AMERICAN HAUNTINGS INK

Monday, January 27, 2014

LIZZIE BORDEN TOOK AN AX... OR DID SHE?

LIZZIE BORDEN TOOK AN AX?
But Did She Really?

Lizzie Borden took an axe
 And gave her mother forty whacks.
 And when she saw what she had done,
 She gave her father forty-one.

The August afternoon was unbearably hot, especially for Massachusetts. The temperature had climbed to well over 100 degrees, even though it was not yet noon. The old man, still in his heavy morning coat, was not feeling well and he reclined on a mohair-covered sofa in the parlor, leaning back so that his boots were resting on the floor and soiling the upholstery of the couch. In a short time, he drifted off to sleep, never suspecting that he would not awaken. 

He also did not suspect that, above his head, his wife was bleeding on the floor of the upstairs guestroom. She had been dead for nearly two hours and in moments, the same hand that took her life would take the life of the old man’s as well.

And even if he knew those things by way of some macabre premonition, he might never guess that his murderer would never be brought to justice.


The case of Lizzie Borden has fascinated those with an interest in American crime for well over a century. There have been few cases that have attracted as much attention as the hatchet murders of Andrew Borden and his wife, Abby. This is partly because of the gruesomeness of the crime but also because of the unexpected character of the accused. Lizzie Borden was not a slavering maniac but a demure, respectable, spinster Sunday School teacher. Because of this, the entire town was shocked when she was charged with the murder of her parents. The fact that she was found to be not guilty of the murders, leaving the case to be forever unresolved, only adds to the mystique and fans the flames of our continuing obsession with the mystery. 
  

 From Left to Right: Andrew Jackson Borden / Abby Durfree Gray Borden/ Emma Borden

Andrew Jackson Borden was one of the leading citizens of Fall River, Massachusetts, a prosperous mill town and seaport. The Borden family had strong roots to the community and had been among the most influential citizens of the region for decades. At the age of 70, Borden was certainly one of the richest men in the city. He was a director on the board of several banks and a commercial landlord with considerable holdings. He was a tall, thin and dour man and while he was known for this thrift and admired for his business abilities, he was not well-known for his humor, nor was he particularly likable. 

Borden lived with his second wife, Abby Durfee Gray and his daughters from his first marriage, Emma and Lizzie, in a two-and-a-half story frame house. It was located in an unfashionable part of town, but was close to his business interests. Both daughters felt the house was beneath their station in life and begged their father to move to a nicer place. Borden’s frugal nature never even allowed him to consider this. In spite of this, and his conservative daily life, Borden was said to be moderately generous with both of his daughters. 

The events that would lead to tragedy began on Thursday, August 4, 1892. The Borden household was up early that morning as usual. Emma was not at home, having gone to visit friends in the nearby town of Fairhaven, but the girls’ Uncle John had arrived the day before for an unannounced visit. John Morse, the brother of Andrew Borden’s first wife, was a regular guest in the Borden home. He traveled from Dartmouth, Massachusetts several times each year to visit the family and conduct business in town.



The Borden House at 92 Second Street & the barn at the rear, where Lizzie claimed to be during the murders

The first person awake in the house that morning was Bridget Sullivan, the maid. Bridget was a respectable Irish girl who Emma and Lizzie both rudely insisted on calling "Maggie,” which was the name of a previous girl who had worked for them. At the time of the murders, Bridget was 26 years old and had been in the Borden household since 1889. There is nothing to say that she was anything but an exemplary young woman, who had come to America from Ireland in 1886. She did not stay in the house during the night following the murders, but did come back on Friday night to her third-floor room. On Saturday, she left the house, never to return. 

Bridget came downstairs from her attic room around 6:00 a.m. to build a fire in the kitchen and begin cooking breakfast. An hour later, John Morse and Mr. and Mrs. Borden came down to eat and they lingered in conversation around the table for nearly an hour. Lizzie slept late and did not join them for the meal. 

The Borden's maid, Bridget Sullivan

At a little before 8:00 a.m., Morse left the house to go and visit a niece and nephew and Borden locked the screen door after him. It was a peculiar custom in the house to always keep doors locked. Even the doors between certain rooms upstairs were usually locked. A few minutes after Morse left, Lizzie came downstairs but said that she wasn’t hungry. She had coffee and a cookie but nothing else. It’s possible that she had a touch of the stomach disorder that was going around the household. Bridget later stated that she felt the need to go outside and throw up some time after breakfast. Two days before, Mr. and Mrs. Borden had been ill during the night and had both vomited several times. It has been assumed that this may have been food poisoning as no one else in the family was affected. It may have been the onset of the flu -- or something far more sinister.

At a quarter past nine, Andrew Borden left the house and went downtown. Abby Borden went upstairs to make the bed in the guestroom that Morse was staying in. She asked Bridget to wash the windows. At 9:30, she came downstairs for a few moments and then went back up again, commenting that she needed fresh pillowcases. Bridget went about her daily chores and started on the window washing, retrieving pails and water from the barn. She also paused for a few minutes to chat over the fence with the hired girl next door. She finished the outside of the windows at about 10:30 a.m. and then started inside. 

Fifteen minutes later, Mr. Borden returned home. Bridget let him in and Lizzie came downstairs. She told her father that "Mrs. Borden has gone out - she had a note from someone who was sick." Lizzie and Emma always called their step-mother "Mrs. Borden" and recently, the relationship between them, especially with Lizzie, was strained. 

Borden took the key to his bedroom off a shelf and went up the back stairs. The room could only be reached by these stairs, as there was no hallway, and the front stairs only gave access to Lizzie’s room (from which Emma’s could be reached) and the guest room. There were connecting doors between the elder Borden’s rooms and Lizzie’s room, but they were usually kept locked. 

Borden stayed upstairs for only a few minutes before coming back down and settling onto the sofa in the sitting room. Lizzie began to heat up an iron to press some handkerchiefs. "Are you going out this afternoon, Maggie?" she asked Bridget. "There is a cheap sale of dress goods at Sargent’s this afternoon, at eight cents a yard." 

Bridget replied that she was not. The heat of the morning, combined with the window washing and her touch of stomach ailment, had left her feeling poorly and she went up the back stairs to her attic room for a nap. This was a few minutes before 11:00 a.m. She was awakened a few minutes later by a cry from downstairs.

"Maggie, Come down!" Lizzie shouted from the bottom of the back stairs and Bridget’s eyes fluttered open. She had drifted off into a restless sleep but the urgency of Lizzie’s cries startled her awake. Bridget replied in a flustered voice, asking what was wrong.  

"Come down quick!" Lizzie wailed, "Father's dead! Somebody's come in and killed him!" 

As Bridget hurried from the staircase, she found Lizzie standing at the back door. Her face was pale and taut. She stopped the young maid from going into the sitting room and ordered her to go and fetch a doctor.

Dr. Bowen, a family friend, lived across the street from the Bordens’ and Bridget ran directly to the house. The doctor was out, but Bridget told Mrs. Bowen that Mr. Borden had been killed. She ran directly back to the house. Mrs. Bowen asked Lizzie where she had been when the murder occurred and she said she was out in the yard, heard a groan and came inside. This was the first version she would give of her movements that morning – various others would follow.

Lizzie sent Bridget to summon a friend of the Borden sisters, Alice Russell, who lived a few blocks away and by now, neighbors were starting to gather on the lawn and someone had called for the police. Mrs. Adelaide Churchill, the next door neighbor, came over to Lizzie, who was at the back entrance to the house and asked if anything was wrong. Lizzie responded by saying, "Oh, Mrs. Churchill, someone has killed Father!" 

She explained that her father was in the sitting room and asked where she was when he was killed, she stated that she had been in the barn, getting a piece of iron. She didn’t know where Abby Borden was, stating that she had gone out to visit a sick friend. But she added, “But I don’t know but that she is killed too, for I thought I heard her come in... Father must have an enemy, for we have all been sick, and we think the milk has been poisoned." 

 Andrew Borden's bloody corpse was discovered on his favorite downstairs sofa. 

Abby Borden's body was found upstairs. She was struck from behind, likely while on her knees making the bed. 

By this time, Dr. Bowen had returned, along with Bridget, who had hurried back from informing Miss Russell of the day’s dire events. Dr. Bowen examined the body and asked for a sheet to cover it. Borden had been attacked with a sharp object, probably an ax, and so much damage had been done to his head and face that Bowen, a close friend, couldn’t positively identify him at first. Borden’s head was turned slightly to the right and eleven blows had gashed his face. One eye had been cut in half and his nose had been severed. The majority of the blows had been struck within the area that extended from the eyes and nose to the ears. Blood was still seeping from the wounds and had been splashed onto the wall above the sofa, the floor and on a picture hanging on the wall. It looked as though Borden had been attacked from above and behind as he slept. 

Several minutes passed before anyone thought of going upstairs to see if Abby Borden had come home. Lizzie, who previously was sure that Abby was out of the house, now stated that she thought she heard her come inside. She ordered Bridget to go upstairs and check, but the maid refused to go alone. Mrs. Churchill offered to go with her. They went up the staircase together but Mrs. Churchill was the first to see Abby lying on the floor of the guestroom. She had fallen in a pool of blood and Mrs. Churchill later said that she had been so savagely attacked that she only "looked like the form of a person." 

Dr. Bowen found that Mrs. Borden had been struck more than a dozen times, from the back. The autopsy later revealed that there had been nineteen blows to her head, probably from the same hatchet that had killed Mr. Borden. The blood on Mrs. Borden's body was dark and congealed, leading him to believe that she had been killed before her husband. 

