemed
the motive for the dastardly crime.

OCTOBER, 1943

“If that’s so,” Rawlings told Bam-
forth, “someone who knew about the
financial Situation in the rectory com-
mitted the murders,
would he have singled out Monday as
the day to invade the house?”

However, the detective sergeant
wasn’t sure robbery was behind the

. murders,
Britain force for two decades, he re-
called investigating a complaint from
Father Zebris ten years before.

The priest had received an extor-
tion note written in Lithuanian, de-
manding $11,000 under penalty. of
death. The writer had indicated he
was an anarchist, and was extremely
vague on how the money was to
reach him. ;

The pastor turned the note over to
Bamforth, and mentioned the incident
from his pulpit. Although the de-

tective investigated, he was unable to
find the writer.

Bernard Montvid Played a part in the
crime at the parish house. Right:

his monument stands in a New Brit-
ain cemetery over the Priest's grave.

“Ten years is a long time to wait
to carry out a threat,” Rawlings re-
torted when the sleuth recalled the
extortion attempt, “but it’s possible.
Also, there may be some other angle
we don’t know about now. The main
thing, however, is to find out whether
anyone saw this killer last night.”

Bamforth agreed and dispatched
uniformed officers to canvass the
neighborhood, - BE

St. Andrew’s was situated in a
residential section where the houses

stood 20 to 30° feet apart. Directly

across the street from the church was
a drugstore which
until midnight.

remained open

€ proprietor was the first man

questioned, but he had seen no sus-

ERE Re

Picious person around the church; he
admitted, however, that the night was
so cold and blustery he really hadn’t
looked outdoors much,

Explosions Heard

bors told of hearing muffled reports,
thinking them
automobile.
helped corroborate the time of the
shootings,

But no one was found who had
seen the killer around the rectory.

wlings now believed the crime was
carefully planned and executed, the
killer leaving nothing to chance.

From the head of the Catholic
churches in New Britain, of which
‘there were several, Rawlings learned
that Father Zebris, who was 52, had
come to the city from Waterbury in
1895. He had served in the St, An-
drew’s parish for 20 years.

Miss Gilmanalis, who was 45, had
been the priest’s housekeeper for 12
years,

The parish had 6,000 communicants,

ence was one of the largest in Con-
necticut. Although there had been
dissension in other churches through-
out the diocese, Father Zebris' was
Particularly free of trouble.

Rawlings, noting these facts, saw
more clearly (Continued on page 44)

had known Feodore Torrant. To his sur-
_prise, the prisoner nodded.
. “Sure, I was out with him last night,”

he replied. “Early in the evening, that
was.”

“Where were you between two and
three o'clock this morning?”

“Are you kidding me?” the youth asked
seriously. “Why, you know. Didn’t one

of your men catch me running away from /

a house? Well, that’s where I was.”

“Were you down Rumford street ? In a
gully ?”

The man scowled and shook his head.

“T don’t know what you’re driving at,
Inspector. That’s the only job I pulled
last night.”

Finding that further questioning was
unavailing when it came to getting infor-
mation about Torrant, Keegan told the
suspect that his friend had been mur-
dered. The burglar’s eyes widened and
he shook his head quickly.

“T don’t know anything about that, In-
spector. Honest!” he protested.

Failing to shake his protestations of
innocence, Keegan had him locked up
again.

GiEV RRS and Donahue were joined
by practically every man in the Wa-
‘terbury police department in their check-
up of the murdered man’s friends. Prac-
tically all of the men named lived on the
north side. Work was slack in the fac-
tories and most of the men were at home.

After an intensive afternoon’s work,
the detectives dug up only one faint lead.
Returning to the Cherry street boarding
house, Donahue and Stevens found a
woman resident who had just returned
from work. She recalled that someone
had called two nights before and had
asked for Torrant.

“Feodore wasn’t here,” she told them.
“This fellow asked me to have Torrant
meet him last night at.a restaurant at
Burton and North Main streets.”

“What was this fellow’s name?”

“T don’t know. I could describe him
for you.”

Armed with a description of the chap
who had made a date with the murdered
man for the night before, the detectives
went to the restaurant. There they talked
to the bartender.

“Sure, Torrant was here last night,
all right,” the bartender said. “He left
early, though. About eight o’clock.”
‘ “Who was with him? Did he meet
someone here ?”

“T don’t know,” shrugged the bar-
tender. “There were a lot of fellows here.
Seems to me Torrant was talking to one
of them pretty much, but I don’t know
who it was.”

The detectives repeated the descrip-

tion of the man who had made the date

with Torrant. The bartender nodded.

“That’s the one. They were talking to-
gether for quite a time. Wait a minute. I
think that fellow lives down on North
Main street. T heard them mention a
number. Now. what was it? Let’s see, I
think it was the number of a boarding
house down in the next block.”

Leaving the restaurant the two in-

340

ere Bh Bis ee

Under the bed they found a
pair of shoes. The edges were
caked with a grayish dirt.

had any other address for the man.

He shook his head doubtfully for sev-
eral moments.

“T don’t think so. However, I’ve filled
out income tax reports for some of the
men. Maybe Torrant was one of them.
T don’t remember, but I’ll find out.”

He disappeared into his office. He
feturned a short time later, waving

DETECTIVE

a sheet of paper and smiling broadly.

“Yes, I did fill out a return for him.
His address was a different one—on
Cherry street.”

The two inspectors, hurried to the
Cherry street address. It was a two-
family house. Torrant was not known
to the family living on the ground floor.
They interviewed the woman living on

the second floor. She nodded ‘immedi-
ately when they mentioned Torrant’s
name,

“Yes, he lives here,” she replied.
“What’s the matter ? Has something hap-
pened to him? He didn’t come home last
night.”

They described the dead man to her.
She nodded again. That was the man
who boarded with her.

“What happened ?” she repeated. “Was
he robbed ?”

“Why,” demanded Stevens, “do you
ask that ?”

“Because he was in the habit of
carrying all his money with him,¥ she ex-
plained, “He had more than one thou-
sand dollars with him, He wouldn’t put
it in the bank. He had a special pocket
sewed in his underwear to carry it. He:
was saving his money so he could bring
his family here from Europe.”

“Europe!” the policemen exclaimed.
Only the Sunday before there had been
a big police raid on a group of foreign-
ers who had been organizing labor in
Waterbury. “Was he a de

“He was not!” the landlady replied
tartly. “He wasn’t a foreign sympathizer.
But you haven’t told me what happened
yet.”

Her eyes widened with horror as they
told her,

“I was worried about him,” she said.
“He wasn’t wearing his overcoat when
he left last night, and it’s still chilly.”

“He wasn’t? He had it on when we
found him!”

“Well, maybe he came back and got it.
I didn’t see him. He said he was going to
dinner at a restaurant near here.”

FROM the landlady they obtained a list
of Torrant’s friends and the name of
the restaurant. Patiently they began
checking on the friends, If, they reasoned,
Torrant had been in the habit of carry-
ing a large sum of money concealed on
his person, it would be likely that some-
one fairly well known to him would know
about it. No ordinary thief would have
had any cause to cut out
all the pockets and pull
off his shoes.
- At the same time,
Peg a] Keegan had the pay-
i master taken to the
morgue to view the
he, corpse. The witness
8h, /* * quickly made a positive
identification of the
dead man as Torrant.
“— Keegan was working
on another angle at the
same time. In going
over the report of the
police work the night
before, Keegan discov-
ered that a burglar had been arrested at
3 o’clock that morning while fleeing from
the scene of a burglary not far from the
spot where Torrant’s body had been
found.

Keegan had the burglar brought in for
questioning. on the chance that he might
have been involved in the murder. He
asked the youthful housebreaker if he

2 en ce ve

spectors started out on what seemed to them a wild goose
chase, Not knowing even the name of the man they were
seeking, it was difficult to imagine being able to locate him.
However, they had gone only half a block when Stevens
nudged Donahue. .

“Look,” he said. “Across the street. That fellow answers
‘the description we’ve got. Let’s talk to him and see.”
They crossed the street quickly and halted the man. He
scowled at being bothered.

“We just want to ask you a question or two,” Stevens
said easily. “Do you know a fellow named Feodore Tor-
rant?”

“Sure I know him. I met him last night. What of it ?”
“So you’re the fellow who made the date with him, are
you?” Donahue said grimly. “Well, you’re coming along
to headquarters with us. We want to talk to you.”

They took him to headquarters where he gave his name
as Nikifor Nechisnuk and said he lived on North Main
street.

“So you knew Feodore Torrant, did you?” they asked
him.

“Sure,” was the sullen answer. “I boarded with him last
year on Cherry. street. I also worked at the plant with him
as a roller,” ,

“Did you know that Torrant was murdered last night ?’”
Nechisnuk shook his head.

“We need the cooperation of all of his friends to find the
person who killed him,” Stevens explained. “You met him
last night. Did he say anything about seeing anyone after
he left you? Or where he was going ?”

Nechisnuk shook his head again.

“When did you leave him ?”

The man shrugged his shoulders. °

“T don’t know. I got drunk. I got.in a fight sonie time
during the evening. I don’t know whether he was with me
or not.” ;

Despite intensive grilling, the detectives were unable to
get any more information from him, They were convinced
that he knew more about Torrant’s last few hours than he
would admit.

Asa last resort, they searched his pockets in the hope that
they might hold something of interest.

Stevens glanced over the motley array of articles on the
desk taken from the pockets. His attention was caught by
a pink slip of paper with the markings of a Chinese laun-
dry. The paper was crisp and fresh, On a sudden inspira-
tion, he confronted Nechisnuk.

“‘When.did you take your laundry in?” he demanded.
“This afternoon.”

“What laundry ?”

“The one on North Main street.”” Nechisnuk’s eyes nar-
rowed to slits. ‘‘Why ?”

“Never mind. You’re going to stay here a while.”

[ OCkING the recalcitrant witness up, Stevens and Don-
ahue drove to the laundry. They found the proprietor, a
bland, youthful looking Chinese, about to put a big bundle
of wash into steaming water. They presented Nechis-
nuk’s check and told him to get the clothing.
The laundryman, anxious to help, looked patiently about
the place and finally pulled the bundle from the large assort-
ment of clothes he had been about to put into the -water.
There were several pieces of clothing but the detectives
stared at a shirt which was in the center of the bundle.
It was stained with blood!
Taking the shirt, they hurried back to headquarters. It
was 8 o'clock when they returned, just 12 hours. after the
discovery of the body. They had Nechisnuk brought back
to the office of Chief Inspector Keegan,

After he had been seated, they produced the blood-soaked
shirt. '
“How did your shirt get this way?” Stevens demanded.

night. In a restaurant on South Main street.”
“Where were you between two and three o’clock this
morning ?”

[Continued on page 72]

“TI told you,” was the surly answer. “I got in a fight last ~

‘

a : s cai

li Solving Connecticut’s Hatchet Horror
F

[Continued from page 35]

“Home in bed,” Nechisnuk retorted. “I

told you, I got drunk. My roommate put
é me to bed. He'll tell you that.”

While they kept pounding at the sus-
pect, Keegan ordered other detectives to
find the roommate and check up on the

Habis fight Nechisnuk told them about.

i The roommate quickly confirmed Nech-
isnuk’s story. They had been out together
the latter part of the evening. Nechis-
nuk was in a fight and had been beaten.
The roommate had put him to bed at 2
o’clock and Nechisnuk had been so drunk
he couldn’t have risen and gone out.

The detectives who went to the res-
taurant returned with the same story.
He Nechisnuk was in a fight and had been
hurt,

f - Temporarily halted by this corrobora-
t ‘tion of Nechisnuk’s alibi, the detectives
5 conferred on the procedure to follow.

j In their opinion the evidence of the
} bloodstained shirt was damning to the
H sullen suspect. They believed it was im-
} probable that so much blood had been
+) spilled in a simple barroom brawl, al-
{

——
TA TE Ta

though it was possible,

“We must build up a case against
Nechisnuk,” Keegan declared, “‘There’s
| no doubt ino my mind that he’s our moan,
At But we must be able to go into court, and
fit a bloodstained shirt simply isn’t proof

‘ 4 that he killed Torrant.”

murderer,

Finding of this murder
‘weapon completely dis-.
solved the alibi of a
killer who thought him-
self cunning.

Relentless efforts of
Inspector John F,
Donahue, right, were
largely responsible
for the arrest and
conviction of
at left.

It was in this secluded and lonely gully
that murder was done. The body was
found at the point marked by cross.

Stevens and Donahue drove back to
North Main street and went to Nechis-
nuk’s room, searching it thoroughly. In
his closet they found a suit of clothes
with several smears on the front of it.
Under the electric light they examined
the stains. There was no question, they
agreed, that the smears were blood.

Under the bed they found a pair of
shoes. The edges of the soles were caked
with a hard, grayish dirt. Stevens pointed
to it.

“That’s the kind of mud we found on
the floor of the gully,” he commented.
“We'll take those shoes out and see if
they fit any of the footprints there.”

The detectives completed their search
with the finding of a suit of underwear.
On it were several faint smudges of
darkish red. These, they decided, were
also blood.

“This fellow certainly was a bleeder,
if his story’s true,” Donahue said grimly.
“But come on. Let's get over to that
gully.”

Taking the shoes, they drove to Rum-
ford street. Aided by strong flashlights
they fitted the suspect’s shoes into the
prints and compared them, The shoes
fitted perfectly!

Back at headquarters, they confronted
Nechisnuk with this evidence. He de-
nied any connection with the slaying.

the

‘turned over in a radius of 100 yards.

“What about the shoes?” demanded
Stevens. “They’re yours, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, they’re mine,” Nechisnuk
nodded, “but I didn’t kill Torrant. I
don’t know anything about it.”

“How did your footprints get at the
scene of the murder?”

Nechisnuk shrugged his shoulders in

answer.

“When did you go to the gully in Rum-
ford street?”

“ Never,” he insisted. “Tt’s a mistake.”

“Oh, no, it isn’t,” Stevens cut in. “You
were there with Torrant last night. You
killed your friend to get the thousand
dollars he had sewed in his clothing.
What did you do with that money?”

A gleam of interest appeared momen-
tarily in the prisoner’s eyes. Then he
shook his head stubbornly.

Despite the grilling, the officers were
unable to shake the man’s story in the
slightest, He was insistent that he had
had no part in the killing and had not
been at the scene. Late that night the
detectives returned the suspect to a cell.

On Friday morning they resumed the
investigation. On the chief inspector’s
order the detectives continued to check
the personal life of ‘Torrant on the theory
that there would be an explanation for
the slaying.

At the same time they looked up
everyone whom Nechisnuk said he had
seen during the evening.

The patient routine work turned up
several items of interest. The first was
that Nechisnuk’s movements were ac-
counted for from 8:30 in the evening until
the next day.

Secondly, they found that two weeks
earlier Torrant had deposited more than
$1,000 dollars in one of Waterbury’s
banks. They learned also that Torrant
had not eaten dinner in the restaurant
where he met Nechisnuk, also known as

Nick Snooks, and that he had not been

secn after that meeting.

“Well, that would seem to indicate that
robbery wasn’t the motive for the murder
then,” Keegan said. “It might have been
revenge, And we haven’t found any
reason why Nechisnuk should want to get
revenge on Torrant.”

“Wait a minute,” interposed Stevens.
“Nechisnuk might not have known that
Torrant had deposited his money in the
bank. After all, they were pretty close.
He must have known that Torrant did
carry his money with him. That would
explain why the pockets were slashed and
the shoes were cut open. He was looking
for that money,”

“Maybe so,’ ” nodded Keegan. “Our
next job, anyway, is to find the murder
weapon, We'll get all the help we can
find and search the entire place. ‘Tomor-
row’s Saturday, and the school boys will
be available.”

Early Saturday morning the detectives,
aided by a small army of youngsters,
launched an intensive search for the lethal
weapon. Near the scene one of the boys
found a woman’s comb under the leaves.
The detectives studied it. Tlad Torrant
been lured to his death by a woman?

The hunt went on. Every leaf was

Nothing else was found. Finally the de-
tectives started tearing apart a stone wall
near the scene. One of the men pulled a
hatchet out from under the rocks. It was
covered with dried blo.od.

2 A}
ep eG
ae an
as RE BE oe

picked
ew.

the handle °

his ee

Other off:
up t!
The

“This h
for this tal
at once.
town. Fin:

The det
districts ©
methodice
every sh
gn stock.

In the

McCarth :

bureau, t

to have

fingerpr:
that the
Ther
day nig
called «
noon ©
having
in the

After s

Main s
talked

“y €
other
it in |
lar an

> 576 HISTORY OF NEW LONDON.

building yards of the place. Vessels of a larger size were also oc-
casionally built, but of this business we have few statistics.

In 1786 a very singular vessel was constructed at Poquetannuck
on the river Thames, ten miles from New London, by Jeremiah Hal-
sey. She was double-decked, burden about 150 tuns, and built
almost wholly of plank—several courses being laid, crossing each
other at right angles. The only timbers in her were the keel, stem
and stern-post. She was firm, well-molded, graceful, and on com-
ing down to New London in November, excited very general curios-
ta ity. She was called a snow, and named Lady Strange, but many
au |: people from her lightness called her the Balloon. In a storm which
ar occurred Dec. 3d, while she was fitting for sea, she was driven
directly over the sandy point of Shaw’s Neck, and stranded among

the trees of an orchard on Close Cove; but was got off without
damage and sailed for Ireland Jan. 19th, 1787. She proved to be a
good sea vessel and a fast sailer, and made several voyages from
New London, but was afterward owned in Philadelphia. According
to a statement published soon after the death of Halsey, the ingenious
architect of this vessel, she was examined at Philadelphia when
thirty-two years old, and was at that time staunch and sound. -

On the 20th of December, 17386, [annah Occuish was executed in
vew London for the willfulmurder of Hunice, daughter of James Bolles,

The crime was committed July 21st, 1786. The perpetrator was an
Indian girl of Pequot parentage, only twelve years and nine months
old; her victim was six years and six months old. The murdered
child was found about ten o’clock in the morning, on the Norwich
road two or three miles from town. She lay under the wall, from
which heavy stones had been thrown down upon her bedy. On ex-
amination it was discovered that her death could not have been the
result of accident, and after a day or two, suspicion having rested on
Hannah Occuish, who lived with a widow woman near by, she was
examined and confessed the crime. It was a case of cruel and mali-
cious murder, growing out of a dispute that occurred in a strawberry
field some days before. ‘The fierce young savage, nursing her wrath
and watching for an opportunity to take revenge, at length came up-
-on her victim, on her way to school alone, and after coaxing and
alluring her into a wood, fell upon her and beat her to death. The
only alleviating circumstances in this case were the extreme igno-

rance and youth of the criminal. ‘These were forcible arguments

HISTORY OF NEW LONDON. O77

but not at that day of suflicient weight to reprieve from execution.
The gallows was erected in the rear of the old meeting-house, near
the corner of Granite Street. The sermon on the occasion was de-
livered by the Rev. Henry Channing,' from Yale College, who was
then preaching as a candidate to the First Congregational Society.

July 2d, 1788, Capt. John Chapman and nine other persons, chiefly
emigrants from Ireland, were drowned within twenty rods of the
shore of Fisher’s Island. The disaster was occasioned by the up-
setting of two boats ; one of them being deeply laden, was filling with
water, and her people all seizing hold of the other, that also filled
and sank. Capt. Chapman had just arrived with a company of emi-
grants, (probably about twenty,) and some of them being sick, he was
attempting to land them on the island, where a tent was to be erected,
in which they might perform the necessary period of quarantine.
Capt. Chapman had served in the Revolutionary War, both ina naval
and military capacity. He was a brother of Major James Chapman,
who fell at Harlem Heights, in 1776, and of Lieut. Richard Chapman
slain in Fort Griswold, in 1781.

Inder the state authority, Connecticut was arranged into two cus-
tom-house districts ; those of New London and New Haven. The
first collector appointed for New London, was Gen. Gurdon Salton-
stall. In October, 1784, a branch of the office was established in
Norwich ; Christopher Leffingwell, naval officer. In October, 1785,
the same arrangement was made for Stonington; Jonathan Palmer,
naval officer. Gen. Saltonstall died September 19th, 1785.?

Elijah Backus, of Norwich, was the next collector. He removed
to New London, on receiving the appointment, which he held until
the state authority over the customs was merged in that of the gen-
eral government. ;

In June or July, 1789, Gen. Jedidiah Tuntington was appointed
collector of the port, by Congress, and Nathanicl Richards, surveyor
and searcher. These were the first appointments under the federal
constitution. Previous to this period, no custom-house records are

1 Printed at New London by Timothy Green, 1786, and entitled, “ God admonishing
his people of their duty, as pareuts and masters.”

2 In Norwich, at the house of his son-in-law, Thomas Mumford. His remains were
brought to New London and deposited in the family tomb.

2 ARRON a a pe

MELE I A OO GLEE TA

OCUISH, Hannah, Indian, hanged New London, Conn., 12-20-1786.

"New London, Conn.sduly 28: About 9 o'clock on Friday morning
last a daughter of Mr, James Bolles of this town, aged five

yea rs and six months, was found murdered and lying in the
Norwich Road between two and three miles from this city. The
head and body were mangled in a shocking manner, the back and
one arm broken and a number of heavy stones placed on the

body, arms and legs. The perpetrator of this horrid crime

was the next day discovered to be an Indian girl, (that lived
With Mrs. Rogers, widow of Mr. ichabod Kogers), aged only

twelve years and four months, who had been heard to threaten the
above child with chastisement for a supposéd injury done to

her about six weeks before the murder, The child was on her way
to shho@l when discovered by the Indian girl, who followed

her about twenty rods from her mistress' house to perform

the shocking deed, She is committed to gaol for trial in
September next." GAZETTE, Boston,. Mass., Aug. 7, 1786.

In the Boston. GAZETTE, Nov. 6, 1786, is printed a lengthy
speech by the judge who condemned her. (Do not foeect

"New London; Dec. 22: On Wednesday last Hannah Ocuish, a
mulatto girl aged le years and 9 months, was executed here
pursuant to the sentence of the Hon. Superior Court in.
September last for the murder of Eunice Bolles." GAZETTE,
Boston, Massa., January 1, 1787.

HISTORY

NEW LONDON,

FROM THE FIRST SURVEY OF THE COAST IN 1612, TO 1882.

BY FRANCES MANWARING CAULKINS.

ty
“T have considered the days of old, the years of ancient times.’’ Ps. Lxxvut. 5.

The Seal of New London, adopted in 1784.

NEW LONDON:

PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR.
1852.

GOD admonipbing bis , Peaple of their Dury, :
as Parents and Mafers.

A
Is ER MON,

_PREACHED AT

NEW-LONDON,
. December 20th, 1786.
OCCASIONED
By rae EXECUTION

Or Hannab Ocuifo, a Mulatto Girl,
: Agel i 2 Years and g Months. ,

gk OB FHE MURDER Z |
0: EUNICE BOLLES,
Aged 6 Years and 6 Months.

15) HENRY CHANNING, M. A.

BA Child left to Dinfelf dringetb bis Mother t0 foame.
: Wispomes |}

& If I did defpife the caufe of my Man-fervant, or of my Maid-
ervant, when they contended with me: what then [gale] d

4 "when Gon rifeth up ? and when he vifiteth, what foal 1.

@ {wer ?---Did not be that-qnade me in the womb, make b in Pe

NEW-LONDON: |
Printed by T, Gregn, M,Dcc,LXXXVIe: So

ccc yus cs ga a Ma a ye A ih gh Sa tS A a ik a A Ma aR a} ic hi a a a la hdl ea q

NO APPEAL.
MONTVID, Bernard, white, 23, hanged Connecticut State Prison (Hartford) Auge 6, 1915

"New Britain, Conn,, Mar, 2); = Bernard Montvid was held by the police court today for
trial for murder, in connection with the killing here last month of Rev, Father Zee=
bris and his housekeeper, Miss Iva Gilmanaitis. As to accusation was read to him,
the prisoner replied? 'That's right. I'm guilty.' The court, however, ordered a
plea of 'not guiltytentered, Montvid was brought here early today from Wilmington,
Dele, where he was arrested," ADVERTISER, Montgomery, AL, Mar. 25, 1915 (725)

"Néw Britain, Conn., Feb. 10, 1915-Authorities apparently made little headway t oday
towards clearing up the mistry of the murder of the Rev. Joseph Zebris of St.
Andrews Lituanian Roman Catholic Church and Miss Iva, E, Gilmanaltis, his house-
keeper, at the church rectory Monday night. The police are understoood to be
looking for two men who called at the rectory Monday afternoon and asked Zebris to
perform a marriage, He advised them to engage a priest of their own nationality."
ADVERTISER, Montgomery, Alabama, Feb. 11, 1915 (6/2.

"New Britain, Conn., Feb. 9 = The R,ve Joseph Zebris, pastor of St. Andrews Lituanian Church
and his house keeper, Miss Eva Gillman, were found dead in the rectory today, The
priest had been shot to death, The woman had been strangled with a clothesline and
had a bullet wound in the wrist. The body of the priest was on the parlor floor and
that of Miss Gillman in her room in the attic. Father Zebris was 30 years of age and has
been here fifteen years. Miss Gillman was 52. Theaime was discovered when parish-
ioners investigated the priest's failure to appear for mass, The house was found locked,
The police say there necently was some trouble in the parish and think the crime may
have been for revenge." ADVERTISTER, Montgomery, Alabama, Feb. pag (19/54)

slaying
"Hartford, Conn., June 23, 1915-Bernard Montvid, charged with skakwing Rev. Father
Joseph Zebris and his housekeeper, Miss Eva Gilmanaitis at New Britain, February 8, was
found guilty by a Supeewher Court jury today. Montvid was sentenced to hang August b.
His alleged companion, Peter Krakas, was hanged recently in Wilmington, Del., for a
murder committed there." ADVERTISER, Montgomery, AL, June 2, 1915 (3:7.

A.
onvicted of Killing Rev. J. Zebris

5. and Pausexeeper at New
| ” Britain.

3
¢
4
a
:

mf iwWETHERSFIELD. Conn., Aug. 6.—

git -tne words ‘‘Not guilty"’ on ‘his
k ernard Montvid,.- was hanged in
te ‘state prison at Wethersfield this
Borning shortly after midnight, for
@ murder in New Britain on Fe'b-
PRary 8 last, of Rev. Joseph Zebris, a
gthuanian priest, and his housekeep-
Iva Gilmanaijtis.
qThe condemned man, who was 23
t ars “old, went. to his death calmly,
Hthough she appeared a bit: nervous
} he started for thé death: chamber.
46 entered the, room at 12:06:20, the
2p was sprunz by Warden Garvin
spenty- one seconds afterwards and
12:18:35 he’was pronounced dead
nz Dr. Edward G. Fox, the prison
hysician. Montvid came into the
pgom repeating prayers in his own
ES and continuing until the

cap had cen drawn ovecr his

a; wheh in a firm voice, just as
Ho trap was about-.to be sprung he
slaimed ‘‘Not guilty.”

Warden Represents Directors.

The board of prison directors was
jfpresented at the execution by the
marden.. Representatives were also
esent from the Hartford and New
taim newspapers. %.
S&No relatives. of -Montvid came to
4282. bim during his last hours, but
‘4st evening a letter arrived from his
aiother in Chicago.
Pi The murder of Rev. Joseph Zebris,

mstor of St. Andrews Lithuanian Ro-
4%4n Catholic church at New Britain
mid his housekeeper Miss Iva Gil-
yoanaitis, for which Bernard Montvid
Bias condemned to be hanged, occur-
bd on the night of February 8 last.
nme priest was shot to death in a
"om. on the first floor of the paro-
#pial residence and the woman was
gpund strangled in an upper room of
Eh @ house. Robbery was said to ‘have
pen the motive for the crimes.

% Only An Accomplice.
: Montvid asserted that he was only

in actomplice, the real murdeyer, he
id, being Peter Krakas, who was

fecuted at Wilmington, Del., -some.

By
1
{ime ago for shooting..a policeman
| death there.’

a It was only after the’ arrest of
Mrakas and Montyid at, Wilmington,
Ppat their connection with the New
Britain crimes became known..” Fol-
lewing their arrest Kra kag said he
| a

Mot the policeman use he

ought they. were trying to. arrest.

m and his companion for the New
itain authorities. After the execu-
yon of Krakas, Montvid was brought

MONTVID, Bernard, white, hanged at
Conn, sP (Hartford) A ug. S, 1915.

Peck to Connecticut, tried for and
*pnvicted of the murder of the: ‘priest |
#51d his housekeeper.

‘es A few hours ‘before his death Mont-
#24 declared that no so-called. “rea
ti nd” organization was concerned
‘Bgith the crime. Previously ‘both
. i rakas and Montvid had asserted in
¥prdal and written statements that
Sich an organization was behind the
gaurders and gave the names of 8eV-
al persons they claimed were con- |
nected with the society. Montvid, in
his last ,declaration repudiated these
statements And said that Krakas and
he were alone in the murders, ans

‘that no such organization referred tc

above existed,

Unnamed, undated newspaper article
from Connecticut sent b y Hearn,

Phys

this city,

Cell

have it Tread. ‘He co
it anyway.

char

House Keepe

O'Brte

trom him the yh & Baldor -
eatreet. dd ist, O’Brien and Sev.

on Btat

from him, ©
Men who saw

: *ohty on the ear bur’
vt fled to th

@ and W.-C: Re
dam} Sherig fg J
lclan Ek. G.
Physicain Donah

transfereg
to a cel] in the e
Ock yesterday snorn
- Well durin

that the

Fox, As

thé shooting

Mizik, “o

O “aw the execution, besides

Garvin 2nd the Kuards, were
oOmmMigsionerg 6 ae oY
city, k£. A. Fuller,
Ynolds- of. East
- Smith, Prison
Stunt Prison

= of Bepteinber 92 1908,
Brien ef No,
j

was

2 not ate

ea cS tae ae
: Was taken to son
Wethe 12 October 33 from the Sas).

| From it ttme up to erday more-

ing: he FoUbled_@ ceil tn the - mhain

‘to the execution Woune, ¥-here & Cel) tm.

: room where hé¢

Met his ‘death this morning. Daring

his incarceration at the prison he ad-

mitted the. crime but said that on ac-
Was

Dia actions Mistk did no mech
and Sained * twenty-two,
weight. Thig brought hie @p to
182 pounds. - He was 5 feet 7 inches tall,
had. pfown hi it fair Complexion and ;
Was stockily built. pen :
The hy _e ‘had e rather ‘x.
degeneeoity. -However ‘he ae ..
degenerate on y_not very brigh he
Wave -the Prison pfiicials ho teeuble, “al. |
t Yathe 1

the time of the execution. The min ster
understands Slavonic, Misik's
The latter had not a Particularly Tex

vin ~~ : rl 44 ¢ Adi p ha ed
pUee IH, F ul 3 Ww fd she WM yg | fle de> MA

£3

REPPED UXDER Noose. WITH
| CHILD-LIKE SMILE. .

oe,

The Drop Fell at Right Minates Af.
ter Twelve — Mistery of Wisik’s

Crime and Trial, -

Paul Misti, confessed murderer of

, sake O’Brien, was. hanged “shortly
Biter midnight: this. mornMig ih the

‘State prisow at Wethersfield: The drop.

Was sprung at 12:08 o'clock and Misik |

if. “The-con.

—_

camned man ‘wea brought into the exe-

. tine. Witnesses, whe uncovered when he.

stood upon the plate. which marks..the

‘scope was applied by the, physiclans.

’ prison.

artford) Feb. 11, 1904.

Misik carried in his hands a Bible
and ahead of him. walked Rev. George
Heosko of New Haven, speaking words
of hope fiom the Bible. The cgndemned
man sai@ nothing and look€d around
in Sepnder, with: his vacant smile on

was brought in. -Misik was immediately

spot directly under’ the pulley over
whioh the rope runs, Two, guards ‘pet

‘to.work binding two more straps around |
. his legs while # third put on-the
hood and the noose, Within a minute
everything was ready and at the sig-|
- Bal -of'an uplifted hand the machinery
“was set in motion. Misik was jerked
his height into the air end fell again

to within two feet of the floor. |
‘There wasnot a sound. After a

couple of minutes the straps around the

body were taken ‘off and the stethe-

Missiles heart beat rapidly at first and
the: bedy shook with 4
iat fT hee & half minute, however.
At 12:18, ten minutes. after the trap
Was sprung and’ eleven after Misik en-
tered the room, he was declared dead.

The body wes immediately cut down
and placed in a plain silk-lined coffin.
The dead man’s neck was examiped and
found to be. broken, so death was p ACs
tically instantaneous. The death ch Me
ber was entirely empty at 12:30 o'clock,

tremors, which {

90 the execution was one of the Quickest :
and most euccessful evér held in the
on. Misik’s body will be buried this
morning in the prison cemetery, at the.
requést of his wife. She saw him last
about two weeks ago.

foe me

42 RITES OF EXECUTION

We are convened this day to be spectators of a most solemn and affecting
event, the launching of a moral vessel from the land of probation into the
boundless ocean of eternity, and endless retribution never to return. And
whether it will depart, freighted with the love of God, penitence, faith,
and the joys of pardoning grace, as a vessel of mercy . . . or freighted
with pride, impenitence, unbelief, and the guilt of unpardoned sin, as a
vessel of wrath fitted to destruction, is, to us, a matter of dreadful
uncertainty.*°

If the civil component of execution day highlighted the temporal death
of the criminal, the religious meaning of the event shifted the focus to
the eternal life of the condemned. In this way the State presented itself
as both punitive and benevolent, strictly punishing for the immediate ben-
efit of society and even the everlasting welfare of the prisoner. So that
the spectators might grasp this message completely, ministers urged the
criminal to perform the role of the true penitent at the gallows. For ob-
servers, this was perhaps the most dramatic episode in the theater of ex-
ecutions. How would the prisoner act at the gallows? What sort of moral
vessel would the criminal become?

In their “walk over the gloomy stage” of execution day, most prisoners
seemed to have expressed their concern with true penitence. Bly and Rose
warned that “in the high court of Heaven . . . pardons are not there
granted to unrepenting sinners.” Thomas Mount, hanged for burglary in
Rhode Island, was possessed by a “desire to be truly penitent for [his]
crimes, both against the law of God and the law of men.” Robert Young’s
last words extended the drama of penitence to the crowd. He warned
spectators “to forsake their evil way and seek the Lord . . . and not
persist in those pernicious courses that will inevitably end in the destruc-
tion of their bodies and endanger their precious souls.”*!

Clergy who offered “some account of the prisoners in their Last Stage”
usually confirmed for the crowd that a criminal’s rhetoric matched reality.
Ministers often described the successful conversion experience of the
criminal in prison, sometimes with a boast that perhaps reflects a min-
isterial desire for recognition as much as concern over the prisoner’s spir-
itual welfare. One criminal expressed his “thanks to all the ministers of
this Town, who haved favored me with their assistance, in opening my
blind Eyes, as to a Future State.” These accounts attempted to convince
spectators that the condemned “prayed . . . till they were turned off”
and “spent all their time in reading the Bible.” Several criminals were
alleged to have been hanged “with a countenance that bespoke . . . in-
ward peace.” If, as some historians have argued, the position and au-

The Design of Public Executions 43

thority of the clergy was slipping in the last half of the eighteenth century,
execution day presented ministers with an opportunity to rekindle their
reputations and re-establish their influence.”

On execution day, the prisoner was packaged as truly penitent, and in
some cases the condemned undoubtedly behaved that way; most often,
written sources ascribed to the prisoner the role of the sincere penitent.
Of great interest are the few instances in which we find evidence that
criminals failed to conform to the behavior expected of them. James Dana
reminded Joseph Mountain that “since your confinement you have by no
means given the best evidence of true contrition,” and “your indifference
to your state . . . hath astonished us.” Similarly, Samuel Frost “showed
few or no signs of penitence” at the gallows, despite the minister’s warn-
ing to “be not then insensible, stupid, and hardened while the realities of
eternity are. . . before you.”*

Tantalizing as these fragments are, evidence of criminals refusing to
act as they were expected to act is rare. And even when they did, the
prisoner’s dissent did not disrupt the proceedings. Ministers used the un-
remorseful criminal as an opportunity to fulminate on the dangers of im-
penitence. Some evidence suggests that, even when the criminal did not
perform as desired, spectators who wanted to witness the apparent effects
of grace interpreted the criminal’s behavior as penitent. At the execution
of Isaac Combs, an Indian, Joshua Spalding warned the convict that he
did not seem “to be a true penitent,” and yet another minister who ob-
served the affair reported dutifully and formulaically in his diary that Combs
appeared “sober & devout.”

Lest the drama of peniténce be lost on the multitude assembled to wit-
ness the execution spectacle, ministers clarified the relationship of the
criminal to the populace-at-large. Expressing the tension between public
appearance and private reality, Perez Fobes warned that “the difference
[between the criminal and the crowd] may consist only in this, that he is
detected and condemned, but they as yet are concealed from human eye.”
Another minister asserted that “it is possible, yea probable, that there are
some in this audience who are even more guilty than the prisoner; but
their crimes are not yet detected . . . all hope to escape the hand of
justice. But this hope is in vain; whether your crimes are known and
punished on earth, or not: God knows every secret. . . . The day of
Judgment will undeceive you.” One minister put it most succinctly. ~ You
are all sinners,” he told the gathering at one execution. If sin belonged
in common to the criminal and the crowd, then so too did the promise
Of salvation for the truly penitent. Ministers urged those assembled not

de for
to the

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sett

The Design of Public Executions ag
in the Early American Republic

The event which calls us together is an awful and effecting dem-
onstration of the danger of sin—a warning to hold our passions and
appetites in constant subjection to reason—to cultivate fixed prin-
ciples of honesty, justice, and benevolence—to be consistently strict
in obeying the laws of God, and our country. . . . Such awful ex-
hibitions are designed that others may see and fear—Go not to that
place of horror with elevated spirits, and gay hearts, for death is
there; justice and judgment are there; the power of government dis-
played in its most awful form is there.
NATHAN STRONG, The Reasons and
Design of Public Punishments (1777)

Sometime in the afternoon of Wednesday, October 20, 1790, authorities
executed Joseph Mountain, a thirty-two-year-old black man, before a crowd
of thousands on the green in New Haven, Connecticut. Earlier in the day,
4 procession threaded its way from the jail to the First Church, where an
overflowing assembly heard the Reverend James Dana deliver a sermon
entitled “The Intent of Capital Punishment.” The pastor chose as his text
Deuteronomy 19:19,20: “So shalt thou put evil away from among you. +
And those who remain shall hear‘and fear, and shall henceforth commit
m more any such evil among you.” Dana.addressed the multitude “of
all orders and characters” on the civil and religious necessity of capital
punishment and stressed the “excellence” of virtue and the “turpitude”
of vice. The pastor encouraged true repentance and warned of “destruc-
uon from God.” Toward the close of the sermon Dana preached to Moun-
ain directly. “In about three hours,” he informed the prisoner, “you must
die—must be hanged as a spectacle to the world, a warning to the vicious. ”'
Following the church service a procession formed to escort Mountain
‘0 the hanging scene. His arms pinioned and a coiled rope around his

26 RITES OF EXECUTION

neck, the prisoner trudged to the gallows erected on the green guarded
by a company of militia and attended by clergymen. The sheriff and his
deputies accompanied on horseback. A cart containing a coffin and a
ladder followed the prisoner; had he so desired Mountain might have cho-
sen to ride atop his own coffin. A throng of people closed the procession.
Upon reaching the gallows, the sheriff read aloud the death warrant. As
a chorus sang hymns, Mountain probably paused to pray and to deliver
his last words to those within hearing distance. The sheriff pulled a white
cap over Mountain’s face. At a precise moment in the afternoon he gave
a signal, and, with a shove, the prisoner was “launched into eternity.”
The body dangled for three-quarters of an hour before a guard cut it down
and delivered it to the family, friends, or physicians who claimed it.

