CHAPTER III
ST. PAUL ACQUIRES THE REPUTATION OF BEING A LIVE, TOUGH RIVER CITY — A WORKHOUSE IS ESTABLISHED — ROSTER OF THE POLICE FORCE IN 1878 — PATROLMAN 0'CONNELL IS MURDERED BY A BURGLAR — THE DEPARTMENT IS PROVIDED WITH A PATROL WAGON AND HORSES — INSECURITY OF THE OLD JAIL — THE "BLACK MARIA" — THE MOUNTED POLICE AND THE TELEGRAPH SYSTEM IS ADDED TO THE FORCE — THE ICE PALACE REQUIRES A LARGE FORCE OF "SPECIALS" — FOUR POLICE SUB-STATIONS ARE ERECTED — DOG CATCHERS ARE EMPLOYED — STANDARD OF ADMISSION TO POLICE SERVICE IS FIXED — UNUSUAL NUMBER OF MURDERS IN 1887 — OFFICER HANSON IS KILLED — THE NEW COURT HOUSE AND CITY HALL IS ERECTED — THE BELL CHARTER IN 1891 — PENSIONS FOR AGED POLICEMEN AND THEIR WIDOWS AND ORPHANS.
Twenty-five years ago, away back in the seventies, St. Paul, saintliest of modern cities, was known up and down the river as a "dead tough" town. As a matter of evolution and the forming of municipal character this stage of civic existence was perhaps essential to its growth; as a matter of river frontage and inadequate police protection it certainly could not have been much better considering the time, the opportunity and the general make-up of steamboat refuse. Third st. was the main thoroughfare, the principal business street, as well as the most fashionable boulevard at command. But Second, then Bench st., was most popular with such masses as daily sifted into the city; low river dives and dance halls, and groggeries, flourishing there, and no respectable man, much less a woman, dared enter the neighborhood after dark. Not a house on the Second Ward front but had its record of crime and vice; in one the gang of sharpers lying in wait for the approach of a "tenderfoot," in the other the relay of frail and tawdy women, ready to murder the souls of men, and in yet another the vender of distilled poison, destined to kill its victims, old men, young men, fair young girls and hideous hags - as fast as they could be led to slaughter. It is but a glimpse into a past which can never repeat itself; a skeleton dragged out of a city closet, an arraignment of facts which had better far be left untold; they grate so harshly on the civilized ear of the present. But grim figures though these facts be, they stand as the landmarks of History, beckoning ever, beckoning onward to a glorious achievement unsullied by the aid of vice.
It is hardly possible to realize that a quarter of a century ago a large part of what is now properly speaking, "Lower Town," was a marsh, uninhabited save where it bordered on Broadway st.; that Trout Brook flowed through as picturesque a ravine as one can find this side of the Rockies, and that all the residence hills which now round out the city were once studded with little lakes, clear as crystal and splendid places to camp near, provided there were no Indians in sight.
For the very good reason that St. Paul abounded in unpaved, half-lit streets, walking at night was dangerous, and the policemen, especially those in the First and Second Wards, had all they could do to maintain their "beats." The thugs and crooks outnumbered them three to one on every occasion of conflict and of all desperate men the gang of thieves and cutthroats infesting St. Paul during the early seventies was the worst. It included characters known to "rogues galleries" all over the Union. "Punt" Scott, Matt Jones, "Shank" Stanton, Sam Sharp, and "Billy" Bouquet, being among the number.
Highway robbery and immorality were, however, not the worst features of the times, the doings of outlaws and castaways who had drifted into St. Paul were bad enough to cause general alarm, but when a succession of murders, committed by citizens during the fall of 1874, began to make even ordinary life in a quiet neighborhood unsafe, the community was aroused to a commensurate pitch of excitement.
On August 3, Michael Kelley and Barney Lamb had a fight near Wabasha and Rice sts., and during the scuffle Lamb was instantly killed by a knife thrust from Kelley. The latter was sentenced to Stillwater for life.
But the murder which of all others still continues to stir the pulse of citizens who lived in the vicinity at mere mention of its atrocity, occurred on a cloudy Sunday evening, Nov. 1, 1874. Joseph Lick, with his wife and eleven children (seven of whom were hers by a previous marriage, and four his by his first wife) lived in a new story and a half frame house at 59 W. Tenth st., just a few doors from St. Peter. A creek ran through their yard, at the rear of which a family named Rapp was domiciled on property belonging to Mrs. Lick. In their respective relations as to landlord and tenant the two families had been continually at war during all of two years, disputes having raged to the extent of settlement in the city justice court, and through the intervention of the police. And in all these disputes Mrs. Rapp was always vigorously seconded by her brother, George Lautenschlager, who lived near by.