Dr. Bowen was heavily involved in the activities of the Borden house on the day of the murder. He was the first to examine the bodies, sent a telegram to Emma to summon her home, assisted Dr. Dolan with the autopsies and even prescribed a calming tranquilizer for Lizzie. He was a constant presence in the house and his involvement with them, especially on August 4, has led to him being considered a major figure in some of the conspiracies developed around the murders. 

A call reached the Fall River police station at 11:15 a.m., but as things would happen, that day marked the annual picnic of the Fall River Police Department and most of them were off enjoying an outing at Rocky Point. The only officer dispatched to the house was Officer George W. Allen. He ran to the house, saw that Andrew Borden was dead and ran back to the station house to inform the city marshal of the events. He left no one in charge of the crime scene. While he was gone, neighbors overran the house, comforting Lizzie and peering in at the gruesome state of Andrew Borden’s body. The constant traffic trampled and destroyed any clues that might have been left behind. 

During the half hour or so that no authorities were on the scene, a county medical examiner named Dolan passed by the house by chance. He looked in and was pressed into service by Dr. Bowen. Dolan examined the bodies and after hearing that the family had been sick and that the milk was suspected, he took samples of it. Later that afternoon, he had the bodies photographed and then removed the stomachs and sent them, along with the milk, to the Harvard Medical School for analysis. No poison was ever found. 

The murder investigation that followed was chaotic. The police were reluctant to suspect Lizzie of the murder as it was against the perceived social understanding of the era that a woman such as she was could have possibly committed such a heinous crime. Other solutions were advanced but were discarded as even more improbable.

A profusion of clues were discovered over the next few days, all of which led nowhere. A boy reported seeing a man jump over the back fence of the Borden property and while a man was found matching the boy’s description, he had an unbreakable alibi. A bloody hatchet was found on the Sylvia Farm in South Somerset but it proved to be covered in chicken blood. While Bridget was considered a suspect for a short time, the investigation finally began to center on Lizzie. A circumstantial case began to be developed against her with no incriminating physical evidence, like bloody clothes, a real motive for the killings, or even a convincing demonstration of how and when she committed the murders. 

Over the course of several weeks, though, investigators managed to compile a sequence of events that certainly cast suspicion on the spinster Sunday School teacher. The timeline ran from August 3, the day before the murders to August 7, the day that Alice Russell saw her friend burning a dress that may (or many not) have had blood on it. The timeline is as follows:

August 3
The timeline began in the early morning hours when Abby Borden sent for Dr. Bowen and told him that she and her husband had been sick and vomiting during the night. He did not believe the illness was serious and there would be no evidence of poisoning found in the Borden autopsies. 

Another incident took place when Lizzie tried to buy ten cents worth of prussic acid from Eli Bence, a clerk at Smith’s Drug Store. She explained to him that she wanted the poison to "kill moths in a sealskin cape" but he refused to sell it to her without a prescription. A customer and another clerk also identified Lizzie as being in the store that morning, but she denied it. She testified at the inquest that she had not attempted to purchase the poison and had not been at the drugstore that day. 

The third incident was the arrival of John Morse in the early afternoon. He came without luggage but intended to stay the night. Both he and Lizzie testified that they did not see each other until after the murders the next day, although Lizzie knew that he was there. 

Finally, that evening Lizzie visited her friend, Miss Alice Russell. According to Miss Russell, Lizzie was agitated, worried over some threat to her father, and concerned that something was about to happen. Borden had a number of enemies made during business dealings and she claimed to be frightened that something might happen to the family.

August 4
Abby was killed, according to the autopsy, at around 9:30 a.m. The killer, if it was anyone but Lizzie or Bridget, would have had to have concealed himself (or herself) in the house for well over an hour, waiting for Andrew Borden’s return. Abby could have been discovered at any moment. 

Abby’s time of death also posed another problem for investigators. According to Lizzie, she had gone out but she obviously hadn’t. The note that Lizzie said that Abby had received, asking her to visit a sick friend, was never found. Lizzie later said that she might have inadvertently thrown it away. 

When Andrew Borden returned to the house, Bridget had to let him in as the screen door was fastened on the inside with three locks. This would have made it extremely difficult for the killer to get inside. Only a small window of opportunity would have existed while Bridget was fetching a pail and water from the barn. In addition, Bridget later testified that while she was unlocking the door for Mr. Borden, she heard Lizzie laugh from upstairs. However, Lizzie swore that she had been in the kitchen when her father came home. 

Borden also had to retrieve the key to his bedroom from the shelf in the kitchen to get into his room. This was done as a precaution because of a burglary the year before. In June 1891, a police captain inspected the house after Andrew Borden reported a crime. Borden’s desk had been rummaged through and $100 and a watch and chain had been taken. There was no clue as to how anyone could have gotten into the house, although Lizzie offered the fact that the cellar door had been open. The neighborhood was canvassed but no one reported seeing a stranger in the vicinity. According to the police captain, Borden said several times to him, "I’m afraid the police will not be able to find the real thief." It is unknown what he may have meant by this but various conspiracy theorists have their own ideas. 

On the afternoon of the murder, four hatchets were discovered in the basement of the house, including one with dried blood and hair on it (later determined to be from a cow). Another of the hatchets was rusted and the others were covered with dust. One of these was without a handle and was covered in ashes. The broken handle appeared to be recent, so it was taken into evidence. 

A Sergeant Harrington and another officer asked Lizzie where she had been that morning and she said that she had been in the barn loft looking for iron for fishing sinkers. The two men examined the barn and found the loft floor to be thick with dust, with no evidence that anyone had been up there. 

Deputy Marshal John Fleet questioned Lizzie and asked her who might have committed the murders. Other than an unknown man with whom her father had gotten into an argument with a few weeks before, she could think of no one. When asked directly if Uncle John Morse or Bridget could have killed her father and mother, she said that they couldn't have. Morse had left the house before 9:00 a.m., and Bridget had been sleeping when Andrew had been killed. She pointedly reminded Fleet that Abby was not her mother, but her stepmother. 

August 5
The investigation continued on the day after the murders. By now, the story had appeared in the newspapers and the entire town was in an uproar. Sergeant Harrington found Eli Bence at Smith’s Drug Store and interviewed him about the attempt to buy poison. Emma engaged Mr. Andrew Jennings as their family attorney. The police continued to investigate, but nothing of significance was found. 

August 6
The funerals of the Bordens took place on Saturday. The service was conducted by the Reverends Buck and Judd, from the two Congregational Churches. The bodies were not buried at that time. The police arrived and removed the bodies for another autopsy. The heads of the Bordens were removed from the body, the skin removed and plaster casts were made of the skulls. For some reason, Mr. Borden’s head was not returned to his coffin. 

August 7
On Sunday morning, Alice Russell observed Lizzie burning a dress in the kitchen stove. She told Lizzie, "If I were you, I wouldn't let anybody see me do that." Lizzie said it was a dress stained with paint and was of no use. 

It was this testimony from Miss Russell at the inquest that prompted Judge Blaisdell of the Second District Court to charge Lizzie with the murders. The inquest itself was kept secret but at its conclusion, Lizzie was charged and taken into custody. The only testimony that Lizzie ever gave during all of the legal proceedings was at the inquest and we will never know what she said for the records were sealed. She was arraigned the following day and entered a not guilty plea. She was then taken to the Taunton Jail, which had facilities for female prisoners. 

After that, Judge Blaisdell held a preliminary hearing. Lizzie did not testify but the record of her testimony at the inquest was entered into evidence by her attorney, Andrew Jennings. The judge declared her probable guilt and bound Lizzie over for the grand jury, who heard the case during the last week of its session.

The Commonwealth, represented by prosecutor Hosea Knowlton, had the disagreeable task of building the case against Lizzie. When he finished his presentation to the Grand Jury, he surprisingly invited defense attorney Jennings to present a case for the defense. This was something that was simply not done in Massachusetts. In effect, a trial was being conducted before the Grand Jury. Many saw this is as a chance that the charge against Lizzie might be dismissed. Then, on December 1, Alice Russell again testified about the burning of the dress. The next day, Lizzie was charged with three counts of murder. Strangely, she had been charged with the murder of her father, her step-mother and then the murders of both of them. The trial was scheduled to begin on June 5, 1893. 

The trial itself lasted fourteen days and news of it filled the front pages of every major newspaper in the country. Between 30 and 40 reporters from the Boston and New York papers and the wire services were in the courtroom every day. The trial began on June 5 and after a day to select the jury, which consisted of twelve middle-aged farmers and tradesmen, the prosecution spent the next seven days putting on its case.

Hosea Knowlton was the reluctant prosecutor in the case. He had been forced into the role by Arthur Pillsbury, Attorney General of Massachusetts, who should have been the principal attorney for the prosecution. However, as Lizzie's trial date approached, Pillsbury felt the pressure building from Lizzie's supporters, particularly women's groups and religious organizations. Worried about the next election, he directed Knowlton, who was the District Attorney in Fall River, to lead the prosecution in his place. He also assigned William Moody, District Attorney of Essex County, to assist him. 