Magistrates and ministers designed public executions in the early
American Republic as displays of civil and religious authority and order,
as a “spectacle for Men and Angels.” The spectators who gathered on
execution day viewed, heard, and read a variety of messages about the
culture they lived in and the behavior expected of them. It was a day on
which civil and clerical figures appeared in a public ceremony before a
congregation of thousands to display their authority and to convey the
values they believed most fundamental to the preservation of the moral
and social order of the community. The condemned also had a crucial,
carefully circumscribed role to perform in the theater of execution.

As a civil ceremony, the execution exhibited the authority of the state.
It sought to bolster order and encourage conformity to a republican code
of social values. As a religious ceremony, ministers used hanging day to
remind the crowd of its own mortality and to demonstrate that God alone
could redeem the sinful. Ministers instructed spectators that the truly pen-
itent could earn salvation. Execution day served as both a warning and
a celebration. At the gallows the crowd received a lesson on the conse-
quences of crime and sin; on hanging day civil and clerical figures offered
proof that society worked properly and that God saved souls. Anyone
who dissented from the proceedings did so subtly and infrequently.

Social leaders transmitted the meanings of execution day in oral, writ-
ten, and dramatic form. The gallows procession and accompanying ritual
represented the authority of magistrates and ministers. The execution ser-
mon and the formulaic lives, last words, and dying confessions of the
prisoner articulated the lessons to be learned from the spectacle. Printed
versions of the sermons, confessions, and other gallows ephemera, which
sold as pamphlets and broadsides on execution day and often contained
woodcuts of the hanging scene, helped disseminate the message of the
hanging through the crowd and across the region. The extent to which

The Design of Public Executions 27

spectators internalized, reformulated, rejected, or ignored the intended
meaning of the ritual is unclear. What is certain is that hanging day em-
bodied political, theological, and cultural assumptions that mattered dearly
to social elites in the early Republic.

It should come as little surprise that the overriding civil theme of exe-
cution day was the preservation of order. Above all else, authorities de-
signed public hangings as a demonstration of the power of government
and a warning to those who violated the law. Society. punishes, one min-
ister explained, “for the great purpose of preserving, in peace and safety,
our property, our life, our civil and sacred rights and privileges. . .
We are bound by love and duty to each individual and the whole com-
munity, to support the order of society.” Another minister emphasized
the consequences of disorder: “In civil society, the wicked would walk
on every side, and the cry of the oppressed be in vain, the foundations
would be destroyed, confusion and misery would prevail were punish-
ment, capital punishment, never executed.” By choosing to stand outside
the prescribed rules for moral, law-abiding behavior, the criminal seemed
to undermine the stability of society. On execution day, authorities con-
demned actions that were perceived as rebellion against civil government
(the state) and mounting disobedience to moral government (the church).”

Social leaders have always been preoccupied with the problem of dis-
order, but the anxieties of Americans seemed especially acute in the last
quarter of the eighteenth century, and not without good reason. The act
of Revolution not only triggered a war that raged for seven years and
brought turmoil to many areas of the country but it also created a nation
and government which, according to patriots, demanded the vigilance of
the people for its survival. Loyalists, both real and imagined, posed a
continual threat to the fragile Republic; thousands were imprisoned “on
suspicion of their being inimical to America.” As the war progressed,
barely latent political, social, and geographic tensions erupted into man-
ifest conflicts. According to patriot leaders, it seemed for a time as if the
people had become totally unwilling to obey “any sort of order,” and had
become “addicted to corruption and venality.”°

The fears over social decay and disorder were intensified by the con-
stant chant of the republican hymn. Republican values centered on the
idea of public virtue, the belief that an individual’s passions must yield
to the good of the community and that self-abnegation must come before
self-interest. Accordingly, evidence of the lack of virtue augmented con-

44 RITES OF EXECUTION

to delay until it was too late and they found themselves condemned to
die upon the gallows.*°

By explicitly linking the crowds with the criminal, preachers tried to
persuade the spectators at executions to see themselves as participants in
the ceremony who were required to alter their ways. In this context au-
thorities used hanging day as an opportunity to induce spectators to “be
afraid of sin, and a life of ungodliness.” Ministers accomplished this by
emphasizing the imminence and horror of death, by transforming the ex-
ecution spectacle into a civil day of judgment. Religious figures made it
clear that, while the state served as hangman, such action was taken with
the direct authority of God. If “the counsel of heaven determined that
such a prodigy of vice should no longer infest society,” then what was
to prevent God, through the agency of the state, from reaching in and
taking the life of any of the spectators, each of whom was sinful?“

At a prescribed time and in a public manner, spectators at executions
knew they would witness ritualized death, and ministers warned them
what to expect. “Before this sun goes down,” predicted one clergyman,
“his body, now vigorous and active, will be a lifeless ghastly corps[e],
coffined and buried, deep down among the sheeted dead.” “Death is the
King of terrours,” warned Joshua Spalding, “though viewed in his most
frequent and common forms, but to see one in health cut down in the
midst of life by the hand of justice, O how shocking! this fills the mind
with ideas that cannot be expressed. . . . He that is to suffer this day is
not the only one in the assembly under the sentence of death; for death
hath passed upon all, for all have sinned.” Nathan Strong expressed it
even more tersely to the assembled: “Unless we repent, we shall all like-
wise perish. ”*’

The icon of the truly penitent prisoner and the emphasis on mortality
meant that religious values could be placed alongside civic ones at the
core of the cultural order as conceived by community elites; ministerial
function and authority could be reaffirmed and reinforced; the focus of
execution day could be expanded from the pure temporality of civic con-
cerns to the eternal realm of religious matters. Ministers claimed that,
the sooner citizens “realize their dependence on God,” the less likely they
were to perish at the gallows or die at home, impenitent and doomed.
“The present occasion suggests a powerful motive to engage persons to
maintain family order and government, and to instill the principles of
religion and virtue into the minds of children . . . ,” summarized one
minister, who went on to ask rhetorically, “if due restraint, instruction,
and government be neglected, what are we to expect but a general pro-

The Design of Public Executions 45

fligacy of manners and a rapid increase in Publick Executions?” At the
execution of Joseph Mountain, James Dana also dicussed the problem of
“incalculating morality”: “It would be well, could we . . . prevail with
all by representing the reasonableness, excellence, and advantages of vir-
tue, the turpitude and misery of vice. But we are compelled to persuade
men by the terror of future judgment, and future wrath.”**

Ministers such as James Dana, who demanded obedience, terrorized
listeners, and preached as a spokesman for “the God of Order,” marked
the persistence of seventeenth-century cultural forms. Employing tradi-
tional Puritan language, many Presbyterian and Congregationalist min-
isters in post-Revolutionary America seemed uninfluenced by the intel-
lectual currents of their day. Even as Dana preached, some jurists and
philosophers advanced a new mode of inculcating morality, one based
not on the terror of death but on the reformation of life, not dependent
on public vengeance but instead intent on shaping private morality. Yet
execution sermons remind us that the cultural style of the early American
Republic was forged out of diverse materials. As a type, ministers like
Dana may have been at their height in the seventeenth century, but at
least on execution day, in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century,
they recycled and refashioned phrases and arguments that still held enor-
mous currency.

Themes of civil and religious order permeated the ritual of execution day
in the early American-Republic. But how did spectators receive the mes-
Sages pitched at them in oral, printed, and dramatic form on hanging day?
The crowds at executions left faint tracks for the historian to follow. What
we can ascertain about spectator behavior emerges from sources provided
by self-interested parties. Eager for the execution to function as a cele-
bration of order, local authorities reported that “the spectators who were
present at the gallows were silent and attentive,” or that “all was solemn
and still and evinced that affectionate sympathy which so eminently char-
acterises the American people.””

Within these glossed accounts, however, lurk hints that the behavior
of those assembled at executions occasionally made authorities skittish.
A letter on the hanging of Bly and Rose reported that the crowd “behaved
with a seeming sensibility, scarcely a threat was uttered, or a murmur
heard, against government.” At another execution one commentator re-
ported overt dissent on the part of the assembly, a “considerable” number

—

CAPITAL PUNISHMENT DATA SHEET

CONN 7406
STATE INVENTORY #
OFFENDER: SOURCE OF DOCUMENTATION
NAME: HANNAH |OCUISH (TITLE, DATE AND PAGE#)
RACE: Pequot Indian Preade [MAGA dpe
SEX: F (0-H atFET

OFFENSE: = wurder

DATE EXECUTED:

Dec. 20, 1786

COUNTY: New London

VICTIM:

RACE:
SEX: F
AGE: 6

RELATIONSHIP
TO OFFENDER:

BACKGROUND
INFORMATION:

DATE CRIME
COMMITTED:

DATE OF
SENTENCING:

DAY OF THE
WEEK EXECUTED:

OFFENDER
RESIDENCY:

MEDIA ACCOUNT
OF CRIME:

NAME: Eunice Bolles
W

Eunice accused Hannah of stealing strawberries

Wednesday

Stoned the 6 year old girl to death. Hannah was
abandoned early in lift and turned to delinquency
in nearby New London.

MEDIA ACCOUNT

OF TRIAL: — She made a confession after she was confronted

with the dead girl's body.

MEDIA ACCOUNT
OF EXECUTION: Hanged .

METHOD:
STAYS OF
EXECUTION:
EXECUTIONER:
WITNESSES:

RITUALS:

LAST WORDS:

OTHER INFORMATION:

TIME:

She said very little and appeared greatly
afraid and seemed to want somebody to help her

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FEAR!
(Continued from Page 31)

She fell madly in love with this man.
He was no blundering, drunken, pawing
fool. He was an experienced man of the

‘ world — a man who made her feel she

was somebody.
Romance, glamor — practically all she

_had dreamed of — came to Anna Mae,

and ‘she took it wholeheartedly and
happily and gave full measure in return.

It was in June that the awful thing
happened — that the little man found
her again. She was on duty, waiting to
go off, waiting to go out and meet her
new lover. But ten minutes before her
tour ended, a drunk was brought into
the emergency ward, and she was sent
to fetch bandages.

The drunk had fallen and hurt his
head, not seriously. She handed the
bandages to the interne bending over
the drunk and when the interne straight-
ened up she saw who the drunk was.
And he saw her for a fleeting moment.
She turned and ran from the ward. Yet
she could riot run away from the look
of want and misery and- desolation that
was in the little man’s eyes.

‘“‘What’s the matter, darling?’’ her
new lover asked later.

She frowned, “Oh, I don’t know.”’

*‘Come on. Tell me.”

“Well, tonight I saw a ghost.”’

‘‘What do you mean, sweet?”’

“Oh, nothing. Skip it.’’ She kissed
him and tried to forget the whole thing.

But the little man did not allow her
to forget for long. He reappeared —
outside the hospital and the nurses’
home. Yet now he did not approach or
molest her.

Sometimes when she glanced out her

“window she'd see him crouched on the

stoop opposite, his eyes straining up.
Again, when ~she emerged from the
doorway of the hospital, there he would
be standing in a shadow, waiting, watch-
ing.

Frequently, on leaving the hospital
she’d be a block or more away before
she realized he was following her. Or
several occasions, en route to a love
tryst, she had the feeling she was being
trailed.

On a night in mid-July, she returned
to her room late. No sooner did she
open the door than she knew the room
had been entered during her absence.
There was a heavy odor of cigarette
smoke in the air. She turned on a light
hurriedly and noticed a half dozen butts
in an ash tray — cigarettes she knew she
had not smoked.

Quickly she looked in the closet and
under the bed. Finding no one, she
pushed a heavy table against the door.
Afterward she sank frightened, her heart
fluttering, into a chair — only to be-

come more frightened.

On her desk was a note, written in
the little man’s scrawl. “‘I tried to kill
myself, but I can’t,’’ it read. ‘‘Also it
wouldn’t be no use killing that guy
because you’d soon find another fellow,
and they won’t let me go around killing
all the men in the country. So I guess
it’s you, Anna Mae. I’m sorry.”’

She acted on impulse, tearing the
note into shreds. She did it to destroy
the revelations as to her past, not the
threat. She was frightened, yet more
than frightened — ashamed. She did not
fear death so much as she did the
possibility of the disclosure that she had
been the mistress of that grimy little
man.

In place of the torn-up document she
composed another, a will. She scribbled
it in pencil on the first piece of paper
which came to hand — the back of a tax
bill which she had paid that day and had
receipted. She wrote a strange, tragic,
pathetic testament.

From this moment on, Anna Mae led
a life of absolute fear. She continued
each night to barricade her door. On
leaving the hospital after dark, she
would summon the institution’s night
watchman and ask him to walk with her
a few blocks — to the nearest brilliantly
lighted street.

“What’s the matter? What are you
afraid of?”’ he questioned her. 3ut she
refused to tell him of the little man and
his threat. She said she was in a little
trouble — which she wouldn’t specify —
and she did not want him to: report to
anybody how scared she was. She was
afraid, she claimed, that if the hospital
learned about her difficulty she would
lose her job.

Over two weeks passed, and she heard
no more from the little man. On the
afternoon of August 10th she had an
hour off. Without changing from her
uniform she walked down Congress
Avenue to buy a pair of stockings.
Returning, the old, sickening feeling
came over her; she ‘felt she was being
followed.

That night she met her lover again.
They visited a deserted spot on the
shore of Long Island Sound and swam
in the warm salt water. Afterward the
young man got a blanket from his car,
and they stretched out on the sands
beneath a bright, full moon.

“T’ll worship you the rest of my life,”
Anna told her lover.

The man smiled. “That’s a long
while,”’ he said.

Anna Mae did not disagree. She re-
fused to interrupt or spoil the pleasure
of this sweet, ecstatic moment by ex-
pressing the thoughts which prodded at

Prolong his angu
smiling Weakly: she knew he would be
back,

Her landlady regarded

ode, “‘He’s a

‘Anna Mae lied,

unshaven, bearded throat,

who Plagued hey — so

3 In the be Inning h ]
here no more,” he wycused,. “] ee Anna Mae ran terrified back into the ae ee ree he foeaee oe
around last week and again yesterday house, Early the next morning she check on the information she had given
“Well, Anna Mae Started to answer Packed her ag and threw it out the i

“Your landlady’s lying, and you put

her up to it. Anna M

get rid of me!”

Anna Mae Promised again. She edged
toward the door. She murmured some-

, : whom she wasn't married So she fin q]
She stared at him. She said ee thing about meeting an old friend down- wrote in the address of the aperiinent a
ers Wes nothing she could say town and getting some money. Finally which, a year before, she’d resided with
Listen, Anna Mae,” he told her, she was out of the house ae :

ever ruined before, All I th

More than J was

ink about is

-” He halted abruptly
n his pocket. “Look,”

> went on, mumbling incoherently a

she de tested,

not inquire into her past too
Carefully, if at all. At any rate, she kept
the job. :

ened See ees er duties, as outlined to her Involved He took ha, to hotels She’d always
: : making beds, cleaning work in the diet loved hotels She’d never, she believed

His hand jumped from. his Pocket, kitchen and bathin convalescent: =

en he opened his balled up fist she 1b a een el hotels = tn exquisite

(Continued on Page 54)

her mind.

A while after they came back to the

nurses’ home. He got out of the car,
walked her through the courtyard and
kissed her goodnight at the building
entrance. He returned to his car and
drove off. She entered the building and

_ tripped gaily up the stairs,

She wound down the corridor toward
her quarters. She was just Passing the
door of a vacant room when she felt
that awful, sinister feeling again and a
moment later heard the low, choked
voice of the little man calling: “Anna
Mae! Anna Mae!.. .”

With a single brutal thrust he cut her

throat. He slashed it from ear to ear.

And afterward, with her eyes still open,
she saw him standing there, gaping,
aghast. Then she saw him burst into
violent tears and run sobbing downthe
corridor through which she had come.

She followed, trying to call out. But
she could make no effective sound, only
a sickening gurgle.

Miraculously, she remained upright.
Her legs somehow worked. She stag-
gered all the way back through the
corridor and reached the head of the
stairs.

She heard the door slam below. She
knew the little man had fled. She
thought weakly — it was very difficult
for her to think now:

“They’ll never find out who he is,
who killed me. Nobody who knows me
now has ever heard of him. I’ve been so
damned ashamed of him I’ve let him
murder me and get away with it!”

(Continued on page 56)

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(Continued from Page 55)

The world went black before her
eyes. She tottered. She pitched head-
long and fell down the stairs.

Just before midnight her dead body.

was found by another nurse. The police
were: called. Detective Sergeant
Raymond Eagan and Detective Josepn
Monahan took charge of the case.

They found a man’s bloody foot-
prints in the lobby and on the stairs of
the building, also in the upper corridor.
In the vacant room they saw where
someone had walked up and down
scuffing the carpet, smoking one cigar-
ette after another and stamping out the

_ butts.

They searched Anna Mae’s effects.
Few papers, however, turned up except
her crudely drawn will.

The contents of this bore out the
stories of the hospital night watchman
and the superintendent of nurses. The

“watchman told of escorting Anna Mae

through, the dark, the superintendent
about learning that the dead girl kept
tables and chairs piled against her door
at night.

“Obviously the woman was afraid of
someone — and for: good reason,” Ser-
geant Eagan commented. ‘‘But who? If
her life was threatened why didn’t she
complain to the police?”

Through another nurse the officers
learned of the business man. At three in
the morning they called the State Police
and troopers were dispatched after him.

He was found at his home. He was
brought back to New Haven. He begged
the officers not to drag his name into
the case, inasmuch as he was a married
man and a father.

He admitted his intimacies with Anna

‘Mae and told of their visits to hotels and

to the beach. But he insisted he left her
at eleven-thirty alive and well on the
steps of the nurses’ home — that he
knew nothing of what had subsequently
befallen her.

His story was straightforward. The
detectives believed him. Yet they were
more mystified than ever when the dead
girl’s admitted lover could throw no
light on the identity of the man she
feared.

Early the next morning they began
checking Anna Mae’s past. They learned
she had been married, that her husband
deserted her. From the hospital’s per-
sonnel records they discovered where
she had last lived with her husband, but
for the year following they could not
establish her residence.

The mystery might have remained a
complete enigma,. forever, unsolved, but
for a strangely coincidental happening.
Even while the detectives were still at
the hospital’ the next afternoon, still
investigating the murder, a process ser-
ver-arrived.

He asked for Anna Mae Johnson. He
did not know she was dead. He said he

worked for a lawyer just retained by a
rooming house proprietress on York
Street who was starting .suit against
Anna Mae.

The detectives hurried to York
Street. They talked with the rooming
house landlady and 'earned that the
dead girl had jumped a thirty dollar rent.
bill the day she became connected with
the hospital.

Yet for a year the landlady had not
known where Anna Mae had gone,
though she had been on the lookout for
her ever since. Not until the day before
she had caught sight of her — on
Congress Avenue, emerging from a shop,
wearing a nurse’s uniform,

“But I was cagey,” the landlady
boasted — am empty boast under the
circumstances. “I didn’t rush right up to
her and give her an opportunity to tell
me she wasn’t working and couldn’t
pay. No I hung back. I followed her to
the hospital, and I saw her go in. This
morning I got in touch with a law-
yer...”

In such fashion was Anna Mae’s past
revealed, her grimy little murderer
unearthed. For the York Street woman
knew the rooming house at which Anna
Mae_ had _ previously lived — on
Edgewood Avenue.

The detectives descended. They
learned of the girl’s dark, unhappy rela-
tionship with the part time steamfitter
— one Joseph McElroy. From
Edgewood Avenue the pair had split up.
Later McElroy moved, leaving a for-
warding address of a third rooming
house — on George Street.

He was still living there when Eagan
and Monahan arrived. They found in his
room bloodstained clothing, an empty
razor case, a half dozen pictures of
Anna Mae, and a batch of pleading love
letters written and addressed to the
dead girl — yet never mailed.

“T killed her,’’ McElroy confessed. ‘‘I
killed her because I couldn’t have her no
more, and I couldn’t stand the thought
of anybody else having her.”’ Sobbing,
he told the detailed story of his
unhappy affair with Anna Mae.

McElroy was tried under an indict-
ment for first degree murder in New
Haven Superior Court in October, 1936.
He offered no defense. A jury found
him guilty and Judge Carl Foster sen-
tenced him to death.

McElroy waived appeal. “It don’t
make no difference,” he said. ‘‘“Now
that Anna Mae’s gone I ain’t got no
reason for living. I might as well hang.”’

But the little man did’ not hang.
Shortly after his coaviction, the method
of captial punishment in Connecticut
was changed from hanging to electro-
cution. On February 8; Joseph McElroy
had the dubious privlege of being the
first man executed int Connecticut’s
electric chair. @

n ; * Tal eo a D
NECHESNOOK, Nikifor, white, hanged Conn, (New Haven-Waterbury) on Dec,

3, “SE19<

Unnamed, undated
newspaper article
from a Connecticut
paper sent by Hearn

ae ee ee eee

‘MAKES PART CONFESSION

BEFORE HE IS HANGED

Nikifqr Nechusnuk was hanged at
the Connecticut State Prison shortly
after midnight this morning. Before
he died he made oa partial contfes-
sion to .hie attorney, Lawyer Jesse
Devine ,of Waterbury. The con-
demned man, two'hours before the
hanging, told his lawyer, “Oh, what's

the use of saying anything more

civbout dt. It’s no use.’ |

‘erbury dast April, having lured Yor-:
rant Into the woods und beating him:

re ee

Nechusnuk was found guilty of
murdering Feodorg Torrant of Wat-

over the’ head with a hatchet. Rob-
Dery was- the motive for the ‘crime,
andw throughouf his trial, and since
his imprisonment,. Nechusnuk main-
tained his innocence until his “par-
tlal confession," last night. The con-

vehsation with the condemneg man

Was made through Matthew Balan-
da,-a pollee’ otver of Waterbtry,

Whe speaks the same language us

the uceused.,

a eee eye ome ls oe eee cs ene cee tenet oe ee

8 yee Ais

ae a ey ene genes « eins eenee- omen

See ee

reporters for the local newspapers
watched. One of the officers stared down

_at the spot where the body had been.

“Look !” he exclaimed. He pointed to
the leaves which littered the ground.
Something was faintly visible underneath
them. Then he knelt down, fumbled
among the leaves and brought up a pearl-
handled pocket knife, a dirty envelope
and a clock key.

The detectives took them from the pa-
trolman and examined them closely. The
knife was clean. They agreed at once it
could not have been used in the slaying.
The key puzzled them and, shaking their
heads, they turned to the envelope. It
was empty but it bore a faint marking.
Squinting, they'were barely able to make
it out. It read:

“February 19. Torrant 6554.”

The inspector turned the envelope over
in his hand. It was a half-size container,
opening at one end.

“It looks like a pay envelope,” he said.
“I wonder how it got here. February 19,
That makes it a month old.”

“It must have fallen out of the man’s
pocket,” Donahue suggested. “That
would explain how it got under the body.
If that’s the case, it’s a clue, If it was just
there, then it isn’t.”

“It’s the closest thing to a lead we
have,” Keegan said. “We'll follow it up.”

He summoned the rest of the detectives,
read off the notations on the envelope and
looked at his men sternly.

“We'll work fast,” he told them. “We'll
check every factory in town on this en-
velope. Find out to whom it was given.”

ASSIGNING factories to each pair of
detectives, he returned to headquar-
ters. Stevens and Donahue took the list of
plants they had been given and started
out. At the first two the paymasters shook
their head. They had no one named Tor-
rant oh their payrolls; the number 6554
meant nothing to them. Nor had they
paid off on Feb. 19,

The third factory they visited brought
results, They talked to the. paymaster.

“That sounds as if it might be one of
our men,” he said. He glanced at the
calendar for the previous month. “The
nineteenth was on a Monday. That’s our
payday, all right.’-

He went to his records and thumbed
through the T’s. He returned bearing a
card,

“This looks like it,” he said. “I think
the man is Feodore Torrant. His num-
ber’s 6554, all right. He lives on Hill
street. He was paid $15.91 that day.”

“Is he here today ?” asked Stevens. “If
he is, we'd like to talk to him.”

The paymaster consulted his records
again. He shook his head,

“He worked yesterday but he didn’t re-
port in today. We haven’t been working
steady lately, however, and he might have
thought there wouldn’t be anything do-
ing.”

While detectives continued checking
at other plants, Stevens and Donahue
went to the Hill street address. Living
there, they found, was a smiling, broad-
faced woman who conducted a boarding
32

house. She shook her head when they
asked for Torrant.

“T haven’t got anybody by that name,”
she told them.

“Did he used: to live here?” they
pressed,

When she shook her head in decided
negation, the detectives departed, down-
hearted. Thinking there might have been

See .

a mistake in the number, they visited the
houses on either side. No one knew a
Feodore Torrant. The clue of the pay
envelope had apparently taken them down
a dead-end street.

They returned to the plant. It was
early afternoon and the paymaster had
just returned from lunch, They reported
their failure and asked if his records

STARTLING .

WHUKEINOUUA, NIKITOr, wh, n

By CHARLES E.
CALKINS

HE schoolboy swung down des-

olate, brush-lined Rumford street.
: It was almost 8 o’clock and he had
to hurry in order to get to classes on
time. He stepped hastily along the soft
ground from which the frost had gone.

Halfway down the street he descended
into a gully which cut across the short-
cut to Slocum school. He stopped
abruptly. His eyes almost popped from
his head.

A dead man lay, face down, at the bot-
tom of the gully!

Crimson stains appeared on the brown
leaves which lined the ground. Two
sharp-pointed rocks rested on the vic-
tim’s head.

The 19-year-old youth turned and fled,
fright lending speed to his heels. He ran
down to North square where he found
Patrolman Thomas Grady.

“There’s a dead man in the gully back
there!” he gasped, pointing toward Rum-
ford street. “It looks like he was mur-
dered !”

Grady paused long enough to telephone
the news to headquarters, then ran back
with the youth. It was Thursday, March
13, and the city of Waterbury, Conn.,
had been experiencing a series of violent
strikes at the local brass manufacturies.
Grady wondered, as he raced toward the
gully, whether this was the outcome of
one of these labor disputes.

He approached the scene carefully,
The boy stood at the edge of the gully and

‘pointed out the corpse. Grady knelt be-
side the still figure, sucking in breath.
sharply and steeling himself to make a
superficial.examination.

Grady looked over the clothing and
frowned. Every pocket of the man’s
clothing had been cut. out, apparently by
a sharp knife, he noted.

WHILE he was still examining the
corpse, the wail of sirens on the po-.
lice cars sounded inthedistance. Hestood
up_and walked to the side of the gully.
In a moment, a small army of police
officials arrived, led by Chief Inspector
William Keegan and his two deputies,
Inspectors Joseph Stevens and John F,
Donahue. With them were Coroner
John T. Monzani and Dr, Charles H.
Brown, acting medical examiner.
The group clambered down the side of
the pully and surrounded the body. Brown
‘made a hasty examination,

“This is one of the most cruel mur-
ders I’ve ever seen,” he remarked
gravely. “The man’s head has been prac-
tically cut in two.”

When he had finished, the detectives

nged OTSP (New Haven/W aterbury) on

ot
ry

STARTLING De [Be bAV CO

MARCH - 1943

got busy on the clothing. With
deft hands they searched it thor-
oughly. Attached to the man’s
tie was a stickpin bearing the in-
itial “T.” Keegan pocketed it
with the remark that it should
help in establishing identity.

All of the pockets had been cut
out except the inside coat pocket.
In it were some papers, Eagerly
they scanned them, hoping for
something which would-help to
identify the man. The inscrip-
tions on the papers were mean-
ingless,

“It looks to me as if there’s
only one explanation for this,”
commented Keegan, “Robbery.
Cutting out. the pockets so thor-
oughly would seem senseless
otherwise.” M

“There’s absolutely nothing in
the clothing to show who this fel-
low is,” Stevens reported. “There
aren’t any more papers. And no
wallet.”

“This is going to be a tough
case,” Keegan said. “We'll have
to go over the clothes more thor-
oughly when we get them off the
body at the morgue.”

He surveyed the soft ground.
The imprints of many footsteps
were visible. The dried leaves
were pushed down into the mud
by the weight of the walkers,

“Be careful how you step
around here,” he warned. “These
footprints may be a help.” :

The detectives quickly worked
out a description of the dead man.
He was about 35 years old, with
light hair and a light mustache.
He was 5 feet 8 inches tall and
weighed about 150 pounds.
Nearby was his hat, purchased
at a store in downtown Water-
bury. He wore a black overcoat,
under which was a gray wool
sweater jacket, dark gray. trou-
sers and tan laced shoes. The

. The inspector turned

the. envelope over in
his hand. It was a half-
size container, opening
at one end. “It looks
like a pay. envelope,”
he remarked. “I. won-
der how it got here.”

laces had been slashed so that the shoes
were loose on the feet. He also wore a
white shirt with a thin stripe, soft col-
lar and a knitted tie.

“The murderer,” observed Keegan,
“evidently was looking for something.
He even searched this man’s shoes! That
appears more than ever like robbery.”

Donahue and Stevens inspected the
scene further. The gully was full of dead
leaves. From the corpse ran a faint trail
of ruffled leaves as if something had been
dragged along. They followed the trail
up the side of the gully to a spot a dozen
yards from the edge.

“Looks like the fellow was killed here,”
Donahue said. “Then the killer dragged
him into the gully.”

Keegan looked around. ;

“It’s remarkable he was found. No
one ever uses this route, even if it is only
about fifty yards to the school there.” He
turned to the medical examiner. “How
long has he been dead, Doc ?”

Brown shook his head.

“It’s hard to tell. Several hours. Maybe
since midnight. Maybe not that long.”

The chief inspector grunted. “Well,
we'll have to find out who he is,”

“Maybe there was more than one
killer,” Stevens said. “Do you see how
many footprints there are? My guess is
that there was a struggle, too, the way
the féet point in all directions,”

LEAVING the corpse as they found it,
the detectives began a search of the
neighborhood, looking for the death
weapon and for any other clue which
might help them. They kept at it for
three hours without success,

At the same time other policemen in-
terviewed the people who lived nearby,
seeking any information of untoward
events the night before. For the most
part the neighbors had heard and seen
nothing. Then, several houses from the
end of the next block on Walnut street
extension they talked to a housewife.

“I heard a shot last night,” she said.
“It was around two or three o’clock in
the morning. Then there was an awful
scream, like someone was in agony.”

“Did you get up and see what was
going on?”

“Not me,” she replied promptly.
“There have been two robberies in Rum-
ford street lately. I wasn’t taking any
chances.”

Keegan pursed his lips shrewdly when
this was reported to him,

“That sounds like the time the murder
was comnitted,” he said, “It’s something
to work on, anyway.” He glanced at his
watch and turned to the coroner, “Well,
it’s eleven o’clock, I guess you might as
well take the body down to the morgue,”

Several policemen rolled it over toward
a stretcher while the detectives and the

576 NEW HAVEN COLONY LAWS.

steale a second or third time, his de capieg shall be: increased by :
ipi i hall see cause... 44 45
whiping or otherwise, as the Court sha : : oe
‘Abd foraainuch as small thefts, tvespsses, or other Ee oie

Criminall nature, are sometimes committed by the Lnglis ate
in Townes or places remote from Prisons, or it may Lakee cadine pa
ient to defer the Tryall, or to make stay of the persons ° 2 rita!
hard to get security for appearance at a Court, it is parent

that any Magistrate, or Deputy page . —_ ne a tan Coal
ing i s affords for a £ y

ne in such other help as the place a toot
(which help is hereby required to aitend the Bae ee psd hepsi

i i e ca
ing) may upon complaint brought to him, when aah
wah he fier conveniency, hearg, and upon due age" ST mien pul
such offence (the valew whereof either in oat i Ne fot
i imits of that Pia
ther punishment exceeds not the limi Y te
sssariling to the Lawes here established) and may give ini) the
the Marshall, or other Officer, for answerable execution, vd 3
offendor refuse to pay or have nothing to satisfie, the pet me a q
Deputy with the help aforesaid, may punish by ee van pr eT
otherwise; according to the nature of ihe offence, and imp
Law.
Capital. Lawes.

T is Ordered, $c. That if any pe-son after legall, or vent Gut 4
viction, shall have, or worship any other God, a . Scat 7.2
he shall be put to death, Hxod. 22. 20. Deut. 13. 6. 10. .
7 es
— tf es Nets be a Witch, he or she shali be put to deati, accor” 4
ing to Hxod. 22.18. Levit. 20. 27. Deut. 18. 10, a sue Goa thal
If any person within this Jurisdiction, professing : : the oe 4
wittingly and willingly presume to. blaspheme the holy oh ‘bid, Fd
Father, Son, or Holy Ghost, with direct, expresse, i toh mg
high-handed blasphemy, either by willfull or pies @ wrtte Pr
[23] true God, or his Creation, or rovernment of || pss is tigen
curse God, father; Son, or Holy ghost, or reproach the oy ce
~ of God, as if it were but a politick device to poi dip nie ath
awe; or shall utter any other kind of blasphemy : : : : . ;
degree, such person shall be put to death. Lev. 2 + +4 Ani ‘it ai
If any person shall commit any Dice an tacit mages
thild, upon premedit: ; ) oe
(ne ind: ony of Scenery a jast defence, nor MY aid ag
against his will) he shall be put to death. Exod. 21, 12, 15. E
86. 81. selva a
erson slayeth another suddenly in anger, or cruelty
‘on, he shall be put to death, Levtt. 24.17. Numb. 85. 16, 17, 1%

9, 20,21. ; 4
: If any person come presumptuosly to slay ee wil 3
whether by any kinde of force, Poyson, or other wicked p eS

every such person shall he put to Death. zod, 21. 14.

ith Deut. 19.19. By parity of Reason, ;
"If any man or woman, shall lye with any beast, or bruite creature,

q } Miticall filthinesse (tending to the
4 ‘8 committed by a kind of Rape, nature being forced, though the will

. RW ERR cOraNy Lie,

by carhall Copulation, hé!'or she, “hall surely be put to death, ahd the
beast shall be slaine, buriéd, and not eater, Levit. 20. 15, 16.

Af any man’ lyeth with mankinde, as a man lyeth with a womah,
both of them have Committed abcmination, thev both shall surely be
put to death. Levit. 20. 18. Anil if any woman change the naturall
use, into that which is against nature, as Jom. 1. 26. she shall be
liable to the same Sentence, and punishment, or if any person, or per-
sons, shall Commit any other kinde of unnaturall and shamefull filthi-
Nes, called in Scripture the going after strange flesh, or other flésh
then God alloweth, by carnall knowledge of another vessel theri God
m nature hath appointed to become one flesh, whether it he by abusing

thé contrary part of a grown woman, or Child of sither sex, or unripe Jude?.
vessel of a Girle, wherein the niturall use of the woman is left,

which God hath ordained for the propagation of posterity, and Sodo-

destruction of the race of mankind)

Were inticed, every such pérson shall be put to death. Or if any man
shall act upon himself, and in the sight of others spill his owne seed,
[24] by example, or counsel, or boih, corrupting or tempting || others Gen. 88. 9.

4 . to doe the like, which tends to the sin of Sodomy, if it be not one kind
4 fit; or shall defile, or corrupt himself and others, by any other kind

of sinfull filthinesse, he shall be punished according to the nature of
the offence ; or if the ease considered with the aggravating cireum-
“ances, shall according to the mind of God revealed in his word

og ‘equire it, he shall be put to death, as the Court of Magistrates shall

ctermine.* Provided that if in any of the former cases, one of the
Parties were forced, and so abused against his or Ler will, the innocent ag hg
person (crying ont, or in due season complaining) shall not be pun- ~”
shed, or if any of the offending parties were under fourteen year old,
When the sini was committed, such y:erson shall onely be severely ¢or-
tected, as the Court of Magistrates considering the age, and other
tcumstances, shall judge meet.

If any man married, or single, commit Adultery with a marryed or

i *spoused wife, the Adulterer and Adulteresse shall surely be put to
q ‘eath.t,. Lev. 18.20. Lev. 20.10. Deut. 22. 23,24. . :

If any person steale a man, or mankind, that person shall surely
be put to death, Exod. 21. 16. ‘iy

If any person rise up by false witnesse, Wittingly and of purpose to

@ ‘ke away any mans life, that person. shall be put to death. Deut.
19,16, 18, 19,

If any person shall conspire, and attempt any invasion, inaurréction,
t publick Rebellion against this Jurisdiction, or shall endeavour to

* Ntprize, or seize any Plantation, o: Town, any Fortification, Plat-

, or any great Guns, provided for the defence of the Jurisdiction,
any Plantation therein; or shali treacherously and perfidiously
‘tempt the alteration and subversion of the frame of policy, or funda-

* Occasioned by W. Piaines case, in 1646, Ree Winthrop, ii. 265. : tit
1 From the New Haven Town Rec. fi. p. 2:3, we learn incidentally that in the latter
Met of May, or beginning of Juhe, 1650, there was one executed for adultery.