On the aforesaid evening Mr. and Mrs. Lick had returned home from a visit. They went first to the kitchen which stood about seventy feet away from the house, and while there Mrs. Lick exclaimed that she saw Mrs. Rapp looking into the window. The appearance frightened her a little, and when on opening the door three figures, those of a woman who sat, and two men who stood on a nearby lumber pile, accosted her view, she called out in the hope that one of them might be her son. Hardly had she spoke when one of the men dealt her two vicious blows on the head with a hatchet, either of which would nave killed her instantly. The other man seized her husband, who had hold of her arm, by the back of the neck, while the woman attacked him with a knife. Luckily he had a handkerchief knotted around his neck, thus defeating her apparent intention of cutting his throat. He was rendered unconscious, however, and when found was lying in the brook close by. The murder occurred between 10 and 11 o'clock at night and before midnight the entire neighborhood was aroused. Officers Lowell and Sergt. Weber were among the first to arrive on the scene. Two of the Lick boys had seen Rapp running across the yard, and suspicion at once fastened on himself and wife and brother-in-law. They were immediately put under arrest, and one of the dailies, in commenting on the affair, said: "The police authorities deserve considerable credit for their action in capturing the murderers, all of whom were arrested on suspicion within three-quarters of an hour after the deed was done."
The trial, based on the evidence given by Lick, attracted an immense amount of attention far and wide. Lautenschlager had been recognized as the man who killed Ulrica Lick, and he was sentenced to receive the death penalty. In 1876 it was commuted to imprisonment for life, and he is still to be seen in the penitentiary at Stillwater, a tall, gaunt shadow of a man, hollow-eyed and sharp-featured, yet withal wearing the malicious leer and frowning visage which characterized him throughout his trial. The Rapps were also sent to prison for life.
Ten days afterwards, at a little after four in the afternoon, John H. Rose shot Patrick O'Connor while the latter was standing on an excavation opposite the Sherman House on Sibley near 4th st. Rose had been discharged by O'Connor for incompetency that very morning, and had sworn vengeance. He was in a white heat when he saw the contractor standing on the spot where he had been ordered to leave off work, and it took just the space of a second, a flash of fire, a man mortally wounded to restore him to his senses. Realizing the enormity of his deed, he ran for dear life, followed by a crowd yelling as with one accord, "Lynch him! Lynch him!" At the corner of Seventh and Jackson he was captured by Officer Putzier, who had all he could do to safely land him in the city hall. O'Connor died the next day, and Rose was convicted of murder in the first degree and sent up as a "lifer." On July 12, 1897 he was released from Stillwater by the state board of pardons, all arguments adduced having shown that however cruel the murder committed by him was at least not cold.
In looking over old records the thought occurs that if St. Paul had early begun a system of driving out, instead of licensing crime, there would not have been so much of it to contend with, and far less to contaminate the city morals. But for a long time, extending over thirty years, the city government existed, and at times thrived, on the fruits of misdemeanor in the form of fines or licenses. It would seem as if anything and everything had a right to exist and become a plague spot so long as it paid its fine, which really was a license. For a number of years after the Sixth Ward became part of the city, a greater part of the expense accruing from the maintenance of a female workhouse was met by fines imposed on the "social evil," but, until the early eighties no one seems to have considered even partial extermination possible.
The licensing of drummers representing eastern firms for a time caused unusual excitement throughout the business district. They, or the hotels harboring them, were required to pay $10 in order to make any sales, and policemen were deputed to do the collecting. The dodging which ensued must have been comical, as related by many prominent citizens of today, who willingly confess that they were often guilty of defying the law by slipping a traveling man out of a back door on seeing a policeman enter a front. It was too detrimental to hotel business, not to speak of trade in general, however, to last long.
Mayor James T. Maxfield stepped into his second term of office in December, 1874, the time of election having been changed with the rechartering of the city. S. M. Flint became city justice, and James King was appointed chief of police, remaining at his post four years.
In 1875 the force at first consisted of twenty-four patrolmen, eight doing duty in the daytime and sixteen at night, but it was later increased to thirty men. A special detective, compensation not mentioned, was also appointed. In 1876 his salary is stated to be $1,000 per annum. The bridge watchman and assistant jailer were to be selected from the ranks of the regular police.