Moody made the opening statements for the prosecution. He presented three arguments. First, that Lizzie was predisposed to murder her father and stepmother because of their animosity toward one another. Second, that she planned the murder and carried it out and third, that her behavior, and her contradictory testimony, after the fact was not that of an innocent person. Moody did an excellent job and many have regarded him as the most competent attorney involved in the case. At one point, he threw a dress onto the prosecution table that he planned to admit as evidence. As he did so, the tissue paper that was covering the skull of Andrew Borden lifted and then fluttered away. Dramatically, Lizzie slid to the floor in a dead faint. 

Crucial to the prosecution in the case was evidence that supplied a motive for Lizzie to commit the murders. This was done by using a number of witnesses who testified to Lizzie’s dislike of her step-mother and her complaints about her father’s spendthrift ways. The prosecution also tried to establish that Borden was writing a new will that would leave Emma and Lizzie with a pittance and Abby with a huge portion of his estate. One of the witnesses called to establish this was John Morse, who first said that Andrew discussed a new will with him and then later said that he never told him anything about it. 

The prosecution then turned to Lizzie’s predisposition towards murder and her strange behavior before and after the events. They again called Alice Russell to testify about the burning of the dress. The destruction of it seemed a possible answer as to why Lizzie was not covered with blood after killing her parents. It was highly probable that she would have been spattered with it if she did commit the murders. In later years, some have theorized that perhaps she wore a smock over her dress during the murders or that perhaps she was naked when she did it. However, the smock would have been bloody and also would have had to be disposed of. As far as Lizzie being naked, this seems doubtful too. Ignore the fact that in the Victorian society of Fall River, a young woman would have never appeared nude in front of her father (even to kill him) and focus on the fact that Lizzie never had time to bathe after killing Abby or in the few minutes between the killing of Andrew and her calling for Bridget. 

To the prosecution, though, the burning of the dress suggested that Lizzie had changed clothing after the murders. But why would she have kept the dress for three days before burning it and what would she have worn for the hours between the two deaths? Someone would have surely noticed a dress covered with blood. 

On Saturday, June 10, the prosecution attempted to enter Lizzie's testimony from the inquest into the record. The defense objected, since it was testimony from one who had not been formally charged. The jury was withdrawn so that the lawyers could argue it out and on Monday, when court resumed, the three-judge panel excluded Lizzie’s contradictory inquest testimony. 

On Wednesday, June 14, the prosecution called Eli Bence, the drug store clerk, to the stand. The defense objected to his testimony as irrelevant and prejudicial. The judges sustained the objection and Lizzie’s attempt to buy poison was thrown out of the record. 

The prosecution called several medical witnesses, including Dr. Dolan. One of them even produced the skull of Andrew Borden to show how the blows had been struck. Unfortunately for the prosecution, these witnesses had an adverse effect on the case as the defense used their testimonies to strike points in Lizzie’s favor. They were forced to state that whoever had committed the murders would have been covered with blood. There was no witness to say that blood was ever found on Lizzie.

Lizzie Borden’s defense counsel used only two days to present its case. For the most part, the defense offered witnesses who could either corroborate Lizzie’s story, or who could provide alternate possibilities as to who the killer might be. The testimony of the various witnesses was meant to do little but provide "reasonable doubt" about Lizzie’s guilt.

For instance, an ice cream peddler testified to seeing a woman (presumably Lizzie) coming out the barn. This bolstered her story that she had actually been there. A passer-by claimed to see a "wild-eyed man" around the time of the murders. Mr. Joseph Lemay claimed that he was walking in the deep woods, some miles from the city, about twelve days after the murders when he heard someone crying "Poor Mrs. Borden! Poor Mrs. Borden! Poor Mrs. Borden!" He said that he looked over a wall and saw a man sitting on the ground. The man, who had bloodstains on his shirt, picked up a hatchet, shook it at him and then disappeared into the woods. The defense also called witnesses who claimed to see a mysterious young man in the vicinity of the Borden house who was never properly explained. They also called Emma Borden to dispute the suggestion that Lizzie had any motive to want to kill their parents.

On Monday, June 19, Robinson delivered his closing arguments and Knowlton began his closing arguments for the prosecution. He completed them on the following day. The judges then asked Lizzie if she had anything to say for herself and she spoke for the only time during the trial. She said: “I am innocent. I leave it to my counsel to speak for me.” Instructions were then given to the jury and they left to deliberate over the verdict. 

A little over an hour later, the jury returned with its verdict. Lizzie Borden was found "not guilty" on all three charges. Public opinion was, by this time, of the feeling that the police and the courts had persecuted Lizzie long enough. 

Five weeks after the trial, Lizzie (who henceforth called herself "Lizbeth") and Emma purchased and moved into a thirteen-room, stone house at 306 French Street in Fall River. It was located on "The Hill", the most fashionable area of the city. Lizzie named the house "Maplecroft" and had the name carved into the top step leading up to the front door. 

Lizzie's (or Lizbeth's) home in Fall River, Maplecroft.

In 1904, Lizzie met a young actress, Nance O'Neil, and for the next two years, Lizzie and Nance were inseparable. About this time, Emma separated from her sister and moved to Fairhaven. She and Lizzie stopped speaking to one another. Rumors said that sensational revelations about the murders would follow the split, but the revelations never came. Emma stayed with the family of Reverend Buck, and, sometime around 1915, she moved to Newmarket, New Hampshire. 

Lizzie died on June 1, 1927, at age 67, after a long illness from complications following gall bladder surgery. Emma died nine days later, as a result of a fall down the back stairs of her house in Newmarket. They were buried together in the family plot, along with a sister who had died in early childhood, their mother, their stepmother, and their headless father. Both Lizzie and Emma left their estates to charitable causes and Lizzie designated $500 for the perpetual care of her father’s grave. 

Bridget Sullivan never worked for any of the Bordens again. After the terrible events of the murder and the trial, she left town. She lived in modest circumstances in Butte, Montana until her death in 1948. Those who suggested that she had been "paid off" to keep quiet about the murders could find no evidence of this in what she left behind. 

Many years have passed since the murders in Fall River and they remain unsolved. No single theory has ever been regarded as the correct one and every writer on the case seems to have a favorite culprit. Many books and articles have been written about the case, but each writer puts their own spin on the story. During the early days of the investigation, and well into the days of the trial, a number of accusations were made. At times, the killer was said to be John Morse, Bridget Sullivan, Emma Borden, Dr. Bowen and even one of Lizzie’s Sunday School students. Since that time, there have been other suggested killers. Some of the theories are credible and some are not. 

One of the theories remains that Lizzie Borden actually committed the murders of her parents and managed to get away with it. This theory was especially popular in books written prior to 1940, but many believe it today. Most of the writers who stand by this solution see the court rulings and poorly executed prosecution case as the reason that Lizzie was never found guilty. They simply refuse to see how an outsider could have committed the crimes. But there is that problem of all of the blood. If Lizzie did kill her step-mother, where was the blood that would have been on her dress when she called Bridget a short time later? If she did change clothing (twice in the same morning), wouldn’t Bridget have noticed this? It has been suggested that Lizzie may have gone to the barn between the murders as she claimed to and washed the blood off (there was running water there), but if she did, how did she wash off the blood after her father’s murder? 

Some writers believe that Lizzie and Bridget planned the murders together and that Bridget (when she went to Alice Russell’s house) spirited away the bloody hatchet and dress so that they were never found. This theory is also used to explain the testimony that each woman gave about the day of the murder, never implicating the other. It seems hard to believe that Abby Borden’s fall to the upstairs floor would not have been heard from below, especially since Abby weighed nearly 200 pounds. However, there is no proof of this either and it still places one or both of the women in the role of a depraved killer. 

While it seems hard to believe that Lizzie did commit the murders, it doesn’t mean that she was not guilty in other ways. In other words, while she may not have actually handled the hatchet, she may have known who did. 

One person who has been accused in this capacity was Emma Borden. It has been noted with some suspicion how she may have arranged an alibi for herself, claiming to be some 15 miles away in Fairhaven, but actually returned to Fall River, hid upstairs in the Borden house, committed the murders and then returned to Fairhaven, where she received the telegram from Dr. Bowen. Once Lizzie is accused, the two sisters worked together to protect each other. Later, the women had a falling out over their father’s estate. But we will never know. Neither woman ever spoke of the murder again. 

Another theory accuses William Borden, the illegitimate son of Andrew Borden, who committed suicide a few years after the trial. According to this theory, Lizzie, Emma, John Morse, Dr. Bowen and Andrew Jennings all conspired to keep his involvement a secret because of his illegitimate status and a claim that he might make against the estate if his relationship with the Borden’s was found out. Allegedly, William was making demands of his father, who was in the process of writing a new will. Borden rejected the boy and William became enraged. He first killed Mrs. Borden and then after hiding in the house -- with Lizzie’s knowledge -- killed his father. The conspirators then either paid William off or threatened him, or both, and decided that Lizzie would allow herself to be suspected and tried for the murders, knowing that she could always identify the real killer, should that be necessary. There’s a lot of speculation with this theory, but it’s as possible as so many others.

So who did kill Andrew and Abby Borden? It’s unlikely that we will ever know. It’s also unlikely that we will ever discover just what Lizzie, and her defense counsel, really knew about the events in 1892. The papers from Lizzie’s defense are still locked up and have never been released. The files remain sealed away in the offices of the Springfield, Massachusetts law firm that descended from the firm that defended Lizzie during the trial. There are no plans to ever release them.

The history of the Lizzie Borden case lingers in our collection imaginations, much like the spirits that are still believed to linger at the former Borden house in Fall River, Massachusetts, which now serves as a bed and breakfast. More than one overnight guest has claimed an encounter with one of the ghosts that remain from the brutal murders. The truth behind such stories remains as elusive as the killer of the Bordens – but the speculation will certainly never end.