63)

©. NELES, Harry, hanged New London, Connecticut, Nov. h, 1807.

~ THE NEW LONDON COUNTY HISTORICAL SOCIETY

INCORPORATED 1870

SHAW MANSION NEW LONDON; CONN. “94 BLINMAN STREET

2h May 1963

“My dear Mr. deen»

I am answering your letter Withouk consulting any newspapers of the
time. They are kept in the vault, and it will take me a while to
get them out. But if you still want me to look for what they might
carry about Niles, I will. However, you may be satisfied with the
excerpt I am copying for you, from Frances M. Caulkins! HL yore of
New London, as follows:

November lth, 1807, Harry Niles was hung for the murder of his
wife. The gallows was erected in the highway, at the head of Gran-
ite Street, and it wascalculated that ten thousand spectarors covered
the adjacent fields and heights. Sermon by “ev. Abel McEwen, w:o
took the opportunity to preach on the subject of temperance; the

@eecrime for.which the unhappy man suffered having been the result of

intoxication. Harry was a Narragansett Indian, with a quarter cross
of African blood - a large, fine looking fellow, in the prime of life,
belonging to the Indian reservation in North Stonington. In his mind

- and character there was something noble and independent in its stamp.

He had neen well taught and trained in the family. from which he received
his name, but unfortunately was not proof against the temptation of the
white man's fire water, and in a drunken fight with his wife on their
way home fron the market where he had obtained the pernicious draught,
he inilicted blows upon her which caused her death. In his religious
views he was independent, wild, and speculative, and during his impri-
sonment deemed that he had various inspired dreams and reveletions,
teaching him the right way, and assuring him of his ultimate safety.
This was the fourth anu} No, skip this. It is about a much later

execution. 3

If you want me to see if we have newspapers for that month, I will, but
this might be sufficient information. I shall be glad to do what else
I can for youe Incidentally, you could do something for me. I would

like to know what the documents you have, are. Curiosity, mostly.

Very sincerely yours,

(ms ») ined B Wrox

Corresponding Secretary

New London, Nov. 6th, Ad 1807.

Joshua Huntington Esq. to Chauncey Arnold Br.

| Hates ’ +
To Building A Gallows for H. Niles $25 ~ 00
to Making A Coffin for do 4h ~ 00
|
| to hiring A Gard And watchman 6 =~ 00
$35 = 00
Coln. Huntington Bought of S. Hurlbut.
Piece of White Rope $1.00
?, N. London Nov. 4, 1807. ae

Joshua Huntington Esqr. Shereif for the County of New London to

David Prentis, Dr.

gee 1807.
etme Novr. 4. To Souplus & Cap for Henry Niles § $35.50

Joshua Huntington Esqr. Sheriff of the County of Nex London to James Beebe Dr. #34

1897+ 3 o 7
Novr. 4. To the Hire of Horse & Oart & wy Attendance at the Exeoution

of Henry Niles $4.00
" " * Hire of 2 Hen Digging Grave & ¥ 2.00
® * " Scouring & Cleaning Meeting House 2-00

New Lond 4th Novr. 1807

: 3 i ae ;
. Pr z ye aes ‘ oe ak, 4th :
é pf in dey: coyageteee IO Ce sgl ee ACO te ee = aa:
: ecg iph by Fe ta eye * ee Ope OO Sa Pa eh Ste ae
nhtyt Ks Bia ee EL SRS Seen art ie Ue a
AS my eS, > + er Lae eh aes brea ns

Col. Joshua Huntinzton To Nath. Otis, Dr.
®
To Capt. Beebes Compy.
a . ; In the Morning
) 1 Bottle Brandy $1.00
, | {ditto Gin 1.00 4
1/2 pint Wine | "442 1/72. = $3.12 1/2 it
| i neers “a4
Afternoon & Dinner : ASS
1 Bottle Gin $1.09 : iE
1 do Spirits 1.00 ae 7 lores al
1. 0 Brandy 1.00 ! ica ee ;
1. pint Wine ‘ 92 1/2 ; a
Bitters : Ais) - ese Bela 1/2 See
5 RBottlas Tine Jb Sey Ee 37S | Soe
42 Dinners, Capt. Beebes Copy : A OO m . : ;

NILES, Henry, white, hanged at New London, Connecticut, on November ), 1807. .—

Ciuc ©

FOR aOR SCE Bal Nea

itory and stumbled toward the curb. Her frenzied hands
clutched at her throat. Blood spurted from between her
- fingers, drenching the front of her dress and spattering the
sidewalk in her, wake. She tried to scream but only a liquid
whimper escaped her lips and she sank to the pavement un-
conscious.

Simultaneously, another nurse and her escort left the drug
store down the block and headed for the Cedar street entrance
of the nurses’ home of the New Haven, Conn., Hospital. It was
11:30 p. m. Following a movie, the nurse and her boy friend
had decided on a soda before saying goodnight.

The nurse saw the stumbling girl at the dormitory entrance
and rushed forward.

“Why, it’s Anna Mae!” she cried. “What's the matter, honey ?
Oh! Her throat is cut!”

The man took one look at the gaping, blood-clioked slash
across the white neck of the stricken brown-haired nurse, He
wheeled and headed for the hospital’s emergency ward, shout-
ing for a doctor.

It was then that the dormitory door opened again and a
dark figure emerged. The nurse, working over the victim,
feeling her fast-failing pulse and frantically attempting to revive
her, looked up and caught one fleeting glimpse. It was a man,
running hard. He dropped his hat as he rounded the corner of
Congress avenue. For a brief moment the street light played up-
on him. The woman saw a glinting flash of steel in his hand.

"Tice girl lurched out the doorway of the nurses’ dorm-

By CHARLES BOSWELL

A doctor and attendants arrived. Scarcely breathing, the
victim was placed on a stretcher and rushed into the hospital.
But she was dead before she could be lifted onto the operating
table. “It’s no use,” the doctor said.

Meanwhile, Walter Taylor, the hospital night watchman,
had called the police. Detective Sergt. Raymond J. Eagan and
Detective Joseph Monahan, ace investigators, careening
through the streets in a siren-shrieking headquarter’s squad
car, answered the call, that night of Aug. 10, 1936.

Examining the lightly clothed body of the dead, 32-year-old
woman, the officers agreed with the doctor that the fatal wound
in her throat must have been made by either a razor or a‘very
sharp knife, viciously wielded.

“And she must have received the slash no more than five
minutes before she died,” the doctor added. ‘‘Without medical
attention, and bleeding so profusely, no one could have lived
longer than that. Had she not held onto her throat with her
hands, stopping the flow somewhat, she would have died even
sooner.”

From Mrs. Margaret Halstead, superintendent of the dormi-
tory, the detectives learned that the young woman’s full name
was Anna Mae Greenhalgh Johnson. Although employed by
the hospital for only one year, she was reported to have been in
New Haven longer. Coming originally from Centralia, Ill., she
was known to be married but separated from her husband.

The officers were keenly interested in the nurse’s story of
the fleeing man. She said he was short and of medium build
but she could identify him no further. Sergt. Eagan
found the hat the man lost when rounding the corner.
It was of popular make, of brown felt, size 634 and bore
the label of a local retail store. An alarm was broadcast
for all New Haven police to be on the watch for a hat-
less man but the detectives held little hope of his being
picked up so easily, the accompanying description being
too fragmentary.

ACKTRACKING the trail of blood from the curb

where Mrs. Johnson had fallen, Eagan and Mona-
han traced it across the sidewalk and through the dorm-
itory door, across the lobby and up a flight of stairs.
It followed along a second story hall and in the direction
of further stairs leading to the third floor where her
room was located, But at the foot of the second story
stairs it ended abruptly in a sizeable pool of blood near
a large radiator.

Close to the wall at this spot, Detective Monahan
found a bone-handled pocketknife. Its blade was open
but unstained. The officers conjectured that the killer
had brought it along as an auxiliary weapon but had
done the actual slashing with another piece of cutlery.
Monahan’s find, fortunately, must have fallen from the
slasher’s pocket or hand. The knife was carefully
wrapped and preserved for the headquarters’ finger-
print expert.

Down the corridor, a few feet from the pool of blood,
the detectives noticed the door of an unoccupied room
ajar. Within the room the floor was heavily coated in
dust and several cigaret butts, smoked down to a fraction
of an inch of their ends, were scattered about the floor.
The dormitory superintendent thought this condition
peculiar. Inasmuch as the room was unused, the door
was normally kept shut, she said.

On the floor above, Eagan and Monahan searched the
dead girl’s room. They found little to interest them
aside from a strangely scribbled note, something in the
nature of a will. Discovered in a dresser drawer and
written in pencil on the back of an Old Age Assistance
tax bill sent by the tax collector of the city of New
Haven, it read:

“To Whom It May Concern—

“As my life has been threatened and I think it may

Fond of swimming and outdoor life, the comely

victim, far left, sought vainly to elude the certain

death which awaited her at the hands of this dapper
man when his warnings were ignored.

be taken, I would like Margaret Halstead to pack my trunk
& have it shipped to my home. I want my mother to have my
rings, in fact all my belongings to do with as she wants.

“My body I want the hospital to have and I hope.they take
it as it will save my mother & family the bother & expense
of a funeral. I haven’t a great deal to live for anyway so it
doesn’t really matter. Maybe the medical student can see what
make me run or rather what doesn’t make me run rite at
times.

“Anna Mae Johnson”

“Amazing,” Detective Monahan commented. “What re-
markable philosophy in the face of death. And the girl knew
she was going to die!”

“Paradoxical,” Sergt. Eagan answered, “that a young
woman’s will should be written on the back of a scrap of paper
pertaining to old age. But did you notice that the bill was
paid? And on July twenty-fifth, at that, just a little more
than two weeks ago. It would seem probable that she wrote
this ‘testament’ since then. In other words, she received this
threat against her life quite recently.”

The detectives questioned the nurse and student nurse
associates of Mrs. Johnson as to what men the dead girl
went out with. All knew she had a boy friend but no one had
ever seen him, nor did they know his name or where he lived.

“She had a date with him tonight,” one girl volunteered
timidly. “She told me so right after dinner. I wanted her to
go to a show with me but she said she was sorry she
couldn’t. She was going to meet this fellow outside of the
restaurant down the street. She left her room around eight
o’clock.”

“Then it must have been her boy friend who did it!”
another nurse cried, aghast. “How else could a man have
entered the building unless he came in with her ?”

The dormitory superintendent nodded. Only women lived
in the dormitory, she explained to the detectives. The street
door was kept locked at all times. All the girl occupants,
and the girls alone, had keys. There was but one other key
and this was in the possession of the night watchman.
The detectives examined the door, finding that it locked
automatically when it was closed and that the
lock had not been tampered with.

“Anna Mae was afraid of someone, all
right,” the superintendent recalled. “The other
night I went to her room and I couldn’t get in.
She had a chair against the door. I asked her
what was the matter but she just laughed it
off and said something about burglars.”

The night watchman related a similar story.

“A week ago I met Anna Mae a block or so
away from the hospital,” he told the detectives.
“She asked me to walk with her to the door of
the dormitory. I did but I wanted to know why
I should. She said a man had been bothering
her and she. was scared he was waiting to get
her. I told her I ought to report such a thing

Ironically written on the back of an old-
age pension receipt, the death note and
will, left, were found in the victim’s room.
A heavy trail in dust on the floor of an
unused room, below, showed where the
killer restlessly awaited his chance.

Empty razor
room and a ke
nurses’ home

to the author
promise not to
she’d lose her }
turbance or if t!
found out all at
Eagan and
reverse of this ;
hospital knew
woman. Her ;
only a former
former residenc
phone call to
another local ho
of importance. |
girl had not sley
no one seemed t
What dark
Johnson’s past,
themselves ? Wh
dead girl resided
The propriet:
Congress avenu
name and by

waged

McELROY, James Jeseph, wh, elec. CT (New Haven) February 10, 1937

}

P NX HE girl |
itory and
clutched a

fingers, drenchi:
sidewalk in her
whimper escape:
conscious.
Simultaneoush

store down the b

of the nurses’ ho:

11:30 p. m. Folk

had decided on a

The nurse saw
and rushed forw:
“Why, it’s Ann
Oh! Her throat i:
The man took
across the white
wheeled and hea:
ing for a doctor.
It was then tl
dark figure eme:
feeling her fast-fa
her, looked up an
running hard. He

Congress avenue.

on him. The won

aE
Rad tng

Stumbling from the

side doorway of the
hospital nurses’ home,
shown here in full view
and closeup, pretty
Anna Mae Johnson
staggered to the curb
and collapsed, victim of
a waylaying slasher.

WHO LOVED
TOO OFTEN

sca are aR TNT IEE TT

STARTLIN DETECTIVE, February, 1941

McLLROY, James Joseph, white, elec, Conn, SP (New Haven)
LO, 1937. (First man to be electrocuted im Conn,)

Rak

Nt he!

SoSeph Me Elroy, Febuary 10, ieo7

New Haven Man Is First
to Be Electrocuted at
’ State Prison.

WETHERSFIELD, Feb. 11—(AP)
Connecticut's first legal electrocution
was recorded today with the deach
of Joseph McElroy, 44-year-old New
Havener who killed a woman after
losing her love.

The slight built McElroy, appear-
{ng dwarfed In stature as he walked
between two heavy set guards, went
calmly to his death in the State's
prison execution chamber shortly be-
fore 10 o'clock last night.

He was the first condemned slay-
er to die here since the 19835 legisla-
ture abolished hanging as a means
of execution.

Two: guards 1]

ed the condemned |

7
man the few paces from the death
‘cell into the execution chamber at
' 0:53:50 p. m. There was a quick aau-
-justment of straps and Robert EI-

“Hott, official executioner for five
states, threw the switch at 9.55:80,
McElroy Pronounced Dead

The electric current, reachijng &

maximum of 1,954 volts, coursed |
through his body less than thrwo {|

minutes and the prison physician
and the Wethersfield medical exam-

Iner pronounced McElroy dead at |.

9:58:20,

McElroy, called a made) prisoner

by Warden Ralph H. Walker, show-
ed no emotion during the quick walk
to the chair,

He said nothing until one of the.
guards asked him to lay his arm on
the arm of thé chair so that strups

; could be adjusted. Then McElroy
muttered a scarcely audible “okay”
Just before the mask was adjusted
over hig face, McHlroy appeared to
smile slightly and nod at Deputy
Sheriff Joseph Murray, the man wno
brought him from the New Haven
County jail to State’s prison.
Told of Death Time
‘The condemned man was not told
the time, nor even the exact date of

his execution until 6:30 p. m. tet

night.

McElroy Dies in Chair 2 ee

~ He showed no emotion at tha
news, Warden Walker sald, and de-
clined the privilege of ordering a
special last meal, He spent the even-
ing playing checkers with a guard.

The warden spoke to McElroy just
before he left the death cell and said
the prisoner told him:

“T'm ready to go.” :

The Rev, ,George Grady, prison
chaplain, was with McElroy during
his last hour, followed him to the
chair and bent ove: him taiking in
low. tones while guards adjusted the
atraps.

Priest Stands Behind Chalr

During the actua: execution Fa-
ther Grady stood a few paces behind
the chair, his head bowed in an at-
titude of prayer, one hand covering
his face,

McElroy’s crime was called hy
State’s Attorney Samuel Hoyt “the

murder ever
county.”
He became jealous of Mrs. Anna
Mae Johnson, a 82-year-old New Ha-
ven hospital maid, laid in wait out-
side her dormitory room on the night
of Aug. 10 and slashed her throat
‘with a razor. .
His only defense at a Superior
court trial was that his menta! attl-
tude at the time of the crime did
not warrant @ verdict of first degree
murder,
Commutation Plea Denied
Last week, basing his appeal on the
same grounds, McElroy asked the
Board of Pardons for a commuta-
tion of sentence which was denied.
McElroy came to New Haven from
Ireland over 20 years ago. He told
Warden Walker his mother still is

tried in New Haven

| living in Ireland and he has a bro-

ther and sister in this country but
he refused to reveal thelr whero-
abouts,

During the World war he served
@ year and a half m the Canadian

most perfect case of first degree

ant hn es
CGomreceteut
newspa

Daniel Hearn,

for Hospital Murder **:

per,sent by

The Nurse Who Loved Too Often

[Continued from page 23]

Returning to headquarters, the de-
tectives learned that the work of their fin-

gerprint man had been in vain. The dor-.

mitory door and doorknob yielded no
identifiable prints, nor did the walls of
the second story hall, nor the knife found
near the pool of blood.

But at 6 o’clock in the morning Lieut.
Bushy called back.

“We've got Schmidt,” he announced.
“He’s here at the barracks.”

Eagan and Monahan left immediately
for Westbrook. Arriving, they con-
fronted a short, sportily-dressed man,
wearing a checkered cap. Schmidt was
white and shaking, obviously nervous and
upset. His hands trembled as he lit an-
other cigaret from the butt of the one
he had been smoking.

“You were out with Anna Mae John-
son last night?” Sergt. Eagan accused,
beginning the questioning abruptly.

Schmidt reluctantly admitted that he
had been. For more than a month, he
said, he had been going with the girl, see-
ing her on the average of two or three
times a week. The night before he es-
corted her to the prize fights at Savin
Rock, an athletic resort outside of the
city. Meeting her on Congress avenue
at 8 o'clock, he left her at the Cedar street
entrance of the New Haven hospital dor-
pat somewhere between 11:20 and
11:2

“You entered the building with her,”
the sergeant pressed.

“No,” Schmidt replied. “As a matter of
fact I said good night in a hurry. I was
mad. We’d had an argument.”

“What about?” Eagan wanted to know.

“Say!” Schmidt exclaimed. “Do I have
to tell that? What's this all about, any-
way? Why’ve you got me here?”

Sergt. Eagan regarded the man
shrewdly for a long while and then said
slowly, his words crisp and cold: “So you
don't know? Well, listen, Schmidt, Anna
Mae Johnson was murdered last night at
eleven-thirty. You are the last person
known to have been with her!”

HE man’s face went white. His cig-
aret dropped from his.lips. “Anna

Mae!” he cried, a bewildered look crossing:

his countenance. “Anna Mae—poor—girl.
But look. Sergeant, I didn’t have any-
thing to do with it. I don’t know any-
thing: about it... That argument. I
wasn't that mad with Anna Mae. It’s
only that she’s been writing, me letters
and I wanted her to stop. I’m married,
see? I got a wife and kids. I was having
a tough time keeping those letters from
my wife and I’m going to have a tougher
time keeping this. My wife will want to
know all about why the trooper came for
me this morning. I tell you, I’m worried.
I'm nervous. You believe me, don’t you,
Sergeant?”

For answer Eagan suddenly produced
a felt hat, the one found at the corner of
Congress avenue and Cedar street.
Snatching the’ cap from Schmidt’s head,
the detective stuck the hat on. Far from
fitting and obviously too small, the hat
sat on the very top of the amazed man’s
skull, giving him a ludicrous, incongru-
ous appearance.

“What size hat do you wear?” De-

tective Monahan quickly snapped.

“Seven and three-eighths,” Schmidt an-
swered quickly.

The detectives exchanged significant
glances. Now, considering the man dis-
passionately, their questions took a new
turn.

“Apparently,” Egan told Schmidt,
“Anna Mae received threats against her
life several days before she was killed.
Did she ever mention such a thing to you?
Do you know of anyone who had reason
to do her harm?”

“Threats, no,” he answered. For a mo-
ment he was thoughtful and then his dark
face brightened. ‘There was some guy
who was jealous,” he said. “Anna Mae
once told me she was pretty intimate
with this fellow. They were friends over
a year ago. She quit him, but not on ac-
count of me. That was before I met her.
She quit him because he didn’t amount to
much. He had no money and not enough
of a job.”

“Her husband?” ;

“No, not her husband. It was some
man after her husband.”

“Know jhis name?”

“No, she never. told me his name. But
he was Irish, I remember she said, and
he had a whale of a temper.. He was ‘sore
over her giving him the gate. Once I
saw him on the street. She pointed him
out to me. We were riding along in my
car one night and we passed by a movie
and he was standing out front. I just got
a glimpse. Anne Mae ducked down in the
car.”

Schmidt went on to describe the dead
girl’s former boy friend. He was short
and of average build, light-skinned and
thin-faced.

“Tell me,” Eagan asked, “do you know
where Anna Mae lived before she moved
to the hospital?” °

“No, she never said. I didn’t know her
before she was at the hospital.”

“Did she live with this Irishman?”

“Tt’s possible. I guessed as much but
she never came right out and told me.”

The detectives released Schmidt and
returned to New Haven. Taking the felt
hat to the State street shop whose label
it bore, they were disappointed to learn
that the proprietor could be of no help
to them.

“T sold it, all right,” the storekeeper
said, “but the trouble is that I’ve sold
hundreds similar to it. For the life of me,
I wouldn’t be able to tell who bought that
particular one.’

Eagan.and Monahan went back to the
scene of the crime. On the way they dis-
cussed the manner in which they con-
cluded the murder must have been per-
petrated.

“Schmidt eliminated,” Saran theorized,
“T figure that the killer, whoever he was,
arrived at the dormitory some time be-
fore Anna Mae returned from the prize
fight. He lay in wait for her, probably on
the second floor. That would account for
the cigaret butts in the empty room. Im-
patient to get at his victim, the slasher
paced back and forth, tracking the dust
on the floor.” e

“But how did he get in the building?”
Detective Monahan wanted to know.

As their car drew up to the Cedar street
curb, this question was answered for the

sae

officers. A nurse emerged from the dormi-
tory, letting the door swing behind her.
Another nurse was a dozen yards away,
on the point of entering. Although she
had her key in readiness, it was not neces-
sary that she use it. The door swung
closed very slowly. The approaching girl
caught it before it shut.

The detectives examined the door. They
found that it had a hydraulic hinge to
prevent its slamming.

The dormitory superintendent met the

officers in the lobby. She had strange

news for them, a development which
proved to be the first break in the baffling
investigation.

“Right after breakfast this morning,”
she said, “there was a man here asking
for Anna Mae. Apparently he hadn’t read
the newspapers. He didn’t know she was
dead. He was a process server, he finally

admitted. He’d come to serve a summions. ,

I took down his name and address.”

The detectives hurried to the process
server’s home, a neat bungalow on the
edge of the city. They found that he was
not in but his wife informed them that
he spent most of his time hanging around
the Municipal court. At 10 o'clock, they
located him there and quickly obtained
the name of the lawyer by whom he was
engaged,

NTERVIEWED five minutes later, the

lawyer was agreeably cooperative.

“IT was about to bring suit against Anna
Mae Johnson—a civil action,” he said.
“My client conducts a rooming house.
Prior to a year ago, and for a period of
several months, Mrs. Johnson was a ten-
ant there. She left owing six weeks’ rent,
thirty dollars. Although my client re-
peatedly requested this money it wasn’t
forthcoming. She placed the matter in
my hands for collection.”

The detectives descended on the York

street address. The landlady turned out

to be a woman of garrulous nature and
with meticulous attention for detail. Con-
sulting a ledger, she informed Eagan and
Monahan that Mrs. Johnson was a
roomer in her house from Feb. 2, 1935,
until July 15 of that same year.

“She was here alone?” Sergt. Eagan
queried. “There was no man?”

The woman glared, exploding: ‘Sir!
Just what are you insinuating? I’d have
you to know I run a respectable estab-
lishment. Why, I don’t even allow men
to visit my young lady roomers above
stairs. They have to sit in the parlor.
My tenants are of the best possible char-
acter. I require references.”

“T was insinuating nothing,” Egan said.
“After all, Mrs. Johnson was a married
woman. I thought possibly her husband
lived here with her. As Wescribed to me

” The sergeant halted, winking at
Detective Monahan, and then went on
ay he’s a short, thin-faced fellow—
an Irishman. . .”

“That’s not her husband,” the landlady
interrupted, calming down. “That’s a fel-
low she used to go with, she told me, but
before she moved into my house. She
wasn’t seeing him any more. She was
through with him. But he was a persis-
tent chap. I don’t know how many times
he came to the door and asked for Mrs.

Johnson anc
and tell him
waiting, that
him. But he’
He must ha:
I never saw
himself over
But the |:
man’s name,
mentarily str
detectives m:
vestigation {
which it was
into the mur
“You say
your roomer
the landlady.
from Anna !
Again the
“Indeed I did
ing up. “I gx
last landlady
I checked it.
satisfactory.”
Eagerly tl
landlady’s ss]
address on |
there, the de
tion of vital j
Mrs. Johns
that place fr
ruary, 1935.
lady at first
her story.
“But there
time,” Sergt. }
“an Irishman
“Yes,” the
quickly: “But
with Mrs. Ji
room. They

and returned with the felt hat found at
the corner of the Cedar street dormitory
and the knife found beside the pool of
blood in the second story hall. The land-
lady looked at both and expressed the be-
lief that they belonged to McElroy.

Continuing their search in McElroy’s
bureau drawer, the detectives discovered
two empty straight razor cases, but, sig-
nificantly, no razors were in evidence.
From beneath the scarf on the bureau,
Detective Monahan extracted a letter.
The envelope, addressed to “Miss Anna
Mae Johnson, New Haven Hospital
Nurses’ Dormitory, Congress avenue and
Cedar street, City,” was stamped, but had
not vet been put through the mails. The
detectives read the terse, damning con-
tents.

“Anna Mae:

“Tam writing this note to you as
you won't meet me and talk with me.
Now, Anna Mae, I will send you my
razors and knife to do as you please
with, only don’t be afraid. Now please
give me a favorable answer to this
and I will stop trying to get in touch
with you. You are only making it a
lot harder for yourself, so please let
me know.

“Joe,”

“Harder, I'll say!” Sergt. Eagan com-
mented, smiling grimly and pocketing the
letter. ‘‘Well, this cinches it. McElroy’s
unquestionably our man. He gave her the
razors, all right, personally, and right in
the neck!”

HE reporter appeared and the ser-

geant handed him the picture of Mc-
Elroy and Mrs. Johnson taken together,
asking him to do his best to get it in the
earliest edition. Eagan hurriedly recited
the police steps taken in the investiga-
tion, highlighting conclusive bits of evi-
dence pointing at McElroy, and indicated
that the Irishman was badly wanted and
any information as to his whereabouts
supplied by a member of the public would
be deeply appreciated.

Detective Monahan remained at George
street ready to seize McElroy should he
return to his room. Sergt. Eagan de-
parted for headquarters, there to launch
an intensive manhunt. A three-state ra-
dio and teletype alarm was broadcast.
The Hamden police were called and
asked to watch McElroy’s brother-in-
law's house. The photograph of Mc-
Elroy in the overcoat was sent to the
printer and fliers ordered.

Throughout the afternoon calls flooded
in to Eagan. This precinct reported
picking 1p a vagrant resembling the miss-
ing Irishman, that precinct the arrest of
a short, medium-built suspicious charac-
ter. The sergeant was kept busy chasing
fruitlessly all over the city. Detective
Monahan was relieved at George street
and returned to his partner’s side to assist
in the tedious business of identifying and
weeding through the maze of false alarms.

Meanwhile, at 2 o’clock, Officers Wal-
ter Driscoll of the West Haven Police
was driving his patrol car along Jones
Hill road, West Haven. Stopping at a
traffic light, the policeman noticed a short,
brown-haired, hatless man standing be-
neath a tree. Driscoll got a good look at
the man’s thin face. When the man saw
the officer looking at him, he turned and
walked hurriedly through a gate, onto
the grounds of the big estate nearby.

Driscoll thought little of the matter at
the time, figuring idly that the man was

are employe of the estate. When the traf-
fic light turned green, the officer stepped
on the gas and drove on. But at 4 o'clock,
going off duty and returning to West
Haven police headquarters, he chanced
to pick up the afternoon newspaper.

Driscoll was startled. He was sure he
recognized the man in the picture, the
man standing beside a girl in a bathing
suit, prominently displayed on the front
page. He was sure it was the man he had
seen on Jones Hill road.

Breathlessly the officer poured out his
story to West Haven Police Chief Tut-
tles. Tuttles ordered Driscoll and Officer
William Erff back to the Jones Hill vicin-
ity, afterwards putting through a hurry
call to New Haven police headquarters.

Sergt. Eagan and Detective Monahan
responded immediately, flanked by Offi-
cers Jerome Pecorara and Benjamin Ken-
ney. Recalling vividly the lay of the
property where the suspect was seen and
nearing its boundaries, Eagan ordered

- Pecorara and Kenney out of the squad
‘car and to scout the nearby railroad

tracks,

“McElroy will probably wait until after
dark,” the sergeant figured, “and then
hop a freight!”

“Why he didn’t do it last night is more
than I know,” Detective Monahan re-
plied, “unless he was hanging around to
see by the papers whether or not we were
on to him.”

The detectives began searching the
heavily underbrushed and wooded acre-
age. In the middle of the property they

encountered the uniformed West Haven -

officers. A conference was held, system-
atic plans formed. It was impossible,
they felt, that the man had slipped out of
the estate. The four policemen separated,
spreading to the four corners of the es-
tate. They would make one more attempt.
They searched along the outside walls,
then converging back and forth toward
its center. They found nothing.

Two hours elapsed. Weary, disap-
pointed, the officers were ready to quit.
The man had vanished. Then, suddenly,
Patrolman Erff sighted a spot of white
behind a clipped boxwood hedge sur-
rounding a formal garden. Drawing his
revolver, he rushed forward.

“Don't shoot!” a quavering voice
sounded. A man’s crouched figure reared
up, hands above his head. He was a short
man, hatless. He had light brown hair
and a thin, saturnine face.

“McElroy!” Erff snapped.

“I’m not,” the man chattered. “My
name’s Smith. I’m from New York.”

Holding his gun on the prisoner all
the while, the officer blew his whistle
shrilly. Soon Eagan, Monahan and Pe-
corara ran up.

“Hello, Joe,” Eagan said, eyeing the
fugitive familiarly. “Your pictures don’t
do you justice.”

For a long while the captured man did
not reply, standing and staring dumbly.
But finally he answered with an air of
resignation: “Hello!”

“You are Joseph McElroy, aren ’t you?”
McElroy nodded.

“Went over to New Haven hospital
last night,” Eagan went on knowingly.
“Got into the dormitory by catching the
door when somebody was coming out,
didn’t you? Wanted to see Anna Mae
Johnson? Hid in the empty room and
waited for her? You must have wanted
to see her bad,.eh, Joe?”

“That’s right,” McElroy admitted.

“And then you cut her throat with a
razor,’ Eagan continued. “Maybe you

used two razors. By the way, Joe, what
did you do with the razors? Still got
them on you?”

The slasher responded as one hypno-
tized, replying readily to the sergeant’s
easy manner of interrogation. “No,” he
said. “No, I haven’t got them on me.
After I cut her throat I thought of cut-
ting my own. You see, I loved Anna Mae.
When I couldn’t have her any more I
figured I’d kill her before I’d let anybody
else have her, and afterward I’d kill my-
self. Well, I killed her. But when I saw
the blood on her throat I couldn’t cut my
own. With her dead I thought I wouldn’t
want to live any more but I did. I ran
away from the dormitory, down the
Boulevard, down by the marsh. I threw
the razors in the marsh,”

Searched, McElroy’s pockets yielded
up only a letter. Like the one found in his
room, it, too, was stamped but had not
been mailed. It was addressed to Mrs.
Johnson’s mother in Centralia, Ill, and
was an appeal to her to help him in his
predicament of jealousy and frustration.

HE letter was lengthy, reviewing

Mrs. Johnson’s long association with
McElroy. It told of the times that he had
nursed her when she was sick, of how he
had supported her when she* was out of
work. It declared his love.

“Why didn’t you mail them, Joe?”
Eagan asked the now shackled killer.
“This one and the one to Anna Mae tell-
ing her about the razors. Why didn’t you
send the razors to her like you said you
would?”

“Because I saw her last night,” Mc-
Elroy cried, breaking down weeping.
“More than three hours before I killed
her I was waiting outside the dormitory.
She came out. I followed. I meant to
stop her and speak to her but my curios-
ity got the better of me. I tortured my-
self by waiting to see where she was go-
ing. I followed her to the restaurant.
Hid in a doorway there on Congress ave-
nue, I watched her meet some fellow
she’s been going with recently. When
she got in his car I could tell by the look
in her eye, the way she was looking at
him, the way she put her hand on his arm,
that it wasn’t any use, that nothing I
could do would be of any use. Nothing
but one thing.”

Taken to New Haven police headquar-
ters, McElroy signed a full confession
and was speedily arraigned and commit-
ted to jail. He admitted having threat-
ened the woman a short time before. He
showed police where he had thrown the
murder weapons in the marsh, but they
were never found. Philip Smith, chief of
the New Haven police, and Capt. Dee-
gan, head of the detective bureau, offi-
cially complimented Sergt. Eagan and
Detective Monahan for their zealous, ex-
peditious work on the case.

Shocked by McElroy’s heinous crime,
the citizenry of New Haven demanded
immediate justice. The Irish slasher was
speedily indicted on a charge of first de-
gree murder. His trial opened on Oct. 6,
1936, in "New Haven County Superior
Court before Judge Carl Foster and a
jury. The next day he was found guilty
and shortly thereafterwards sentenced to
die. During the week of Feb. 8, 1937, he
was executed at Weathersfield state pri-
son, the first man to be electrocuted in
the state of Connecticut.

(To protect the identity of an innocent person

the name Hans Schmidt as used in this story is not
real but fictitious.—Ed.)

unwieldly. Dig
it, he was horr:
Frantically he
interment. The
woman,

The corpse v
dicating that it
time but identi
women who h:
sen, the friends
sure they knew

The coroner
Gusta Wolf hac
on the head.

“T don’t beli
town,” Sheriff
who had rushe:
ter she is suppx
Milwaukee wa:
killed right here

Wolf shook |
her get on that:
have walked th
the other side, |
make sense. |
train pulled out
have gotten awz
shaking his hea

A farmer cam
sheriff on the ai
mation that he

’ Abducted in her

was. bound with
bride, managed
of the

e girl volunteered
r. I] wanted her to
ie was sorry she
low outside of the
-oom around eight

iend who did it!”
could a man have
vith her ?”

Only women lived
tectives. The street
the girl occupants,
s but one other key
e night watchman.
ding that it locked
closed and that the
| with.

d of someone, all
recalled. “The other
nd I couldn’t get in.
ie door. I asked her
she just laughed it
ut burglars.”
iated a similar story.
ia Mae a block or so
1e told the detectives.
th her to the door of
wanted to know why
had been bothering
e was waiting to get
, report such a thing

the back of an old-
the death note and
in the victim’s room.
t on the floor of an
_ showed where the
waited his chance.

short, stocky and wiry in appearance.
There was little else to distinguish him
except that sometimes a ferocious-looking
bulldog rode with him in his car. Ap-
preciative of this information, the de-
tectives hurried to the New Haven market
district, a wide outdoor area separating
the river docks from the tracks of the New
York, New Haven and Hartford railroad
freight yards and a neighborhood teeming
with activity at 1 o’clock in the morning.

Dogged inquiry at more than a dozen
wholesale firms finally determined the
identity of the buyer. His name was Hans
Schmidt, and his place of business was in
a small town some 35 miles distant.

“Why, I believe Schmidt was in to-
night,” one dealer informed the officers.
“Got here later than usual, around 11:30,
and he didn’t leave until a half hour or

aieitadtiemagtmenanpiesnicactisiscoccs S; : so ago.”

eheecnincaaacivdraii antennemts oe a j Sergt. Eagan telephoned the Westbrook
rip rniairenecemneanetnnnavamanctetmnestan arnt — -_ barracks of the Connecticut state police.

= — “We'll get him,” Lieut. Bushby, West-
brook commandant said. ‘Don’t worry,
we'll get him.”
[Continued on page 54]

Moments after the slasher struck near
the top of the stairway, left, the dying
nurse, seen below in uniform, hurtled
downward, paused and bled profusely
on the landing before making her way
to the street where she collapsed.

Empty razor cases found in the murderer’s
room and a keen-edged knife dropped at the
nurses’ home were vital clues in the case.

to the authorities but she made me company of other hospital employes,
promise not to. She said she was afraid she had frequently taken meals in

she’d lose her job if she caused any dis- his place of business.
turbance or if the hospital administration “Yes, I saw her out front to-
found out all about her.” night,” he admitted in response to
Eagan and Monahan felt that the the detectives’ questions. “She met
reverse of this also was strange: that the a fellow. They went off together. It
hospital knew so little about the dead was a few minutes past eight
woman. Her personnel card disclosed o’clock.”
only a former business connection, no “Know the man?” Sergt. Eagan
former residence address. Nor did a late queried innocently.
phone call to the former business— “Well, yes and no,” the restaurant
another local hospital—disclose anything owner replied enigmatically. “What
of importance. While working there the I mean is, I know who he is but I
girl had not slept in and where she slept don’t know his name. He’s a
no one seemed to know. customer of mine and eats here two
What dark shadow colored Mrs. or three times a week whenever he’s
Johnson’s past, the detectives asked in the city. He’s a small businessman
themselves ? Where, previously, had the from some outlying town, I don’t
dead girl resided in New Haven? know where exactly, and he comes
The proprietor of a restaurant on in the city to buy merchandise.”
Congress avenue knew the victim by The restaurant proprietor went

name and by sight. Recently, in the on to describe the man as being

1 the dormi-
behind her.
yards away,
Ithough she
s not neces-
loor swung
oaching girl

‘door. They
ic hinge to

ent met the
had strange
nent which
the baffling

s morning,”
here asking
hadn't read
10W she was
er, he finally

a summons. .

dress.”

the process
ilow on the
that he was
d them that
ging around
clock, they
sly obtained
hom he was

ites later, the
erative.

igainst Anna
mn,” he said.
ming house.
ca period of
nm was a ten-
weeks’ rent,
iy chent re-
ey it wasn’t
le matter in

on the York
y turned out
3 nature and
- detail. Con-
d Eagan and
ison was a
Feb. 2, 1935,
year.

sergt. Eagan
in?”

loding: “Sir!
ng? I'd have
‘ctable estab-
‘n allow men
‘omers above
n the parlor.
vossible char-

zx," Egan said.
as a married
her husband
scribed to me

winking at
hen went on
iced fellow—

’ the landlady
“That's a fel-
e told me, but

house. She
yore. She was
was a persis-
w many times
sked for Mrs.