Mayor Maxfield, in his inaugural address, delivered in the spring of 1875, urged the necessity of establishing a municipal court, as provided for by an act of the legislature passed March 8, of that year. Justice Flint accordingly became Judge Flint, at a salary of $2,500 per annum. Two special judges of the municipal court were elected, as specified by the Act. During the enforced absence of Judge Flint either one of them as determined by the council was to occupy the bench at a salary of $8 per day, but not for longer than one term of court. When not thus engaged they were at liberty to practice law. James F. O'Brien and Thos. Robinson were the first special judges elected.
During this year the county jail was established as a workhouse for "drunks, disorderlies and vagrants." While employed on the streets the "chain gang" (in name only) was to be under the supervision of a policeman, but if engaged on the premises it was to remain in charge of Sheriff Grace.
In 1877 St. Paul was said to be the only city of its size in the United States in which cattle were allowed to roam the streets and trample down yards at sweet will.
Hon. William Dawson, mayor of St. Paul from 1878 to 1881, was born in County Cavan, Ireland, Oct. 1, 1825. Early receiving a liberal education, he resolved to become a civil engineer. In 1846 he emigrated to Peterboro, Ont., and seven years later became a merchant in Laurel Hill, La., remaining until 1861, when he located in St. Paul and opened a private bank. When the Bank of Minnesota was organized in 1882 he officiated as its president. He was also president of the city council from 1865 to 1868, and again from 1875 to 1878. Throughout the last illness of Mayor Maxfield he was acting mayor.
The social evil fines of 1878, were divided as follows: City hospital, one-third; Magdalen Society, one-third; House of Good Shepherd, one-third; said amounts to be in lieu of payment of board by the city.
By an ordinance passed in January all janitors of public schools were to be special policemen.
LIST OF POLICEMEN MAY 1, 1878.
| Name. | Rank. | Nativity. | When Aptd. |
| James King | Chief | Ireland | Ap. 15 '70 |
| Charles Weber | Captain | Germany | May 10 '72 |
| John Clark | Sergeant | U. S. | Ap 21 '71 |
| John Bresett | Special | U. S. | June 15 '57 |
| *1 Henry Galvin | Patrolman | Ireland | July 1 '56 |
| 2 John Mitchell | Patrolman | Ireland | May 1 '66 |
| 3 Isaac D. Morgan | Patrolman | U. S. | July 1 '66 |
| 4 Robert Palmer | Patrolman | U. S. | Ap 16 '69 |
| 5 John Casey | Patrolman | Ireland | Ap 10 '67 |
| 6 Charles Rouleau | Patrolman | U. S. | Ap 10 '72 |
| 7 John Vogtli | Patrolman | Switzerland | Ap 10 '72 |
| 8 Thomas Kenaley | Patrolman | Ireland | May 5 '72 |
| 9 William O'Keefe | Patrolman | Ireland | June 24 '72 |
| 10 Dennis Murphy | Patrolman | Canada | Sept 18 '72 |
| 11 A. M. Lowell | Patrolman | U. S. | Sept 18 '72 |
| 12 E. M. Johnson | Patrolman | Norway | May 13 '72 |
| 13 James Nugent | Patrolman | U. S. | Dec 2 '72 |
| 14 Ole Nygard | Patrolman | Norway | Aug 26 '72 |
| 15 Thomas McMahon | Patrolman | Ireland | Nov 16, 74 |
| 16 George DeCoursey | Patrolman | U. S. | Ap 15 '72 |
| 17 Philip Gibbons | Patrolman | Ireland | Jan 4 '75 |
| 18 William Hanft | Patrolman | Germany | Jan 4 '75 |
| 19 Thomas Welsh | Patrolman | Ireland | Jan 4 '75 |
| 20 Frank Gruber | Patrolman | Germany | Feb 1 '75 |
| 21 Aug. Baer | Patrolman | Germany | Ap 1 '75 |
| 22 H. N. Clouse | Patrolman | Sweden | May 1 '75 |
| 23 Frank Brosseau | Patrolman | U. S. | May 3 '75 |
| 24 D. Waterhouse | Patrolman | U. S. | June 1 '75 |
| 25 Henry Babe | Patrolman | Germany | June 1 '75 |
| 26 William T. Bremer | Patrolman | Germany | Jan 4 '75 |
| 27 John W. Cook | Patrolman | Ireland | Ap 25 '71 |
| James Mullen | Bailiff | Ireland | Mar 5 '75 |
| John Jessrang | Jailer | Germany | May 1 '66 |
* Not Star Number.