Author Troy Taylor has a book on the Lizzie Borden case planned for later in 2014. Keep an eye on the Whitechapel Press website for upcoming information. 

Friday, January 24, 2014

THE VANISHED HOUSEWIFE

On January 25, 1949, a tragic disappearance occurred in the city of Philadelphia. Although I had no connections to the event, other than a sad interest in it, the story that I wrote about it went on to become one of the most controversial of my writing career. 

As some readers know, I’ve always had an interest in unsolved disappearances. But the case of Dorothy Forstein is among the saddest of these stories and is also one of the most unusual in the annals of American crime. To this day, her disappearance has never been solved and strangely, the case was dropped from newspapers within a week after she vanished. Numerous attempts have been made to remove this case from the history books in recent years, but weird, tantalizing details still remain. 



Dorothy Forstein

Dorothy Forstein vanished from her Philadelphia home in 1949, having been married nine years to her childhood sweetheart, Jules Forstein, who was a clerk for the Philadelphia City Council at the time of the wedding. Dorothy was a happy, outgoing young woman and she became the devoted mother of two children, Marcy, an infant, and Merna, age ten, who were children from Jules’ first marriage. His wife had died in childbirth not long before he and Dorothy had become reacquainted. Their marriage was a happy one and Forstein’s professional life began to prosper when he was made a magistrate in 1943. Another child, Edward, was born a short time later.

The Forsteins’ idyllic life was shattered on January 25, 1945. Dorothy left the children with neighbors and went out to do some shopping. She reportedly joked with the butcher and chatted with friends as she went about her errands. Later, her neighbor saw her return home and thought that someone was with her, or walking behind her, as she made her way through the late evening shadows to her front door. It was getting dark and the neighbor, Maria Townley, admitted that she didn’t look closely at the man who was behind her. It was a safe neighborhood and she never imagined that Dorothy was in trouble.

Just as Dorothy was entering her three-story brick home, the stranger-- or whomever it might have been that Mrs. Townley saw-- jumped out of the darkness at her. He began beating her with his fists and some sort of blunt instrument. Dorothy fell to the ground and was pounded into unconsciousness. As she tumbled into the house, her arm dislodged the hall telephone. In those days of live operators, the voice on the other end of the line heard the commotion and quickly summoned the police. The attacker fled at the sound of approaching sirens.

Police officers arrived moments later and found a battered Dorothy on the floor of the hallway. She had suffered a broken jaw, a shattered nose, a fractured shoulder and a brain concussion. She was rushed to the hospital and when she awakened, she could only weakly explain that “someone jumped out at me. I couldn’t see who it was. He just hit me and hit me.”

Investigators labeled the attack an attempted murder and Captain James A. Kelly of the Philadelphia Homicide Division began trying to put the pieces together. He concluded that it could only have been someone trying to kill Dorothy since no money, jewelry or anything else had been taken from the Forstein home. Jules Forstein himself was investigated but he had an unimpeachable alibi and the children were too young to have been involved. The case was complicated by the fact that Dorothy had no known enemies and in fact, was one of the most well-liked residents in the neighborhood. The most prevalent theory for the police investigators was that the attacker might have been someone who had appeared in court before Forstein and had assaulted Dorothy for revenge. Every possible lead was investigated but no arrests were ever made.

Dorothy recovered from her injuries but was so shaken by the incident that she was never the same again. Her happy and carefree personality was gone, replaced by an anxious woman who was nervous and upset, jumping at every noise in the house and checking and rechecking the locks on the doors and windows. She was sure that someone was out to get her - but who?

Jules Forstein was perplexed. He was sure that no one with whom he had come into contact as a magistrate would bear him enough of a grudge to hurt his wife or his family, and yet he could not explain Dorothy’s attack. He seldom left his wife and children alone but on the night of October 18, 1949, he made plans to attend a political banquet. As he was leaving the office, he called his wife to check on her, explaining that he didn’t plan to be home too late.

Dorothy replied that everything was fine at home and she joked with him for a moment, finally seeming more like her old self. “Be sure to miss me!” she reportedly said just as she was hanging up. Tragically, her words would turn out to be prophetic ones.

Around 11:30 p.m., Forstein came home to be greeted by the wails of his two youngest children, Edward and Marcy. They were huddled on the floor, crying and shrieking. Their sister, Merna, was staying at a friend’s house and Dorothy was nowhere to be found. Forstein quickly discovered that the children were crying because their mother was gone!

While surprised that she would have left the children at home by themselves, Forstein assumed that Dorothy was visiting with friends or neighbors. He telephoned for several hours and no one had seen her. Finally, he called Captain Kelly again and the detective soon started his men checking hospitals, morgues and hotels all over Philadelphia. They worked frantically but no clues were discovered. Kelly went door-to-door in the neighborhood but no one had seen anything unusual. Wherever she was, Dorothy had left her purse, money and keys at home. The front door to the house had been locked.

The only lead came from nine-year-old Marcy Forstein, but her story was so wild that detectives at first dismissed it as nothing more than a child’s frightened and overactive imagination. She told Captain Kelly that she had been awakened and had left her room to see a man coming up the stairs. He went into her mother’s room. The door was cracked open and Marcy stated that she could see Dorothy lying face down on the rug. “She looked sick,” the little girl offered.

Then, the man, who she described as wearing a brown hat and brown jacket with something sticking out of the pocket, picked up her mother and put her over his shoulder. Dorothy was wearing red silk pajamas and red slippers at the time. Marcy asked the man what he was doing. He patted her on the head and replied: “Go back to sleep, little one, your mommy has been sick, but she will be all right now.”


The man carried Dorothy downstairs and out the front door. He locked the door behind him and vanished. Marcy awakened her brother and they waited together for their father, who arrived home about fifteen minutes later. The little girl told the detectives that she had never seen the man before and had no idea who he was.

As bizarre as the story sounded, it was the only possible explanation the police had for Dorothy’s disappearance. Nothing was disturbed in the house. There was no sign of a struggle and also no indication that anyone else had been there. There was not a single fingerprint in the house that did not belong and the investigators wondered how a man could have walked down the street with a woman in pajamas over his shoulder without someone noticing. And how had he gotten into the locked house anyway? It seemed impossible that the girl’s story could be true and yet it had to be. If no one had spirited the young woman away, then where had she gone? If she had walked away on her own, why had she not taken her purse or keys with her?

Dorothy Forstein was never seen again. There were no leads, no suspects and no explanations as to who might have taken her or why. Newspapers all over the country, especially in Pennsylvania, carried stories about her disappearance and possible kidnapping and then, by the end of October, the story largely disappeared, just as Dorothy had done. She simply vanished - gone without a trace.

For decades, no further word of Dorothy Forstein appeared in print. Then, in 2003, I featured the story of Dorothy Forstein on my website and soon after, I received a letter from an attorney from the Forstein family asking if the story could be removed. The letter was not threatening. It merely made an appeal for the privacy of the family members and asked if I would consider removing it from the internet out of consideration for their grief. I agreed to do so and I later learned that several sites that had also featured my article on the disappearance had received a similar letter.

Why the secrecy about a fifty-year-old disappearance? No one could say and to this day, no one is talking. I have never heard anything else about this mysterious case and there has been no further contact with anyone about it. After all of those years, the 2003 attention to the case of the missing housewife is almost as mysterious as the original vanishing – and neither is likely to ever be solved.


Read more about unsolved vanishings in my book Without a Trace, available as a Kindle edition or in print on the Whitechapel Press website. 



Wednesday, January 22, 2014

THE MAD BOMBER

On this date in 1957, suspected “Mad Bomber” George Metesky, accused of planting more than 30 explosive devices in the New York City area since 1940, was arrested in Waterbury, Connecticut. The arrest ended a 16-year campaign of terror with bombs being left in train stations, libraries, offices, phone booths, storage lockers, public restrooms and even the New York City subway. Most notably, Metesky bomber theaters, where he cut into seat upholstery and left explosive devices inside. Angry and resentful after a workplace injury that he’s suffered years earlier, the strange little man began making bombs that ended up injuring 15 people – and terrorizing the city. What drove him to his bizarre and bitter acts? And why did he end up in an insane asylum when it was all over?

"Mad Bomber" George Metesky

Shortly after World War I, Metesky joined the U.S. Marines, serving as a specialist electrician at the United States Consulate in Shanghai. Returning home, he went to work as a mechanic for Consolidated Edison utility company and lived in Waterbury, Connecticut, with his two unmarried sisters. In 1931, a boiler backfired and produced a blast of hot gases. Metesky was knocked down and fumes filled his lungs. The accident left him disabled and, after collecting 26 weeks of sick pay, he lost his job. The fumes caused him to contract pneumonia, which developed into tuberculosis. A claim for workers' compensation was denied because he waited too long to file it. Three appeals of the denial were also rejected, the last in 1936. He developed a hatred for the company's attorneys and for the three co-workers whose testimony in his compensation case he believed was perjured in favor of the company. Out of revenge, he planted his first bomb on November 16, 1940, leaving it on a window sill at the Consolidated Edison power plant on West 64th Street in Manhattan.

Metesky's first bomb was crude, a short length of brass pipe filled with gunpowder, with an ignition mechanism made of sugar and flashlight batteries. Enclosed in a wooden toolbox and left on the window sill, it was found before it could go off. It was wrapped in a note written in distinctive block letters and signed "F.P.", stating CON EDISON CROOKS – THIS IS FOR YOU.