Johnson and she’d yell down the stairs
and tell him there wasn’t any use in his
waiting, that she wasn’t going out with
him. But he’d wait anyway, in the street.
He must have been some stuck on her.
I never saw a man make such a fool of
himself over a woman,”

But the landlady did not know the
man’s name, nor where he resided. Mo-
mentarily stumped for further leads, the
detectives made efforts to push their in-
vestigation further in the direction in
which it was headed, deeper and deeper
into the murdered girl’s past.

“You say you require references from
your roomers,” Sergt. Eagan reminded
the landlady. “Perhaps you received them
from Anna Mae Johnson?”

Again the woman thumbed her ledger.
‘Indeed I did,” she answered pertly, look-
ing up. “I got from her the name of her
last landlady before she came to me and
I checked it. She was reported as being
satisfactory.”

Eagerly the officers peered over the
landlady’s shoulder, noting the former
address on Edgewood avenue. Rushing
there, the detectives picked up informa-
tion of vital importance.

Mrs. Johnson had occupied a room at
that place from latter 1933 until Feb-
ruary, 1935. She lived alone, the land-
lady at first stated, then later amended
her story. .

“But there was a man here at the
time,” Sergt. Eagan suggested knowingly,
“an Irishman?”

“Yes,” the woman admitted, adding
quickly: “But he wasn’t in the same room
with Mrs. Johnson. He had his own
room. They were friends, understand?

That is, sweethearts, like, at first. They
talked about getting married. I figured
the situation was all right. They paid
good rent. They had rooms on the same
floor right next to one another—er—
adjoining.”

“Who was he?” Detective Monahan
questioned.

“Joseph McElroy,” the woman an-
swered. “He was a steamfitter by trade
but he also worked as an apartment house
handyman and as a chef.”

The landlady continued by saying that
later on during Mrs. Johnson’s and Mc-
Elroy’s tenancy things had not gone so
well between them. He lost one job after
another. Her affections for him waned
once he could no longer afford to escort
her to sporty and expensive places. Mrs.
Johnson began going with other men.
This infuriated McElroy. On many oc-
casions he exhibited uncontrollable tem-
per and twice he locked the girl in her
room to keep her from the company of
rivals. This attitude angered the girl. She
sought to free herself from the associa-
tion. Eventually she moved.

A few weeks later McElroy moved, too.
He told the landlady he was taking a
cheaper room. In March, 1935, he left a
forwarding address on George street.

Ten minutes later the detectives were
at the George street location, another
rooming house. This landlady said that
McElroy still lived there. “But he hasn’t
been home since yesterday. afternoon,”
she added.

“Where would he be?” Eagan queried.

“TY don’t know,” the landlady replied.
“not at work, certainly. Last job he had
was in June in the kitchen at a camp out

at Silver Sands beach and that didn’t pay
him much, not enough for him to pay his
rent on time. He spent most of his money
commuting. Sometimes he visits his
brother-in-law in Hamden. His brother-
in-law lives on Fairview avenue.”

From this landlady the detectives ob-
tained a detailed description of McElroy.
He was in his middle forties, about 5 feet
4 inches in height and weighed around
150 pounds. He had blue eyes and light
brown hair. His upper teeth were false
and his lower ones in need of dental care.

He spoke with a slight brogue and orig-
inally came to the United States from
Dundock, Ireland. During the World War
he’d served in the Canadian army and was
still drawing a small soldier’s pension.

Eagan and Monahan went up and
searched McElroy’s room. They found
an album with several pictures of Anna
Mae Johnson, one in her nurse’s uniform,
four in bathing suits, one in overalls and
standing beside a cow. On the back of
this last was written, in what was ap-
parently the girl’s handwriting, the in-
scription, “That’s me with the overalls.”

In one of the bathing suit pictures,
alongside Mrs. Johnson, was a_ short,
thinly-smiling man in shirt sleeves, trou-
sers, and suspenders. The landlady
looked at the photograph and identified
the man as her roomer, Joseph McElroy.
There was another snapshot of McElroy
in an overcoat.

Sergt. Eagan telephoned headquarters
and asked the police reporter for the
afternoon newspaper to come to the
George street address. Detective Mona-
han went out to the police car in which
he and Eagan had arrived at the house

Pretty Miss Audrey Anderton, popular post-debutante, member of the Junior League and daughter of a promi-
nent physician, plunged recently from the living room window of a titled relative’s apartment, falling 16 stories
to her death. Police are shown carrying the sheeted body of the society beauty back into the exclusive, mid-
town New York apartment building from which she plunged. Police recorded the case as “jumped or fell.”

i)
i
vb

of my own family. About a_ month
ago I decided it had to stop. I knew
that I was only one more man in Ann
Johnson’s life.

I T suddenly dawned on me that my
family was the only thing that
mattered, and on Friday night I told
Ann that was the last time I would see
her. She threatened to call up my
wife. That was what we _ fought
about. But I didn’t kill her! I didn’t
kill her, I swear! I knew she really
wouldn’t call up my wife. She was
too decent to do a thing like that.”

Finished, the man slumped into a
chair exhausted.

Eagan eyed him scornfully. “That
story wouldn’t get to first base with
a jury,” he said. ‘You’ve only suc-
ceeded in proving that you had a
strong motive for doing away with
the girl.”

“I know, I know,” Benz sighed de-
jectedly. “But what can I do?”

Eagan smiled. “That’s simple. Sub-
mit to a fingerprint test and try on
this hat.”

He unwrapped the bundle Mona-
han was carrying, and tossed Benz
the brown felt hat that had been
found near the scene of the crime.
The wholesaler complied willingly,
and it took only an instant to show
that the hat was several sizes too
small. The man submitted to finger-
prints, and gave the detectives his
word that he would not leave West-
brook until the entire matter had
been cleared up.

Unknown to him, Westbrook de-
tectives were assigned to watch his
every move and make sure that he
carried out that word.

Back at New Haven, Eagan and
Monahan went quickly to the finger-
print bureau to see what the boys had
uncovered in the dormitory. But the
few smudged prints they had found
in the vacant room did not bear even
the faintest resemblance to ‘Benz’
Getag Even the prints from the

nife did not match. Eagan refused
to be concerned.

“Remember,” he said, “that we're.

not at all sure we’ve got the killer’s
rints on that knife. It may not have
een his at all.”

One of the fingerprint experts sud-
denly spoke up. “Say,” he said, ad-
dressing the detective sergeant,
‘“there’s a little matter might interest
you. Mrs. Halstead, the superinten-
dent of the dormitory, happened to
mention that a letter came in for the
Johnson woman this morning from
a lawyer. She thought you might
like to know about it.”

Monahan shot a glance at his chief.
Maybe this was just what they had
been waiting for—a lead to the mur-
dered girl’s past!

A few minutes later both officers
were on their way to the hospital
dormitory.. Superintendent Halstead
showed them the letter that had ar-
rived that morning. It was from a
collecting agent—threatening law
suit unless Anna Johnson paid some
thirty dollars still owing to a wo-
man who had a boarding house on
Edgewood Avenue, several blocks
from the hospital. The officers quick-
ly went to the address and found
themselves confronted by a_ stout,
matronly woman who calmly an-
nounced that she was the proprietor.

“Did you ever have a boarder here
named Anna Johnson?” Eagan asked.

“Humph,” the landlady grunted
emphatically. “That I did, and she

CRIME DETECTIVE

ran out owing me nearly two months’
rent. If I ever set eyes on her I'll
wring her neck.”

It was obvious that the woman
hadn’t read the papers.

“I’m afraid you’ll never have the

‘chance,” the officer said. “Anna

Johnson’s been murdered.”

If he expected the boarding house
proprietor to be shocked he was mis-
taken. She stood firmly in the door-
way, hands on her hips, and nodded
coldly.

“That don’t surprise me in the
least. I had a feeling that girl would
come to a sticky end. She was fool-
ish, that one.”

“Had a lot of boy friends, eh?”
Eagan asked.

“That’s putting it mildly,” the
landlady snapped. “They parked
themselves on my porch stairs all the
time. But she spent most of her
time with Joe McElroy while he was
here.”

“Who was he?” Eagan asked.

The woman shrugged. “Oh, just
a roomer I had. He was a middle-
aged Irishman.” :

“Where is he now?” Monahan
asked.

The woman gave the address of a
boarding house on George Street. “He
moved,” she said, “right after the
Johnson woman left. I think they
had a spat just before she went, ow-
ing me better than thirty dollars
rent.” The woman sighed. “I sup-
pose I’ll never get it now.”

OTH officers felt that they were

getting warmer. If they could’

find McElroy, they were sure he
could supply them with missing vital
information on the victim’s intimate
life. They hurried to the George
Street boarding house only to dis-
cover that the man they sought was
working.

It was still only mid-afternoon of
the day following the vicious crime,
and McElroy wasn’t expected back
until evening. They decided to wait
for him and, to use their time to ad-
vantage. They questioned other room-
ers, hoping to learn something of
McElroy’s background.

“He’s a quiet chap,’ one man said,
“and it’s pretty hard to get anything
out of him. He’s sort of a floater.
Never settles down anywhere in par-
ticular, and always has a new job
that doesn’t ever amount to much.”

“Is he married?” Eagan asked.

Everyone present laughed audibly.

“No, indeed, although he wishes he
was. He’s been tagging a nurse
around ever since he got here.”

“Yes,” another roomer chimed in.
“He claims they get along swell, but
every time we’ve ever seen them to-
gether she’s been giving him the
brush-off. It’s a standing joke
around here,”

“Doesn’t he ever get sore about it?”
asked Eagan.

“Sure he does, but what can he do?
From what I hear, the gal is stuck on
some guy from out of town.”

Eagan turned to the _ landlady.
“Would you mind,” he said, “if we
went up and took a look at Mr. Mc-
Elroy’s room?”

“Not a bit.” The woman took them
up the old fashioned stairway and
aoe them to a room on the second

oor.

The first thing both officers noticed
was that the place was a shambles.
All the bureau drawers were open,
and clothes were scattered about.

“Looks like our friend has sloppy
habits,” Eagan observed tartly.

The landlady was surprised. “He's
usually pretty neat. I don’t under-
stand it.”

Carefully the officers went through
a‘pile of papers that lay on a table
near the window. Suddenly Mona-
han straightened up with a yelp.

“Take a look at this,” he said, hand-
ing Eagan a piece of paper that he
had extracted from an unsealed: en-
velope addressed to Anna Mae John-
son, in care of the New Haven hos-
pital. It read as follows:

I am writing this note to you
as you won’t meet me and talk to
me. Now, Anna Mae, I will send
you my razors and knife to do
with as you please. Only don’t
be afraid. Now please give me a

» favorable answer to this and I
will stop trying to get in touch
with you. You are only making
it a lot harder for yourself, so
please let me know.

Joe

Eagan shouted exultantly as he
read the sinister contents of the letter.
“Come on,” he said, “let’s see what
else we can find.”

Quickly the officers combed the
room from end to end. They found a
pair of empty old-fashioned straight
razor cases, but although’ they
searched high and low, the shaving
instruments themselves were miss-
ing.

In a photograph album Monahan
uncovered several pictures of the
missing man. These he gave to his
chief, who stuck them into his pocket.

“Okay,”. Kagan snapped, “I think

we’ve got enough. Let’s get out of °

here.”

- On the way out they questioned the
landlady once more. She was not sure,
she said, when McElroy had last left.
She explained that he always arose
early in the morning to go to work,
and that she seldom heard him com-
ing or going. She dic. know, however,
that he had come in late the night
before.

“What time would you say it was?”
Eagan asked.

“It was some time after twelve,”
the woman answered. “I know be-
cause I heard the bank clock strike
shortly before the door opened. I
knew it was McElroy because every-

‘ one else was in.”

Once at headquarters .Eagan had
plenty to do. He was sure now that
he was on the trail of Anna Johnson’s
killer. Detectives were immediately
dispatched to the man’s place of busi-
ness, although the officer entertained
little hope that his man would be
there. Then, from the photos of Mc-
Elroy, he got up a description and
kept the telephone and teletype wires
hot, flashing the warning around the
city and outlying suburbs. All rail-
road detectives were informed to be
on the look-out for a man answering
McElroy’s description.

Eagan was banking everything on
the hope that his man had not yet left
town. Within an hour, it was discov-
ered that McElroy had not shown up
for work all day. The officers had
suspected as much. ;

ATE in the afternoon, Police Chief

F Tuttle, of the West Haven police,

called in to say that they had found

a man answering the description of

McElroy. The man had been picked
up near the railroad yard.

“We caught him sneaking through

HOD roctdtws DY s SRR.

Deo Ht OT TNN Hee yo.

ewan ae wtAR AR

CRIME

DETECTIVE

came rushing from the emergency
ward, surrounded by a bevy of ex-
cited nurses. The bleeding girl was
carried into the emergency operating
room.

Taylor went quickly to the tele-
phone and called the police. By the
time Detective Sergeant Raymond
Eagan and Joseph Monahan arrived,
the brutal attack on Anna Johnson had
become a baffling murder mystery.
The nurse had died even before the
doctors could operate. Her trachea
and gullet had both been completely
severed, as well as the jugular vein.

a ie officers lost no time. While
Monahan set about investigating
the scene of the crime and kept the
curious crowds of nurses from
tramping through the corridors to
spoil any latent clues, Detective Ser-
geant Eagan summoned Mrs. Hal-
stead, superintendent of the nurses’
dormitory, and had her round up all
of Anna Johnson’s co-workers. The
entire group was called into confer-
ence in the superintendent’s rooms
on the first floor of the dormitory. De-
tective Sergeant Eagan waited for the
nervously chattering girls to quiet
down before he began.

“I understand from your superin-
tendent,” he said finally, “that all of
you girls were friendly with Anna
Johnson. In order to trap the slasher
who committed this crime, I want
every one of you to think back and
try to recall any facts in the dead
girl’s life, rumor or otherwise, that
might have even a faint bearing on
the case.”

Amazingly enough, the outcome of
this meeting did not yield much. The
two girls who had had dinner with
Anna Mae that night, told of her
strange behavior. While it was in-
teresting and had an obvious bearing
on the case, still it provided no defi-
nite lead to work on, unless...

“What about her boy friends?”
Eagan asked abruptly. ‘“Didn’t she
go out with any one?”

One of the girls timidly confessed

that Anna Mae went out consider-
ably, not with one man, but with sev-
eral. Other friends of the dead girl
then expanded on the story, to reveal
that the slain nurse had been known
to date several men.
_ “She talked about them at the hos-
pital,” one young nurse admitted.
“She liked to brag about her men,
and until recently she went with two
or three at the same time.” ;

“What do you mean, until recent-
ly?” Eagan asked.

“Well,” the girl said, “lately there’s
only been one. And she was pretty
stuck on him. She was supposed to
go out with him tonight, as a matter
of fact.”

“What was his name?”

“I think it was George something.
That was a strange thing about Ann.
She never mentioned the names of
the men with whom she went out.
I think she was afraid one of us might
try to beat her time.”

Superintendent Halstead verified

CRIME DETECTIVE

CONNECTICUT'S JILTED ROMEO

CONTINUED FROM PAGE 65

the victim’s close-mouthed qualities.
“Before we came in,” she said, “I
looked over Ann Johnson’s record
and discovered that she had never
given us a previous address.”
“Wasn't it necessary for her to give
references?” Eagan asked.

“Yes, of course,” the superinten- -

dent replied. “But she needed only
to list previous experience—which
she did. She worked at two other
hospitals in town. Perhaps their rec-
ords will give more information.”

When the meeting was over, Eagan
joined his brother officer in the hall
outside. Detective Monahan was in
a state of high excitement. i

“Find something hot?” Eagan
asked him,

“Did I? Take a look at this.” Care-
fully he unwrapped a bone-handled
boy scout knife from his handker-
chief. “Found it up on the landing
beside a big pool of blood where the
attack evidently took place. The
thing has no stains on it, so I don’t
imagine it is the actual murder weap-
on. But it doesn’t belong to any of
the nurses, so I’m assuming it be-
longed to the killer, and I hope it has
some prints on it.”

“Is that all you found?” asked
Eagan.

“Come on upstairs and see for
yourself!”

On the third floor Monahan showed
the other officer the. vacant room
next to the victim’s where scores of
footprints marred the thick layer of
dust on the floor.

“It would appear that a pretty ner-
vous person was in here recently,”
the officer deduced. “Look at all the
fresh cigarette butts lying around.
It’s not jumping at conclusions to
figure out that this is where the killer

-waited for his prey. And take a

squint at this.” The detective pulled
a sheet of paper from his pocket.
“I found it on the desk in Ann
Johnson’s room.”
Eagan scanned the hastily scribbled
note. It read as follows:
to whom it may concern as my
life has been threatened and I
think it may be taken, I would
like Marguret Halstead to pack
my trunk & have it shipped to my
house I want my Mother to have
my rings in fact all my belonging
to do with as she wants. my body
I want the hospital to have & I
hope they take it as it will save
my Mother & family the bother
& expense of a funeral I havent
a great deal to live for anyway’‘so
it dont really matter. Maybe the
medical student can see what
make me run or rather what
dont make me run rite at times
Anna Mae Johnson.
Eagan whistled sharply. “This
bears out what the nurses were just
telling me downstairs,” he said. “The
girl was obviously expecting trouble.
But from whom? None of her
friends have the slightest idea.”
Briefly, the detective sergeant out-
lined what he had learned in the con-
ference. Then together, the two offi-

cers reconstructed the crime from
the evidence they had gathered.

First of all, how had the killer got-
ten in the dormitory? They assumed
he had gained entrance through a
window, for the dormitory superin-
tendent assured them that the front
door was always locked. The foot-
prints in the room adjoining the girl’s
showed conclusively that he had
sneaked to the third floor and waited
there until his victim came in. He
had then surprised her in the hall-
way, and she had begun to run. He
had caught up with her on the second
floor landing, where huge pools of
blood testified to the actual location
of the assault. A stream of blood
led down to.the street where the vic-
tim had finally collapsed. But there
the trail ended.

“T have a feeling,” Eagan stated,
“that the solution to this case lies
somewhere in the background of the
victim’s somewhat mysterious love
life. Our best bet is to locate the boy
friend with whom she had a date to-
night. That will give us a starter,
anyway.”

A they descended to the fog-bound
street on the way back to head-
quarters, the officers met Walter Tay-
lor, the night watchman, running
along the walk with a hat in his
hand. He approached them breath-
lessly.

“IT was afraid I might miss you,” he
said. “I just found this hat near the
Cedar Street entrance,’ in some
bushes beside the building, and I
thought it might have something to
do with the case. I’m pretty sure it
wasn’t there before the murder, be-
cause I passed that spot just a few
minutes before the commotion be-

an.”

: Eagan thanked the man and took
the hat. It was of brown felt, with
a silk ribbon, and bore the trade
mark of a New Haven hat dealer. It
was an ordinary hat, but the two de-
tectives were missing no bets. They
took it with them.

Once at headquarters they went to
work with a vengeance. Their first
move was to comb the phone books
for the name of the hat dealer. They
found him, but his shop was closed
for the night. There was nothing to
do but wait. The knife was sent to
the fingerprint lab to be tested.

By this time reporters had gotten
wind of the dramatic tragedy and
were begging for an audience. Eagan
finally admitted them and gave them
a brief outline of the murder, stress-
ing the fact that any information the
public might have regarding the case
would be genuinely appreciated—es-
pecially facts concerning: the back-
ground of the victim.

The following morning, August 11,
1936, as soon as the first editions were
on the street, New Haven police
headquarters was besieged with tele-
phone calls. Hundreds of “clues” and
rumors flooded Eagan’s desk. From
these he ferreted out what he con-
sidered most worthwhile, and soon

Sob erie me rs

OO a or

tw te eee

tebe OMe

had detectives scouring the town,
running them down. One by one
officers would call in to report an-
other dead end. The haberdasher had
recognized the brown felt hat as his
merchandise, but was unable to re-
member to whom he had sold it.

The fingerprint department called
in to say that there were only smudgy
prints on the boy scout knife, and
that even the best of them matched
nothing on file, but further investiga-
tion was being made.

The hospital was cooperating with
police in an attempt to uncover even
the slightest information concerning
Anna Mae Johnson’s background, but
thus far they had been able to find
out nothing. Her former hospital

employers knew even less about her -

than the New Haven staff. The vic-
tim’s secret past was indeed a mys-
tery, shrouded in vague rumors of
thwarted love.

And then, at 11 o’clock, Eagan got
the break for which he had been
waiting. The telephone rang for the
hundredth time. The detective ser-
geant picked it up wearily, and was
somwhat surprised at the cool even
voice that came over the wire.

“TJ understand you are looking for
information concerning Anna John-
son, and I thought I might be able
to help. I run a club down here on
the south end of New Haven, and I
happen to know her because she

comes in occasionally with some

guy.”
Eagan was instantly alert. “What’s

_ his name?”

‘T think it’s George Benz, or some-
thing like that,” the man said. “As
far as I know, he’s is an out-of-town
wholesaler. That’s all I can tell you.”

Before the detective could ask any
further questions, the man had hung
up.
Eagan was baffled for a moment.
Even if this were the same “George”
the nurses had mentioned, he seemed
no nearer, actually, to finding the
man than he was before. There was
just one way he could find out, tedi-
ous though it might be. He called
Detective Monahan, and the two of
them pored over the New Haven tele-
phone books together. They com-
piled a list of all the large merchan-
disers in town. Then they split the
list and each one sat down to a ses-
sion of telephone calls.

On about his fifth try, Eagan struck
oil!

“Sure,” a well-known wholesaler’s
voice came over the wire. “You mean
George Benz, the little buyer from
Westbrook.”

“Westbrook?” Eagan asked.

“Yeah, he’s got a business in West-
brook and comes into town about
once a month to make the rounds of
all the wholesalers.”

‘Do you know his address up
there?” the detective sergeant asked.

“Nope, I’m _- sorry,” the man
answered. “But I can give you the
phone number at his. place of busi-
ness.”

Quickly Eagan jotted down the
number, thanked the man, and hung
up. The officer pondered for a mo-
ment on whether or not to call Benz.
If he were the missing “George,”
then, according to all reports, he had
been out with the slain nurse peril-
ously close to the time of her murder.
If he had any ey knowledge of
the case he would undoubtedly have
read the morning papers and know
that police were hot on the trail. Even

CRIME DETECTIVE

a disguised telephone call might
frighten him away.

Deciding to play safe, the New
Haven officer called Connecticut
State Police barracks at Westbrook.
For several minutes he talked with

. Lieutenant Bushby in that town, out-

lining all the necessary information.

Bushby promised to cooperate to the

fullest.

While they were waiting for a re-
turn call from Westbrook, Sergeant
Eagan spoke to the fingerprint di-
vision and had them send men over
to the hospital to comb the vacant
room adjoining Anna Johnson’s for
anything that might resemble a print.
In that way he hoped to be prepared
to prove or disprove any alibis that
“George” might have to offer, pro-
viding the man were caught.

BARELY an hour had passed when
Lieutenant Bushby called up to
say that his men had taken George
Benz just as he was entering his
office. They had told him nothin
about the murder, Bushby reported.
The man had come willingly enough,
but was utterly bewildered as to why
he should be called in for question-

ing.

“So far,’ Bushby said, “he has
taken it quietly, but I suggest you get
up here as fast as possible, before the
fellow gets sore. There’s nothing we
can hold him on, unless you think
you’ve got enough dope to cement
him down on suspicion of murder.”

Eagan thought for a moment. “No,”
he said finally, “don’t do that. We'll
be up there in about three quarters of
an hour. Stall him along until we
get there.”

The State Police officer promised to
do his best.

The two New Haven officers piled
into a police car and made the 35-
mile trip to Westbrook in record time.
In his hand, Monahan held a paper
package which he treated gingerly.

At the state police barracks Bush-
by immediately ushered them_ into
the presence of the een whole-
saler. Monahan and Eagan both sur-
veyed him with practiced eyes. The
man looked like anything but a killer.
His round red face and clear blue
eyes registered bewilderment—noth-
ing more.

“Why are you holding me here?”
he asked Eagan. “I’ve got work to
attend to, and while I’m perfectly
willing to offer assistance to you
police officers if it is at all possible
to do so, still I resent all this myste-
rious secrecy. Let’s get to the point
and have it over with.”

“Sure thing,” Eagan said slowly.
“That’s what we aim to do. Only
this is something that can’t be
rushed.”

Benz slumped into a chair.

Casually the New Haven officer
strolled over to the window. Just as
casually he said, “Is Ann Johnson a
friend of yours?”

Benz’ reaction was startling, and
totally unexpected. He leapt from
his chair and his blue eyes snapped
angrily.

“What if she is? That’s nobody’s
affair but mine, is it?”

It was several minutes before the
officers could quiet him, and even
then he sat in his chair sputtering
like a greased skillet, fresh off a red
hot stove. When he had finally sim-
mered down, Eagan looked him
squarely in the eyes.

“Mister,” he said, “you don’t know

it, but you’re in a tough spot. And
the only way youre likely to get out
of it is by answering all our questions
sensibly. If you’re in the clear you’ve
got nothing to worry about.”

“Okay,” Benz said tersely. “I know
Ann Johnson—so what?”

“You had a date with her last
night,” Monahan put in. “Is that
right?”

“Sure,” Benz answered. “Is that
any of your business?”

“Tt so happens,” Eagan pointed out,
“that it is our business. That’s why
we're here. What time did you leave
the girl?”

George Benz was still annoyed and

made no attempt to hide it. “I don’t .

look at my watch every five minutes
when I’m out with a girl. How do I
know what time it was?”

“It would be a good thing if you
did remember,” Eagan said.

“Why?”
- The detective sergeant flipped an
early’ morning edition of his home
town newspaper on the prisoner’s
lap. Benz needed only to glance at
the glaring headlines. The newspaper

fell from his fingers and .scattered-
over the floor. The blood drained

from his face and his blue eyes stared
vacantly at Eagan.

“TI see,” he said in a hoarse whisper.
“I see now, but—Good God! You’ve
got to believe me—you fellows. I
didn’t have anything to do with it.
I swear. I didn’t even know...”

“If that is so,” Eagan said sharply,
“you'll have nothing to worry about.
What time did you leave the wo-
man?” :

“About 11:15.”

“Wasn’t that pretty early?” the
officer pressed.

“Well—not exactly. You see I—
we—that is, I had some work to do.”
The man was obviously hedging.

“What kind of work?”

‘Benz’ eyes were shifting nervously.
Finally he shrugged his shoulders. “I
might as well tell you. You'll find
out anyway, sooner or later. We
spent the whole evening fighting.”

“So that’s it,” the officer shouted.
“You were fighting. She had prob-
ably been’ going out with another
man and you were sore, so you fought
with her. You were jealous of her,
and that’s why you killed her.”

For the second time Benz jumped
from his chair. “No, no!” he cried.
“It. isn’t true. I didn’t kill her. I
wouldn’t dream of killing her. I—I
—well, there’s a reason.”

Detective Sergeant Eagan smiled
ronrag & “It will have to be a good
one, brother.”

“Tll explain everything,” the man
pleaded, “but you’ve got to believe
me. You see—well, I’m married and
I’ve got twovkids. My wife never
knew about Ann Johnson, and I don’t
want her to know. That’s why I was
so upset when you asked me about
her. If my wife ever finds out it will
break up our home. Sure, I know
I made a mistake. I found that out.
That’s what Ann and I were fighting
about.”

OW that he was cornered, Benz’
story flowed in a torrent of
words,

“I met her about a year ago,” he
continued. “It was a spring night,
and a friend of mine threw a dance.
Anna Johnson was there and—well,
we were indiscreet. One thing led

‘to another, and before I realized it

I was seeing more of Ann than I was

i
|
}
3

the shrubbery out there. He claims
he’s not McElroy, but from your de-
scription he sure looks like your
man.”

Monahan and Eagan rushed over to
West Haven with the picture of Mc-
Elroy. They recognized him in an in-
stant. When shown his own photo-
graph, the prisoner quavered. His
clothes showed evidence of having
been slept in, and were heavily
creased and covered with mud. His
face was unshaven, and his hair was
matted wildly on his head. He was
trembling with nervousness and ap-
peared gaunt and wild-eyed.

When it was obvious that he could
not deny it further, he admitted that
he was McElroy.

“Sure, you are,” Eagan said, “and
you killed Anna Mae Johnson be-
cause you couldn’t make any time
with her.”

“No, no, you’re crazy,” the man
shrieked. “You’re crazy. I don’t even
know any Anna Mae Johnson.”

“Sure you do,” Eagan prodded.
“You had lots of pictures of her in
your scrap book. McElroy, you're
trapped. We’ve got the note that you
wrote her, about sending her the

razors. We’ve got your hat that you -

left in your hurry to get away from
the scene of your crime.”

' The questions began popping so
thick and fast that McElroy was ut-
terly confused. Finally he jumped
from his chair and screamed for
silence.

“FT DID it! I killed her! But she had it
coming to her. If she didn’t want
me she shouldn’t have bothered with
me in the first place. We were lovers
when we lived back there on Edge-
water Avenue, and then she met
somebody else. I told her I’d marry
her. I’d do anything for her. But she
wouldn’t have any part of me. I don’t
know_what came over her. Every
time I’d go to see her she’d give me
the brush-off. I had enough of it,
enough of it!” His voice reached a
hideous crescendo, and cracked.

When he calmed down, he settled
back in. his chair and continued
quietly, while the police stenog-
rapher took notes.

“Finally, I decided to kill-her. I
decided it a long time ago. I wrote
her a letter about it. That’s what
frightened her to begin with. Then
I felt sorry for what I had done. But
she was scared of me by that time.
So last night, I went over to have a
heart-to-heart talk with her. I
waited by the dormitory entrance and
finally heard her coming up the
street, talking with her friends. I
heard her say she was going on a
date. Suddenly I saw red. I decided
that if I couldn’t have her nobody
else could. Then I hit on a plan.

“T knew where her room was, be-
cause I used to see her sitting in the
window of the third floor at night. I
used to stand across the street and
watch her—watch her writing letters
to someone else. It drove me crazy.

“So, when she came out of the
Cedar Avenue doorway, I waited un-
til she had gotten down the walk
aways, and then grabbed the door
before it shut. That’s how I got in.
Then I went upstairs and - waited.
And you know the rest. I killed her.
Sure I did. And I’d do it again!

“When it was all over I took my
razors and threw them in the river.
Then I ran home and packed a few
things I thought I’d need, and beat it

CRIME DETECTIVE

“As the echo of wedding bells died down, the rap of a judge’s
gavel took its place, and Enoch (Nocky) Johnson, the Republican
boss of Atlantic. City, was obliged to kiss his bride goodbye’
and spend his honeymoon alone in the pen as Uncle Sam's guest.

for the railroad yards. But curiosity
got the better of me.”

His eyes flashed defiantly at the
officers facing him. :

“I wanted to see the morning
papers. I wanted to see how she died.
If it hadn’t been for that you would
never have caught me.”

Unrelenting, Joseph McElroy went
on trial for his hideous crime in
October, 1936. The twelve men who
sat in the jury box of the New Haven
county court house listened to the
crimson details of the crime, heard
the damning evidence, and debated
for less than thirty minutes.

They found Joseph McElroy guilty
of murder in the first degree! Tiiee

Carl Foster sentenced the defiant
Killer to die. McElroy was whisked
away to Weathersfield state prison,
where he brooded over his black deed
until February 8, 1937. On that day,
he was escorted under heavy guard
to the death house of the peni-
tentiary, and died, without comment,
in the electric chair.

George Benz, the Westbrook whole-
saler, was given a formal apology
for the trouble to which he had been
subjected. He considered his ex-
erlence a good lesson and is now
lving in total respectability with
his family. For that reason, his real
name has been concealed. And _ his
actual residence is not in Westbrook.

that smart,” the chief put in, “why
wouldn’t he know about Father Zeb-
ris’ custom of visiting the bank late in
the afternoon?”

“I don’t think the pastor got to the
bank every Monday,” Smith declared.
“Remember, that was his ‘marrying
day.’ Those weddings usually would
have kept him around the church, but
last Monday he had only three, so he
could get away.”

Rawlings nodded in agreement.
“That’s right. We can check the bank
again, anyway, and find out.
he went there usually on Tuesday
morning.” This was proved to be a
fact.

Smith and Plant, considering the
fact that St. Andrew’s had 6,000 com-
municants, nevertheless contended
that these names should be investi-
gated for persons of criminal records,
or other possible suspects.

“That’s going to be a whale of a
job,” the chief replied, “but I agree
with you that it’s necessary. The dio-
cese officials probably will have the
parishioners’ names.”

Plant had a suggestion. “We might
talk to the more substantial among
the: parishioners to learn whether any
suspicious persons attended church
Sunday. The killer may have cased
this job thoroughly, especially if he
was from out-of-town. He may have
been observed.” 3

This was agreed on, too, and Raw-
lings made plans to scan the church
membership immediately.

On the following day detectives
were busy checking the names, un-
der Manforth’s direction. Rawlings,
Smith and Plant began interviewing
several of the most prominent parish-
ioners.

Meanwhile the state of Connecticut
posted a reward of $1,000 for informa-
tion leading to the killer, and the city
of New Britain added $500 to the
amount.

This brought Chief Rawlings and
the Burns detectives numerous tips,

all of which were run down. None.

produced a lead to the murderer,
however.

Rawlings’ detectives had turned up
three sales of .32-caliber automatic
pistols recently in New Britain. ‘These
were checked and their owners found
above suspicion. Although the rec-
tory grounds were searched, no dis-
carded weapon was found. The chief
despaired of ever finding the murder
gun.

On Wednesday night, while talking
to a local merchant who was a promi-
nent member of the church, the police
got a lead that greatly encouraged
them.

“IT saw an ugly-looking stranger at
Mass last Sunday,” this man told
them. “I noted him-particularly when
I passed the collection plate. There
was a greedy look on his face when
he saw the money in the basket. I
remember thinking at the time that
I'd not put it past him to snatch the
collection and run.”

“Describe him as well as you can,”
the chief urged. :

“He was a stranger,” the merchant

OCTOBER, 1943

Maybe ©

said. “And from his behavior, I’d say
he was a stranger not only to our
parish, but to any Mass. He didn’t

seem to know the ritual at all. He.

was a squat fellow, about 30. He
wore a shabby overcoat, and his tie
was badly knotted. The most signifi-
cant thing about him, though, was a
long strawberry blotch on the left
' side of his face, a birthmark.”

The merchant judged the man to be
five feet and seven inches tall, weigh-
ing about 170 pounds.

Seen In Tavern

Rawlings could remember no New .

Britain man with such a disfigure-

ment and he saw the futility of pro- .

ducing rogues’ gallery pictures in an
effort to identify him. Nevertheless,
this was done, but the merchant, as
the chief supposed, was unable to find
the stranger’s photograph among
them.

“Since he attended the church Sun-
day,” Smith said, “then there’s a pos-
sibility he might have been around
town Saturday night. The taverns
would be the best places to comb.”

Rawlings fell in with this idea, call-
ing Bamforth to join him in the
search.

“The Lithuanian cafes first,” the
chief said.

All day Thursday was spent ques-
tioning bartenders without results.
Then, toward evening, the police pair
got a more satisfactory response to
their questions.

‘The proprietor of a down town bar
told them such a man had spent sev-
eral hours drinking in his establish-

SOLITARY FOR TWO.

Two middle-aged women, sen-
tenced in 1935 to 180 years at
hard labor in the Illinois Women's
prison, each summer must pay an
additional instalment on their per-
petual debt to society for the mur-
der of a young man in Chicago.

When Judge Cornelius J. Har-
rington passed sentence on Mrs.
Blanche Dunkel and Mrs. Evelyn
Smith for killing Ervin Lang, Mrs.
Dunkel's son-in-law, he stipulated
that both spend one day each year
—July 6, the anniversary of their
crime—in solitary confinement.

“This punishment will be a de-
terrent to crime and an admoni-
tion to criminals that you are suf-
fering a living death, tortured by
your conscience," said Judge
Cornelius.

Mrs. Smith, a former burlesque
dancer, strangled Lang after drug-
ging him, and then Ditenbered
the ey. She said Mrs. Dunkel
promised, but never paid her $500
to do away with the victim. Mrs.
Dunkel would be. 104 years old,
and Mrs. Smith 106 before either

_ would be eligible for parole.

ment. Two things attracted his atten-
tion to him—the birthmark and the
fact that he was in whispered conver-
sation most of the night with a
younger, taller man.

“I think my waiter was talking to
them for a while,” said the tavern
owner. “I can get him for you, if you
want him.”

Rawlings assured him the waiter
might be important, and the man was
summoned. :

“Yeah, the short man was a stranger
in town,” said the waiter, “but the
taller fellow used to live here five or
six years ago. But they both got into
New Britain only Saturday.”

“Did they say where they came
from?” 4

“Sure—Waterbury.”

“What were they talking about?”

“I don’t know that, because they
shut up every time I came near them.”

This, in itself, sounded suspicious.
Rawlings telephoned the Waterbury
police, who knew nothing of the man
with the strawberry mark.

The taller man, described as a for-
mer New Britain resident, could not be
identified by Rawlings, who also put
the problem to the churchman-mer-
chant.

“I don’t remember him,” said this
man. “He wasn’t with the shorter
fellow Sunday. The man with. the
birthmark sat alone.”

Three former convicts were culled
from the list of. parishioners. Ques-
tioned, two were immediately. exon-

_erated. The .third, vague about his

whereabouts on Monday night, was
taken before the tavern proprietor,
who said he was not the companion of
the fellow with the birthmark. How-
ever, Rawlings held him for further
interrogation.

Smith and Plant advised the chief
to send out an alarm for the man with
the blotch on his face. This was done,
and almost immediately he received
a significant wire from the police of
Brookline, Mass.

A similar suspect, they said, was
wanted in their city for the holdup
shooting of Charles J. Merrill, a drug
clerk, on November 30.

Additional inquiries also arrived
from Worcester, Mass., and Putnam,
Conn. The “birthmark man” was sus-
pected of crimes in those places, ac-
cording to victims who had turned in
his description.

New Suspect Found

Brookline, Worcester, Putnam and
Waterbury were on a direct line south
to New Britain! Could the “straw-
berry mark” bandit have been a pro-

' fessional thug, hooking up with a lo-

cal man for the robbery of the St.
Andrew’s priest?