In 1879 Charles Weber became chief and John E. Newell, appointed in June, 1879, was added to the list of patrolmen. William Dowlan was made bailiff of the municipal court. No further changes are to be noted in that year's roster.
Salaries, however, underwent a change — for the worse, the chief being reduced to $1,200; the captain, $1,100, the sergeant and detective $900, and the patrolmen $780 each per annum.
On the 22d of January an innovation was made for the benefit of those vagrants who, on receiving too light a sentence, repeatedly became guests of the city, or insisted on rendering life miserable for residents while at large. Smith Park, then only a large empty block of land, was to be used for the erection of a temporary workhouse, containing a stove and fuel "for the comfort of our tramps." A stone-pile of goodly dimensions and a lot of tools were prominent features of the new scheme for "keeping the industrious men who resort there for labor and refreshment, employed." The plan, as reported from time to time by the city dailies, seems to have worked splendidly, the only drawback being that as the idea became well known the number of men anxious to work out fines at $1 a day of stone-pile drudgery gradually decreased, and it was necessary for the city to employ a more expensive, and certainly more reliable street force when one was needed. The total income of the workhouse in 1879 was $113.30.
The contract for the market-house, which until the present year served its purpose on the site of the first one by Vetal Guerin on 7th and Wabasha sts., was during this year let to James S. Burns for $58,516 and completed in 1880.
On April 16, 1879, the clerk of the municipal court was ordered to pay all fines imposed for cruelty to animals over to the Minnesota Society for Prevention of Cruelty.
At the November election James F. O'Brien and William B. McGrorty became special municipal judges. Judge Flint's salary fell to $2,250 per annum; that of the clerk of the municipal court was fixed at $1,200.
In 1880 the salaries of the police department were raised to what they had been up to 1879, $1,500, $1,200, and $1,000 for officers, $1,000 for detective, and $840 for patrolmen per annum, no radical changes being made for the next five years. The total amount paid in police salaries for the year was $29,186.79.
Early the following April a permanent city workhouse was decided upon. A few years before the city had purchased a large tract of land almost surrounding Lake Como, and it was agreed that the new resort for unfortunates was to occupy the northeast forty acres of the park. The contract for the building was let to Timothy Reardon, the lowest bidder, for $23,500. The building has since been enlarged by the addition of several wings, and now has cell room for four hundred weary Willies. F. A. Renz was the first superintendent of the workhouse, and James Fitzgerald, of Detroit, succeeded him in 1885.
In the spring of 1881 Walter T. Burr became municipal judge.
No one man has been more intimately connected with the growth and well being of St. Paul than Edmund Rice, the next mayor, and no man is more richly deserving of credit for what he accomplished at home and abroad in behalf of his adopted city. He was a native of Vermont, born in 1819, and came to the middle west in 1838. For the next ten years he practiced law and held positions of honor in the courts of Michigan. Then he enlisted in the Mexican war. In 1849 he settled in St. Paul, as a member of the law firm of Rice, Hollinshead & Becker. His next move was to become president of the Minnesota & Pacific Railway Co., as well as of its successors, the St. Paul & Pacific, and the St. Paul & Chicago. He was also a member of the State Legislature, both in the House and the Senate, for a number of terms.
Jails seem to have been the bugbear of that day, but no reason has ever been assigned for their perpetual insecurity. Jan. 27, 1881, four prisoners, all hard cases, under sentence to terms at Stillwater, escaped by ripping up the floor of the lower corridor and walking out through the cellar. Two, Nobles and Harrison, were caught in the woods, and the others, Murphy and Morgan, ran into the meshes of the law at Hastings. So there was no real harm done, but the fact remained, that the jail was absolutely untrustworthy. Says the Pioneer of Jan. 28:
"The fact is, the county jail is not fitted for the purposes of a jail. It has long been a source of wonder that prisoners have stayed in there. But upon second thought one recognizes the fact that most of them are scrubs playing for a winter's keeping. Men in desperate conditions usually leave whenever they please."
Mayor Rice, in his annual message to the council, May 4, 1882, says of the city hall lock-up: "The situation now is simply disgraceful to humanity and therewith recommends enlarging the number of cells. But nothing was done, for in February, 1883, he again alludes to the subject: "During the winter there have been as many as forty-five inmates of the lock-up in a single night, some sleeping on the tops of cells and others actually fighting for space on the floor in which to lie down. It is dangerous not only to life to have so many criminals and unfortunates packed in so small a space, but to health as well. The wonder is they have not bred a pestilence."