In September 1941, a bomb with a similar ignition mechanism was found lying in the street about five blocks away from the Consolidated Edison headquarters building at 4 Irving Place. This one had no note, and was also a dud. Police theorized that the bomber might have spotted a police officer and dropped the bomb without setting its fuse.

Shortly after the United States entered World War II in December 1941, the police received a letter in block capital letters:

I WILL MAKE NO MORE BOMB UNITS FOR THE DURATION OF THE WAR – MY PATRIOTIC FEELINGS HAVE MADE ME DECIDE THIS – LATER I WILL BRING THE CON EDISON TO JUSTICE – THEY WILL PAY FOR THEIR DASTARDLY DEEDS... F.P.

True to his word, Metesky planted no bombs between 1941 and 1951, choosing instead to send crank letters and postcards to police stations, newspapers, private citizens and Con Edison. Investigators studying the penciled, block-lettered messages noted that the letters G and Y had an odd shape, possibly indicating a European education. The long hiatus since the last bomb and the improved construction techniques of the first new bomb led investigators to believe that the bomber had served in the military.

The first two bombs had drawn little attention, but the string of random bombings that began in 1951 frayed the city's nerves and taxed the resources of the New York City Police Department (NYPD). Metesky often placed warning calls to the buildings where he had planted bombs, but would not specify the bomb's exact location; he wrote to newspapers warning that he planned to plant more. Some bombs came with notes, but the note never revealed a motive, or a reason for choosing that particular location. Metesky's bombs were gunpowder-filled pipe bombs, ranging in size from four to ten inches long and from one-half inch to two inches in diameter. Most used timers constructed from flashlight batteries and cheap pocket watches. Investigators at bomb sites learned to look for a wool sock – Metesky used these to transport the bombs and sometimes to hang them from a rail or projection.

For his new wave of bombings, Metesky mainly chose public buildings as targets, bombing several of them multiple times. Bombs were left in phone booths, storage lockers and restrooms in public buildings including Grand Central Terminal (five times), Pennsylvania Station (five times), Radio City Music Hall (three times), the New York Public Library (twice), the Port Authority Bus Terminal (twice) and the RCA Building, as well as in the New York City Subway. Perhaps most notably, Metesky bombed movie theaters, where he cut into seat upholstery and slipped his explosive devices inside.

On March 29, 1951 was the first Metesky bomb of the new wave, and also the first Metesky bomb to explode, startling commuters in Grand Central Terminal but injuring no one. It had been dropped into a sand urn near the Oyster Bar on the terminal's lower level. In April, Metesky's next bomb exploded without injury in a telephone booth in the New York Public Library; in August a phone-booth bomb exploded without injury at Grand Central. Metesky next planted a bomb that exploded without injury in a phone booth at the Consolidated Edison headquarters building at 4 Irving Place. He also mailed one bomb, which did not explode, to Consolidated Edison from White Plains, New York.

On October 22, the New York Herald Tribune received a letter in penciled block letters, stating
BOMBS WILL CONTINUE UNTIL THE CONSOLIDATED EDISON COMPANY IS BROUGHT TO JUSTICE FOR THEIR DASTARDLY ACTS AGAINST ME. I HAVE EXHAUSTED ALL OTHER MEANS. I INTEND WITH BOMBS TO CAUSE OTHERS TO CRY OUT FOR JUSTICE FOR ME.

The letter directed police to the Paramount Theater in Times Square, where a bomb was discovered and disabled, and to a telephone booth at Pennsylvania Station where nothing was found.

On November 28, a coin-operated locker at the IRT 14th Street subway station was bombed, without injury. Near the end of the year, the Herald Tribune received another letter, warning:

HAVE YOU NOTICED THE BOMBS IN YOUR CITY – IF YOU ARE WORRIED, I AM SORRY – AND ALSO IF ANYONE IS INJURED. BUT IT CANNOT BE HELPED – FOR JUSTICE WILL BE SERVED. I AM NOT WELL, AND FOR THIS I WILL MAKE THE CON EDISON SORRY – YES, THEY WILL REGRET THEIR DASTARDLY DEEDS – I WILL BRING THEM BEFORE THE BAR OF JUSTICE – PUBLIC OPINION WILL CONDEMN THEM – FOR BEWARE, I WILL PLACE MORE UNITS UNDER THEATER SEATS IN THE NEAR FUTURE. F.P.

On March 1952, a bomb exploded in a phone booth at the Port Authority Bus Terminal without causing injury. In June and again in December bombs exploded in seats at the Lexington Avenue Loew's theater. The December bombing injured one person, and was the first Metesky bomb to cause injury. Police had asked the newspapers not to print any of the bomber's letters and to play down earlier bombings, but by now the public was becoming aware that a "Mad Bomber" was on the loose.

In 1953, Bombs exploded in seats at Radio City Music Hall and at the Capitol Theater, with no injuries. A bomb again exploded near the Oyster Bar in Grand Central Terminal, this time in a coin-operated rental locker, again with no injuries. Police described this bomb as the homemade product of a "publicity-seeking jerk.” An unexploded bomb was found in a rental locker at Pennsylvania Station.

A bomb wedged behind a sink in a Grand Central Terminal men's room exploded in March 1954, slightly injuring three men. A bomb planted in a phone booth at the Port Authority Bus Terminal exploded with no injuries. Another bomb was discovered in a phone booth that was removed from Pennsylvania Station for repair. As a capacity Radio City Music Hall audience of 6,200 watched Bing Crosby's White Christmas on November 7, a bomb stuffed into the bottom cushion of a seat in the 15th row exploded, injuring four patrons. The explosion was muffled by the heavy upholstery, and only those nearby heard it. While the film continued, the injured were escorted to the facility's first-aid room and about 50 people in the immediate area were moved to the back of the theater. After the film and the following stage show concluded an hour-and-a-half later, the police roped off 150 seats in the area of the explosion and began the search for evidence.

In 1955, a bomb exploded without injuries on the platform at the IRT Sutter Avenue subway station in Brooklyn. A bomb hung beneath a phone booth shelf exploded on the main floor of Macy's department store, with no injuries. Two bombs exploded without injuries at Pennsylvania Station, one in a rental locker and one in a phone booth. A bomb was found at Radio City Music Hall after a warning phone call.

At the Roxy Theater, a bomb dropped out of a slashed seat onto an upholsterer's workbench without exploding.  A seat bomb exploded at the Paramount Theater; one patron was struck on the shoe by bomb fragments but disclaimed injury. Investigators discovered a small penknife pushed inside the seat, one of several found at theater seat bombings. They theorized that the bomber left his knives behind in case he was stopped and questioned. In December, a bomb exploded without injuries in a Grand Central men's-room stall.

The bombings continued in 1956. A 74-year-old men's-room attendant at Pennsylvania Station was seriously injured when a bomb in a toilet bowl exploded. A young man had reported an obstruction and the attendant tried to clear it using a plunger. Among the porcelain fragments, investigators found a watch frame and a wool sock. A guard at the RCA Building in Rockefeller Center discovered a piece of pipe about five inches long in a telephone booth. A second guard thought it might be useful in a plumbing project and took it home on the bus to New Jersey, where it exploded on his kitchen table early the next morning. No one was injured. A December 2 bombing at the Paramount Theater in Brooklyn left six of the theater's 1,500 occupants injured, one seriously, and drew tremendous news coverage and editorial attention. The next day, Police Commissioner Stephen P. Kennedy ordered what he called the "greatest manhunt in the history of the Police Department."

On December 24, a clerk at the New York Public Library discovered a maroon-colored sock held to the underside of the shelf by a magnet. The sock contained an iron pipe with a threaded cap on each end. After consulting with other employees, he threw the device out a window into Bryant Park, bringing the bomb squad and more than 60 NYPD police officers and detectives to the scene. In a letter to the New York Journal American the next month, Metesky said that the Public Library bomb, as well as one discovered later the same week inside a seat at the Times Square Paramount, had been planted months before

Metesky was arrested in January 1957, but his bombs continued to be found. Eight months later, a explosive device was discovered at the Lexington Avenue Loew's Theater by an upholsterer repairing a recently vandalized seat. It was the last of the three bombs Metesky said he had planted there. The first two had exploded, one in June 1952 and one in December 1952, with the December explosion resulting in one injury.

Tracking down Metesky had required some pretty amazing police work. Throughout the investigation, detectives were convinced that the bomber was a former Con Edison employee with a grudge against the company. Con Edison employment records were reviewed, but there were hundreds of other leads, tips and crank letters to be followed up on. Detectives ranged far and wide, checking lawsuit records, mental hospital admissions, vocational schools where bomb parts might be made. Citizens turned in neighbors who behaved oddly, and co-workers who seemed to know too much about bombs. Everything had to be checked. A new group, the Bomb Investigation Unit, was formed to work on nothing but bomber leads.

It was one of the first American cases that leaned heavily on a criminal profile. Fingerprint experts, handwriting experts, the bomb investigation unit and other NYPD groups worked with dedication but made little progress. With traditional police methods seemingly useless against Metesky's erratic bombing campaign, police captain John Cronin approached his friend Dr. James Brussel, a criminologist, psychiatrist, and assistant commissioner of the New York State Commission for Mental Hygiene. Captain Cronin asked Brussel to meet with Inspector Howard E. Finney, head of the NYPD's Crime Laboratory.