So it seemed. The chief lost no
time in sending out another alarm,
this time to cities farther south.
“Wanted for questioning in a mur-
der,” this bulletin said. “May be
traveling with a taller companion.”

Smith and Plant now felt they had
done all they could, and they with-
drew from the case. Rawlings, wait-
ing to hear from his queries, released

TAKE A GOOD LOOK—yes, another look—at the girl on the cover
of this magazine. What is she doing? In what sort of a situation
does she find herself? Is she on the side of the law, or is she cast
in the role of a sinister “moll”? Put your imagination to work; it
will win you a free magazine—and it may pay cash dividends!
The Dell Detective Group, comprised of INSIDE. FRONT PAGE
and HEADLINE DETECTIVE, is offering cash prizes totaling $150

plus merchandise prizes to service men who write the best “story”
to fit the cover girls. The ideas submitted may be for any of the
three magazines in the group, but there will be no duplication
of prizes. -

It's easy! It’s fun! Just pretend that you're the editor and
have to describe, in 50 words or less, the action portrayed by the
beauty on the cover of this magazine. You can make up a name.
for the girl. use quotation marks—do anything you like. Tell
the story in your own way.

Let's say you have a cover girl wearing a pair of handcuffs.
Your story might read something like this: “The jig was up,
and Mary had known it long betore the F.B.J. man nabbed her.
But could she continue to hold the dark secret concerning
Eddie’s murder? She shuddered as she thought of the body
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No talent for literary composition is needed in this contest. We don't care if a

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To be eligible for this contest, you must be in: the Army, the Navy, the Coast
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All entries to receive consideration must be postmarked’ on or before midnight
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INSIDE. FRONT PAGE, and HEADLINE DETECTIVE. i

Every service man entering this contest will be sent, absolutely free of charge,
a copy of one of the Dell magazines: In addition, the prizes listed below will be
awarded:

The Killer Who
Went to Church

(Continued from page 31)

FIRST PRIZE...... $50 Plus FIVE Merit Awards of $5 each
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My cover girl story:...... Re akadihy + Vie Feta prea Ongns oe nngrpainic nly aegtehee’ pe sasee

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Age (_] Beside myself J of my ‘buddies have read this copy of the magazine. (Fill
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Jo wle ee vin eie eld die 0 ee Vale O) UP NRW RS WADA RG Stes KOO e eRe bas MN ees © OF CRT TE AEP PRB Ot he

the heinousness of the crime against
this good man and the woman who
maintained his household. There
seemed no reason except greed for the
wanton shooting of this harmless pair.

As a day’s investigative activities
produced no tangible results, the po-
lice chief was perplexed. Aside from
the shells, he had no clues; and these
were worthless unless the murder gun
was found.

He sent officers to check pawnshops
and gunsmiths for records of sales of
32-caliber automatics, but none of
these men had yet reported. Unless

they produced a lead, Rawlings felt ~

himself stalemated.

“We need some expert help on this
case,” he told Bamforth. “I’m going
to put the matter right up to the city
council.”

At a hastily called meeting that
night, he received permission to hire
outside detectives. Rawlings imme-
diately wired the William J. Burns
Agency in New York City, requesting
the assignment of homicide investi-
gators to the New Britain case.

On the following morning two
Burns operatives, Fred D. Smith and
Harvey Plant arrived.. Closeted with
Rawlings and Bamforth, they listened

| patiently while the details of the case

were narrated.

“On the face of it, it looks like rob-
bery,” Smith finally said. “I think we
ought to'check with the priest’s bank
to see whether he deposited the
church funds on Monday.”

This was done at once. Officials of
the New Britain Trust Company told

‘| Rawlings that Father Zebris appeared

at the receiving tellers window
shortly before.3 o’clock Monday and
deposited $175 to the church’s account.

“That means the robber—if the
killer was a robber—got practically
nothing,” commented Smith. “He’s
going to be harder than ever to trace
if he has no money to spread around.”

The Burns men looked over the
parish house, then went to the mortu-
ary where Dr. Burns was performing
an autopsy, and inspected the bodies.
The position of the wound in Miss
Gilmanalis’ arm indicated to them that
she had thrown the member up to
protect herself, and apparently had
been shot downstairs where all the
blood had been spilled.

Check on Parishioners

“The slayer was someone known to
both the priest. and the housekeeper,”
Plant said. “That’s why he had to
kill them.’ .

This remained their opinion after a
day of inquiry.

“Ten to one it was a parishioner,”
Smith concluded. “For no one else
would know about money: being in
the rectory on Monday.”

Rawlings wasn’t sure. “If he was

FRONT PAGE DETECTIVE

mornin
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Sunday
this job
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been obs

This Ww
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On th
were bus
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Smith an

several o/

ioners.

Meanw
posted ar
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of New
amount.

This. br

the Burn:

all of whi
produced
however.

Rawling
three sale
Pistols rec;
were chec!
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carded we
despaired
gun.

On Wed
to a local :
nent mem}
got a lea
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remember

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“Describ
the chief u

“He was

OCTOBER, 19

the one church parishioner he had
held, and marked time. Actually he
was without other clues.

The days passed. Then on Febru-
ary 15, a week after the parish house
crime, Rawlings got a request to come
to Greenwich, Conn., at once.

The sexton of St. Mary’s Church
in East Portchester had found a man
carrying a revolver and a double-
bladed axe crouching in the vestibule
of the church. He had taken off’ his
shoes and a dilapidated suitcase lay
beside him.

Alarmed by his appearance, the
sexton notified the police. When they
arrived the man had fled, but they
succeeded in picking him up an hour
later.

The prisoner described himself as
Philip Stahr, a painter, of Vermont.
He admitted having been in New

Britain on February 8, saying he ap- *

plied at the police station there for
lodging.

The Greenwich police found pam-
phlets in his suitcase which associated
the man with I.W.W. and anarchistic
movements. Stahr refused to say
why he carried the pistol and the axe,
or what he was doing in the. church.

Although he had no _ strawberry
mark on his face, he did answer. the
description of the tall man. Hearin
this over the phone, Rawlings rushe
to Greenwich with the Lithuanian
tavern owner and his waiter, but
neither recognized the prisoner.

Stahr denied having knowledge of
the Zebris crime. However, the
Greenwich police held him for inves-
tigation. Later he was found to be
deranged and sent to an institution.

Three more weeks passed, during
which the investigators despaired of
breaking the case, and the public
clamored for action. The murder of
the priest and his housekeeper had
aroused a resentment against the ap-
parent helplessness of the authorities,
and threats of a shakeup in the police
department were heard from the city
council.

As Rawlings sweated, Patrolman
Francis X. Tierney was walking along
his beat in downtown Wilmington,
Del. A conscientious officer, Tierney
had been studying for days the New
Britain alarm, now put into circular
form by Chief Rawlings. He carried
with him a mental picture of a short,
stocky man with a vivid strawberry
mark on his left cheek.

Suspects a Holdup

It was noon, and the street was
filled with shoppers. Tierney noted
two men in the crowd: One had a
strawberry mark on his face, and the
other was tall and rangy.

They were, the officer believed, the
pair sought by New Britain. Real-
izing they might be armed, the patrol-
man stepped up to the nearest phone
box and called headquarters for aid,
all the while keeping the pair in view.
He saw them turn into a large jew-
elry store, and suddenly felt the flesh
tighten on his neck.

One of the men was reaching into
his back pocket, as if fora: pistol!

Tierney moved rapidly down the
street toward the store. When he
peered inside he was sure he saw a
holdup in progress.

A welcome sound came to the offi-
cer’s ears—the alarm of a_ police
wagon. He knew help was near, so
he did not hesitate. Drawing his own

‘weapon, the brave officer burst into

the store.

The man with the strawberry mark
saw_him coming and fired pointblank.
Tierney went down, but his place in
the doorway was immediately taken
by Patrolmen Horace McDonnell and
Willard S. Sharpless, the vanguard of
the reinforcements Tierney had sum-
moned. They began blasting away at
the bandits. :

Plate glass windows were shattered.
Pedestrians scurried from the street
in panicky confusion. A dozen shots
were fired in the sharp, brief battle:

When the smoke cleared, Tierney °

lay dead, McDonnell and Sharpless
were fatally wounded, and two citi-
zens had been pricked by slugs.

But the two thugs were prisoners
of other officers. The birthmarked
man was wounded in the thigh, but
his taller companion, who had not
fired a shot, was unscathed.

The unharmed prisoner was rushed
to headquarters where he told Police
Chief J. W. Black his name was Ber-
nard Montvid. His wounded com-
EN he declared, was known to

i as Peter Melba, alias Peter
Krakas. The police ultimately learned
that Krakas was the man’s real name
and that he had a long record.

A .32-caliber automatic pistol was
taken from Krakas’ hand after he fell.
From his coat pocket were extracted
two drawbacks for railroad fares be-
tween Waterbury and New Britain.

Black flashed word of the capture
to Chief Rawlings, who in turn got
in touch with State’s Attorney Hugh
M. Alcorn at Hartford. Together the
police chief and the prosecutor rushed
to Delaware. ,

Montvid appeared terrified, and
continually asked for police protec-
tion from Krakas, whom he said he
greatly feared.

“This man denies knowing about
the New Britain murders,” Chief
Black told Rawlings and Alcorn, “but
I think a little sweating will bring it
out of him.

“Those railroad drawbacks place
Krakas enroute to New Britain on
Saturday, February 6, and since there
are two of them, it is likely Montvid
was his companion.

“The gun taken from Krakas is the
type used in your double murder.
Comparisons of its bullets with the
slugs taken from your New Britain
victims should prove the clincher.”

Alcorn, a relentless interrogator,
believed enough time had elapsed to
give Montvid a chance to think things
over. He ordered the man brought
before him, then tried a ruse.

Tall Man Confesses

“Your friend’s pistol is the one used
against Father Zebris and his house-
keeper up in New Britain just a

month ago, Montvid,” he asserted, al-
though the test of the gun had not yet
been made. “Also, we can place both
of you in a New Britain saloon on
the night before the crime. You're
in a jam, but maybe you can make
things easier for yourself if you tell
the truth.”

The. man, only 28, clearly had been
a tool. of a hardened criminal. Now,
with his erstwhile pal. in police
clutches, he felt safe enough to talk.

“All right,” he said, “I’ll tell you
what happened.

“Melba and I’—he kept calling his
crony by that name—“got in New
Britain on Saturday. We were broke.
I had met him in Waterbury, and he
told me about various crimes he had
committed. He asked me if there
were any soft touches in New Britain.

“IT told him it was my home town,
and said, ‘Let’s go down there and
look the land over.’ He had enough
money for train fares, so we hopped
the first rattler out without waiting
to buy tickets. :

“While we sat in the saloon Satur-
day night I told him about a priest
I knew who collected large sums of
money every Sunday. Melba said he
would go to church the next day and
see for himself.

“Sunday afternoon he told me it
was a cinch. ‘We'll do it tomorrow
night,’ he said, ‘after all the money
is in.’

“Monday night I waited outside the
rectory while he rang the doorbell.
A woman came and let him in. A few
minutes later I heard a lot of shots.
Soon Melba came out. ‘It’s done!’ he
said. ‘I couldn’t get any money and
I killed him!’ ”

The gun eventually was proved to
be the murder weapon. The Lithu-
anian cafe proprietor and his waiter
identified Krakas and Montvid as the
two men who talked in-low tones in
their place on Saturday night, Febru-
ary 6, 1915, two days before the
double murder.

The merchant who had provided
the original lead recognized Krakas
as the “birthmark man” who attended
“church on the day before the crime.

Montvid insisted that he and
Krakas were not holding up the Wil-
mington jewelry store, but had
merely gone there to pawn some
watches. The jeweler and his clerks
said this was so—that Tierney had a
mistaken impression,. and that no
guns were drawn until the officer
came in to arrest the pair on sus-
picion.

Because they might not be able to
prove more than manslaughter
against Krakas and Montvid, although
three police officers had been killed,
the Delaware authorities released the
men to the state of Connecticut.

Krakas and Montvid “were taken
back to New Britain, placed on trial
and convicted of murder in the first
degree. Both were hanged in the
spring of 1916 in Wethersfield Prison.

Eprror’s Note.—To spare possible
embarrassment to an innocent person,
the name Philip Stahr, used in this
story, is not real but fictitious.

FRONT PAGE DETECTIVE

revised }
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OCTOBER, 1943

—emccemenes ==” MONTE) HANGED

August 6, 1915.

ZEARLY TODAY AT
f WETHERSFIELD

Ponvicted of Killing Rev. J.Zebris
to and Housekeeper at New
~ Britain.

7 eq WETHERSFIELD. Conn., Aug. 6.—

at tne words ‘‘Not guilty’’ on ‘his
; ernard Montvid, was hanged in
E e state prison at Wethersfield this
Morning shortly after midnight, for
me murder in New Britain on Fe'b-
.. ary 8 last, of Rev. Joseph Zebris, a
Athuanian priest, and his housekeep-
@@, Iva Gilmanaitis.
®#The condemned man, who was 23
ars old, went to his death calmly,
Mthough he appeared a bit nervous
® he started for thé death: chamber.
feo entered the, room at 12:06:20, the
aD was sprung by Warden Garvin
Wenty-one seconds afterwards and
12:18:35 he-was pronounced dead
Fs Dr. Edward G. Fox, the prison
avsician. Montvid came into the
som repeating prayers in his own
5 hguage and continuing until the
mjeack cap had &cen drawn ovcr his
ead, wheh in a firm voice, just as
©ae trap was about-.to be sprung he
laimed ‘‘Not guilty.” ;

‘ Warden Represents Directors.

The board of prison directors was

Mpresented at the execution by the
$4 den. . Representatives were also
*fesent from the Hartford and New

geritain newspapers. e

#4.No relatives. of Montvid came to

Se. him during his last hours, but
“st evening a letter arrived from his
wrother in Chicago.

*#The murder of Rev. Joseph Zebris,
Mastor of St. Andrews Lithuanian Ro-
q @an Catholic church at New Britain

pid his housekeeper Miss Iva _ Gil-

manaitis, for which Bernard Montvid
as condemned to be hanged, occur-
md on the night of February 8 last.
‘x priest was shot to death in a
sporty on the first floor of the paro-
fjal residence and the woman was
: und strangled in an upper room of
pe house. Robbery was said to have
pen the motive for the crimes. ,

Only An Accomplice.
Montvid asserted that he was only

a accomplice, the real murdeyer, he
id, being Peter Krakas, who was

Dp teouted at Wilmington, Del., .some.

ime ago for shooting’ .a policeman
death there.
Wt was only after the arrest of
7 akas and Montyid at. Wilmington,
mat their connection with the New
Sfritain crimes became known..” Fol-
Jewing their arrest Krakag said he
mot the policeman ause he
Ppought they were trying to. arrest
m and his companion for the New
yitain authorities. After the execu-
gon of Krakas, Montvid was brought

seer

By Baines seen

Te aN eer

were eye Pe ees

no eS eT ee

SOL ES OR Rie aA SE ety eat mee erat Cra een na emerveetosico i oatmiinne tap arrenice ase

216 HISTORY OF CONNECTICUT

dians, in reveng of the innocent blood of the English which the
said Pequins have barbarously shed and refuse to give satisfaccon

for.’

The war resulted in victory for the colonists, where-
upon the General Court of Massachusetts passed the

following vote:

Whereas it hath pleased the Lord of his great mercy, to deliver
into our hands our enemies the Pecoits and their allies, and that
thereby the lands and places which they possessed are by just
title of conquest fallen to us, and our friends and associates upon
the River of Connecticutt: And whereas by subduing those our
enemies, not only ourselves and our said associates, have obtained
rest and liberty ; but opportunity is also given for peaceable habita-
tion to all such as shall hereafter inhabit the lands of our said
enemies, both at Pecoit and Quinapiack, and the parts beyond
towards the Dutch: We do hereby declare the just right and
title, which ourselves and our said associates upon Connecticutt
have to all the said lands and territories; and withall it is our de-
sire, that our said associates (according to the articles of confed-
eration agreed upon between us) will be pleased to appoint two
comniittees, sufficiently authorized to give our committees a meet-
ing at Newtown, so soon as the season of the year will permit,
to consult and determine of the disposing and planting of the
said lands, and setting down an equall and rateable proportion
towards the charges expended in the said wars, to be paid by all
such as shall be admitted to plant and inhabit the same; and that
they will please to give us convenient notice of the time of their
coming and consent of joining with us in this consultation, 17th

9th Month.
per I. N., Secret.’

In 1639 we find these entries of the first occasions
for criminal proceedings, as follows:

Octob: 26: 1639.

The ciuill affayres of the plantatid being settled as before, by
the puidence of God an Indian called Massutunck, alias Nepau-

7 Hazard’s Collections, I, 426.
& Jbid., 427, 428.

MaRS EI HAS,

Po eaetiaat s ite oe org

le ge
a

Se PAS

cae

oh an
SESS

‘puc!
the

dee:
the

by |
he |
was
his «
tryal
by tl

aT
him
this
him
had «
the
own
Ne
he co
he Ww
his h
cand \
the c!
he m
onely
he w:
the st.

A ¢
India
exami!
puck \
butt w!
did ap
hand |
was a

Wat:
not on

EY at OE Sed RAR a

218 HISTORY OF CONNECTICUT

the 3 men in the boate or shallop on Connecticut riuer, and thatt
there was but one Nepaupuck and this was he, and the same thatt
tooke a childe of Mr. Swaines att Weathersfield. Then the said
Nepaupuck being asked if he would nott confess yt he deserved
to dye, he answered, it is weregin.

The Court haue had such pregnant proofe, proceeded to pass
sentence vpon him according to the nature of the fact and the
rule in thatt case, he thatt sheds mans blood, by man shall his
blood be shed, according his head was cutt off the next day and
pittched vpon a pole in the market place.®

In this matter the planters exercised a power of life
and death. |

Pawquash, a Quinnipiac Indian, was arrested in 1646,
on acharge of blasphemy. It appeared that four years
before

he came into Mr. Craynes howse when they were blessing God
in the name of Jesus Christ; and that he then did blaspheamously
say that Jesus Christ was mattamoy & naught, & his bones rotten,
& spake of an Indian in Mantoises plantation assended into
heaven wh was witnessed by Mr. Crayne, Mrs. Crayne, Mrs. Ling,
W™ Holt, Goodie Camp. The centence of the court was that
he should be seaverly whipt for thus scorning at o° worshipping
God & blaspheame the name of our Lord Jesus, & informd h”™
that if he should doe soe hereafter or now, it had bin against the
light he now has, it would hazzard his life.’®

In 1666 the General Court of Connecticut gave judg-
ment in an action for larceny against two Indians for
damages, and the following action was taken

This Court haueing heard & considered the comp" of Mr. Tho:
Stanton against Cuskatome and his brother in law for stealeing
a considerable estate from him, and y® great expence that he was
at in app"hending and secureing the said Indians, and considering
the recompence y* y® law allowes in such cases, the whole acc'
being cast vp the total sufi amounts to twenty seauen pounds

9 New Haven Colonial Records, 1638-1649, 22, 23, 24,
101 New Haven Col. Rec., 262.

NERAUDUCK, Indiana, hanged in Connecticut, October 30, 1639.

{ |

"
\

History of Connecticut

In Monographic Form

NORRIS GALPIN OSBORN

EDITOR

i
@

VOLUME ONE

THE STATES HISTORY COMPANY
NEW YORK
1925

(eS tere

hich the
isfaccon

where-
ed the

» deliver
ind that
by just
i&S upon
kmose our
obtained
“habita-
our said
beyond
wht and
necticutt
our de-
confed-
int two
a t-
p iit,
of the
oportion
ral by all
ind that
of their
mn, 17th

‘cret.®

‘asions

ore, by
Nepau-

COLONIAL PERIOD 2i7

‘puck, who had beene formerly accused to have murderously shed
the bloode of some of the English; of his owne accorde wth a
deer’s head vpon his back came to Mr. Eatons, where, by warrant
the marshall apprehended and pinioned him, yett nottw'hstanding
by the subtillty and treachery of another Indian his companio,
he had allmost made an escape, butt by the same providence he
was againe taken and deliu'ed into the magistrates power, and by
his order safely kept in the stocks till he might be brought to a due
tryall. And the Indian who had attempted his escape was whipped
by the marshall his deputy.

Octo: 28: 1639. -

The Quillipieck Indian Sagamour wth dius of his Indians w'h
him were examined before the magistrate and the deputyes for
this plantatid concerning Nepaupuck. They generally accused
him to haue murdered one or more of the Ienglish, and thatt he
had cutt of some of their hands & had presented them to Sassacuse
the Pequott sachem, boasting that he had killed them wth his
ewe fatids. . ..”

Nepaupuck being by the concurrence of testimony convinced,
he confessed that he was the man namely Nepaupuck, and boasted
he was a great captaine, had murdered Abraham Finch, and had
his hands in other English blood, he said he knew he must lye,
and was nott afraid of itt, butt layd his neck to the niatletree of
the chimney, desireing thatt his head might be cutt of, or thatt
he might dye in any other manner the English should appoynt,
onely he said fire was God, and God was angry w'h him, therefore
he would nott fall into his hands. After this he was retourned to
the stocks and as before a watch appoynted for his safe custody.

A Generall Court 29: of Octob: 1639:

A Generall Court being assembled to proceed against the said
Indian Nepaupuck who was then brought to the barre, and being
examined as before, att the first denyed thatt he was thatt Nepau-
puck w°h had comitted those murders wherew'h he was charged,
butt when he see that the Quillipeck Sagamour and his Indians
did againe accuse him to his face, he confessed that he had had his
hand in the murder of Abraham Finch, butt yett he said there
was a Mohauke of thatt name thatt had killed more than hee.

Wattoone affirmed to his face thatt he, the said Nepaupuck, did
hot onely kill Abraham Finch, butt was one of them thatt killed

» £ 16 ]

alle deviation from the path of righteoufnefs will,
fy life, give a wound to reputation which will not
. To this confideration I might add that of

hus the end is public infamy, or an ignominious death,
rherefore it is of the laft importance that children fhould learn
» conform every aétion to the golden rule of equity.-++
Whatfoever ye would that men foould do to you, do ye even fo
o them. :
o early inculcated or too deeply imprefied on the mind
hile tender.---But I have already been more particular than
intended.---

- Yet with the ftriking inftance before us of the truly melan- + |
hely confequences: of furious and ungoverned paffions, F

ay not pafs on without urging the abfolute neceflity of @
eyery early reftraint upon thefe. When Anger, Malice and
Hireful Revenge get poffeffion of the heart of man; he be-

sores a monfter, an enemy to Society and fit only to herd ;

vith his fellow-monfters of the defert.. Curfed be that anger

hich is fierce, and that wrath which is cruel !---Where.is 4

Where is murder and every evil work ?. In
O my fouls:

ontention
he heart of the furious and revengeful man.
ome not thou into bis fecret ; unto his affembly, mine konour,
we not thou united. ee

7. Enforce your inftruction by your own example. It is
2 common though very juft obfervation, that example goes
efore precept. Thofe heads of families who indulge them-
elves* in furious paffions, ----intemperance,----falfhood,----
difhonefty,----prophane fwearing----or an impious contempt
of God andsReligion will be found, -with refpect to:thole
under their caréy lied leaders of the blind. "Yo*thefe the
words of the apoftle, apply. —Thou therefore who teacheft ano-
ther, teacheft thou not thyfelf? *

- Finally,

Rom, 2. 21.

@ LORD keep
® Withowt the bleffing of the kind Parent of the”
: : hat ; Pas: @ the anxious Loneeta: Taitbtut inftruétion and prudent govern- He
e numerous unhappy inftances, in which the little pilferings » @e ii

f childhood paffing unpunifhed have arifen to that height, .4

f wickednefs which is to be punifhed by the Judges; and .4

Fment of an affectionate parent will end in difappointment |)
and forrow. |
Gy es 2 father pitieth bis children ; pitieth them that fear him 2\%
gq apply earneftly and with mnceeling Sppliatiog for the blef= ai
fing
@ be a bleffing worth wréfling for with the Gop of Jacob:
oF ye NOU, on JO. @ ye who are parents beft can tell. e = ee ae
This great law of benevolence and juftice cannot be “ @ -f muit now haften, remembering thatthe time ts hort and
@ with brevity, ae si
@ Setondty. Confider the argument: by which attention
@ to divine inftruction is enforced in the text.—Le? my foul
depart from thee. *<

[ t7 ]

“ = :
‘8. Finally, Brethren, pray for your families... @
the City the watchman waketh buggy

3
;

; j
To the Father of mercies, therefore, who Jike.

of an affeftionate and dutiful family.---Whether this -

» “By this is to be undérftood, the withdrawing from aa

hus when a people favoured of the Lor will not héarken

nor incline their ear to his inftruction ; their national blefs
@ lings are accurfed frorn Heaven, and their pleafures will be
# bitternefs in the lattér end.

Though for a feafon they may’

“Ble thy Goo depart from thee.

t Jer. ¢. 29, 20.

uae 'T
oo ge eS
niverfe's (i.

B ‘a
iy 43

t r 3
>) ee

"
ihe <

: tion,:a Family or ait Individual the gracious prefence of that" "
@Gon, in whofe hand it 1s'to make great, ana by whom the
] pesagbhing of man is bowed down. ae

f 18% ] 4

Ret 3 prefent o&cafion leads me to confider the argument » Peas, € ae a a y a
more pateicwiarly as it refpects ans in’ sae Do 23 % —

ae a } families he argument in this yiew_im i I fe)
that, when Heads ‘of families are inftruéted in their duty,. uy : os ’ e ete r ¢ A, a: i
they refufe and will not hear, the Lorp will withdraw. his” Sted to fubjeé in siscil dt | y
Bee hie from them and write their deareft bleffings accu me ca se? 3 tis P uae

‘or ‘fuch Gop hath his quiver full of, acrows which will @ | ai
pierce them to the heart. : ; # a:

Dutiful and obedient children are an heritage of t Ks Lor. 7 ¥ Fathers and. Hab:

ifaac was the obedient fon of the’ father of the rahi es ¢ ou tupon this bctahon, Who acknows. 4
whofe command he yielded himfelfias. a lamb to the. flaus 1 ae ts he iors a forrbvis of a Perearé nd
Futchful Eliezer’ of Dairiafcus was the*fervant of Abr FP breat : et Cony’ \ 2 thac he fhoul ld Be a fyangee to thae
who was faithful in all his houfe. _Thefe are amiong the ble > Bt refpett tae of’ affection. which becomes a San : for 4
fings of that man who is inftructed out ofthe. Law..of the ” @ be was_bis father’s fe tender and: joloted id in the Ashe hen bis *
Lorp. Bleffed is the'man that feareth the LORD, than den “nother. Suffer me while: a Bdelit ‘
lighteth greatly in bis commandments. “His feed faall be migl tof G 6; pit ate nately an ait react ate f ri ~
upon the earth : the generation of the upright ball be blefed, | elder as @ father aud the "2 er ‘comb a5. mothers. igi
Wealth and deine be in bis boule : ud bis riba | | I do now befeech yous in, Chrift’s ftead, that you , attend 10% }
endureth forever ® the folemn. admonitions of Heavén this day. Be thon. infiruc~ Wh
But thofe; who, though they acknowledge the. fear of .th the | bed, O Ferufab m | Tee, t this inftancé, of aperevaned wicked. \ a

Lorop, will not regard his intrudtion ; being found unfaithfu sien wots Bee fee the Bele Onc
in their houfes ; will realize the withdrawing of the divine, | nels, in one fo ‘young, alarm yc 5

fence in the fate of an unfaithful. Edi: to whom was ful

the following - meffage from the Lorp,.' Them, that.

me’I will honour: and they that defy ef aie ms pone be ae, :
efeemed. Bebold, the Jaye come that { will cut yf th ing atin, §
and the arm of thy ather’s boufe ; that there “hall not be an, @
oldman in thine. bauje. And the man of. things. whom. I foal mah.
_ cut off from mine altar, foall. be to, confume thine. eyes

mamitted t to. your cate, and, engage you to be juft to your- : " ' *
Ae ¢s, to. your Children, to, Society and to your Gop, The fee
ea of the Lord is in the howe of the wicked ; oat be bleffetl oe es
a habitation of tbe juft.™ eg
Pie happinefs. of an affectionate parent depends anc uparnr
the conduct of his children. For the truth: of this, fathers, §
y might appeal to yourfelves :* And Suybe ss ‘but that with +
ot feelings known only y toa rou would declare, with oo:
grieve thine Beart : and all the increafe. of , thine house foai die, omon, a suife fon m Bes cits wer father but a foalijh Janis
in the flower of their age. Thefe eyils, f might add, ate the, inthe beavinels of bis motber,
natural, confequences of too great parental in ulgence. Ap: B But if the happinefs of parents thus. depends upon dicir
petites and paffions unreftrained in childhood, become. rors @ children, may we not expe¢t that that happ nes which is real

in youth 5 fe nnhtice difbonour, we ¢ and an unpimely “and permanent will be preferred ? What th ma :
lf, of thofe, wha rife up date and fit up late es the beat § ie <.

So true it is that @ child left to hi bringeth. bis mother ag
of. carefulnefs that they may leave an inheritance to their, chil, 3

joame.t
‘ APPLICATION. dren : _while the-provifion for their minds is, {carcely t it 3
T Pfal. LN2e 1, 2p He q 1 Sam. 2. 31, 33> pA t. Prov, 99. ise ; a Cc 2 * of ‘

* Prov. 3. 33.

wo 12 |

Lz .
ort for ourepri

ind proper ,
s own importance, and fearch whether thofe
which it had received as true.

That the mind of men, in the firft buddings of reafony 4
hifcovers an ardent thirft for knowledge, and, incapable.of ¥

letermining the quality of what 1s offered, drinks in with
vidity what is firft prefented is a truth which will not be
lifputed.---Since then the mind cannot be kept a blank until
brought to maturity : Thofe, who do not chufe to give Vit-
uous principles the firft poffeflion, muft, unavoidably give
his, advantage to thofe which are vicious. That Society

ay: long be fecured againft the influence of.minds thus early, 3

ormed to the fervice of the enemy of all Righteoufnefs, will

be. the prayer of every friend to virtue and his country.+-+ |

But!to purfue our fubject «

m. With the knowledge of Gop is connected that of our.

uty: to, Him, our Neighbour and ourfelves. Every duty
iould be clearly explained and the difcharge of it ftrictly

a way. of the LORD.*

. 4. , To private inftruction is to be added the pwlic in-
ftruétions of the Houfe of Gop. Fhe Lorv laveth the

gates of Zion more than all the dwellings of Facob.t Here 7
thofe committed to our care behold the worfhip and order of 4
the. Gofpel, with its Ordinances and Inftitutions :---hear the 7%

word of falvation at the mouth of the Meffenger of the Lorp

of Hofts :---and, learn that -fear of the LORD which i 4
the. beginning of wifdom, and that knowledge of the holy which. 4

is underftanding. . For this purpofe was the direction given,,

£.13 4,

@ ‘ fear the Lorp your Gop, and obferve.to de.;
® « of this Law ;---and. that their CHILDREN, ¥

«* known any thing, may hear and learn to

. $ your Gop.” :

When we attend with our children upon, the public inftra

3 tion, the great object in view fhould be to train them up in th
nurture and admonition of the Lorn.
F will not be the weightier matter of the law where the Pulp

This, howeve

is .proftituted to ferve the interefts of a party But, th
faithful Minifter of that Religion which breathes Charity. an
good-will to man, will not diftinguith himfelf_ in the. facre

@ defk, by uttering fevere_invectives or artful. infinuations.

gainft the Minifters and Churches of other denominations.-
When this takes place, one fays, Lam of Paul; another, La
of Apellos.---But my brethren, let it be. your concern that yo
and your children may be of CHRIST... Again,

| The beginnings of an amiable difpofition are to”
cultivated. This fuppofes that we: ftudy the difpofitians:

@ thofe under. our care.: that we may be able to diftinguif
enjoined. ‘Thus did the Father of the faithful approve him- -@
felffaishful- in, all his houfe :---Gop himfelf bearing wicnels “ee
orhim. I know Abrabai, faid he, that. be will command 4
bis children, and his boufbold after bim, and they foall keep, @™

the good from the bad. The tempers of mankind are vari
ous, and require.as different modes of. cultivation as therae
various foils under the hand of the difcerning hufbandmanigy
The tender benevolent difpofition is already fitted for the
feed. Hlaften therefore to {catter the good feed, and ere long
it fhall yield a joyful crep.

The fir dawnings of that, which is amiable and praife-
worthy fhould be encouraged.e--Particularly : that ingenuow
fincerity which Rives the imprefs of gold to every othe
virtue :---an unfhaken’ attachment to truth :---2 modeft: andigg
refpeétful deportment towards Superiors : an obliging atten fie
tion to Equals.: an eafy condefcentian to Inferiors : and thatige
mpafiion for thofe in diftrefs which leads to imitate. hinge
who went about doing good. A raind, thits liberally endow 2

@ thould .not be left unguarded againft’ that: by which ms
Deut. 31. 12,13. “¢ Gather the people. together, men and, 4 .

ftroug men bave been flain. "Therefore: thofe under our care

<< women and CHILDREN, and thy ftranger that 1s within thy } i fhould be early infpired with fentiments which will raife then?
« gates, that they may hear, and that theyganay teats and, @ fuperior to irregular defires, and flebly lufis which war againft

‘© fear . . | be J
t Pfal. 87. 2.

* Gen. 18. 19.

[ 14 ] ;

icle too often like a ftrong man. armed take caps:
wigiarded Youth, and lead him to the frange wos,
ban, whofedien/e is the way to belt, going. down to the cham-
rs of death.t This leads to obferve, :. =
'6. The beginnings of a vicious difpofition fhould receive.
early and effeétual check. . Vices are like thofe weeds =
hich, having once taken reot, are with the utmoft difi- —%
ulty deftroyed. A bad natural difpofition if not early fub-" ~
ued will, *ere long, bring forth nothing but briars and,
orns, to pierce a parent’s heart with many forrows.. To,
revent this too often unhappy cafe: the command of a parent
ould enforce the motives to virtue, Thus did David com-,
and Solomon, when inftruéting him in the way of wifdom,
tnd thou, Solomon my fon, know.thou the. GOD of thy Father,
nd ferve him with a perfett heart and with a willing mind 4

maginations of the thoughts ; if thou feek him, he will be
Mound of thee ; but if thou forfake bim be will caft thee off for-
ver.* But the language of parental authority in all cafes

ould be the laft refource. When the yearnings of parental
endernefs in the mild and gentle language of perfuafion prove
effeétual, then the decifive tone of authority becomes neceffa-
vy. Withold not correttion from the child, faith Solomon, for if:
bou beateft him with the rod he fhall not die.---Thou fhalt beat
im with the rod and foalt deliver bis foul from bell.t Here,
owever, exceffive feverity becomes equally prejudicial with
n excefs of indulgence : for ‘¢ human nature is like the
pring of an engine, which, being forcibly preffed, upon the
irft liberty returns back with fo much the greater, violence.”
Tappy is he who knows the golden mean ; who can temper
he feverity of reproof with the tendernefs of a parent.

A due proportion fhould
rime and the punifhment. While lighter offences are pafled
vith a gentle. febuke ; more heinous crimes call for greater
everity. A light reproof in the latter cafe would countenance
ather than correét the offence : and, let me add, the parénr
br maafter would not be guiltlefs. Heavy 1s eneouates be

t Prov. 7. 27. ® x Chron. 28. 9. +t Prov. 23. 135 14

~ impiety.

@. which be knoweth : because dis fons made themfelves vile and bela
@ refrained them not.§, ! :

# of obfervers, is the Charaéter of that man who, without event’
@ the fhadow of honour, pleafure or profit in return, can wan-
@ tonly trifle with his Maker, and thus /e// bis foul for nothing.

ever be obferved between the “@

@. do juftly, and to love
@ GOD? q |

“people to tranfgrefs.y |

“to Samuel, that I will judge bis boufe forever, for the imiguit

a oe

-by Heaven againft’ Eli; for his indulgence to his J

they made themfelves vile, and wounded Relgige b

For their aggravated: wickednefs they ve thie;
entle rebuke from their father :-+-Why do ye fuch things’ :. foi di
hear of your evil dealings by all this people; Nay, my fons wt
or it is no good report that I bear: you make the LORD’ qiy
This is conftrued into a neglect on théy}y
or which the rod of the Almighty came}?
For I have told kim, faid the Lorpp!

7
ee by

part.of the father ;
upon him and his houfe.

We may not here point out very particularly where, paren:

44% tal reftraint is neceflary.. Every thing that favours of impiety
br the LORD fearcheth all hearts, and underfiandeth all the. “Ql. or a contempt of God aid his tervice fhould not be fo muc

@ «asnamed among children. But above all things,* reftrain them
@ from that prophane abufe of the facred name.of Gop, with
@ which the virtuous ear is, at this day, fo often wounded. 7
@ effect this it may be fufficient, having before’taught them the!,

q - fear of the Lorp, ‘to fhew them how pitiable in the fightige} 3

Tove?

ie:

Further, parental reftraint fhould extend to every thin

@ which is oppofed to that good name which is better than pre-*
‘cious ointment.—Here I cannot but particularly mention thofe
@ fervile vices, falfhood and difhonefty..Thefe difcover. a
- meannefs of foul incompatible with the manly virtues.

« A wit’s a feather, and:a chief’s a rod; e
“© An honeft man’s the nobleft work of Gop.” 4s. if
To be juft to ourfelves, our neighbour and our Gop, is thié

1 fum of moral virtue : for be bath foewed thee; O man, wha

is good; and what doth the LORD require, of thee, but ta’
mercy, and to walk humbly with thy

| The
t t Sam. 2. 2BF 24. § r.Sam. 3. 13. @ Micah 6. 8.
* James 5. 12. But above all things, my brethren, /wear not, Se.

McELROY, J. Js, white, elec. CT@ (New Haven) 2/10/1937

SECRE
in the

By
JOSEPH HILTON

N A MURDER CASE there is nothing private. The end re-
sults are clear-cut.enough. The victim is dead and must’ be
buried, and in due course, as a general rule, the killer is
brought to justice and officially the case. is closed. Closed
except for the by-products of murder which have a way of
flourishing like the green bay tree: For during the course of the
murder investigation or later, during the trial of the guilty, it

happens more often than not that matters better kept secret are
suddenly exposed. to the harsh light of publicity.