And yet, with a little patching now and then, this state of affairs lasted nearly ten years longer.
Early in the morning of June 17, Patrolman Daniel O'Connell met death at the hands of a burglar. He was just off duty and was wending his way homeward along upper Third st. when he was confronted by a wild-eyed young fellow, hatless and shoeless, and pistol in hand, who excitedly exclaimed that a couple of burglars had just escaped from his house. O'Connell at once gave chase. It was scarce daylight, just a little after 3 a. m. and the neighborhood a very quiet one. Even when the shot which killed O'Connell rang through the air it was not heard by more than two people. Being off duty he was not missed at headquarters and the first intimation of his tragic end received there was from the colored man who found him lying face downward, cold in death, on an unoccupied lot near the corner of Summit av. and Walnut st., close to the spot where it is supposed he surprised the burglars in ambush.
O'Connell had been on the force only a month, having received his appointment on May 18, but within that short time he had demonstrated much fitness for his position. Nevertheless, it was his death, much more than his life which proclaimed his faithfulness, and he was honored in death as he had never dreamt of being honored in life. A handsome rosewood casket was provided by the city and in this all that was mortal of Daniel O'Connell lay, up at the Cathedral, completely submerged by floral offerings. The funeral was attended by the entire police force of the city, headed by Chief Weber and the Great Western Band, the Fire Department and the city officials, including Mayor Rice, following. Many of the pall-bearers chosen that day as being among the oldest police officers, are still in active service. They were Messrs. Murphy, Cook, Rouleau, Bahe, O'Keefe, Galvin, Palmer and Casey.
Shortly after the service a donation of nearly $300, generously subscribed by members of the force, was handed to the bereaved widow, who with her three children, might have wanted for the bare necessities of life had it not been for the timely forethought of her husband's colleagues. The Council also arose to the occasion, resolving to pay all funeral expenses and to allow Mrs. O'Connell a monthly income of $25, and the Chamber of Commerce held a meeting for the purpose of raising a fund for her benefit.
Oct. 23,1883, George Washington and Al Underhill, two colored men, were sent to Stillwater for life as the murderers of the first police-officer, who had found death in extreme devotion to duty. The conviction of these men was largely due to the efforts of Capt. Bresett.
As a detective has played a very important part in this community and was generally known for his brusque, quick, off-hand way, and he was as plausible as an angel if it was necessary to be so. He was of French descent, and was born in Plattsburgh, Clinton County, New York, March 13, 1838. At the age of 18 years he left the home and friends of childhood to seek others in the west. He reached St. Paul in 1856. His first work was in a lumber mill, but his labors in that line were short, as in 1857 he was appointed a member of the police department by Mayor J. B. Brisbin. He served in that position until August, 1862, when he enlisted in the Eighth Minnesota Volunteer Infantry, in which he served until 1865, when he was discharged on account of disability. Immediately after his return he was reappointed on the Police force, and in 1872 the city council appointed him a special detective.
He had several peculiar traits of character, among which were his earnestness, his devotion to his profession, his activity, his determination, and his perseverance and he was extremely charitable. He has been known to take off some of his clothing and give them to some poor individual whom he happened to meet on the street who he saw was very much in need of shelter from the inclement weather. He never failed to sacrifice himself in doing some charitable work.
He was the senior captain at police headquarters for several years, resigning from the department in 1890, then entering the service of the Northern Pacific Railway as detective, at which profession he continued up to the time of his death, which was very sudden; he dropped dead on the sidewalk in Minneapolis on March 17, 1892.
He was married in 1856 to Miss Hermine Oville Brosseau, of La Prairie, Canada, who died April 6, 1898, the mother of two children: one son, John Ripley Bresett, now deceased, and one daughter, Marie Louise Bresett, who married Dr. Geert A. Vandersluis, who had one son born to them, John Bresett Vandersluis. Dr. Vandersluis died May 28, 1897.
John Clark, a member of the force since 1871, became Chief of Police in 1882 and remained in office for the next decade.
In June, 1883, the first patrol wagon was contracted for, and duly delivered the following October. During the months intervening a temporary wagon, costing $135, was procured. The first horses to enter the department were magnificent creatures and cost the city just $500. When hitched to the new patrol wagon, a rather cumbrous affair, but otherwise very similar to those of the present, they were a nine days' wonder to the natives, and many a semi-respectable "vag" let himself be arrested, just to see "how it felt" to be driven up the street, in style, by driver "Pat" Casey. The wagon was manufactured by the Fire Extinguisher Co., of Chicago, and cost $600. Fifteen new patrolmen were added to the force that year.