In his office with Finney and two detectives, Brussel examined the crime-scene photos and letters and discussed the bomber's metal-working and electrical skills. As he talked with the police, Brussel developed what he called a kind of "portrait" of the bomber, what would now be called an offender profile. The bomber's belief that he had been wronged by Consolidated Edison and by others acting in concert with Consolidated Edison seemed to dominate his thoughts, leading Brussel to conclude that the bomber was suffering from paranoia, a condition he describes as "a chronic disorder of insidious development, characterized by persistent, unalterable, systematized, logically constructed delusions." Based on the evidence and his own experience dealing with psychotic criminals, Brussel put forth a number of theories beyond the obvious grudge against Consolidated Edison:

1. The bomber was male (fit historically)
2. Well-proportioned and average build (based on studies of hospitalized mental patients)
3. 40-50 years old (paranoia develops slowly)
4. Precise, neat and tidy (based on handwriting and bomb building)
5. Good employee, on time and well-behaved
6. A Slav, since bombs were favored in Middle Europe and also Catholic
7. Well-educated, but no college
8. Foreign-born or living in ethnic community (phrasing of letters)
9. Sex issues (likely with older female relative)
10. Loner, no friends, little interest in women, likely a virgin
11. Because of where letters were posted, lived between New York City and Connecticut

Brussel additionally predicted to his visitors that when the bomber was caught, he would be wearing a double-breasted suit, buttoned.

Although the police policy had been to keep the bomber investigation low-key, Brussel convinced them to heavily publicize the profile, predicting that any wrong assumption made in it would prod the bomber to respond. Under the headline "16-Year Search for a Madman", the New York Times version of the profile summarized the major predictions:

Single man, between 40 and 50 years old, introvert. Unsocial but not anti-social. Skilled mechanic. Cunning. Neat with tools. Egotistical of mechanical skill. Contemptuous of other people. Resentful of criticism of his work but probably conceals resentment. Moral. Honest. Not interested in women. High school graduate. Expert in civil or military ordnance. Religious. Might flare up violently at work when criticized. Possible motive: discharge or reprimand. Feels superior to critics. Resentment keeps growing. Present or former Consolidated Edison worker. Probably case of progressive paranoia.

Newspapers published the profile on December 25, 1956, alongside the story of the so-called "Christmas Eve" bomb discovered in the Public Library. By the end of the month, bomb hoaxes and false confessions had risen to epidemic proportions. At the peak of the hysteria on December 28, police received over 50 false bomb alarms, over 20 the next day.

The day after the profile was published, the New York Journal American published an open letter, prepared in cooperation with the police, urging the bomber to give himself up. The newspaper promised a "fair trial" and offered to publish his grievances. Metesky wrote back the next day, signing his letter "F.P.". He said that he would not be giving himself up, and revealed a wish to "bring the Con. Edison to justice". He listed all the locations where he had placed bombs that year, and seemed concerned that perhaps not all had been discovered. Later in the letter he said that his days were numbered, but that he would continue to strike “even from my grave.”

After some editing by the police, the newspaper published Metesky's letter on January 10, along with another open letter asking him for more information about his grievances. Metesky's second letter provided some details about the materials used in the bombs (he favored pistol powder, as "shotgun powder has very little power"), promised a bombing "truce" until at least March 1, and wrote "I was injured on job at Consolidated Edison plant – as a result I am adjudged – totally and permanently disabled", going on to say that he had had to pay his own medical bills and that Consolidated Edison had blocked his workers' compensation case. After police editing, the newspaper published his letter on January 15 and asked the bomber for "further details and dates" about his compensation case so that a new and fair hearing could be held.

Metesky's third letter was received by the newspaper on Saturday, January 19. The letter complained of lying unnoticed for hours on "cold concrete" after his injury without any first aid being rendered, then developing pneumonia and later tuberculosis. The letter added details about his lost compensation case and the "perjury" of his co-workers, and gave the date of his injury, September 5, 1931. The letter suggested that if he did not have a family that would be "branded" by his giving himself up, he might consider doing so to get his compensation case reopened.

Con Edison clerk Alice Kelly had read the Christmas Day profile and for days had been scouring company workers' compensation files for employees with a serious health problem. On Friday, January 18, 1957, while searching the final batch of "troublesome" worker's compensation case files – those where threats were made or implied – she found a file marked in red with the words "injustice" and "permanent disability", words that had been printed in the Journal American. The file indicated that one George Metesky, an employee from 1929 to 1931, had been injured in a plant accident on September 5, 1931. Several letters from Metesky in the file used wording similar to the letters in the Journal American, including the phrase "dastardly deeds".

The police were notified that evening, but initially, it was treated as just “one of a number” of leads. But the Waterbury police were asked to do a discreet check of Metesky’s house. Further investigation was carried out with the Con Edison files and when the injury date given in the bomber's third letter matched George Metesky's accident date, police knew they had their man. Accompanied by Waterbury police, four NYPD detectives arrived at Metesky's home with a search warrant shortly before midnight on Monday, January 21, 1957. They asked him for a handwriting sample, and to make a letter G. He made the G, looked up and said, "I know why you fellows are here. You think I'm the Mad Bomber." The detectives asked what "F.P." stood for, and he responded, "F.P. stands for Fair Play."

He led them to the garage workshop, where they found his lathe. Back in the house they found pipes and connectors suitable for bombs hidden in the pantry, as well as three cheap pocket watches, flashlight batteries, brass terminal knobs, and unmatched wool socks of the type used to transport the bombs. Metesky had answered the door in pajamas; after he was ordered to get dressed for the trip to Waterbury Police Headquarters, he reappeared wearing a double-breasted suit, buttoned – just as Dr. Brussel had predicted.

During his interrogation, Metesky admitted to everything. He told detectives that he had placed 32 bombs. He was indicted by a grand jury on 47 charges – of attempted murder, damaging a building by explosion, maliciously endangering life, and violation of New York State's Sullivan Law by carrying concealed weapons, the bombs. Seven counts of attempted murder were charged, based on the seven persons injured in the preceding five years, the statute of limitations in the case. Metesky was brought to the courtroom to hear the charges from Manhattan's Bellevue Hospital, where he had been undergoing psychiatric examination.

After hearing from psychiatric experts, Judge Samuel S. Liebowitz declared Metesky a paranoid schizophrenic, "hopeless and incurable both mentally and physically," and found him legally insane and incompetent to stand trial. On April 18, 1957, Judge Liebowitz committed Metesky to the Matteawan Hospital for the Criminally Insane at Beacon, New York.

Expected to live only a few weeks due to his advanced tuberculosis, Metesky had to be carried into the hospital. After a year and a half of treatment, his health had improved, and a newspaper article written fourteen years later described the 68-year-old Metesky as "vigorous and healthy looking.”

While he was at Matteawan, the Journal American hired a leading workers' compensation attorney to appeal his disallowed claim for the 1931 injury, on the grounds that Metesky was mentally incompetent at the time and did not know his rights. The appeal was denied.

Metesky was unresponsive to psychiatric therapy, but was a model inmate and caused no trouble. He was visited regularly by his sisters and occasionally by Dr. Brussel, to whom he would point out that he had deliberately built his bombs not to kill anyone.
In 1973, the “Mad Bomber” case took a strange turn when the United States Supreme Court ruled that a mentally ill defendant cannot be committed to a hospital operated by the New York State Department of Correctional Services unless a jury finds him dangerous. Since Metesky had been committed to Matteawan without a jury trial, he was transferred to the Creedmoor Psychiatric Center, a state hospital outside the correctional system. Doctors determined that he was harmless, and because he had already served two-thirds of the 25-year maximum sentence he would have received at trial, Metesky was released on December 13, 1973. The single condition was that he make regular visits to a Connecticut Department of Mental Hygiene clinic near his home.

Interviewed by a reporter upon his release, he said that he had forsworn violence, but reaffirmed his anger and resentment toward Consolidated Edison. He also stated that before he began planting his bombs, “I wrote 900 letters to the Mayor, to the Police Commissioner, to the newspapers, and I never even got a penny postcard back. Then I went to the newspapers to try to buy advertising space, but all of them turned me down. I was compelled to bring my story to the public.”

And he certainly did that…

Metesky returned to his home in Waterbury, where he died 20 years later at the age of 90.


Sunday, January 19, 2014

POE’S BIRTHDAY TOASTER

This date marks not only the birthday of American macabre writer and poet Edgar Allan Poe but it also marks the tradition of what was known for many years as the “Poe Toaster.” It was an unofficial nickname given to a mysterious person (or more probably two persons in succession, possibly father and son) who, for over seventy years, paid an annual tribute to Poe by vising his grave in the early morning hours of Poe’s January 19 birthday. The shadowy figure, dressed in black with a wide-brimmed hat and white scarf, would pour himself a glass of cognac and raise a toast to Poe's memory, then vanish into the night, leaving three roses in a distinctive arrangement and the unfinished bottle of cognac. Poe fans gathered every year in hopes of getting a glimpse of the Toaster, who never sought publicity and was rarely seen or photographed.

According to accounts, and notes that accompanied later tributes, the original Toaster began making the original visitations in the 1930s and they continued until his death in 1998. After that, the tradition was passed on – but to who? Some said that it was the original toasters son, others called him a clever imitator. Controversial statements were left in some notes by the post-1998 Toaster and in 2006, attempts were made to detain and identify him. But then in 2009, the visits stopped on the 200th anniversary of Poe’s birth and has not returned since.