Private affairs have a habit of becoming embarrassingly public,
and past indiscretions come home to roost, ~

Take, for example, the nightmarish maze of circumstantial
evidence that trapped Heriry Brune as the result of a minor- ad-
venture into illicit Jove. $ M

It started out as a passing affair, carefully concealed from pry-
ing eyes. , :

It ended up withthe. shadow of the electric chair unpleasantly
closex and with Henry Brune seemingly slated to get the unique
and unwanted distinction of being the first man to be electrocuted
by the State of Connecticut. ‘

At the time, Henry Brune was in his early forties, owner of a
prosperous grocery store in- a small town some 20 “miles from
New Haven. He was married, the father of two children, and
occupied a solid and respectable position in the community.

But like a good many men—and women, too, for that matter
—whose early years have been spent building up a home and
business, he had a feeling now and again that he was missing
something out of life. :

That something was adventure—which nine times out of ten,
under the ‘circumstances, means an off-the-record romance,

Brune was discreet and smart enough not’ to look for a like-
minded lady in his own home.town._In such a small locality
there was too much chance of gossip—too much risk of exposure
and subsequent scandal.

However, Brune'was in a more fortunate position than others
of his fellow citizens who harbored similar ambitions of a mildly

CRIME DETECTIVE,
January, 1951.

EAD GIRL’S
LETTER

_.. The murderer in this

~ first .man to go to
the electric chair in.
the State of Connecticut

JEALOUS SLAYER—
Smiling man shown in circle above wasn’t smiling
when the New Haven detectives caught up with him.

carnal nature. He could. get out of town at frequent intervals
without exciting comment. In fact, his grocery business took him
to the wholesale fresh produce markets of New Haven no less

‘ than‘three times a week. Even the time element was in his favor,

for the produce markets came to life around midnight, leaving
the hours immediately preceding open for amorous adventuring.

Brune was lucky—or so he figured, and so he told one or two
of his close friends. In the‘unconventional manner in which such
things happen in a big city he met an attractive and amiable girl.
More important, she had a pleasure-loving nature and was cheer-

fully acquiescent to most of Brune’s ideas on how to pass the

time,

She was Anna Mae Johnson, a nurse at the New Haven Hospi-
tal. She-was 32,’but looked a good five or six years younger. She
had dark ‘hair apd dark eyes and a slim, enticing figure.

QN AN August night—a night that Brune was to remember and

regret for a long time to come—they met by prearrangement
in front of a small restaurant on Congress Avenue, a short dis-
tance from the hospital. ,

That was about eight o’clock. They drove out to Savin Rock, a

Byer fain) TE SPE ear

‘unusual case was the .

waterside re
few hours o
eat. They a
stop in the
Street entrar
There were
That was
What har
some time
thing was ¢
At exactly
the movies
door of the
collapse on
Nurse Prud
then let out
It wasn’t
Nurse Prud
Anna Mae J
Over her
a doctor fre
It was at
softly open
darkness. \
started runn
As he did
grass borde!
Miss Pru
appeared. §
but wasn’t

Y THEN
hospital
rushed insic
girl was alr
In the m

ANNA WM
The mes:
suspect i

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NOT os eee
Ay te

T headquarters: in.
the man whd had been out -with Anna
Mae Johnson the night. before?

Brune -hesitated, swallowed nervously,
glanced about in a harried manner and
finally said: “Yes. But what—”

Eagan cut him short. “What~ hap-
pened?’

“What happened?” Brune repeated in
dazed voice. “Why—nothing. I mean, I
met her around eight. We drove out to
| Savin Rock. We—”

He stopped abruptly, with the expres-
sion of a man who has suddenly realized
that there are some things that are bet-
ter left undescribed, particularly in a po-
lice station.

“We ... we talked. I drove her back
to the nurses’ dormitory about half past
eleven and let her out around the corner.”

He stopped and mopped at his nerv-
ously sweating face with a damp handker-
chief and demanded again, “But why—”

“Start over again,” Eagan cut in. “Give
us the whole story this time!”

He had already done that, Henry Brune
insisted. Except for one or two little

A New. Haven, Eagan.
went. directly tothe. point. Was he

items.. Maybe they’d done .more “than
just talk at Savin Rock. But they’d done
plenty of talking on’ the ride back.

“We had an argument,” he admitted.
“She'd been writing me letters and send-
ing them to my home, and I told her it
would have to stop. I couldn’t run the
risk of my wife opening one by mistake.”
He’ remembered something then. “She
sort of threatened me. What’s she saying
now ‘that I did?” see,

“She’s not saying anything,” Eagan told
him flatly. “And she never will. From
the looks of things, you made certain of
that!”

Brune protested weakly: “I don’t under-
stand...”

Eagan made it plainer. “You followed-

her into the nurses’ home and up to the -
¢ second floor and slashed her throat from

gar to ear!”
Henry Brune half-started out of his
chair. “Murdered! Anna Mae? It can’t

~be! You’re making a horrible mistake!”

There wasn’t any mistake, Eagan told
him calmly. If he doubted it, he could
just step over to the morgue and take a
look for himself. Under the circumstances,

William E. Drury, (above)

to testify before a ont d
Chicago. Police offic

et two
of his home,

i we i ais sai

said Drury was sldin b
unmen, as he drove into
he - ex-policeman died on the way

AMBUSHED AND SLAIN

a former Chicago police captain who
was discharged from the police department following his refusal
jury, was ambushed and shot in

a gunman, or
the alley at the rear

iilobeibitis.. i sinned ie, ied

to the hospital. -

‘

it might be a goo
“No!” Brune ¢
want to! Let m/
even more tro
him. “How am ]
to my wife?”
“Forget a
vised him. ‘
ing to expla
Monahan. “Whe
dropped?”
Monahan had
him. He picked
slapped it down
Brune’s head.
It was a full :
But that, Eag
might mean no
might have been
hat dropped on
enough to leave
Against that
solid circumstant
the place and th
motive, for Bri
Anna Mae was |
to handle for a :
happy home disr

William
assassin’s sh:
and heard

husband dyi
front window
second Chica

rer in this
ie was the
in to go to
ic chair in
onnecticut

wasn't smiling
it up with him.

frequent intervals
business took him
w Haven no less
was in his favor,
midnight, leaving
rous adventuring.
e told one or two
ner in which such
and amiable girl.
re and was cheer-
how to pass the

‘ew Haven Hospi-
2ars younger. She
ig figure.

to remember and
y prearrangement
enue, a short dis-

to Savin Rock, a

waterside resort on the outskirts of New Haven, and passed a>
few hours one way or another. They stopped for something#to
eat. They drove back to town, and Brune coasted his car to a
stop in the shadows a discreet distance away from the Cedar
Street entrance to the nurses’ dormitory where Anna Mae lived.
There were times when it didn’t do to court discovery.

That was at exactly 11:27. ‘ %

What happened during the next three minutes remained for
some time a matter of official debate and speculation, but one
thing was dramatically certain. sie

At exactly 11:30 Nurse Sarah Prudhomme, walking home from
the movies with ‘a male acquaintance,’ was startled to see the
door of the nurses’ home swing open and a girl stagger out to
collapse on the sidewalk. Automatically, almost without thinking,
Nurse Prudhomme dashed over and bent down beside the girl,
then let out a little shriek.

It wasn’t so much that she recognized the girl. .What shocked

q Nurse Prudhomme into a frightened scream was the fact that
2 Anna Mae Johnson’s throat had been slashed from ear to ear...
‘a Over her shoulder Miss Prudhomme cried to her escort: “Get
a doctor from the hospital! Try the emergency ward first.”

It was at that_moment that the door of the nurses’ home swing
softly Open again. A man slipped out, his face a faint blur in the
darkness. Without a glance at the figures on the sidewalk he
started running, turning about the corner onto Congress Avenue.

As he did so his hat fell off, coming to rest at the edge of the
grass. bordering the walk. i

Miss Prudhomme sent a useless call after him as he dis-
appeared. She thought she heard a car start up a moment later,
but wasn’t sure. .

a ~

Y THEN a doctor and some interns were appearing from the
hospital. Anna Mae Johnson’ was placed on’a stretcher,
rushed inside to the operating room. But it was too late—the
girl was already beyond aid.
In the meantime a call had been put through to police head-

ANNA MAE JOHNSON—
The message left in her room by this nurse put one
suspect in the clear and another in the electric chair.

quarters. It was a Dead On Arrival case, but much of the rou-
tine police work was complicated by the fact that the body had
been moved and the spot where the girl had fallen on the side-
walk trampled over by the morbidly curious who appear out of
nowhere when a tragedy takes place.
— Detective Sergeant Raymond Eagan demanded irritably: “Who
, gave orders to move the body?” ;

It hadn’t been a question of orders, the doctor in charge told
him wearily. There had been a faint pulse’ beat when the girl
was first examined,,and it had then been hoped that there was a
thin chance of saving her life. ~

Eagan nodded, and turned to interview Nurse Prudhomme,
who told how. she had seen Anna Mae stumble out of the dormi-
tory and collapse on the pavement. She recounted how she had
gone to her aid while sending her escort rushing to the hospital
for assistance. : ,

« *“That was when I saw a man come running out of the dormi-
tory,” she continued... “He disappeared around the corner of
Congress Avenue.” .

“What did he look like?” .

Nurse Prudhomme shook her head. “I didn’t get a chance to
notice. much. He wasn’t a big man, and he had on a dark suit.
T couldn’t see his face.”

. “Are men callers allowed in the dormitory at night?”

“No, sir. Not at any time.” ,

“Is the front door left unlocked then?”

“Not ever. We all have a key to it.” Then Nurse Prudhomme
remembered something else. “I think the man lost his hat when
he was running around the corner. It looked like it, anyway.”

Eagan turned to Detective Joseph Monahan, standing along
side. “See what you can find. Let’s hope none of that mob of
ghouls outside has made off with it.”

The night watchman, Walter Taylor, had been summoned,
but he had seen nathing suspicious or out-of-the-way during the
evening. He had been on his hospital rounds in a different part
of the grounds and the first intimation (Continued on page 39)

STAIRWAY OF DEATH—
Anna Mae Johnson’s throat was cut from ear to ear
on landing where bloodstains show in photo below.

Grove section.
as quickly sur-
leading out ,of
up until there

Bloodhounds
where Berger
th, and the trail

d, “no matter
e got him He
he stays in the
iim down. We'll

a he was licked.
question. Long
nbled into Ed-
‘d half to death,

show up here,”
ad to get past

irst, but I knew
- of time before
‘t stand having
re. Anyway, I
ak.”
orn and muddy
woods, and he
adn’t eaten for
pt to hold back
full confession.
oadhouse owner
ton. He denied
his primary

e beer,” he
wi any because
| been drinking,
We got into an
ied me with the
said he was go-
‘d always heard
threatened with
ill the man who
knew then that
vas sitting on a
ock that was on
r the head with
n, so I dragged
and stabbed him

the button and
hoes for money.
»dy coming, and
timber.

he had heard
bly referred to
of whom were
rent.
he button failed
on Berger he be-
nd threw it into
ng that Berger
o the police, he
- found himself

idicted and was
ie June term of
Midway in the
a crowd that
n, Smith asked
plea to second-
conference, the
ept the plea, and
serve not less
Prison at Nash-

button of death
x after the slay-
ynviction of the
r the trial, the
y of the Hickory
button ' of

| found.

names “Joe Ty-
ised in the fore-
~ 0 spare inno-
sible embarrass-
rger’ is fictitious,

i
»
i
/

[CRIME -

DEAD GIRL’S LETTER

Continued from page 29 %

he had that something was wrong was the
wail of police sirens. The matron of the
nurses’ dormitory. was equally devoid of
helpful information, although she re-
called that Anna Mae had seemed nerv-
ous and worried recently.

“I gathered from little things she let

- drop that it was man trouble,” she added

in a tone that implied that most troubles
were caused by men.

It was about then that Detective Mona-
han returned from his search. He was
holding a brown felt hat of a popular, in-
expensive make. On the leather sweat
band was the stamp of a New Haven hat
store. The size was there, too—6%.

Next the investigation moved to the
nurses’ building. The blood on the pave-

ment outside had been smeared by care- —

less footsteps, but inside the building a
blood-spattered trail led along the corri-
dor and up a flight of stairs to the second
floor. There it came to an abrupt and
gory end close by a radiator.

Nearby, against the wall on the fldor,
was a bone-handled pocketknife. It was
open, but the sharp blade was: oddly free
from bl ains.

Eagan regarded it thoughtfully, then
glanced up and down the hallway.
“Which room did the Johnson girl have?”
he asked. :

It was on the floor above, the matron
informed him. He frowned, trying to
form a tentative picture in his mind.
Either the killer had accompanied her into
the building and suddenly turned on her,
or he had hidden somewhere awaiting her
return. The latter seemed unlikely—in a
building given- over entirely to women
there were few places a man could lirk
without ‘discovery and comment.

There was the possibility, too, that
Anna Mae Johnson had been no more
than an accidental victim—that any other
nurse who had happened along at that
moment might have met the same fate.

Eagan asked: “Does anybody know
what Miss Johnson was doing earlier this
evening?”

A nurse spoke up from an open door-
way. “I think she had a date. I walked
with her around the corner to Sam’s Cafe
just before sight, and she told me she was
meeting someone.”

Eagan hesitated, then asked a final rou-
tine question: “Any empty rooms on this
floor?”

There wes just one, directly across the
hall. The door ‘was ajar, and Eagan
eased it open. The floor was covered with
a thin layer of dust—dust that had been
recently marked by footprints immediatee
ly inside the door. Close by were three
cigarette butts that had been stepped on.

For a long moment Sergeant Eagan
stared thoughtfully around, then beckoned
Monahan over. . “Get the fingerprint boys
back here. Have them dust the door and
knobs. for prints. There’s an off-chance

_ the killer might have hidden out in here.”

After that came more questioning of
the nurses. But although Anna Mae, John-
son had been 4t the hospital for nearly a
year, few of them knew much about the
girl or her friends. As far as her social
life was concerned, she had played a lone
game. She had never gone on double
dates with any of the other nurses—what
male friends she had she kept to herself.
But she had gone out frequently.

Leaving the vacant room’ with its signs
of recent occupancy under guard, Eagan

‘and Monahan concentrated on trying to.

establish the dead girl’s movements up to
the time of her-murder. The trail started
off at Sam’s Cafe, around the corner on
Congress Avenue. *

ORD of the ugh ing ‘had .gone
W ahead of the cto , and they
found the cafe owner waiting and eager
to talk.

“Sure I knew. Anna Mae Johnson,” he
admitted readily. “As a matter of fact I

‘saw her earlier tonight. Around eight
o’clock, that was.”

“Alone?”

“Nope. At least; not for more than ja
minute or two. She was meeting her
steady.”

“Know who the man was?”

The cafe man hesitated. “Well—yes
and no,” he said gts “He ‘and the
Johnson girl used to eat here occasionally,
and sometimes when he was waiting ‘for
her he’d sit and have a cup of coffee and
chew the fat. We used to talk about the
price of foodstuffs, vegetables and meat
and the like. He owned a.gr store in
some town between here and New Lon-
don, and made two or three trips a week
to the wholesale markets here to ‘do his
buying.” He paused and gave the detec-
tives a knowing look. “From the way I
figured it, he was sort of combining busi-
ness with pleasure, if you get what-I mean.
That’s why I never. asked him. outright
what his name was.”

However, -he was able to furnish a
fairly complete physical description of the
man. And at the last moment, as the
detectives were leaving, he remembered
something else. “His first name ‘might
have been Henry. Seems to me I heard
Anna Mae. call him.that once or twice.”

The next stop was the wholesale -pro-
duce markets down near the water front.
By this time it’ was close to one o'clock
in. the morning, but the markets were at
the peak of their activity. Patiently, De-
tective Sergeant Eagan and Monahan
started making the rounds of the :com-
mission stalls, seeking to! establish -the
identity - of the unknown man who had
been with Anna Mae Johnson that night.
They had the physical description pro-
vided by the cafe owner. They had the
name “Henry.” And they had the fur-

ther information that he was the owner.

of a grocery store in some small town
nearby.

Twenty minutes later thiey had the
name—Henry Brune. Brune had been’-at
the markets about an hour earlier. -He
had given a number of produce orders
and then departed.

More to the’ point, he had joked with
one or two of the market men about just
having come from a hot date. -

For the moment that was all ‘that
Eagan needed. Back at_headquarters he
put in a call to the Connecticut State
Police barracks and made known his
wishes,

And -in consequences, while jit still
legked one ‘hour until the-dawn, the ‘cau-

is country grocer Henry Brune found
himself being unceremoniously routed out
of bed by two uniformed members of the
State Constabulary. He made the mistake
of demanding an explanation, and while
his tearful and mystified wife was listen-
ing heard the words that were to nag him
for a long time to come:

“It’s about the girl you were out with
last night. The New Haven police have
some questions to ask.”

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( 8 )

.-"FHx-execution of a capital fentence fhould-es-

ver be dccompanied with circumftances of folemas

ity expreflive of public grief, and adapted to.niake
a lafting impreffion on all ages,. ranks and charges |

ters——particularly on childrén and youth: Suck
folemnity will greatly fubferve the. fecusity of- wr
ftate, and the caufe of morality...

Various: :crimes were made capital by: a

jewith conftitution, for peculiar réaforis which dé |
otvapply to-other people.. Nations are far trong |
| Beiog agree ime:the. number.sof:-crimes\ whit |

pumifhéd with’ deathy: (Rhee dircane } byes an injury fo great and irreparable, a cri

lances. of different nations’ may seeepaire them: to

have recourfe: to: this punifhment. for. different | petals
eximes. Nations in general have apreed totmake 9 'y
! ‘rime.
legiflator has:exprefily:interpofed his authority with |

murder, treafon, and rape, capital. The diviae

refpe & to the firtt.: And the: ‘reafon-affigned for
tho enalens oa thu
tumes and: people : It is thik: For in the
Ged made be man....‘The fecond, ,or-high tréafong

‘is murder increafed, and extended. to anh’ whole 7 1 t

community. ‘The laf is the érime’ for whith |

this malefaCtor is to fuffer death. . It-is-befide the 4

intent of this-folemnity to fpecify: Ev kre
which thedegiflarare and magiftracy of a-ftate ry
he-bound. td: put.away. by tor’ Si 3

tersuc: Such..we fuppofe: this: malefactor’s>o

to have been:.. ‘Seldon is:fuch an. offence fo: atti!

proved. For feldom is a delinquent: ait hk
defcription fo bold and fhamelefg. 6 8s ye

- I is on all hands agreed that a’ Citizen
may defend himfelf anita violent so A

( 9.)

|. omaagemdlR weg that a ftate may. defend her

ft fuch aflault. -When lenity toa.

Saiensosl would be cruelty to good fubjects, on
what d doth he expect lenity ? "The God of
| order hath vefted civil. government with authority

to. preferve itfelf—to provide for the perfonal fafe-

ty. and tights of every fubjedt.. He has command-

‘ed the civil magiftrate to put away any . tj
evil fromthe ftate. If this can be: done only”at

the expenice of life, then life hath been forfeited to
the-ftate. Ravifbment is fuch an outrage off hue

oe ul and ecw. ieee to. fociety,-

TameRi is a diftin@ion teen ‘he. forkieue

| ‘of ‘feberty, and the forfeiture of Hfe. ‘But the cri~
. atrocious conduct hath merited im- ~

rmagoof fee or life, doth not differ materially in

s moral character from one whom all will, ais

ife es adm:

| and dangerous, and therefore unfit, that fach an
Should live.. Thofe who are fo depraved

| Psa. Wiel moral character that they ean neither be
eured-nor tndured, are-in the civil ftate what a.
“mortified ‘member is in the natural body. Ae.

4 fuch member muit be.amputated for the’

, tiotof the body, fo ns.of fach cavity inaft
met Woofer d the SP iaion of tne ss The

B- matter

Rea Pag ape the fn tion thal iis wife 4

(( LI. )

ae ( 10 )

: ifhment mutt. be diGtated by .newenge.
| matter of* a. family expells from ‘his’ hetile ‘the nas gate of the. fuffering i he Ta came
| member whofe vefidence | in itis no lon; eontife | etalon, this, might appear- ‘{pecious.,
| egt‘with its order.and welfare, Should his’ one = t, from the nature of-it, regards a
ue datt as a citizen be equally vicious and dangeton®, | ~ingerch ; "te provides for particular Pparts.or

id the like power in civil government mult be exer2 f members in faherdination znd fubierviemcy 4p thy
cifed in fenten¢ging him to death—not to seis |

} good. whole. Surely -110 .indiv f
mnt. If -anworthy to live in his own coun gen ob hese intereft ic, rire te hs eg:
iseqaally unworthy to live in another.

tis itizen-—much lefs’ at. of
bath a in his own country, whete hath’ ie | a lens He cannot pe es
s? And what indignity to another: § 2. ndoned charatter, is not fpared to fpread

vip tifita it fuck: > eon <) ee she'contagion of 3 miquitys . ‘Tf rightecuizels ee
pd | anation, and iniquity is its jie Be _ e res

fabled A further ashen is to warn and

frat © "Pisst! mut. bea! very - ler
others of evil difpofitions. That tho/e wh i t fhich aby = fon xin with mun
main my. 4eqr and fear. 0) & @ffault his Y cllow-fubjefta, or to feduce-them from

“Wita this view the fu preme 1} raley, i in. ws | ~ their: allegiance. . That: head ef-a- family doth not
r eer t ene f of.the world, fon mates events | cont der what he owes to his houfhold; whe fuk:
ly fets- forth ‘im uals,*-2 CON ; nemt
nities, as an gample—an example of his righteous

br-of it.to fubvert all order, deeg-
ne 5 and an admonition to pos

dutys Nor :could we -prove the meral
| sod day oodnefs-ef God, My ogee spose
in. eile de “his providence. by-#he judgment

to this © >. Pun nt: ig his §
world intied with the parental deg not give iHiede delighte ‘Pane Butiif this henge ork
ialign. | \élaim, che will wheche plittering fords « and: is
and will lay hold on judgment. .. -Benevolerge
if calls for punithment in'this or an efter ftate,
.is-no: fuch thing as motal government.
4 fociety, the wicked would walk on every’

vita, preventing the extenfjon of j it.sa7 and: awal
ing ayuft awe in the minds of many, ie.

it not for® fach admonitions, would proce
commit all ini uity with greedinefs. Dh ,
threatnings as well as judgments recorded is ferip= | of the oppreffed:be-in tain) abe
tyre are all parental warnin nings. “The divine ine BO - an th 2 be. eheercds: confusion and
verament is a pattern to carthly rulers. ye, | ees: prevail, -were: punifhinent, capital

' SOME may imagine that punithment, never executed. In-

( 12)

“ INGENVOUS motives are the beft. “But uwvie |

how invafiy have fuch motives little or nd “inflas
encé ? It would be well, could we, in inculeating
morality, prevail with all by reprefenting the rea
fonablunete

the turpitude and mifery of vice. But wevare

compelled to perfuade men by the terror of fusare

judgment, and future wrath. With this-view'the |

{exiptures reveal future indignation and“ wrath,
tribulation and anguifh.. Yet even the tone
of the wrath of God from heaven doth not eft

itt hells Sesh: |

who can’ deftroy foul and b
gard to civil government, the /ove of it is the saoft
worthy ‘and fure principle of obedience-and>dib.

‘thiffion.’ But what courfe muft be: taken-with |
thofe who neither fear God, nor regerd “tman.? |

-who are impatient of controul, and break throug!
the reftraints of alt laws hrenvan and adixdge: Pi whe
-would diffolvé fociety, and introduce univerials

-nafchy ? If fuch would be the confequéence-offof.
fering them to live, they manifeftly ought-ta‘die,
that fo great an evil may be prevented. :Suchvex-
amples of public vengeance naturally “ftrike terror
-into others, whofe lufts and paffions might“impe
“them to the fame, or as great evil, weredit-nobf
“this warning. - Lider

THERE aré but few who ate made without fari |

So awful. and ftrange a punifhment efpecially/2s in
"a few howrs-awaits this poor prifoner,:is.calvul
and defigned to put the law/lefs.in fear. ./Onthis
occafion perfons of all characters have qémetoge-

ther: Poffibly there may be-fome!ia“this/great
* / S@aR-

a
* fk ot

, excellence and advantages of virtue; |

: ' ar ere 2 If this fpectacle. of bu

{ 43 )

| e, who: have been: kept back ir m, the
fame, likeexcefs-of riot, by no other con-
mete the fear of humandaws. To fuch
“Afmecially he.is now fet forth for an eenple, id
will -be yet more affecting manner in the al-
| fee. Very few have ever been more harden-
ed, and-audacious offenders... Yet even he informs
usyithat when in the midft of his career, one of
his affociates was tried and condemned, he, with
‘Sghisfe. that retained, heard and feared. © Well had

| ~ pbdbeon; if: had taken warning, and committed
j te tad But when they fount

wl ityithould be brought to light, how.dot ape

tpi ove a reftraint to others from com-
’ bd rea tok evil, it will not be exhibited in
\ gnats “They themfelves will have reafon to -
‘wdenowledge the divine goodnefs in giving them ~
Sewarning—a check will be put to fuch evil Be e
-\ ditties ¢Ehis example of new gue -

: -Teemay be.. heard: rof an the: king ome oo

( #4 }

prifoner long perpetrated the moft flagitiou’ erumesy
it nmy beacmeans of bringing his confederates
vice to deferved punifhment, of déteéting a Beape 3
villains, combined for the -vileft of putt, a

as dangerous toa community as the pelt Asacd itae
walketh in darknefs. It may be a reftraint-to-an

Bumepe, and: hath one to peed ‘im: ¢higsouns
eo Sut

Bur. whether it may be prefamed or not, “hat
shisibglentnc
and: besfolto with fuch fahutary
it is at leat: adapted toréftrain’ a
racter who may be witneffés, er hear of it: ig
this view its defign is important to:them,andsto’
the.community. If fuch a wariing .thould-siat
‘be hearkened to, it mutt argue ftupidity’atid: math.’
nefs in vice, which forebode Apeedy me haacerad
from: God and man..:-Seldem: ie GD AN EX
ample; fuck ia saonihg?" ad’ the ‘prefent. Goa:
‘Rrant.at may not be an admonition un Aby |
-fuch .whofe degeneracy makes it a néedful-one'to:
‘them. What fruit of his paft life hath this -con-

-demned malefaGtor ? The end is ‘a’ premature, 7 ment “which render it’dahgerobs:

mish SoS cimin

’ fhameful and» violent death. » Inv full: ‘hélthand
: ftrength, in-carly life, in a moment; on'a'g bk
- isto be difpatched into eternity. «- Gomnpamion

i felfealls forit--p public compafitor Tadd, sng

fion alfe-to Sache have entred on'a vicious courte, ° | care

or may be in danger of being feduced. The prifo- [ |
nev preachyeth a better fermon to fuch than lata: [ |

ble: Look-en-him, ye who make aimock of ff ;

hear, and fear, Behold, ye de(pifers! and “wander. |

felves after his exariple—ftifle the cheeks

may be. resent hammsen |

: peta former refpected fociety

| world,

( a5 ) |
ly wanderer from thepath of g ood eduitath
sytney defpifer: of. God and facred; oné

heap had no awe of ifin etd wrath; one who

himfelf in the fpo ils of his fellow men;
ary, who hath. fp peedilysflled u ‘his meafure oF ini-

: uit ‘end you: até to be
horrible praétice -which hath long :preyailed inj ity, ‘one of whofe timely-end you"

witnefles. this day. Beware how'you. harden

s jnftra@tion; and: defpife reproof—

} ote yourfelves to company who are in

‘bread road to deftruétion. Sueh - was: thé

€afe- with him who-is -now -fet before ‘ys bo

jepninige. do: hash eet reper “an
Adee fhit

: ssi ‘confencs eka raoughe moe ch

nig aa 4

a Tw ist eiadds us af aniathet end of capital: pur

mentioned at the beginning of my 6
5 the offender anda future wot
t retpeas the of aay

This is-a -eonfequence from our bjett.
‘erimes: for fuch feverity of puitifh-

For: which-eall for fu sak

al fhould any. longer live'on-earth, muft

s be a as fearlet and crinfony and‘ califor a re+

p “ star deep in proportion. - When nothing
rof de éathi can expiate his crimes againft his
or the ftate, his punifhment is in-

But ‘in this laft &x-

ad ! as to this world.
mit “1 {oul is commended to the diviné mer+
ey. + What hath beet ever wftial ‘tnder our heppy
say! Hs t; ought to be'the ufage in all, 10 allow

‘th i the

a Ce

ances

Ettelson, and Barney Graff.
Jacob Waixel had operated a store that

had burned, as had Louis Lampert. Isaac man. We

too, had shared in the spoils,
Waixel, Weisskopf and Fenerstock all

Kubizki and ] began a systematic canvass
of his known haunts, learned from Dis-

finally found out the identity of

One of his cronies and shadowed this man,
who led us to a rendezvous with Alexander,
t He, too, was indicted. 4

that the store was to be burned. He had Now th

at we knew what had been going

worked for the arson ring and

altogether, we had thirty-eight men in-
d.

all the details had been worked out, He, tained their innocence and hired expensive

Owned saloons and had knowledge of each_ it. In the middle of the trial, at the close

fire. Their part had been to furnish bills
of sale, showing thousands of dollars worth
of merchandise sold to the men who had
operated the stores, Actually, this stock

he said t
for it.”

defied them. ‘I’m going to tell the truth,”

oO the judge, “if I get fifty years

fined $800. The charges against Dave Ette)-
son were stricken, with leave to reinstate.

ing money by false pretenses and was
fined $2,000,

This ended the biggest arson case in the
history of linois up to that time.

Eprror’s Note:

The name Harry Cohn, as used in this
story, is not the real name of the person
concerned. He has been given a fic-
titioug name to protect his identity.

Additional chapters in this series will

appear in future issues,

After each fire, it was Graff who again
showed up to present the claim. When
it was contested, he produced the fake
bills of sale to prove the value of the
merchandise. In some cases, he produced

in his u
Owner of the burned store.

We took statements from all these men,
except the Ettelsons, and Barney Graff,
who refused to talk. With the signed state-
ments and other evidence, we went to the
grand jury and ‘obtained indictments
against ten men for arson and conspiracy house, po
to obtain money by false pretenses,

We later arrested Harry Cohn and I
questioned him at length about the death
of the Ryan boy. He admitted buying a
soda for Tommy Ryan, but denied putting
poison in it.

who kne

he beliey
why he s

WAS convinced—and stil] am—that the
I boy was poisoned because he knew too

When we tried to get an indictment

Dan Parker—Boy Detective

(Continued from page 59) distrusted banks
he had sewn his money in a special pocket

nderwear.

“That means he was killed by someone
w him well,” suggested Parker. .
“The murderer was looking for the money

ed Torrant carried on him. That’s
lashed his clothing and shoes,”

From a woman lodger at the boarding

lice learned that a man had called

a few days earlier. He had requested her
to instruct Torrant to be at a restaurant at
Burton and North Main Streets on March

night of the murder!

against him for the tailor-shop fire, we bloodstains on the coat of his suit,

failed. The pattern in this was Slightly

jury returned a finding of no bill. For
a time, it seemed that Cohn would go

He blandly explained that after leaving
Torrant the evening before, he had gone
to a saloon, where he received a bloodied

brawl. “The blood spilled down

free. my suit-coat,” he asserted.

He opened another tailor shop in the
Orpheum Theatre Building. It was in-

the night
covery.

Nechisnuk’s story was corroborated at

before. He made a startling dis-

right, but under, strange circumstances,

a retaliatory blow by “sticking out his
chin,” so to speak,

The irate victim obliged by hitting
Nechisnuk in the face. Nechisnuk’s nose
spurted blood, and the “fight” was stopped.
Then Nechisnuk, his suit-coat bloodied,
nonchalantly left the saloon.

Parker went to police with this story,

provide him with an alibi.”
Although Police were skeptical, they lit-
erally tore apart Nechisnuk’s Toom. And

° bleed—lending conclusive verification to

the theory Suggested by the Boy Detective!

TITLE MIX-UP

Suit has been filed in New York
State Supreme Court by the Eighty-Six
Syndicate Inc., recent purchaser of the
Yorkville Casino, to obtain title to
about two Square feet of land located
in the middle of their holdings.

The plot in question is one foot,
two inches wide by two feet, two
inches long and has not legally been
Part of the Casino plot since an error
was made in the deed in 1865.

About 150 Persons are involyed in
the ownership of the two square feet,
—Bill Rook

d
ait

SEP eis

NECHE SNOOK 9
12/3/19%9....

Joseph DeBona

Nikifor,

Dar Ber

Boy
‘Detective

That’s what they called him in 1919 when—as a cub

police reporter—he did a major job of sleuthing

pe PARKER, that dauntless man
with the black mustache, is famous in
virtually every section of the nation as
the entertaining sports editor-columnist
of The New York Mirror. But in Water-
bury, Connecticut, he is even better
known as the Boy Detective,

Any time Parker tires of satirizing—
for good and sufficient reasons—the ac-
tivities of certain ball players, boxers
and aberrant wrestlers, he can obtain a
job in that city—as a sleuth! Law en-
forcement officials assert he possesses
the requisite qualifications. Parker
proved that back in 1919, when he was
astruggling young police reporter for a
Waterbury. newspaper. 5 :

On March 13th of that year, police
‘headquarters was notified that the body
‘of a man had been found in an out-of-
‘the-way gully at the rear of the Slocum
| School. A squad of detectives hastened
/0 the scene—and the alert Parker was
‘with them,

\ A glance at the corpse convinced in-

vestigators they were confronted with a
difficult problem in identification. The
back of the dead man’s skull had been
hacked to shreds; and his face had been
mutilated beyond recognition,

Even the case-hardened investigators
were shaken as they commenced their
search for a clue to the identity of this
man with no face. But they discovered
quickly that every pocket of his suit
and overcoat had been cut out, probably
by a sharp knife or razor. The killer,
obviously searching for something of
value, had even removed his victim’s
shoes and slashed them to ribbons.

The body was removed to the morgue,
but lack of identification had braked the
investigation to a momentary standstill.
Parker, convinced he had a sensational
Page-One story in the case, refused to
call it a day. Returning to the scene of
the crime, he used his sharp eyes. Fi-
nally, under a heap of snow-sodden
leaves, he found a dirty envelope.

The envelope was empty, but faintly

white, hanged Conn. (New

marked on it were the words: “Feb. 19,

Torrant, 6654.” Parker took it to the po- .

lice, saying, “It looks like a pay envelope,
It may have belonged to the dead man.”

Supplied with this lead by the Boy
Detective, investigators checked local
factories. At the Scovill Company, the
paymaster recognized the envelope as
one of his. Consulting his records, he
discovered it had been issued to an em-
ployee, Fiore Torrant; address, 96 Hill
Street. ,

A disappointment awaited Parker and
the professional Sherlocks at this ad-
dress. No person by the name of Torrant
lived there. But another check at the
Scovill Company turned up a more re-
cent address for the man—216 Cherry

* Street.