John Rooney was the first driver of the "Black Maria," as well as the first owner, for he furnished the team along with his services, his daily trips to and from the city work-house at Lake Como costing St. Paul just $78 a month. A police barn was at this time built in the rear of the City Hall, at an outlay of $222.70.
Hon. C. D. O'Brien became Mayor of St. Paul in 1883. What Mayor Rand's administration was to Minneapolis Mayor O'Brien's was to St. Paul, a time long to be remembered as an epoch in municipal history. At the end of his term of office he had conclusively demonstrated the fact that a great city can flourish apart from periodical fees paid it for tolerance of vice in its midst. The locality on the upper flats known as "Under the Hill" and "South Washington st." has always been one of the legalized plague spots of St. Paul, owing to the common idea that the so-called "Social Evil" must exist in a city, but that if sequestered from open view, and forbidden the means of contaminating public morals by expulsion to a given district, no great harm can result from a fixed revenue accruing to the city. Mayor O'Brien thought otherwise, and his term of office will always be remembered as the only "closed administration" in the history of St. Paul. But it is also a fact that at that time all "furnished rooms" were filled to over-crowding.
Christopher D. O'Brien is a native of County Galway, Ireland, and just fifty years of age. He came to Minnesota in 1863, and seven years later was admitted to the bar. For four years previous to his election as mayor he was county attorney, and is now engaged in an ever-increasing practice.
The special municipal judges elected in the spring of 1883 were A. S. Hall and Frederick Nelson.
During all this time the police force was growing rapidly; so was the city, and so was prosperity. Who does not remember those golden days when real estate was booming loudly enough to fill every house in town, when every man had all the work he wanted, and when even the Clerk of the Municipal Court, by vocation a pessimist and a cynic, felt constrained to say in his annual report:
"Idleness is a boon companion of drunkenness in the production of crime, and to the circumstance that we have very few idle people in our midst may be ascribed the fact that we have less crime to punish in court."
In 1884 fifteen new patrolmen had been admitted to the ranks, and in 1885 fifteen more donned star and buttons, making the force consist of 90 men. Two lieutenants at $1,200 per annum, were created that year, I. D. Morgan and Thomas Walsh, and two sergeants were added to the list, so that the quartette of sergeants comprised the following well known names: A. M. Lowell, Chas. Rouleau, Dennis Murphy, and William Hanft. The pay of a sergeant was $1,000 per annum. Chief Clark received $2,200, and Capt. Bresett $1,700 a year. John J. O'Connor was Chief of Detectives, at $1,500, the two detectives, Thos. Kenaley and Daniel J. O'Connor, received $1,000 each. Henry W. Cory became municipal judge in 1885, and Frank Ford and Jas. Schoonmaker were elected "specials." By the charter of 1884 the municipal judges salary was fixed at $2,500 per annum, and the mayor received $1,000 a year.
The patrol service at this time consisted of two patrolmen, August H. Baer and Phil R. Gibbons, and two drivers, P. J. Casey and T. C. Johnson. As at present in the central station, there were four horses, all making regular changes every two weeks from day to night duty.
A mounted police patrol was one of the many needed movements successfully brought about by Mayor Rice during his second term of office. Six men composed the squad. And the police patrol telegraph system, completed that year, is in itself a triumph for the administration which recognized the powerful aid it would afford daily, hourly, bringing to justice. E. B. Dirge was the first superintendent, and the operators were E. W. Hildebrand and Henry H. Flint. Thirty-two alarm boxes were placed at various times and a telephone connection with each sentry station was in short order.
At the workhouse a superintendent and a matron, a doctor and a secretary, were continually kept busy. Their charges were largely supposed to plow the ground and grade the avenues around Como, but, alas, so many of them were "five day" men, and of "five day" men the workhouse directors evidently had little opinion. In a characteristic report submitted by that body this statement occurs:
"Five day" men continue to draw upon our resources and to receive a large part of our attention. We bathe them, shave them, rest them, feed them, laundry their clothing, restore their shattered nerves with medicine, and then set them loose, invigorated for a fresh debauch. This may seem an admirable arrangement for the "vag," and a humane one, but it is not. It promotes vagrancy, makes it easy, makes it professional. Legislation should abate this evil."