Who was this mysterious character? Why did he begin his strange, annual ritual? And will he ever return? Answers to those questions may be as puzzling as some of the mystery stories that were penned by the man who gravesite was honored for seven decades…

Edgar Allan Poe

Edgar Allan Poe, who lived a troubled life and never achieved the fame that he would in death, died under mysterious circumstances on October 7, 1849. The Poe Toaster tradition began in the 1930s. Each year, in the early morning hours of January 19, a black-clad figure, face obscured by a scarf or hood, carrying a silver-tipped cane, entered the Westminster Burying Ground in Baltimore. Poe had been buried in what was the Western Burial Ground at the time of his death, but his body was later moved from the back of the cemetery to a more prominent location near the cemetery gates. The Toaster, however, always visited the stone that marked the original site of Poe’s burial. When he reached the stone, he would raise a cognac toast and place three red roses on the monument in a distinctive configuration, along with the unfinished bottle of cognac. The roses were believed to represent Poe, his wife Virginia, and his mother-in-law, Maria Clemm, all three of whom were originally interred at the site.

On several occasions, the Toaster left a note along with the roses and cognac. Some notes were simple expressions of devotion, such as "Edgar, I haven't forgotten you." In 1993, a cryptic message stated, "The torch will be passed." In 1999, a note announced that the original Toaster had died the previous year and had passed the tradition to "a son." Subsequent eyewitnesses noted that the post-1998 Toaster appeared to be a younger individual.

The identity of the man was an intriguing mystery for years. Many people, including Jeff Jerome, the curator of the nearby Edgar Allan Poe house, did his best to protect the identity of the Toaster. He was quoted as saying that if he had his way, the man’s identity would never be known.  

For some time, rumors persisted that Jerome was the mysterious man in black, so in 1983, he invited 70 people to gather at the graveyard at midnight on January 19. They had a celebration in honor of the author's birthday with a glass of amontillado, a Spanish sherry featured in one of Poe’s horror tales, and readings from the author’s works. At about an hour past midnight, the celebrants were startled to see a man run through the cemetery in a black frock coat. He was fair-haired and carrying a walking stick and quickly disappeared around the cemetery’s east wall. The roses and cognac were found on Poe's grave as usual.

The infrared photograph of the Poe Toaster taken in 1980

Not in an effort to solve the mystery, but merely to enhance it, Jerome allowed a photographer to try and capture the elusive man on film. The photographer was backed by LIFE Magazine and was equipped with rented infrared night-vision photo equipment. A radio signal triggered the camera so that the photographer could remain out of sight. The picture appeared in the July 1990 issue of LIFE and showed the back of a heavyset man kneeling at Poe's grave. His face cannot really be seen and as it was shadowed by his black hat. The Toaster was never photographed again.

The tradition continued after the 1999, but was never the same again. Subsequent notes predicted a win for the Baltimore Ravens in the Super Bowl and, in 2004, was critical of France’s opposition to the war in Iraq. Jeff Jerome suggested that the later notes reflected an unwillingness of the son (or sons) to take the tradition as seriously as had the father. A final note—left sometime between 2005 and 2008—was so dismaying, Jerome said, that he decided to fib and announce that no note had been left. He declined to reveal its contents, other than that it was a hint, in hindsight, that an end to the tradition was imminent.

Meanwhile, a group of onlookers unsuccessfully attempted to intercept the Poe Toaster in 2006, breaking a long-standing tradition in Baltimore to never interfere with the Toaster's entry, tribute ritual, or departure. It was the only time that it ever happened. Then, in 2007, a man came forward who claimed to be the Toaster. The man, 92-year-old named Sam Porpora, claimed that he had started the Poe Toaster tradition. A former historian for Baltimore's Westminster Church, Porpora claimed that he invented the Toaster in the 1960s as a "publicity stunt", to reinvigorate the church and its congregation, and had falsely told a reporter at the time that it had begun in 1949. However, Porpora’s claims turned out to be more fanciful than many of Poe’s stories. Reports of the annual visits dated from well before the 1960s. For example, a 1950 article in the Baltimore Evening Sun mentions "an anonymous citizen who creeps in annually to place an empty bottle (of excellent label) against the gravestone." After the many errors were pointed out in his stories (which changed with each telling), Popora never retracted his claim, but acknowledged that he was not the man who made the annual visits.

In 2009, the Poe Toaster returned to mark the bicentennial of Poe’s birth, but he didn’t leave a note behind. In 2010, he did not return and has not been seen since. Although some believe that another Poe admirer should take up the cause, perhaps it’s best to let it come to an end. The Poe Toaster, it’s said, will return to the master’s grave, “nevermore.”



Tuesday, January 14, 2014

THE MURDER MANSION

On the night of December 6, 1959, Dr. Harold Perelson, from Los Feliz, California, beat his wife to death with a hammer, severely beat his 18-year-old daughter and then committed suicide by drinking a glass of acid. The murders became a twisted puzzle to the neighbors in Los Feliz. It was not bafflement about the murder themselves; they were easily solved. The real mystery was why the mansion sat empty and untouched – left exactly as it was on the night of violence – for the next fifty years.


No one knows why Dr. Perelson committed his dark deeds. But on the night of December 6, 1959, the wealthy Inglewood heart specialist bludgeoned his wife, Lillian, to death with a hammer and then seriously injured his daughter, Judye, while two other children slept soundly in the house. Judye survived her beating and, although bleeding badly, ran down the hillside to a neighbor’s home at 2471 Glendower Place to ask for help. In the meantime, the two younger children woke up and asked their father about the screaming. Dr. Perelson told them that had only been having a nightmare and should go back to sleep. A few moments later, he drank a glass of acid and died in agony. The police arrived a short time later and all of the Perelson children were removed from the house and eventually, went to live with relatives back east. The motive behind the brutal murder/ suicide was never revealed, although some have speculated that Perelson was in financial trouble.

But that bloody night was not the strangest part of the story…

About a year later, in December 1960, the Perelson’s Spanish-Revival mansion was purchased by Julian and Emily Enriquez through a probate auction. And while the couple, who lived in Lincoln Heights at the time, visited the mansion on occasion and even stored some things in the house, they never moved out – and they never removed any of the Peterson’s belongings. In fact, it was left exactly as it had been on the night when Perelson killed his wife and committed suicide. Curiosity-seekers, and even some reporters, who peered through the dusty windows stated that not only was the Perelson’s furniture, dishes, books and clothing still in the same place where it had been left, even the Christmas tree and unopened gifts were still in the living room.   

The mansion, which was built in 1925 and was quite beautiful in the days before its slow decline, boasts four large bedroom, three bathrooms, a conservatory, maid’s quarters, a large ballroom and a sweeping view of Los Angeles. Over time, though, the house has fallen into disrepair. Neighbors do what they can to keep the grounds in order and a burglar alarm has been installed to keep away intruders, but other than that, the house remains frozen in time.

But the lingering question remains with many – is it truly empty?

It’s no surprise that rumors have spread about the house being haunted. Trespassers who have attempted to enter the house have left, muttering about “ghosts.” A friend of some neighbors who lived nearby was bitten by a black widow spider when she broke into the house on a “Nancy Drew moment.” Two nights later, the alarm on the back door at the neighbor’s kept going off without explanation. There was no one there. “It was like the ghost was following us,” the neighbor later remarked.

 A few years ago, the city required current owner Rudy Enriquez to replace stucco that had peeled from the sides of the house and front walkway walls and repaint the place. Enriquez inherited the mansion when his mother died in 1994. Since then, he has been approached many times by potential buyers but has steadfastly refused to sell. He tells everyone he hasn't decided what he wants to do with the property.

Enriquez, a 77-year-old retired music store manager who lives in the Mount Washington area, said he remains uncertain about his plans. He told a newspaper that he has no interest in staying or living in the house – although that lack of interest has nothing to do with the mansion’s violent past, he said.

So, why does the once beautiful home remain a time capsule to the rampage that took place there in 1959? No one knows. But it is a haunted place. If not haunted by ghosts, then haunted by the tragedy that occurred within its walls.

When the police found Dr. Perelson lying dead next to his wife’s blood-soaked bed, he was still clutching the hammer that he had beaten her with. On a nightstand next to his bed, detectives found an open copy of Dante's "Divine Comedy” with a passage clearly marked...

"Midway upon the journey of our life I found myself within a forest dark, for the straightforward pathway had been lost . . .” it read, perhaps defining the dark struggle that had taken place within the mind of the man who killed murder.



Monday, January 13, 2014

TRAGIC DEATH OF STEPHEN FOSTER

On this date in 1864, American songwriter Stephen Foster, who'd written such classics as "Swanee River," "Oh Susanna!," "Camptown Races" and "My Old Kentucky Home," died in poverty in a New York Hospital. He was only 37 years old -- and barely made any money at all from the songs that have endured for generations.



 

Foster grew up in Pennsylvania and received an education in English grammar, diction, the classics, penmanship, Latin and Greek and mathematics. In 1839, his elder brother William was serving his apprenticeship as an engineer at nearby Towanda and thought Stephen would benefit from being under his supervision. The site immortalized as the Camptown Races was just 15 miles from Towanda. Stephen attended Athens Academy from 1839 to 1841. He wrote his first composition, Tioga Waltz, while attending Athens Academy, and performed it during the 1841 commencement exercises; he was 14. His education continued for a brief time at Canonsburg College and while his education was paid, he had little money. Sources conflict on whether he left willingly or was dismissed, but, either way, he left Canonsburg to visit Pittsburgh with another student and never returned.