The boarding-house owner at Cherry
Street said Torrant was one of her
lodgers, but he had failed to return home
the previous evening. Later, she identi-
fied the dead man as Torrant, and added
that because he (Continued on page 104)

Haven/Waterbury)

oo
bam gre ea oR: nip
Fs
. ae ~

Carthy and held the blade obtained, the detectives again questioned
sas it would have hung the prisoner. They showed him the death
d him how the blade

hatchet. They showe

4 Other officers came on the run. Keegan Detective Mc
his trousers front. ‘They re-

fully, It was against the trouser

picked up the hatchet care
new. The steel blade was still shiny and if thrust through the belt.
the handle was not worn. He turned to The blade fitted, a reddish-brown had smeared his tr, (
eS his men. smear. He nodded grimly. constructed the crime for hin.
“This hatchet must have been bought The killer had thrust the hatchet into The man listened sullenly and shook
's?” demanded for this killing,” he told them. “Get busy his belt after the murder, too! ; his head. a
. aren't they?” B at once. Visit every hardware store 1n Donahue and Stevens conferred with “J didn’t do it, he repeated stubbornly.
_ Nechisnuk town, Find out who bought it.” Keegan. . “J don’t know anything about it.
ill Torrant, I The detectives mapped the city into “We've timed the murder wrong,” Convinced that they had an air-tight
it.” : @ districts and details of two men each Donahue said. “We've been thrown oO circumstantial case against Nechisnuk, .
US get at th methodically toured the streets, visiting © by the report that a revolver was fire the chief inspector ordered him pooke \
ec every shop which might carry hatchets between two and three o'clock in the on a charge 0 first degree anurder. e
> Shoulders j ; in stock. morning. Torrant wasn’t shot, anyway. was held without bail for trial.
" In the meantime, Detective Jeremiah This murder was earlier. Nechisnuk can On June 17, 1919, Nechisnuk went on .
identification account for all of his time after about trial for his life before Judne Lucien F.
Burpee and a jury in criminal superior

o'clock. Torrant wasn’t seen after HY
And Nechisnuk is mighty evasive court. State’s Attorney ferrence F.
Carmody was the prosecutor. r
took the stand

McCarthy, head of the
bureau, took the hatchet into New York eight

gully in Rum-
to have the police there examine it for that.

loing between seven

(sa mistake,” q
s cut in, age rae fingerprints. On his return he reported about what he was ¢ ,
‘t night. You . that the handle had been wiped clean. and eight.” A. parade of witnesses S
the thousand i The routine check-up took time. Satur- “That’s right,” Keegan agreed. “After and gradually the state’s attorney built up
his clothing day night they had no luck and Keegan _ all, we had to take the time given us by his case against the defendant. His only
money?” . called off the quest until Monday. About the medical examiner. See if he’s changed defense was that the state was making a
ared momen- - noon on Monday, Stevens and Donahue, his mind since performing the autopsy.” mistake. He told the same story about the
s. Then he ne having exhausted all the hardware shops The two inspectors visited Corner bloodstained shirt that he had when first
‘¢ _ in their area, turned to the pawnshops. Monzani and Acting Medical Examiner questioned.
Brown. They put the problem up to them. It took the jury only two hours to A
i decide that Nechisnuk was guilty as i

After several stops they went down South

Main street. There they visited a shop and “Tt could have been earlier,” Brown

said cautiously. “You know how difficult charged. Judge Burpee promptly sen- j

officers were
to be hanged.

story in

that he fhe : talked to one of the clerks.
ind had not ‘ “Yes,” he nodded, “I sold a hatchet the — it is to determine exactly. The weather tenced him .
at night the. °" <2 s ast other day. The fellow who bought it stuck and other factors make a great deal of An hour after sentence had been pro- 5
‘ct to a cell 1 it in hig belt, handle down. He paid. a dol- difference.” : nounced, Nechisnuk summoned Deputy “f
resumed the 7 ge. lag and a quarter for it and walked out.” “What about the contents of his Sheriff John Weisman to his cell. His i
inspector’s , _ “What kind of a hatchet was it?” stomach? I1ow long had it been since he’d « sullenness had vanished. He was pathet- i
‘d to check = “Why, a lather’s hatchet. You know, eaten?” ically eager to tell the whole story—in i
i the theory : with a narrow blade.” : Brown frowned. “Quite some time. Six the hope of winning mercy. ; i
ination for * Donahue showed a photo of Nechisnuk oF eight hours, I’d say.” He had killed his friend, Torrant, to get '
to the clerk. Donahue grinned triumphantly. the money he had always carried on his i
es it! Torrant hadn’t person. The police reconstruction of the ;

looked up “That's the fellow!” the man exclaimed. “Then that clinch
aid he had ; “That's the one.” eaten any dinner that nig
ae They hurried back to headquarters Torrant was killed about eight o’clock. The killer’s repentance W

Then Nechisnuk deliberately tried to was rushed to the state prison in Wethers- .
i 3, 1919, he was hanged by the

where Donahue got out the trousers 0 1
n alibi by touring the bars field. Dec.
iv neck until the prison physician pro-~

crime was entirely correct.

ht! That means
as too late. He

turned u ia
2 first iP * SS the suit they had found in the suspects build up a
were ac- ‘ie room. The story told by the clerk stuck in around town.
‘ning until an his mind. He took the hatchet from Armed with the information they had nounced him dead.
Wwo weeks
nore than —_
ele.
t orra : e e
estaurant Slain Cabbie and the Bogus Lawman
not Goee [Continued from page 29] .
vate tl ”
cate th
wetrden have to call our evening off because T got told) that his man was headed for to know what had become of him but,
ave been a job hauling the same party | had last Frederickstown. again, the description fit Miner fairly well.
ind any Thursday. Regular customers are hard to There was something more than In jail at Benton, Miner denied every~
nt to get get and i can’t afford not to do it. Money strange about all this business. If Bolin’s thing and offered an alibi. He had not
is too tight these days.” passenger had not been an officer, and i been out of his home that night, he sai
Stevens, “He wouldn’t be trying to fool you?” he had later in the night attacked Bolin, —and declared that several friends had
wn that “Dolph?” she said, her eyes widening. why had he caused himself to be driven been in for the evening. [his was checked
v in the “T should say not. Dolph wouldn't try to _ all over the country—a total of 272 miles on and found to be true Up to 1 o’clock in
y close. fool anybody.” —on a hocus-pocus errand before making the morning. So certainly the prisoner
‘ant did “Then Miner and maybe a few other the attack? And why had he often flashed was not the man Jolin had hauled
> would people are doing some lying, looks like,” a badge and asked questions about a fugi- throughout the night.
ied and Hobbs said. ; tive in an old Ford? ; “Miner doesn’t know a thing about it.
looking With little more than Bolin’s remark to Hobbs procured a good description of Bolin made some sort of mistake in talk-
the young woman to g0 on, Hobbs, never- the stranger and returned to Chaffee. The ing to the young woman,” Hobbs de-
“Our theless, arrested Miner for questioning description in a general way fitted Miner, cided. d
nurder : and investigation. Because he wanted to just as it fit a lot of other people. But Although’ he was reluctant to discard ~
ve can follow Bolin’s 272-mile.trail while it was Bolin knew Miner. and would have re- any of Bolin’s statement, he was prepar- ‘
‘omor- still warm, he turned Miner over to ferred to him in_his notebook as Miner ing to call Anderson and have Miner re-
vs will Sheriff Anderson and at once drove to and not as an officer—or So it seemed to _ leased when he received a letter. This
Blomeyer to start a chain of endless Hobbs. was just before noon the morning of
ctives questions. : On the return trip to Chaffee the police Dec. 20. Whatever purpose the letter was ’
rsters. At Blomeyer he learned ncthing, nor chief’ stopped at the hospital in Cape supposed to serve, its effect was just the
lethal did he find out more at Oran. In a res- Girardeau. Bolin was still unconscious opposite. The man who wrote it had been
: boys taurant at Cape Girardeau, however, he and doctors held little hope for him. The a little too smart.
eaves. learned that Bolin and another man ha attacking weapon, they thought, had been .
‘rrant eaten supper around 9 o'clock — just as a hammer. : The letter said:
2 Bolin’s notebook had said. a In Chaffee, Hobbs went to Third and Mr. Hobbs, just a little information
was He did not strike _their trail in any Gray streets where he made inquiries 0 to you about this Bolin case. If you will
ards. other town until he hit Patton. Here the people in the district about Bolin and his go to Gray avenue and make a goo
e de- man with the taxicab- owner had flashed cab. Had anyone seen him pick up a fare shakedown, you will find something that
: wall a badge and asked questions at two ser- on that corner around 7 o’clock the night _will interest you. 1 went up there last
leda vice stations. His questions had to do of the attack? night to see Mr. Miner and a man was
t was with a man driving an old Ford, but he No one had. Several people had, how- standing on the porch with a gun in his
had apparently found out nothing. Ac- ever; seen a man waiting on that corner hand and asked mec what I wanted.
ook, he had been for some time that night. No one seemed thought he was the law and I left. I
. 73

cording to Bolin’s note

: Nw
Three Centuries of 992

New Haven, 1638-1938

by ROLLIN G. OSTERWEIS

Assistant Professor of story and Fellow of

Jonathan Edwards College, Yale University

New Haven: YALE UNIVERSITY PRESS 1953

London: Geoffrey Cumberlege, Oxford University Press

f 4 ]

Art — Have you virtuous and affeétionate ‘parents
ho, with anxious concern, endeavour to inftrié you in
ofe principles which are neceffary to fecure you -frory ina

lence and the returns of grateful affeétion ?
ifh to add one pang to thofe which a parent’s heart has
eady felt on your account ? —Think, O heart-rending

ade, as,this unhappy criminal, a public fpettacle of infamy |
d guilt !——-Could there be any forrow: like unto this
HTOW fm---Spare, O fparé a parent’s aching heart and let.
ere be no caufe to look forward. to a-feene which cannot’
borne even in. thought. wie SE apOE, Gao Ge: SOE
Hear, my. brother, the inftruttion of thy father, and fora
ke not the law of thy mother : for they foall bean ornament
Srace unto thy bead and chains about thy neck. Enter not.
g'0 the path of the wicked, and go not in the way of evif
cn. Avoid it, pafs not by it, turn from it, and pa/s away £
r they fleep not except they bave done mifchief ; and their
rep is taken away, unle/s they caufe fome.to fall. For they |
pi the bread of wickedne/s and drink the qine of violence,

ut the path of the juf is as the joining light, that fbinetB

wifdom, and your own experience will prove that the ways
wifdom are ways of pleafantne/s, and that all ber paths aré
ace. - Great indeed will be your peace when a dying Parent’
hall pronounce you an obedient and affeétionate child’; and:

semmending you in the quivering accentsof-death, ta’
natBeing in whom the fatherle/s Jindeth'mercy. May -he’
car and be well pleafed with this laft effort of parental loves,

our own bofoms. And may Goo in his infinite goodnefs,

ant, that when you fhall take the places of your fathers,

bu may never have caufe to feel. the. unutterable parigs of?
that

my like this? Can you refufe them an unreferved obes ” .
Can you ~

ftrained to the guidance of guilty potions and a-corriapt e

ought |’ think what would be their feelings, if they whom.
eit fouls love fhould for their over-much wicke diets ben

FF.

@ We here fee the natural produétions of a heart uncultivated! ae

ore and more unto the perfec day. Early chufe: this path’ Oe

d repay your refpeétful obedience and fincere affection into” -“@

et Sa
re HARD

cess

ae 4 a

that parent’s heart, who has a Jon that is a grief to bis fathers.
and bitterne{s to ber that bare him. : ‘

I would now turn my addrefs to the whole Affembly.. . it *
i

Men and Brethren, | | a i
I befeech you, in-the name of the Lorp, to confider feri i
oufly the things of which you are this day witneffes. Wet
have here a feiking evidence of the depravity of homey
nature ; that we are indeed “tran/greffors. from the womb'\,

at 4
Pee
, oo

and left to itfelf; that indeed, it zs deceitful above all thing”
and defperately wicked. At one view we now behold the} § ;
confequences of the firft apoftacy, and the iffue of actual tranfiy Be
gteffion. Surely the way of tranfgreffors- is bard : for be

that purfueth evil purfueth it to bis own death. Let us there n
fore hear and fear and do no more wickedly. Let every Jou,
be fulbje& to the higher powers, for rulers are not a terror te Wie!
good works, but to the evil. If thou do that which is evil ba “Ss
afraid ; for ye fee brethren that they bear not the fword ith We
vain ; for they are thé Minifters of GOD, to execute wrat ki

upon him that doth evil. Wherefore be fubjett, not only fot? 3
wrath, but alfo for confcience fake. q3 Tc hills

Let us learn from what we now behold, that if is an evig, Oe
and bitter thing to forfake the LORD our GOD. — Doubtleft 3
the pity of every one pr&ent, is excited towards this criminaly,
thus in the beginning of life condemned to death, and now}.
furrounded by tbe officers of par for execution. Indéedy a
that heart muft be paft feeling which: can unmoved , be ag Fee
witnefs to a fcene like this. But, while we indulge a genéroust Be
pity for a fellow-creature int diftrefs, let us fear left we fall inte
a worfe condemnation, as criminals before the Tribunal Ol
Heaven. For thus faith the faithful and true Witnefs ; Wes =
that believeth not is condemned already.* 1s this prifoner thers: ae

* John 3. 18.

[ 20 }

of? Wilt thou fet thine eyes upon that. tobicb ts note. foe i
muy =

riches certdinly make to, them/elues wings 3 they JY atay:s

a good education is a durable portion. Wi/dom' is. the

cipal thin "8 therefore get wifdom ; aug with all thy getting, oa 4 e

underftanding.t Surely every man walketh in a vain jhe

(rely they are sy aa in vain ; for be beapeth up riches and Z

kuoweth not who foall gether them.

It is indeed a part of parental duty ta attend to the wants | e
of a family and “ provide things honeft in the fight of all @
If any provide not for bis own, and [pecially for .

“Yen.” .

those of bis own houfe, be hath denied the faith and is worfe than
an infidel,

children and fervants, your care be confined to'their bodies

while their. Souls are left to ftarve ?—If your. children alk y i
bread will you thus give them a fone? ? Suffer, fathers, this
botdnefs: 4 fpeech :--if you condemn it I ‘mutt appeal 0.4

Sidiguer TRrBuNnaAL.

“Do you lave your children? © then, as you regard your : |
own happinefs and theirs, guard them ag the apple of your #
eye. While their minds are tender and open to every ‘im.
preffion, leaye them not unguarded to receive their firft’ ime: 4
preffions from a corrupt heart and a degenerate world. Be’ @.
affured, if you leave them uncontroyled to. the government of
their paffions, and the almoft irrefiftible inflvence of ill exam.’ |
ple,——~I fpeak as to wife men ; judge yo what I fay, they 4

will foon come forth well verfed in all the myfteries of i inigpl

ty. © Then will they repay your fond indulgence, or rather, @
Will they render you. “@
the returns of filial obedience and fincere affection i——--T Oo,
And as you never’
gaye.them any proofs of the affeftion of a parent ; but on the \

cruel negle&, into your own bofoms.
obey‘is a leffon' they. were never taught.

contrary, ** cruel tike the Oftriches in the wilderne/s,” left them

expofed to be trampled under foot by every paffenger : you

cannot ex

tion of a

to yourfelves the fall cup of wormwood and gall ?- a" ‘ae
at

t Prov. 4-7- 1 Pfal. 39. 4 -

This is the declaration of an infpired Apotle—.
HBut what do ye. more than an infidel, if,-in providing Cot your #

5. amiable ‘or praife-worthy ; but on the con
, = guilty paffions, and chufing the way swbich leadeth to death,~

human nature an

2 would not have known .that there is a Gop ;

BD and ter

a that they will regard you with the warm affec- ’ 3 ;

often pained,
O ye parents, why will you thus wring out |

kt
Sait al

ren aoagh a want ‘of saa peace patting pest: a
» devoted ti i

—They are malicious and revengeful and love contention

But do they ftop here ?

ad my Country, would ] now. draw ‘the veil,

-But fidelity. forbids, -———Be aftonifhed, O ye heavens{; 74

and give ear QO earth! 4 wonderful and borrible. thing i ae
committed in our land: and there are thofe who ips to have...

Gladly for the honour of ve :

- t fo. Children that have but jut learned to

fj 3
lifping forth horrid oaths and impious curfes, They pcb
ad they nots fie
been taugh« to trifle with his Name; that Name wich i fae 4 ae
le, for it is bly. And equally ignorant would they.
have been with refpect to a. ‘Dewees wide had they not learned 3 &

| to curfe their companions and, with impious boldnels, ‘$dap

“* their fouls ‘to. hell,” —_— === But I Te of

F hallowed ground. ——~— F cannot proceed, ca
4 |, My foul thudders at the recolleétion of the, horvid -xpreff

of curfing and blafphemy, ‘with which the virtuous ear is {67
darg net: repeat thent.. Should T |
atrem . it, it would but renew your pain : and I fear,. left,),
Rosi the “« a es lepropy,” its touch fhould leave me unclean.

“y, omy
=

tf 2 j

Now, ye virtuous Parents, fuffér iffe, wie yo ate weer

p thefe Tees of wickednefs; to Bring’ ~ Our little

milies, hetplefs and expofed to <a Rivest of Vite and in
n. “Are you fare: that

vo
pre not’ Lh al ay painful’ in ances of Bur -why'
buld f add tq fears already infppportablé P+... Diffic
d-is a parent’s duty, Bur can the ‘diffictity’ {6 far oe
urage you that you cart réfinguiffy pyees? Charge and ‘leave’
m tp certain infamy and’ rain # @ woman forget ber
king cbild @ "The more difficaly the'duty;, the greater are’
, exertions neceffary to diftharge it with fidelity and fuccefs.
t. a exertions forget not that exept tBe eae'h
i diy an watth ie in vain. ~"Phérefore,
mble*i mportunity 5 wreftle with the Gop-of Facb, and ler
In not go se usp he blefs yow in. your’ farnilies.

u Can protect therh ?

mw And now, fathers and brethréh, while’ you are’ inti the

bur children fuch.as will honour yest in lifé’arid be Bleffings”
Soétety, do nor forget, T befeec

pil is, under ftanding. O' teach them 'to fear that fa
nich Angels’ adore, and at whicly devils’ trembte,—=—
em,—O tell’ them, and write it u nthe alins’ of: their
ands, that they* may never forget RD WILLS
OF HOLD HIM’ GUILTLESS. THAT TAKETE

11S NAME IN’ VAIN, Exodus 20," 7.

Mapply tous! Becaufe of wearing. she land mourneth,
sudrdians’ of our Tec. poate peace t Shall’ an’ infule”

all ‘the barriers of’ virtue be: broken dowh ‘an

Virtue ! * Forbid ‘jt O my Country !

, e Bit
t> Jer. 23. 10. =

They ar? looking to gia aldne for’ wuiddtice and p apie j 3

inciples of wifdom and’ virtue, and endtavouriiig to make

OW; that the PEAR Of BS
e LORD is ‘the beginning of wife om + and fo depart i ,

stow. long fall ir be that ‘the’ faying’ of the Proph | x

red to ai inferior magiftrate not ‘pafs with” setae eh “and Jewel, in. a brighter,.cafltet,. being Jeft in’ its: naturakett te; es

the Throne
the KING OF KINGS openly infultéd’; and they”
ho-are: not £6 bear the fword*in' vain, ‘be. filent Forbid:

Bue recollecing an tbe time is fort I elofe: shin

with but.one confideration further.———lt és:
men ounce to die, but.after this the Fudgment = G Ford
BS himpelf fooll defcend fram Sandeas with: a frout, saul r Be
e_veice of the Archangel, .and-with the: trump. st
Heaven, : earth and hell are. moved, at his prefence;::and: thy
fleeping dead awake to fleep, no more,~—Then,. fathers,:¥
with. the. children and fervants..committed. to; » oti
be fummoned before the Judgmenat-Seat of CHRIST. vit
solo. Layee ene seer day. sig aad in i .
ecifiye trial, you can.ogeke Bhappeet te mirariy
Here, am. I and-the: Goan he thou .Hak-pivenime iy
thofe. which thou gavelts none: shave: perithed igeocton ‘nnyprin's
dulgence, or forgetfulaets of thees-+~urtutterable wall:be you? fi
joy and great your ate} ——~— ell . dine, thou. good’ TOR.
Late Irma ene sr te the joy of thy: scan d

“ie

‘ i
are thins ore ER ‘aig

I would.now. with the, warmeft affettidn, adarof si
to. the Younger, part of the affembly. .

_ My Young Briand. ss

“Te. you..the’ ‘prefent foene peaks in “fhikini lame
teaching you the value of .a:parent’s tender caress —iwF
not that crimes-are peculiar to the complexion of the: ek
and that.eurs'is pure from thefe.ftains. . Surely an idea fo illibe!$
ral and conttaéted. cannot finda: place in the 'breatt of a genie:
rus yOuth.-~~=-Know,. my: brothers). that.rbat .cafkery; not
boc pe edlour; Contains: ay immortal : foul,-a: Jews,
of ineftimable: value; whichy. ed: by divine grace;
fhine,.in yonder: world. with~ a: glorious luftre::

would be. Blacknele: and dankutfs: forever.

There behold, my you Hsetiheris they inves f ona; ene: 4
with a: mind not belew: pre dean bevel, vot oe, ho a
reftrained 4

a ' . zi Po ' %

, 5 ' it, Ls ae & =. ae iz 4 ti
ninto the time-of execution? So is the unbeliever faft bound wickednefs : this is the only time,---Be afhamed before GOD»

in the chains of fin and fettered by his guilty _paffions, unto
he final, dreadful day of execution: that day in which he @
that made him will not have mercy on him, and he that formed @

Don’t you with for mercy from Gop? You have told);
im will no favour, Letus a. pr ys y. : Fit
for bims6 f ; s therefore brethren, ‘take » me that you do. If he is not more mercifyl than you,#:

ced left there be in any of us an evil heart of unbelief, in Mm emember, if he has mercy upon}
departing from the living GOD. And when CHRIST wha @ yeocie will be ‘hia kaiwa eaokeen not from a seed
paint s life foall appear, then’ may we alfo appear Me thing which he fees in you :—He fees nothing in you but wick4¢
Beye te) ix Beery. fume } » @ ednefs,—a poor wicked creature covered with the innocenth,
blood of a helplefs child crying to you for mercy and youj

of your crimes, Think how cruel you was, in not§
fparing the little girl, when fhe cried to you for mercy.——~

After having devoted to the fervice of my Auditory fo 7 . tas :
‘uP hibited. @ would fh A Repent and believe in CHRIST, , Bee

any of thefe, to the prifoner, all-important moments, 1 mutt 4 4 is che. oily Savious i if you ce faved it will be for hist 3 ;

ow be indulged in addrefling myfelf to her, ina few words ~ ~ fake alone, Pray earneftly to Gop that he would pity yours,

ith great plainnefs of fpeech.

ignorance and have mercy upon you for Curist’s fake,—=y
Think, Hgnnab, of what you have to do——haften, or. ith

;

To the Prifoner. — ee ae how, &

| will be too late your time is fhort, poor girl, 7
H. Bb: the time for dj . Y @ much isto be done and how little time have yau.to do it.in ?= Be

; "i » the me for you fo aig is Come. CS; poor Your day is already far fpent, and, O dreadful though, JF ae
E irl !—in about two hours, your eyes will be fhut by death the night of death is clofe at hand.—-—The guard, the officers Fy
and you will not fee the light of this fun again forever, @ of juftice with all the dreadful attendants of your death, are, mE

his ig the laft time that you will ever hear my voice from now around you waiing for me to fo’ I muft fay nos
i place : for you are now going where I cannot fee yous; # ~ more a el S fovcwjell P May Gop in hist ae
nftr ou; or even pray for you.——- Yoggare going where *@® o1,03. EG pectic: : at ee
you will ind that thote things which I iavetold you are true. le’ eet goodadll eve Oe uae. life, and "have, Beg
Yes, you will foon fee that there is a great GOD who y y ° mane os a
oveth goodnefs and good people ; but és angry with the
svicked every day, and will punifh forever thofe whofe fins
are not pardoned before they die.— You will foon fee
that Saviour who came into this world to fave finners. You
will one day ftand before his Judgment-Seat, and if you do
ot, this day, truly repent of your wickednefs and truft in
iny alone for mercy ; he will pronounce againft you a fentence
nfinitély ‘more: dreadful than’ that which’ has’ already been
pronounced. ts
You are now going to be hanged until you are dead : after
hat .you will. know, better than I can tell you, either the
oys of Heaven, of..the miferies the miferies——O my | | 25
oul !—-—the miferies of hell. Oh Hannah! repent of your @ | . x
. neg wickednefS; :

eee

APPEND.

ss és
= > Siete Fe:

McELROY, Je Jey

New Haven County)

white, elec. Conne SP (WKEMKEXELAXNY

on Feb. 10, 1937)!

“Sho Wouldnt Lot
Me Love Hor!”

ETHEL Conners, nurse at the
New Haven Hospital, got up from
the table in the drug store, a block
away from the Hospital on Cedar
Street, and said to her escort, Bill
Jones, “Billy, it’s eleven, and I have
to get to the nurses’ dormitory be-
fore the doors close.”

The two walked hurriedly out of
the drug store, after Billy had paid
the check, turned to the right and
headed for the hospital. The night
of April 23rd, 1935 was a misty
gray. A street light at the corner
filtered this weakly.

Then suddenly out of the fog a
form came, staggering and
stumbling, doubled-up and mis-
shapen, and at first it was hard to
tell whether it was a human being
or an animal. It got closer, and
Ethel Conners cried, “It’s Anna
Mae... my God... what’s hap-
pened to her?”

Anna Mae Johnson, a nurse, was
on her knees on the sidewalk.
Blood was gushing from her throat.
It had covered the front of her
white dress, coloring it with a
brilliant crimson. Anna Mae tried
to say something, but her words
were only an incoherent jumble.
She struggled to get up, but the
effort sent her sprawling on the
sidewalk. The blood was still
pulsating in a steady stream from
her throat. ‘

Bill Jones gasped, “She . .. her
throat is cut... call the police...

“YI... stay with her”

Within minutes interns from the
hospital were at the side of Anna
Mae Johnson, trying to stem the
flow of blood. Anna Mae’s pulse
wags weaker and weaker, and as
she lay on the stretcher, one of
the interns said, “It’s no use. She'll
be dead before we get her to the
hospital.”

He was correct. Before the in-
terns could pick up the stretcher,
the pretty nurse had _ stopped
breathing, and the blood no long-
er gushed from the deep wound in
her throat.

DETECTIVES Raymond J.
Eagen and Joseph Monahan got to
the hospital five minutes after the
call to headquarters. The doctors
reperted to the two detectives that
the woman had died from a slashed
throat. The weapon, either a razor
or a sharp knife, had penetrated
deep into the flesh, severing the
jugular vein. It was their opinion
that she had received the wound not

Fixe CYS (VE ICTUIRE

more than five minutes before she
died as nobody could possibly live
any longer than that with such a
wound and no immediate medical
care. .

Mrs. Margaret Halstead, super-
intendent of nurses, gave the
detectives the background of Anna
Mae Johnson. She was 32 and had
entered the hospital about a year
before. Mrs. Halstead was under
the impression she had lived in
New Haven. longer than that, but
she didn’t know what she did or
where she worked.

“Anna Mae,” the superintendent
added, “came from Centralia,

‘Illinois, and I - believe she had
married but was separated from

her husband. As far as we know,
she was a pleasant girl with an
excellent reputation, and she had
great interest in her work.”

The two detectives went to the
spot near the drug store where
Anna Mae Johnson fell to the side-
walk, and using their flashlights,
they had little difficulty following
her route by the trail of blood. It
went back to the. dormitory door,
across the lobby and up one flight
of stairs. Then it continued along
the floor in the hall toward the
stairs to the third floor. Here was
a large pool of blood and beyond
this more stairs.

“Here’s where the stabbing took
place,” Detective Eagen said. ‘Mrs.
Johnson must have come back to

the dormitory, and either her kill-

er was waiting for her or this
person was her escort. Sornebody
must have seen the killer fleeing
from the building.”

Eagen was right on this point.
Freda Haller, a nurse, was report-
ing to Mrs. Halstead that when she
came in at the time Anna Mae was
attacked, she saw a man running
out of the front door. She didn’t
get much of a look at him because
of the fog and the speed he was
running, but she recalled that he
hadn’t seemed very large.

When this was reported to the
two officers, they called head-
quarters and asked for a dragnet to
be thrown around that section of
New Haven and all men answering
this description picked up.

Then the two detectives went up
to the third floor where Anna Mae
Johnson had her room. They found
a number of letters, none of any
value, but in a dresser drawer was
an Old Age Assistance tax bill sent
by the tax collector of New Haven.

On the back of it was written
hurriedly and with pencil:

“TQ WHOM IT MAY CON-
CERN

As my life has been threat-
ened, and I think it may be
taken, I would like Margaret
Halstead to pack my trunk and
have it shipped to my home. I
want my mother to have my
rings, in fact all my belong-
ings to do with as she wants.

My body I want the hospital
to have, and I’hope they take
it as it will save my mother
and family the bother and ex-
pense of a funeral. I haven’t a
great deal to live for anyway,
so it doesn’t really matter.
Maybe the medical students
can see what makes me run or
rather what doesn’t make me
run right at times.

Anna Mae Johnson”

This amazing last will and testa-
ment, scribbled on the back of a
tax bill, offered one important clue
to the detectives. The tax bill had
been dated two weeks before, which
meant Anna Mae Johnson had
written it within the last two
weeks, and her life had _ been
threatened in that time.

FINDING out who had threaten-
ed her proved to be another matter
and a difficult one at that. The
nurses at the dormitory talked
freely. They said that Anna Mae
had one admirer, but none of her
friends were sure who it was. -And
after all the questioning was over,
the two detectives realized that
despite the fact Anna Mae Johnson
seemed to have had many close
friends, none of them knew any-
thing about her, despite their
protestations that they did. The
amazing thing about all her friends
was that not one of them had any
idea where she had lived before she
came to the dormitory.

In the hallway of the dormitory
the technicians examining the floor
found a small, razor-sharp pen
knife which had no blood stains on
it. The knife lay in some blood that
had run up against the base board
of the floor. The technicians
examined it for fingerprints but
were unable to get a clear one from
it.

The technicians went out on the
sidewalk and followed the trail the
dying woman had taken. They
found a gray felt hat about twenty
feet from the door of the
dormitory. The rim had blood stain-
ed prints from a person wearing
gloves.

In the meantime, Detectives
Eagen and Monahan were question-
ing Pete Champlain, who owned and
operated the restaurant on Con-
gress Avenue where the nurses ate
and often waited to meet their
dates.

“Sure, I knew Anna Mae John-
son,” Champlain said. “She often
came in here, and last night I saw
her standing outside on the side-
walk waiting for somebody. A man
came up, and they walked away to-
gether.”

“Who was the man?” Detective
Eagen asked.

Champlain replied, “I have seen
him before, but I don’t know his
name. He eats here a couple of
times a week, and I have talked to
him. He is a business man, owns 8.
store near Old Lyme, and he comes
here to buy merchandise.”

“What does he look like?”
Detective Eagen questioned.

“Well, he is short and chunky in
build, but he has a wiry way about
him, if you get what I mean,”

Pretty victim of New Haven's most
baffling and brutal murder mystery.

Champlain explained. “A sporty
dresser with flashy ties and a
sport coat. He owns a bull dog, and
it usually sits in the front seat of
his car.”

This was all Detectives Eagen
and Monahan needed: They got in
their police car and drove to the
wholesale section of New Haven. It
didn’t take them long to learn that
this man was Frederick Ryan, a
merchant from Hamburg, a small
community north of Old Lyme.

A phone call to the State Police
in Old Lyme brought two state
troopers with Frederick Ryan to
New Haven within an hour and a
half. Ryan sat in the detectives’
room at police headquarters and
squirmed nervously in his chair.

“Sure, I know Anna Mae John-
son,” he admitted. “We're pretty
friendly, and I see her a couple of
times a week.”

“You were with her last night ="
Eagen said.

“Sure, I was with her.”

-“And you went into the dorm-
itory with her?”

) ETH TIVE

Araiu-May [953

y'd done .more ‘than
tock. But they’d done
the ride back.

sument,” he admitted.
; me letters and send-
me, and I told her it -
>». I couldn’t run the
ning one by mistake.”
omething then. “She
ne. What’s she saying

anything,” Eagan told
the never will. From
you made certain of
veakly: “I don’t under-

lainer. “You followed.

home and up to the .

ished her throat from

If-started out of his
Anna Mae? It can’t
a horrible mistake!”
mistake, Eagan told
doubted it, he could
e€ morgue and take a
ider the circumstances,

captain who
wing his refusal
2d and shot in
y @ gunman, or
ley at the rear
* to the hospital.

!
finite

iinet igi oiatl a) apis testing ott

See
ae Wine

baa

Ps 2 ? ta
it might be a good idea anyway... °

“No!” Brune almost shouted. “I -don’t
‘want to! Let me think.” And then an
even more troublesome thought. struck
him.. “How am I going to-explain all this
to my wife?”

“Forget about your wife,” Eagan: ad-
vised him. “Figure out how you are go-
ing to explain it to us!” He turned to
Monahan. “Where’s that that the killer
dropped?” -

Monahan had it on the table behind
him. He picked it up, walked over and
slapped it down on the startled Henry
Brune’s head. -

It was g full size too small.

But that, Eagan told himself silently,
might mean nothing. The wrong- hat
might have been picked up. Or the wrong
hat dropped on purpose by a man smart
enough to leave a falsé clue.

Against that minor discrepancy were
solid circumstantial facts. The time and
the place and the opportunity. Even the
motive, for Brune had admitted that
Anna Mae was becoming a little difficult
to handle for a man who didn’t want his
happy home disrupted.

had
on the second floor of the nurses’ dormi-
tory. The fingerprint men had returned it
a short time before with the disappoint-
ing word that there were no prints, no
traces of blood to be found on it.

“Is this your knife, Henry?”

Henry Brune stared at it, swallowed,
and shook his head. “No. I never saw it
before in my life.”

Eagan hadn't really expected any other
answer. -

It is highly probable that in nine -out
of ten communities Henry Brune’s goose
would have been cooked right then and
there. A gory and fiendish murder had
been done and there was at hand as con-
venient-and likely a suspect as the average
cop could ask for.

. Barely six hours had elapsed since the
slaying, but it looked as though the case
had been neatly tied up and was ready for

‘delivery to the District Attorney’s office.

D ETECTIVE SERGEANT EAGAN had
a deep-rooted distrust for surface ap-
pearances, however. And he had long

Mrs. William Drury, wife of the ex-

AND THE WIDOW WEEPS

police officer killed by an

assassin’s shotgun, was in her home at the time of the shoofing

and heard the shots,
husband dying.

then rushed

Four shotgun blasts were fired through the
front window of the car in which he was sitting.

second Chicago ambush slaying reported within a couple: of hours.

into the yard to find her
This was the

r Ss art
‘of A, ati Aart: SG ie ob ad pi } ~

“Eagan took! oiit the pocketkniife that |
beetii found. near the pool of blood |’

BALLET in
the BOUDOIR

It happened down Havene way,
A leneman sauntered by one

day, .

As I was dancing a ballet
In fust my—well—thin
negliges.

Of courses, I really did protest
’Cause after all, I wasn’t
ressed,

and I’ve confessed,
The picture really is my best!
P.8. If you don’t see it—
what a shame, er By
For Lana (me)—has quite a

SEND 25¢—for sample slide 4
and still of LANA, the gor-
geous star of ‘‘Shocking."’
Send new fer 200 feet reel!

8 mm. .$2.95 postpaid 100°

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1 enclose $........ {eash, check, or m.o.). | understond thot |

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bitter experience -that
when .a case loo too easy something
always happened to. upset the apple cart
—usually in court, when it was too late
to repair the damage. .

For vague reasons ‘that he couldn’t
quite explain to himself, Eagan was hesi-
tant about immediately booking Henry
Brune on a murder charge. Instead, to
the surprise of Monahan and the certain
disapproval of his superiors once they
learned of the circumstances, he let Henry
Brune go for the time being, with the
sharp warning to hold himself in readi-
ness for further police visits.

“TI don’t think he'll run away,” Eagan
insisted. “If he does he'll just be running
into a first-degree murder charge. And in
the meantime I want to. find ovt more
about this Anna Mae Johnson.” '

done. Back at the nurses’ dormitory a
series of interviews produced only minor,
sketchy bits of background information.
Yet two or three of the nurses who had
been friendly with the murdered girl all
came up with the same odd item: Anna
Mae had been nervous and upset for the
past months, and afraid to walk out alone
at night.

And then, in a- desk: drawer in Anna,
Mae Johnson’s room, the detectives dis-
covered a strange. bit of writing. It was
partly in the nature of a will—partly in
the eerie form of a morbid farewell note:

To Whom It May Concerns—

‘As my life has been threatened
and I think it may be taken, I would
like Margaret Halstead to pack my
trunk and -have it shipped to my
home. I waft my mother to have my
rings, in fact all my belongings to
do with as she wants.

My body I want. the -hospital to
have.and I hope they take ‘it as it
will save my mother and family the
bother and. expense of a funeral. 1
haven't a great deal to live for any-
way so it doesn’t really matter, May-
be the medical students can see what
makes me run or rather what doesn't
maké me. run rite at times.

Anna Mae Johnson

_ “She was afraid of someone,” Eagan
mused aloud. “Her life had been threat-
ened. Yet.she went out two or three
times a week with Henry Brune.”

“And she. got killed,’ Monahan said
tersely. ‘ :

“I’m thinking about that,” Eagan told
him. “It doesn’t make sense that she'd

a man who threatened to kill her,” He
paused, then added reflectively: “On top
of that, it’s a bit odd we can’t find out

| anything about her past life. Where she

lived before she moved to the nurses’

dormitory, or what outside friends she

had - besides ‘Brune. It’s almost as though

she had been running away from some-

thing—or hiding from someone.”
“Why?” Monahan wanted to know.
“To keep on living.”

however, it was necessary to open up the
door to her past. And before that could
be done the door itself had to be dis-
covered. , :
- Anna Mae had done a good job of con-
€ealing it. The hospital records held no
indication of where she had lived prior
to moving in to the nurses’ dormitory.
She had merely put down that she had
been engaged in private nursing, but where
or with whom. was a mystery. ° .

Then the matron: remembered some-
thing that had. earlier slipped her mind.

“There was a bill collector looking for

Eagan. “Anna Mae was busy at work at

~ as a

But that proved a little easier said than”

deliberately court death by going out with .

To trace the root of Anna Mae’s fears,

her: two days ago,”. she told, Sergeant’

Pane ae ee

the time, and he said he’d call back later.”

It’ was a tentative lead, and Eagan and
Monahan went to work immediately fol-
lowing it up. That meant listing the col-
lection agencies in the city, and contact-
ing each one—a routine job that could be
quickly done, and that quickly bore fruit.

For at the third agency called there was
a record of a_delinquent-bill complaint
against Anna Mae Johnson, made by the
landlady of a sooming house on York
Street.

Within 20 minutes Sergeant Eagan was
at the indicated address. The aggrieved
landlady had only negative information to
offer, but it somehow fitted intg the odd’
pattern of Anna Mae Johnson’s life. She
had lived at the rooming house for some
seven months and departed owing six
weeks’ rent.

“Many men friends?” Eagan asked.

“Not in the house,” he was told stiffly.
“I don’t run that kind of place.”

He carefully rephrased the question.
“Did she go out often? Did many friends
call for her?”

“She didn’t. go out much that.I know
of,” the landlady finally admitted. “She
used to get a lot of telephone calls from
the same man, but most of the time she
wouldn’t answer. Something funny there,
if you ask me.”

“Remmeber what his. name was?”

The landlady shook her head. “Never
knew it. He used to say ‘just to tell Anna
Mae it was Joe calling.”

However, the landlady did have one
item of possible importance—Anna Mae’s
\previous address,

That was on Edgewood Avenue, and

Eagan lost little time in getting over there.
He had been made aware by then that
his superiors were more than a_ little
doubtful about the value of his activities;
on the face of things he was wasting his
time chasing down a vague hunch when
there was a perfectly good suspect at
hand. *.
. At the rooming house on Edgewood
Avenue the trail grew a bit more definite
in outline. For Anna Mae had lived there
for some two years.

“Alone?” Eagan asked.

“Well—yes,” the landlady decided after
a moment’s hesitation. “The man she
was engaged to lived here also. But they
had separate rooms, you understand.”

Eagan understood. Diplomatically skip-
ping the matter of rooming-house
‘morals, he concentrated on learning about
the boy-friend. The landlady was voluble
and informative. The man’s name was
Joseph McElroy. He was.a steamfitter by
trade, but apparently it was a trade he
had some difficulty in following, for oc-
casionally he worked as an. apartment-
house. janitor or sometimes as a cook in
cheap lunchrooms. More often he did
nothing: And he had a hot temper.

“That’s why they broke up,” the land-
lady went on. “I couldn’t help overhear-
ing their fights and arguments. He was
jealous, and Anna Mae liked a good
time.”

In consequence, Anna Mae had packed
up one day and left, leaving no address
behind. But apparently Joseph McElroy
had managed to trace her, for more than
once the landlady had heard him attempt-
ing to talk to her on the telephone.