In January, 1886, St. Paul indulged in the first of its great Winter carnivals. The Ice Palace of that year was a marvelous creation and with its attendant round of continual festivity, it brought thousands of strangers to the city. In order to insure police protection a force of "specials" were employed during the carnival season, at a cost of $3,163.04. They were discharged in February and at the same time Mayor Rice took occasion to thank the regular force for extremely efficient conduct throughout the reign of gayety and consequent disorder. Seldom has a carnival in any large city been so free from boisterous manifestations or general lawlessness as was this one, and the fact that life and property were so secure redounded far and wide to the credit of St. Paul.
Sketches of police sub-stations, for some time past become eminently necessary, were drawn by H. P. Hamilton, that April. Upon acceptance by the Council bids were let as follows: Four buildings, one on Margaret st., one on Winslow av., and one in Union Park, to cost $8,922, contractor Asher Bassford. One building, corner Rondo and Western av., cost $2,678.50. Contractor, G. Dressel. Owing to the "backing out" of the latter, Mr. Bassford was subsequently given his contract also. The stations were all to be of pressed white brick and, with the exception of the one on Prior av., Union Park, two story edifices, containing four rooms, more or less, each. They were ready for occupancy the following spring.
During the year the sentry boxes were supplied with telephones, a departure which soon become invaluable to all who was benefitted by it. The salary of mounted policemen, hitherto a bone of contention, was also permanently fixed for some time to come. The Council decreed that they were to have $840 per annum, in common with the foot men, but were to be allowed $260 extra for the maintenance of their horses.
Feb. 15, 1887, Mayor Rice sent in his resignation from Washington and on March 1, Robert A. Smith, president of the Council, and acting mayor, became the chief executive. Of all the mayors of St. Paul, "present company" always excepted, "Bob" Smith, in common parlance, has been most popular. The secret of his popularity lies in several extremely pleasing traits of character, sociability and liberality being in the lead, and to the possession of these qualities his political success may also be ascribed. Says T. M. Newson: "Mr. Smith has always been a Democrat, but when he ran for office the Whigs invariably helped him through."
Robert A. Smith was born in Indiana so early in the century as to now render his span of life just a little over seventy. But if a man is "as old as he feels" and quite as young as he looks, Mr. Smith has cheated Father Time out of fully fifteen years, for no one to meet him on the street today would believe him a day over fifty-seven. He early studied law and at the age of twenty-two was holding the office of auditor of Warwick county in his native state. In 1853 he came to St. Paul as Gov. Gorman's private secretary. He was married to Miss Mary E. Stone in 1850, a sister of Gov. Gorman's wife. From 1856 to 1868 he was treasurer of Ramsey county, and it is said that during all those twelve years he not only failed to enrich himself, but lost much of what he had in the beginning. So that when he became a partner of Mr. Win. Dawson in the banking business it was with the aid of borrowed capital. Twenty-five years as a banker left him little better off, for though at one time prosperous, the failure of the Bank of Minnesota caused him to give up all he had to the depositors. During this time he was repeatedly elected to the Council and also served in the Legislature. He is now the post-master of St. Paul.
Mayor Smith's administration was marked by an era of good feeling. It has sometimes been called "open" owing to the fact that the chief executive, himself a tolerant, thoroughly upright man, was rather lenient with small offenders, and not at all inclined to pass or enforce aggressive measures, which might tend to cause municipal disruption. But the high license law, passed in 1888 and requiring every saloonkeeper to pay a $1,000 liquor license, will always speak well for his regime. The revenue derived in 1888 from this source alone was $355,000, to $78,000 in 1887.
Dog-catchers' teams were during this year placed upon the police payroll at the rate of $4.50 a day when employed.
During this year the city attained present limits through the annexing of all of half a hundred outlying plats and additions, not to speak of several suburban villages, and was divided into eleven wards, with a total area of fifty-five square miles.
May 1, 1887, the four sub-stations were opened and placed in charge of the following commissioned officers: Rondo, Capt. Lowell; Margaret, Capt. Hanft; Ducas (at first Winslow), Capt. Walsh; Union Park (or Prior Avenue), Lieut. Budy. The extension of police surveillance necessitated a considerable increase of the police force, which after May consisted of 1 chief, 1 senior captain, 3 captains, 5 lieutenants, 8 sergeants, 1 chief of detectives, 4 detectives, 121 patrolmen (including 6 mounted), 5 drivers of patrol, 4 jailers, 2 bailiffs, 3 pound-masters, 1 driver Black Maria. 160 men, all told.