 In 1846, Foster moved to Cincinnati and became a bookkeeper with his brother's steamship company. While in Cincinnati, Foster penned his first successful songs—among them "Oh! Susanna," which became an anthem of the California Gold Rush. In 1849, he published Foster's Ethiopian Melodies, which included the successful song "Nelly Was a Lady", made famous by the Christy Minstrels.

 Then he returned to Pennsylvania and signed a contract with the Christy Minstrels. It was during this period that Foster would write most of his best-known songs: "Camptown Races" (1850), "Nelly Bly" (1850), "Old Folks at Home" (known also as Swanee River, 1851), "My Old Kentucky Home" (1853), "Old Dog Tray" (1853), and "Jeanie With the Light Brown Hair" (1854), written for his wife, Jane Denny McDowell.

 Many of Foster's songs had Southern themes, yet Foster never lived in the South and visited it only once in 1852 by river-boat voyage on his honeymoon on his brother Dunning's steam boat, which took him down the Mississippi to New Orleans.

 Foster tried to earn a living as a songwriter -- a job that really did not exist at the time -- and thanks to this, plus the fact that copyrights and composer royalties didn't really exist either, Foster made very little money from his work.  Multiple publishers often printed their own competing editions of Foster's tunes, paying Foster nothing. His largest payment? He received $100 for "Oh, Susanna!"

 Foster moved to New York City in 1860. About a year later, his wife and daughter left him and returned to Pittsburgh. Beginning in 1862, his fortunes decreased, and as they did, so did the quality of his new songs. Early in 1863, he began working with George Cooper, whose lyrics were often humorous and designed to appeal to musical theater audiences. The Civil War created a flurry of newly written music with patriotic war themes, but this did not benefit Foster. During this time he composed a series of Sunday School hymns, including "Give Us This Day" in 1863.

 Broke, alone and depressed, Foster took up residence at the North American Hotel in the Bowery on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. He was confined to his bed for days by a fever. Foster tried to call a chambermaid, but collapsed, falling against the washbasin next to his bed and shattering it, which gouged his head. It took three hours to get him to Bellevue Hospital. He died from his injuries, which became infected, three days later.

 His worn leather wallet contained a scrap of paper that simply said, "Dear friends and gentle hearts," along with 38 cents in Civil War scrip and three pennies. Foster was buried in the Allegheny Cemetery in Pittsburgh.

 Sadly, one of his most beloved works, "Beautiful Dreamer," was published shortly after his death.

Stephen Foster went on to become a musical legend and a household name, but like so many other artists in American history, the true scope of his brilliance was not realized until long after his death.


Saturday, January 11, 2014

ELIOT NESS HONOR

U.S. Senators from Illinois proposed on Friday (January 10) that a major federal law enforcement building in Washington, D.C. be named in honor of "Untouchable" Eliot Ness, the Prohibition-era G-Man who helped bring down Chicago gangster Al Capone.


Eliot Ness

The headquarters of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives, dedicated in 2008, would be called the Eliot Ness ATF Building under the senator's resolution. 

The Chicago-born Ness, immortalized in print, film and television, helped put away Capone, who was convicted and imprisoned on tax violations after Ness and his team of federal agents raided the gangster's breweries and arrested dozens of his men. 

Senators Dick Durbin and Mark Kirk were joined by Senator Sherrod Brown of Ohio (where Ness worked later in his career). Durbin noted: "Chicago gangster Al Capone believed that every man had his price. But for Eliot Ness and his legendary law enforcement team, the Untouchables, no amount of money could sway their loyalty or sway their dedication to Chicago's safety."


Friday, January 10, 2014

THE MAN WHO NEVER DIED

On this date in 1914, Utah grocer John G. Morrison, 47, and his son, Arling, 17, were shot to death in their Salt Lake City, Utah store. The police arrested Joe Hill, a Swedish-American labor activist, songwriter, and member of the Industrial Workers of the World (IWW, also known as the “Wobblies”). Hill, had become a popular song writer and cartoonist for the radical union, writing about the hard life of itinerant workers and the need for improved conditions for working people.



Hill’s was arrested and quickly convicted, accused of trying to rob the store. Despite appeals, the conviction stood, even though the bullets were not from Hill’s revolver and no one had identified him as the murderer. The only evidence against him was that he himself had been shot in the chest on the same evening as the Morrison murders. He refused to explain the circumstances – it had to do with a woman, he said.

Hill's love relationship, though frequently speculated upon, remained mostly conjecture for nearly a century. Apparently, though, Hill and his friend and countryman, Otto Appelquist, were rivals for the attention of 20-year-old Hilda Erickson, a member of the family with whom the two men were lodging. The two men quarreled and Hill was shot. Tragically, though, this alibi was never presented at his trial.

Following Hill’s death sentence, the governor of Utah turned down thousands of demands for clemency and a request from President Woodrow Wilson for a stay of execution. Hill, who had chosen to be shot rather than hanged, reportedly refused a blindfold. After declaring his innocence, he shouted to the squad of five men poised with their guns, “Fire – go on and fire!” And they did.

After his death, he was memorialized by several folk songs. His life and death have inspired books and poetry, including a 1930 poem by Alfred Hayes called "I Dreamed I Saw Joe Hill Last Night", sometimes referred to simply as "Joe Hill".

* Hayes's lyrics were turned into a song in 1936 by Earl Robinson. Paul Robeson and Pete Seeger often performed this song and are associated with it, along with Irish folk group The Dubliners. Joan Baez's Woodstock performance of "Joe Hill" in 1969 is one of the best-known recordings.

* Phil Ochs wrote and recorded a different, original song called "Joe Hill", which tells a much more detailed story of Joe Hill's life and death, and Chumbawamba did a song aboul Hill called “By and By” in 2005, using the first stanza of Alfred Hayes’ poem.

* Wallace Stegner published a fictional biography called Joe Hill in 1950.

* Authors Stephen and Tabitha King named their second child Joseph Hillstrom King, after Joe Hill and he later adopted the pseudonym when he published his first novel, “Heart-Shaped Box.”

* Gibbs M. Smith wrote a biography Joe Hill, which was later turned into the 1971 movie Joe Hill (also known as The Ballad of Joe Hill) directed by Bo Widerberg.

* In 1980 Posten AB, the Swedish postal service, issued a Joe Hill postage stamp. Red on a white background with the lyrics in English "We'll have freedom, love and health/When the grand red flag is flying, In the Workers' Commonwealth."

Hill’s unjust death made him a labor legend and a martyr to the cause. But he was game to the end. Just prior to his execution, Hill wrote to Bill Haywood, an IWW leader, and said, "Goodbye Bill. I die like a true blue rebel. Don't waste any time in mourning. Organize... Could you arrange to have my body hauled to the state line to be buried? I don't want to be found dead in Utah."


Thursday, January 2, 2014

FRANKIE AND JOHNNY -- A "KILLER" SONG

You might not recognize the song by name, but you've heard it. In fact, it's been recorded 256 times by artists like Lead Belly, Jimmie Rodgers, Les Paul and Mary Ford, Johnny Cash, Pete Seeger, Sam Cooke, Lena Horne, Bob Dylan, Jerry Lee Lewis, Elvis Presley, Gene Vincent, Van Morrison, Louis Armstrong, Benny Goodman and Jack Johnson.  It tells the story of a woman, Frankie, who finds that her man Johnny was "making love to" another woman and shoots him dead. Frankie is then arrested; in some versions of the song she is also executed. It was originally penned by a St. Louis songwriter named Jim Dooley and while he took some liberties with the tale, he was inspired by a real-life murder. But how close did he stick to the story? Not close at all, declared Frances Baker, reputed to be the "Frankie" of the song.


France Baker of St. Louis -- "Frankie" of the popular song

In fact, there was nothing that made Baker angrier than hearing "Frankie and Johnny," especially since her St. Louis neighbors knew that she was the woman immortalized in the ballad. Baker never denied that, as an emotional 22-year-old in 1899, she shot her 17-year-old boyfriend (name Allen, called Albert and not Johnny) but what made her angry is the song's description of her as a loose woman.

Even after she was acquitted of murder on the grounds of self-defense, there was no escaping from the song's claim that she was of "easy virtue." She felt publicly humiliated and tried to escape her shame by moving to Omaha and then Portland, but the song followed her. And the embarrassment did not end there. A play, and then a movie in 1936, dramatized the song's love triangle. In 1942, Baker decided that she had put up with enough and sued Republic Pictures for defamation of character. More than 42 years after the shooting, "Frankie" was able to tell her side of the story. 

She was nothing like the character in the song, she said. She did not wear diamonds of fancy clothes and her income was not derived from loose morals, but from "washing and ironing and scrubbing steps." She even claimed that she was not upset when she found out her boyfriend was seeing Alice Pryor. She was asleep when Albert came to her house -- intent on killing her, she told the court. He threatened her, first with a lamp and then a knife. Luckily, Frances kept a silver-plated pistol at her bedside and she shot him -- not three times like in the song, but just once as he was standing next to her bed. 

Baker was so convincing with her story that the court ruled against her -- the jury wasn't even sure that the song was about her at all. It turned out that there were other versions of the song, with female characters with names like Annie and Lilly. In the end, Baker lost the suit.

But she went to her grave believing that she had been humiliated. She returned to Portland and in 1950, was committed to a mental institution. She died there two years later, at the age of 75.