“You mean_he still lives here?” Eagan
asked slowly.

“No. He moved last year to a cheaper
rooming house. On George Street. I’ve
got the address here somewhere.”

So. George: Street was the next stop.
And here Eagan found many _ things—
everything, in fact, but the elusive figure
of the man he was hunting.

For McElroy still lived at the George
1 Street address. He wasn’t in his. room,
but there were other things there almost

as importan
discovered a
of snapshots
clothes ar¥i
costumes. 7
man—a ma
diatel:

The
Eagar
marking in
was 6%!

There we
reau. They

And also
and stampe
been maile
Anna Mae
tal Nurses’
and Cedar

Eagan op

Anna !

I am
you won
Now, A!
my razo)
please w
Now ple
answer t
to get ir
only mak
self, so |

Rememb:
throat, Eag
Elroy had
Eagan sent
left him a
case McEli
headed fo:
armed wit
Elroy and
from the |

Within h
and telety;

By that
It was. bar
Walter Dri
was drivin
residential
That was vy
of a shor
clothes’ sta
edge
dow
turn
boruci iy

Officer
looked an
Jones Hill

Driscoll
minutes la
over his c
of Joseph
coll realize
of the furt
few minut

At once
headquarte
layed into

ROM tl
rapidly
Tuttles as:
search of
Jones Hil

10 |

j 2 | eee

call back later.”
, and Eagan and
immediately fol-
it listing the ¢ol-
ity, and contact-
iob that could be
uickly bore fruit.
called there was
nt-bill complaint
on, made by the
house on York

geant Eagan was

The aggrieved
ve information to
ited into the odd’
vhnson’s life. She
: house for some
arted owing six

Eagan asked.

e was told stiffly.
f place.”

ed the question.
Did many friends

uch that.I know
/ admitted. “She
:phone calls from
t of the time she
hing funny there,

name was?”
~ Sead. “Never
: to tell Anna

., did have one
ince—Anna Mae’s

ood Avenue, and
getting over there.
vare by then that
ore than a little
e of his activities;
e was wasting his
ague hunch when
good suspect at

use on Edgewood
1 bit more definite
fae had lived there

ed.
jlady decided after
. “The man she
ere also. But they
you understand.”
Jiplomatically skip-
»f rooming-house
{ on learning about
adlady was voluble
man’s name was
‘as a steamfitter by
it was a trade he
following, for oc-
as an apartment-
imes as a cook in
fore often he did
a hot temper.
‘oke up,” the land-
dn’t help overhear-
rguments. He was
{ae liked a good

1a Mae had packed
leaving no address
ly Joseph McElroy
her, for more than’
heard him attempt-
the telephone.

lives here?” Eagan

ar to a cheaper
ge Street. I’ve
___ where.”
was the next stop.
ind many things—
it the elusive figure
tating.
ived at the George
Yasn’t in his room,
things there almost

NSE SE TE eee,

HD RADII oN Hi

Fe IOS

la ER

/
as important. Detective Sergeant Eagan
discovered an album containing a number
of snapshots of Anna Mae, some in street

‘clothes and some in revealing bathing

costumes. There were other pictures of a
man—a man whom the landlady imme;
diately identified as Joseph McElroy.

There was an old hat in the closet.
Eagan picked it up and looked at the
marking inside indicating the size. It
was 6%!

There were two razor cases on the bu-
reau. They were both empty.

And also on the bureau was a sealed
and stamped letter that obviously hadn’t
been mailed: It was addressed to Miss
Anna Mae Johnson, New Haven Hospi-
tal Nurses’ Dormitory, Congress Avenue
and Cedar Street, New Haven.

' Eagan opened it and read:

Anna Mae:

I am writing this note to you as
you won’t write me and talk with me.
Now, Anna Mae, I will send you
my razors and knife'to do as you
please with, only don’t be afraid.
Now please give me a_ favorable
answer to this and I will stop trying

spotted the man who looked like: McElroy.

Within twenty minutes Detective Sergeant
Eagan and tective Monahdn had ar-

rived on the scene to aid in. the hunt.

It was a full two hours, however, be-
fore eventually the officers tracked down
a shirtless, unshaven figure lurking be-
hind a boxwood hedge—a man who
nodded sullenly when asked if he were
Joseph McElroy.

Eagan eyed him thoughtfully for a long
moment.

“You forgot to shave this morning,
Joe,” he.said casually at last. What hap-
pened to your razors?”

McElroy didn’t answer directly. ~‘In-
stead he mumbled: “What do you men
want with me?” ;

“You dropped your hat last night, Joe.
We've been looking for you to give it
back. That and a few other things.”

At New Haven police headquarters,
when they searched Joe McElroy, they
found another unmailed letter. This one
was addressed to Anna Mae Johnson's
mother in Centralia, Illinois. It was a
rambling, incoherent letter filled with. bit-
terness and hopeless jealousy. It out-
lined all the things he had done for Anna

to get in touch with you. You are ‘ Mae, and the gifts and help he had given

only making it a lot harder for your-
self, so please let me know. .
oe.

Remembering Anna Mae’s _ slashed
throat, Eagan wondered morosely if Mc-
Elroy had delivered the razors in person.
Eagan sent for Detective Monahan. and
left him at the George Street house in
case McElroy returned. Then he himself
headed for the central police bureau,
armed with the snapshots of Joseph Mc-
Elroy and a physical description gained
from the landlady.

Within half an hour a three-State radio
and teletype alarm had been broadcast.

By that time it was shortly after noon.
It was barely an hour later that Officer
Walter Driscoll of the West Haven police
was driving his patrol car through the
residential section along Jones Hill Road.
That was when he noted the hatless figure
of a short, thin-faced man in rumpled
clothes’ standing beneath a tree on the
edge of the sidewalk. When he slowed
down to take another look, the man
turned suddenly and darted off across the
bordering estate. :

Officer Driscoll frowned. The man
looked and acted like a vagrant, and
Jones Hill Road was no place for vagrants.

Driscoll drove slowly on, but not five
minutes later the “Wanted” alarm came
over his car radio.with the description
of Joseph McElroy. And suddenly Dris-
coll realized that it was the description
of the furtive man he had spotted only a
few minutes before.

At once Driscoll contacted West Haven
headquarters. There the message was re-
layed into New Haven, and to Eggan.

ROM that moment on, events moved
rapidly. West Haven Police Chief
Tuttles assigned all available men to a
search of the estates in the vicinity of
Jones Hill Road where Driscoll had

her when he was working and had money.
And it told how Anna Mae had thrown
him over when he no longer had work,
and had started going out with other men.

Sergeant Eagan read it slowly, then
looked at the man before him. i

“If you couldn’t have her, no one else
was going to. Is that what your idea was,
Joe? Is that why you killed her?”

The tense, thin-faced man stared back
at him. Then suddenly he cried: “I was
going ‘to kill myself, too, but-I lost my
nerve. I didn’t want to live without her.
You don’t know what she did to me!”

“Maybe we'll never know,” Eagan said
softly. “But we know what you did, Joe!
That’s all that counts now.”

Half an hour later McElroy had signed
a full confession. Indicted for first-degree
murder, he was brought to trial before
Judge Carl Foster in- the New Haven
County Superior Court on October 6th,
1936. The trial was brief, ending the
following day with a verdict of guilty.
In February of the following year Mc-

Elroy was executed at Weathersfield State |

Prison—the first man in Connecticut to
go to the electric chair.

Only Sergeant Detective Eagan’s dis-

trust for easy cases and his curiousity
about the mysteriously cloaked back-
ground of the murdered girl had saved
an innocent man from a long-drawn-out
trial: and possible conviction.
’ Henry Brune had a‘lot to be thankful
for. In the face of damning circumstantial
evidence, Sergeant Eagan had believed
the philandering grocér’s story. '

But at last reports, Henry Brune was
still trying to explain to his wife.

. Eprror’s Note: To avoid further em-
barrassment to a man completely innocent
of Anna Mae Johnson’s murder, the fic-
tional name “Henry Brune” has been
“used in the foregoing story instead of the
real name of the philandering husband. .

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_—

er Sok kn

‘a hn ls Nie Nol a eae aati ,

(18)

sah juftice of the punifhment to @high she

émed; and feared the wrath of God*thore

Aithat'of nan: His trial and prifon awakeried —
hie Gonftierice: He was refigned to his deftiny'as. §

what ig ea ‘He adminiftred'a moft per~

have E Rete py and befo
Or with the p fern .ould-n
- oy ent sepabahn fern
God bem

tinent f to his companion in fin, ‘whowith | Reiin’

an-air- of levity, ‘and with ridicule on his‘ tongue;
ring 2 eapital punifhment—ridicale pom

oni na Sco One, who-was thet ‘efit i: ~ teernefs of foul, then

vols to Lave pr ereranbr. nyginel anon ing | OPE fus was fent to. hea
sf “raved 4 itauitderers: | ma So hearted. The fact aces, of God are

Bat: pa =a {pirit, + \nlalamiabanetiiaesiat

a In thefe coh tatniy ta ‘of tenet

fei lage tmaléfactor condemned himéelf, i ft fied
God , rebuked the: reviler,' bore teftimony: to: the:

8 . “i ee
afb vic.tals, wickentaae
aE stoi a es oer ee =
OY Halls. e 4p ak: COM

1CKE: :

ne r Of Jets; confefled Hinwas the Chrift of | & themél lves.apainit

God; iy ed an Coe a Rp oaiced fhe: for

‘Sys wh a eaxtoutapement doth hit an j
ford tothe unbelieving, unconcernéd finer’ ? wat
ancouragement :t6 on who laaghs at deftrin

keer: od Bes

phis es to the vee,

Ee : efus, and the Spirit, ‘ Shek
ave nuek orgiven tetiedeae

fenfible of: theobligation, and Jove much: ‘
found weepitig at the feet of Fp way ‘

ut wien he‘éame to

Pe a ¥i5

Sorts ae nn wy
: TCTt CE, Pe
y => ne “Sige * i o me if =
; net while wafting hisfubance in Hed’ | A
fe ee ae ee ae ie 2 e ig
Clr > @F § wal ete - F fs

pointed ? while they think, to, outebrigen, 1x
weragh,, at whofe “ prefence ¢ Temata! C uake,
ae bills 9a and the world and ; all, herein
ogteee pried; dug t ignation t

veryfavourable pi ones of 8 true iit 5) anioe- atthe

late of a profligate life, there »: ul be. the-t .

4 evidence e of the reality. ‘of fuch re ent ips

ake | ty.is 3 t left to apn 4 the: incerity, nd
r

ing forth; e fruits of it, There. cannot.
be she comfort and hope w rhichsdis santo: |
fine There is not fe. to, -fface,.. bythe ek.

( 22 )

convert himsy|et him know that :he who -eongert.
eth ‘the finner from the érror of hig way

a fuk from death, and (hall hide: a mula

fins?’ Great finners maybe reclaimed With
God all things aré poffible,. ..
Some finners, if, faved at all, are vivckod | as.6

brand out f the fre, And this, I; iam, yr ate
to tell you, is the utmoft. we can he

atielanc chil bleh ie .°SineesFobe ,
you have’ by no means given thé evide!
true contrition, Your circumftances have
‘upon you,and Chrift’s minifters..have:called a
you, .to'repent in duft and athes—to ceil va
your life, to flee for. refuge to canccde uaa
faveth from fin, and fr
for you: in’ ‘public ‘and sirtwte We aoa — ‘to
perfiiade ourfelves that you werea\prifoner.of top
and have moft affectionately warned and intreéate

you to turn to the flrong ‘bal. ‘And. did Inet
think: it at leaft: poffible, that there. may. yet. be
smetcy in ftord for you, I thould hdl hay hirsaear
‘plies with yout. requeft to. preach to ye
you, .thetefore, I oncé mo re: ae I.
‘reddy: tOcbe: offered a. vi

BY) cae pie, ih: ‘the Jangitage o!

not your heart.”

= He Wrath i 2

ae.

Ir the hiftory of your life, atom rom 4

migtia and this day publithed,. _ may be.

§ Bery-yoti have’ procetded to’
ie andfrom'thefe to: rob
| have sy

sissy three years you have lived in ai diffipa

1 told the-world. ‘Tf your hi
out dee srorld,

1 an act of the deepeft injuftice to numbers’ of yoi

(ag

you have been ‘alinoft invall “evil for fixtetiy years
‘5 that ig, ever fince -you-wete-fevéntcen years
old; and ‘left your rnafter’s family! You-have per-
fonallys and in: company with others, been guilty.

of high-way robde vib t tobe evfetteyiittinces
of burglary Once at leatt ¥ of theft repeatedly 5 and
for rape wi are now to beexecuted. > From robs:
aming, vide wna’ des
How.many
t feduced ? How many have you ; ruined,
‘character and eftate ?. From early youth to .

on, lewdneis and J You ha
fro"in the~earthy*as Satan’ ‘your ahafter, feking:
whom you might devour: You tone hen your:
s in contempt of every duty to God’and your’
y-men, and ‘gloried in your’ fhante.. You:

ae q have therited the punifhment you are notww'to fof

hantwenty times.
ae

I fay this on the fap-
polition that you

rare fuch a pean & as have now '
tor your de-_

iy equally manifeft:” * I beth ‘au you! Be.

yowmock at thes

tiows fins. You béaft of pretended valof’as a.

laifi, in the moment of death. ‘ Yea, you die with:

2W-men, whom you now accufe of &!

with you, for a number of years, it 4

peed “You fill perfitt to affirm, then oad |
y you havé piven of your life is: true: in every

el Feeep reap no advantage from ae—

chiviig'the'World in-which you are no lenget to.

iv@*: Dthall therefore’ fuppofe’that ‘you ‘have -

pide Packs ane bce Stem snip Ae te ne ia tan

ere cca eo MACARONI <URP: Re A Seale J
ws wel tg anaes Malbec oe oe te ons lage D605 Sadi 72

(a0. ) |
tb cate’ SF Chtittianity and of virtues “PHere-is

“fot tine té‘undo what he hath fone ie |

id his fellow-men. ss
Turse’ things we obferve: on the favonrildl

eee of true evangelical repentance, after a

t in’vitious indulgence. - Butfuch re
ithe ig ig’ faré.<-More ‘generally thofe:who:.
ed the riches of God's goodnefs; ‘schteebtiie
lap faltering till the clofe of : their” days,’ ‘go
> Indus ig an hard and ‘impenitent “heart,

“treafurine As the “day * of “wrath-:
Some remarkable’ ‘provi

their, fecurity, fo that a bad life may have ended

well. ‘Bat though this may bé a-reafon-why's nome 9 -<sus-
thould a ir, who have thus wafted: life; isit or | gph: be:
as. s forcit ea teafon why note Bien Pte v

guia A asian ort ee
Yeu “WOU you i tefer t6 your dy ying bots? Hot an.

Wy ‘the Shoe bs bufinefs of life, “bit alfthe much
mA difficult bufinefs of reforming and renoune.

“ing habits of’ fin. and excefs‘? Is’ not: ‘the natural }
'“bitterniefs of death enough, without “the pte:
bitterhefs of fin imtépented of, and- uncane
‘Laden’ with an heavy toad of guilt, wittehs coal
Ot anyradditional load of infirmity; would been. .
vy. ertough; How ‘will ‘the finiier, “on the vergeof 3

eternity, fa Sport his own réfleétions |» ~ *

WuHAateveR afpect any of the preveding te- |

‘He@tions ma‘ y have on fuch as have five without

‘God in the world, and at the*éhd ‘oftheirsdays:

mote thhs, “: How have I havea nibs chin

tion to him, hold ‘up-fallacious.. ‘é
maple to been and Fraps dee BOTS

ce thay, inf aefewelivan.. |
‘ces, have roufed open’ and. flagitiots finérs from |

‘ om $ i head. _Heis fometimes fen with th

‘( at)

my heart defpited teproof,’--whatever afpeckthey

‘have-on-the: fate-of the unhappy man, - here
or dine they-are,: I am perfuaded, : ithe words -

| of truth and fobernefs::;. However. diftreffed we

may feel for him, we may not, inthis lalt inftruc-
ce to ches, who. warned

x ’ or on once more am a shes to sade You,

Fepph Mountain. -No more. will you ‘hear the
oun

fel of. God. from a) of: his corsagie . Th

felt as 2 -maafi,. ‘More as a a Chriftian, i yet:more
~ asa Chriftian minifter. ; It isa weighty argument
“with; us; to,warn: the. wicked,. ‘that we watch for
fouls as:thofe, that mutt give account... Ifwarn-
“ing-is not gi given them, andshey die in |

-quity, their. blood ‘will. be required.at

wicholy meflage, “ Hedr ye
ftind ‘nat ;.,. and fee ye indect, biit perceive not.”
- But this*defperate meflage no fpiritual watohinien
amaydiretly. apply .to any, - unlefs divinely itifpir-
ed, on co oned in an extraordinaty. anne.

enera! | encobragement to. warn, and’t

is in sis — If.any,do_err. frem the truth, Pet Lone

( 16 )
the, convict a {pace of repentance. © To Hunry,jatt
immediately: from an earthly bar to the bar of Ge = nd.
rdinary cafes excepted) feems to a

¢ be
ef. “fenhibility, and. compaifion.: ‘To, give hin Ope

portunity to.confider, and give glory: te: God bea |
fore he. dies, is.the united dictate of humagi fa

morality, and chriftianity. Hes
Ting fituation ofa condemned. pol

toto in a dark. prifon, an.emb em {

pline.

tion of fome. ‘The.natural horror of death,

peculiag kind of death, conduce to arreft the
mad With. aPBt ni 10S of, SAGES see peer eees

tence of death Hr the execution of it, has “ oh 1e-
fer, moft ferious confideration and _penitential, fore |
raw. The mind is not thrown into fuch agitatin. |

on as precludes fober reflection... In the fituation

above Sted it oth tye malefactor, whofe mind is. ah

ughts than. chalet aie

ing pov a. reat ‘alvation,
henfions than, temporal deftruction,
view of the latter may be improved as a ae

quickening, hing in flying from the we

"hia * ; Sad

‘ ar
| fop to. be thankful that-his wickednefs was dileoy

+} vered, and met.a merited -pt
} justice: The-expectation of.
‘fleth, ‘through the,operation

) netted: the thadow: of death,.

" Pusha of his execution fi Mi

| fering Redee

§ demnation?, And we incieen seis for.we receive:
| : the dite reward of. our deeds’ 5 « but. this: nan Nath:
a donevnothing: ‘amifs.”. 5 and ‘as
§ unto Jefus, Lord, remember-me en oon paraner

rm )
will have reaa

@.means of faving the foul. deorad rath, ane

a multitude of fins. : Such.as.* fit te derles
being bound: i in
vand iron ; becaufe they. rebelled-againtt.

1 the wordsof Ged, ‘and contemned the.counfel of

themoft-n1icH ;” have had. their heart Seongre

4 intend destn—have pee unto, abe Lord i in the C trouk
it as a.moral means of opening _ ears to. diltie.. | _of sworfe-darknefs thar
By this means hath he fealed the infageet )

| any: outward: 0 Ones: tie been:-broken.-
ditional. horror from the expectation..of fach, | a ir
4 cy on the'crob. - Bat he was-a. penifents: -nk-aige

a wuiler, %

‘Tue fcriptures’ ometioaaeh who fou

There were two melefaétors on: the-croft:
eziee:. sme of'them railed on ‘the fufe.
jing, 3 Sena cydatang
The other pevoriaty his faying, s*.Doft thou
‘not feat-,God,- feeing thou; Stele he fame ,

He:

rarest aking dom... And Jefus:faidvunto shims!
To day shalt thou be with

fee to whom thats reviving”
indeec _

DANIEL ALLEN HEARN

George Godding of Fairfield for neglecting their
charge:..of Thomas Newton prisoner, are fined 20
shillings: apiece which sd. fines are remitted by
the General Court 15th May 1651 as appears by the
records of that court. And Thomas Staples, for the
same with some greater aggravations, ts fined 40
shillings which sd. fine ts brought down to 20s
by the General Court the 15th May 1651 as appears
by the records of this court."

Schenk's :History of Fairfield. cites a since perished document which is
purported to ‘have said that: Newton "escaped to the Dutch". It is probably
true. .Atzany rate; he-abandoned his’ sizable holdings ‘in- Fairfield sometime
late in the year 1649. His estate was sequestered by the colony and sold

- 5offiin that. year and the proceeds used to defray trial expenses, etc. Hence

there is enough to convince me that Thomas Newton escaped and; was tried in
absentia at Hartford. 3 |

To return to Elizabeth Johnson, her execution was apparently scheduled
for June 6th 1650 at Hartford. She had previously arranged the placement
of her son in anticipation of her: death. However the matter becomes further
complicated: by: the following opie in the General Court: Records dated May
15th 1651:

"This Court grants their consent that Nathl. Rescew

should have Goodwife Johnson's child, whitch was born

in the. prison; as.an:apprentice to him till he ts:of
co or oe othe age: of :twenty-one years: and: that the: sd: -Rescew
wie Silt oy tehall have .10 sea wtth him out ‘of ‘Newton's: estate."
es SSS Dee $O% f DLAs Bias Seto he dead : i PRGEBAN | 3.8) Sth i Dest ‘ 3
wider BEY Ate deo Canp 6rlt od aR ee See "en 5 Be

Now: what does this»mean? “Nearly: aiyear: haiti ‘gone: bye ad: Elizabeth beans x:

executed? Sreve=tseneweteetelmowiere, Note that she gave: birth ‘in prison
and. ‘that ‘the child was: bound out:to mo:other than the Hartford jailer!. =:
Ituis ‘obviously a different .child:than that: which:had: been apprenticedat::
Stratford..Could it be. that dreading the, fate which-awaited her, - Elizabeth’

-Johnson enticed the: jailer, : became. pregnant by him and. thus: attempted *to

escape the death penalty by :"pleading her belly"? The: fact that the child
was bound to the jailer would: support ‘such a theory. But ‘what is not so
easy to.understand is why.the. support payments for the. child should come
from. the: estate of Thomas;Newton! Or was the ‘child really ‘Thomas Newton's,
who, having fled, could not: provide a home sabi it: saan messi wots peta.
support-it out of his:confiscated estate? :

The next entry in- the: court: records is dated. October: 6th 1651 aad reads ’
as follows: . J “FN Ae : tal

ye nc "Mr. Ward:and:Mr. Banks are desired to.gather up
et gar! and'make sale of any estate of that which was —
- sometimes Peter Johnson's of Fairfield and that
they shall therewith satisfy the charges of the

nursing of the child of Goody Johnson."

We may conclude from this that,.Elizabeth Johnson was NOT executed on June
6th 1650. Since her child had incurred a wetnurse's bill in October of 1651,
it was by then still not of--the- ‘age where it was taking solid food and must
have been born only shortly before. However it must also be noted that the

“ss?

“ a
Oo ak 36
OS SC

BP, u, o7 “y S, LAD, A ; /. oe 1QS?
pewsron thio, hegeaed Feather.

DANIEL AL Sop OCdRwY in

Lt Fresh Meadow. Road: I+
Monroe, Conn. 06468

October 3rd 1987

Mr. Watt Espy
P.0. Box.2/7
Headland, AL 36345

Dear Watt:

I'm writing to inform you of a serious error which I just this_
week detected in the Connecticut listing which I sent you earlier.
Evidently I was the latest of several amet eur historians who fell
into the same trap over the years.

The matter concerns Mary Johnson and her purported June 6th 1650

_ execution date. She has been confused with another woman by the name

of Elizabeth Johnson who may or may not have been executed at around
the same time.

Let me first clear up the case of Mary Johnson. The following entry
in the Colonial Records of Connecticut reads as follows and is dated
December 7th 1648. ie

"The ini finds the bill of indictment sa

against Mary Johnson that by her own .

confession she is guilty of fam irarrey:

with the devil.’ " eae
‘In the’ Connectibit® legalese” of the" time Phe! ‘above entry: Hoes Mot
indicate a guilty verdict. Instead, ait is to be interpreted as’ ‘an
endorsement of Billa Vera to a ‘grand’ jury indictment combined with a
guilty plea by the defendant. That the defendant” in this. case was .
subsequently condemned’ and executed ‘is not in doubt.” ‘However we may
discard the 6-6-50' execution date and: substitute: for it an ‘undetermined ©
day in December of’ 1648. Furthermore, I, have determined beyond” any doubt
that Mary Johnson was an unmarried servant girl ‘of’ ‘the town of Wethers-)
field whereas Elizabeth Johnson was a married ‘woman. of the, town’ oF .
Fairfield. :

Elizabeth Johnson and’ ‘Peter,’ “her husband’ were. Keignbste: it A Mr.”
Thomas Newton at Fairfield in the year 1649. (The attached map from
Schenk's History of Fairfield shows where their respective homelots
were.) Mr. Newton owned two parcels’ and the Johnsons owned one. About
mid-year in 1649, Peter Johnson died of. undetermined causes. Surviving
records are fragmentary: ‘but the next concrete piece of information I've
been able to determine is that on December 30th 1649, Elizabeth Johnson,
Peter's widow, was committed to prison at Hartford. (She was almost cer-
tainly confined at Fairfield for some time previous.)

Next, under the date of March 28th 1650, the’ Particular Court approves
Goody Johnson's binding of her son as an apprentice to an unidentified ~~
man of the town of Stratford, (very near Fairfield). Since she was in
the Hartford jail at that time, she had evidently made arrangements for
the welfare of her son, who, with his father dead and mother in prison,
had no other alternative to starvation than an apprenticeship somewhere.

The next clue is dated May 15th 1650 in the records of the Particular
Court. On that day a "Grand Jury of Life and Death" handed down the following:

"In the trial between this Commonwealth and Elizabeth

Johnson,::wife of Peter Johnson..late of
Fairfield, the Jury finds her GUILTY of
the fact."

"In the trial betwixt this Commonwealth
and Thomas Newton of Fairfield, the Jury
finds him GUILTY of the fact." ;

It is to be noted that the records are silent as to just exactly what
was the nature of the crime for which Thomas Newton and the widow Johnson
stood convicted on May 15th 1650. Elsewhere in the record there is a ref-
erence to it in these words: "the particulars whereof appeareth in their
said presentment upon the file which were found by the court the 20th of
Feb. 1650 as appears by the records of that court."

This means that the details of the crime were contained in the court
records of February 20th 1650 and that both Newton and the. widow Johnson
were arraigned on that date. However the record for that date has perished

and there remains no way of ascertaining the exact details. It is-safe to

say, however,. that the offense was a capital crime. Otherwise there would
be no mention of a "Grand Jury of Life and Death." Such a jury was con-
vened only on occasions when a capital case was on the docket.

This leaves us with three possibilities as to what the nature of the
charges. could've been: Witchcraft, Adultury or Murder.

I discount witchcraft because reference to such would've been certainly
made in a witchcraft case at Fairfield which lasted from 1651 to 1653 and
resulted in both extensive litigation and two executions. I likewise dis-
count adultury because sex between a bachelor and a widow is not adulturous.
Also, Connecticut punished adultury with no penalty worse than public hunm-
iliation. This leaves only murder.

Since Peter Johnson died shortly before the ieoub la. began, I am led to
suspect a.good old "love triangle". And if such was indeed the case, we are
talking of. nothing. less than. Petit Treason and death by fire for Elizabeth.
Since the. court: record which. contains the. charges has vanished, I am led

to further. ‘suspect a, ‘whitewash job. by, the, nineteenth century editors of
. the court. records. Since, they always took tt: upon. themselves to delete any
material which. did not meet, their. criteria for "decency", (all. details of .
sex, crimes, etc... have. ‘perished thanks to them), it is almost certain that.
he, case. of, a. white. -woman., Deans, burned. at the stake would've fallen into the
same category.

In the record. dated’ May | Dist’ 1650 are presented ‘the bill af charges from

‘the keeper of the Har ttord dedt which read as follows:

tae Rescew's bill of charges for Elizabeth
Johnson's imprisonment to the first Thursday of
next month, being 24 weeks, amounting to 6-108-00
is allowed. and approved and the court desires

Mr. Ludlow and Mr. Ward to see the bill discharged
to the sd William Rescew out of her estate."

The "first. Thursday of. next. month" tranblaee to, June. 6th 1650 and Te

may be inferred therefrom that. such was the. date set for the execution of

Elizabeth Johnson. That the jailer should put in for his charges in advance
seems most unusual. Yet such was the case.

Now what about Thomas Newton? He was evidently tried, convicted and con-
demned im absentia. That he escaped from the Fairfield jail before his con-
veyance and/or transfer to Hartford is certain as supported by the following
entry dated July 8th 1650.

"John Banks, Edward Adams, Philip Pinkney, John Hoyt,

colony was also ordering the final liquidation of the Johnson estate. This
raises the possibility that Elizabeth Johnson was executed after the birth

of her child sometime between May 15th and October 6th 1651.
We now come down to an entry dated May 20th 1652 which reads as follows:

"This Court orders that Nathl. Rescew shall

be paid five pounds more with the Goody John-
son's child, according to her promise to him,
he having engaged himself to maintain and
well educate her son without any further de-
mand of charges either of her or the country."

Now what is this supposed to mean? On the surface it is simply an order
for increased child-support. But what is the reference to an alleged death-
house deal..between the: condemned and the jailer? And what: about the so-—
called: "further demand.of her"? Does it mean "her": or:her estate? Was ‘she:
still: alive? Or.was she dead? There. are intriguing possibilities to support
both: claims but..all*’are inconclusive. et Vint 3:

~The final mention: of this case’ is contained in a General Court entry! dated
March Ist 1655 and which reads as follows:

"This: Court desires Mr, Webster, Mr. Cullick, Mr.
“Willits and Mr. Tailecoate to examine: Mr. Ward's
-account of. Peter Johnson's estate and to dispose .
of what ts left to the mother and children as
they shall judge meet."

The so-called "mother" \therein mentioned can be noone other than the
wretched Elizabeth Johnson.. Had :she*\somehow’ been released from prison and

reclaimed :her:.children? It:is:tempting ‘to: think so.’ But assuming that she

had been condemned for petit treason, it is unthinkable that she would've

gotten off the hook. This throws us back to the question of what the nature
was of the:origional’ crime.: Perhaps it:waswitchcraft* after ally Not every
convicted witch:wasexecuted: in ConnecticutwrHad»Thomas*Newton”gone “up ‘ion: '
the same charges? :Heiiobviously enjoyed:considerable popular:support at home
because -many :neighborsthad:iaiHand«in allowing him to:escape from-theFair-

. field jail. It ‘is-also: significant to inote that the arch-conspirator: in

the jailbreak ‘scheme was Thomas Staples --*a man-whose wife figured so prom-
inently in:the:notoriousFairfield*witch.hunton: 1651-1653 and: who was tried
for witchcraft iat: Fairfield on another ‘occasion in: 1692.: Assuming that: the
charges were’ indeed: witchcraft, show:does “one explain: the coincidental death
of Peter, Johnson in 1649 when:the ‘trouble started? Moreover,» Thomas Newton
would've ‘hardly:enjoyed: popular support if he was a murderer, Being*an .
alleged witch though might have been ‘different.: His‘ friends and neighbors
undoubtedly knew that»such:tcharges. were ridiculous and therefore effected
his escape. But why then did he never return to claim is property’ after the
storm had passed? And why would he have been denounced as a witch in the
first place if:he had popular support? There ‘are: too many contradictions here
and too many unanswered questions. .While I can safely draw conclusions in
the case of Mary Johnson, I durst not do so in the case of Elizabeth Johnson.

Regards,

“ha

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|} APPENDIX

epee tr:

aes

> a 3

x2 te ’
, ra § the Public may with to be informed more particularly rel piing ee
. . a the criminal, Hannah Ocuifo, than they have yet. been: we Hava Re J
' -@ olie&ed the following particulars, which it may not be improper ta) fa
annex as ah appendix to the preceding difcourfe. en.
She was born at Groton.———Early in life the difcovered the mr | i De
refs and cruelty of her.difpofition : as appears from’ the following. :
which was reprefented in evidence before the grand-jury: Whemaboug |
4
:
|

fix years old, the with a brother about two years older than herfelf, micet- ee
ing a little girl ata diftance from the neighbourhood, they endeavoured
to get away her clothes and a gold nécklace which fhe had on:—Afteg
beating the child until they had almoft killed her, they ftripped her, and x
@* difputing about the divifion of the clothes the child recovered, and getting
- away came honie, covered with blodd, . This affair was immediatgly ex: §
+ @ amined into, and thg feleé&t-men of the town concluded to bind them bot [4
~ qe at. - Te

~ 9 Their mother, who is one of the Peguot tribe of indians, is an abanq
“ - @~ doned creature, much addiéted to the vice of drunkennefs.—-She, it feemsy.
- | not liking to have the girl] bound out ; brought her away and left her at:
ahoufe, about three miles from the city of New-London, promifing té
return in a few days and take her away again. But the did nowretury Ee
till after feveral months, when urging the family to keep her longer they,
por ala: at lenpth confented, She continued in this family until the was appre?
att hended for the crime, for which fhe was executed. oes ‘
Her conduét, as appeared in evidence before the honorable Superiog

Court'was marked with almof every thing bad. Theft ‘and lying werg:

ah a
s

ox ee eS her common vices. To thefe were added 9 mdticioufnefs of difpofitior
“ ieee wees @ ~~, which made the children in the neighbourhood much afraid of her, ° Sk
—_ had a degree of artful cunning and fagacity beyond many of her years"

«In fhort, her mind wanted’to be properly inftruéted, and her difpofitiog a=
to be correfted. ,
. ay now come to the particulars of the horrid crime for which the fu
ered. te fh es
On the 2rft of-July, 1786, at about 10 o’clock in the morning, the bod§ Mes
of the murdered child was found in the public road leading from : ee

t ae

on to Norwich, lying on its face near to a wall. ‘
ith ftones, and a number lay upon its back and arms. Upon examining ~ ©
he body the full appeared to be fra@tured 3 the arms and face much brui
d, and the prints of finger-nails were very deep on the throat. The
eighbourhood were immediately engaged in making fearch and enquiry *»
or the murderer, The criminal made ufe of her ufual art, to prevent”
ufpicion.—She faid that the faw four boys in her miftrefs’s garden

Its head was covered

en and foon after heard the wall fall down. After fearching andepquir-

ng for thefe hays to no effect, {ufpicions became ftrong that the was the

uilty perfon. On the z2@, the was clofely queftioned, but repeatedly

enied that the was guilty. She was then carried to the houfe where the
ody lay, and, being again charged with the crime, burft into tears and * as
nfeffed that the killed her ; faying if the could be forgiven the would |
- do fo again. The particulars which fhe then gave, and which ap.
ated in the courfe of the trial were as follow.

On the morning of the 21ft, fhe went to a brook which is near her.
iftrefs’s houfe, to get a pail of water :—when at the brook, the faw the
ittle girl come into the road, going tofchool. She immediately haftened,
ome with the water, and fetting it down at the door, ran acrofs the gar,
£n to overtake the child :—-when near her, the criminal jumped over the
all and called to her : offering her a piece of calicoe which the then held
m her hand. The child coming to her, the ftruck her on the head with
ftone which fhe had taken up for the urpofe, and repeating the blows »-
he child cried out, «* Oh, if you keep beating me fol fhall die.” She ¥ "
Ontinued the blows until the child lay fill, But after a few moments, . 7
eeing that fhe ftirred ; the took her by the throat and choaked her "till = ie
¢was dead. Being afked why the laid ftones upon Boric. She faid;
was to make people think that the wall fell upon her and killed her,—
pon being afked why the killed her ; the faid that the had intended give if
ng her a whipping becaufe the had complained of her in ftrawberry time ~

aboit five weeks before) for taking away her ftrawberries.
Such an inflance of deliberate revenge and cruelty in one fo young, has

<i
+?

arcely a parallel in any civilized country. ae i

When the criminal was firft committed to prifon fhe appeared uneafy
ith her fituation ; but after a little time feemed to be quite contented
nd happy. She would divert herfelf with the children that went to fee
er, and frequently, would make very threwd turns upon thofe perfons wha
ade fevere remarks upon her. -_
‘When arraigned at the bar, fhe, at the direétion of her council, plead
nat guilty.”” During her trial the appeared. .entirely unconcerned,
fter the verdiét was brought in, and the wa earried back to the prifon ;
perfon vifited her and told her what muft e her punifhment ; and
at the muft prepare for death, and for another world: the feemed
reatly affected, and continued in tears moft of the day.———After this the

med as unconcerned as. before, and was very backward in converfing
ith the perfon who had thus alarmed her fears. It appeared that fome
rfons had been there afterwards and cucouraged her with telling her that»
¢ would not be hung, »** When

When the was brought to the bar to receive fentence of death, her fu.’
pidity and unconcern aftonifhed every one. While that benevolent ten+
dernefs which diftinguifhes his honor the Chief Juftice, almoft prevented
utterance, and the foeétators could not refrain from tears ; the prifoner
alone appeared {carcely to attend. ; ~ |

About a fortnight before her execution fhe a peared to realize her dan

er, and was more concerned for herfelf. She continued nearly in the
nip before her ex@@@tion : when the appeared

greatly affected ; faying, that fhe was diftreffe or her foul. She conti-
nued in tears moft of Tuefday, and Wednefday which was the day of exe~
cution. At the place of execution fhe faid agry little—appeared greatly,
afraid, and feemed to want fomebody to help her.——After a prayer.a~

dapted to her unhappy fituation, was offered to Heaven, the thanked.

the theriff for his kindnefs to ter, and then pafied into that ftate wh:
meverends, a :

S220, :

a Wee

ee UR. 5
poe ee Nese
ee

Adee Pa Gio

Metadata

Containers:: Box 8 (2-Documentation of Executions), Folder 8
Resource Type:: Document
Description:: James Mcelroy executed on 1937-02-10 in Connecticut (CT)
Rights:: In Copyright - Educational Use Permitted
Date Uploaded:: June 28, 2019

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Access:: The archives are open to the public and anyone is welcome to visit and view the collections.

Collection restrictions:: Access to this record group is unrestricted.
Collection terms of access:: The researcher assumes full responsibility for conforming with the laws of copyright. Whenever possible, the M.E. Grenander Department of Special Collections and Archives will provide information about copyright owners and other restrictions, but the legal determination ultimately rests with the researcher. Requests for permission to publish material from this collection should be discussed with the Head of Special Collections and Archives.