The standard of admission to the police service was also rigorously fixed. All applicants must be citizens of the United States, and under thirty-five years of age, and they must physically meet all the tests and requirements exacted of soldiers before enlistment in the U. S. army.
The year 1887 was marked by an unusual number of murders, intentional and otherwise. The first had to do with a very young, and a very pretty woman, who would most likely have suffered far more at the hands of even justice had she been old and ugly. Her name was Mary (or Bertha) Hegener and she was the wife of a barber in Minneapolis. John Murphy had been in the employ of her husband, and it seems had become infatuated with the little woman — only twenty-three and the mother of two children — to the extent of making her daily life a burden. At last, becoming tired of importuning her, he deliberately set to work at destroying her reputation, alleging that he had won her affection, because he thought that such a statement would result in her husband's casting her off, and placing her in his power. She succeeded in getting him to leave Hegener's employ and supposed he had gone to Chicago, when a letter, dated in St. Paul, and written by Murphy, reached Hegener's brother, and stirred up trouble afresh. It was slanderous in the extreme and on reading it, according to evidence brought out at the trial, Hegener placed a revolver in his wife's hand, saying:
"Mary, you see this letter contains these charges against your character. There is but one way in which you can prove your innocence. Either you must kill that man or I will cut you into pieces.
So, on the afternoon of April 6, 1887, Mrs. Hegener came over to St. Paul, accompanied by a friend, and going to Murphy's lodging place, demanded that he retract his charges. He refused, and she brandishing a revolver, followed him in his escape down 3d st. When near Sibley she fired, the bullet entering his head. He died the following night. Officer Moznetts at once placed Mrs. Hegener under arrest and later on her husband was brought over, charged with complicity in the crime. After a highly sensational trial, ruled largely by popular sentiment, both were acquitted.
In July Police Officer Gus. Roenisch was shot while on duty at the saloonkeepers' picnic in Banholzer's Park. Together with Officers Banker and Matack he had successfully ousted a gang of "toughs" who were creating a disturbance. They persisted in returning, however, and on the final occasion, grabbed at Roenisch's star. A grocer named A. S. Edwards interposed and was struck with a club by the policeman. Without a moment's warning Edwards pulled out a revolver and shot Roenisch twice, inflicting a flesh wound in the side, and a serious fracture of the jaw, caused by the bullet penetrating the upper lip. Roenisch recovered from his injuries after a long period of invalidism, only to drift into insanity. He died in Rochester, five years afterward.
Of all dastardly, brutal murders committed in St. Paul, that of Jacob Kohn by a man whom he had befriended, stands pre-eminent. It was just after Fair time on the 14th of September. For a week Jacob Kohn, who tended the stock and lived in the large gloomy frame-house on the Hazzard farm, had harbored Nicholas Kill, a man just released from the Workhouse at Como. Then one morning, at 6 o'clock, a butcher boy who had been sent to fetch a purchased calf, failing to rouse Kohn, looked through the bedroom window and saw a sight which completely unmanned him. Jacob Kohn lay on the bed, unconscious, groaning piteously and with three awful holes in his head, out of which the blood was oozing. Body, bed, mattress and floor were saturated with life blood, and in the quiet of the early morning, the horrible meaning of it all — the feeling of nearness to the work of an incarnate fiend, swept over the boy with sickening force. He at once aroused the neighbors and Justice of the peace Hoyt was summoned. Kohn died at 9:30 a.m. Only one circumstance afforded a clue to his murderer — Nicholas Kill was missing. So was Kohn's silver watch, and trunk, and all the clothing he had daily worn. But no one knew the supposed murderer's right name, being he had served his month in the workhouse as John Kiefer. Nevertheless, descriptions were sent out, far and wide, and mounted patrolmen scoured the country around. Kill had last been seen riding to town with Kohn and the fact of their seeming friendship had been remarked by many. At four in the afternoon of the 14th Officer Kline, who had been searching the woods all day, came upon Kill husking corn in a farm-yard. He at once arrested him and turned him over to Sergt. Budy, who lost no time in delivering him to the Central Station. Kill was wearing Kohn's watch and Kohn's boots, and in his pocket was a knife belonging to the murdered man, on which blood was plainly visible. He was held to the grand jury, and to the surprise of many, adjudged insane Feb. 3, 1888. Nov. 28, 1890, he was committed to Stillwater for life and is there at present.
On Sept. 28 Sheriff Richter shot a man, killing him instantly, in the full belief that his victim was an escaping prisoner. What was his dismay then on lighting up, to find Tim Graham, a colored ex-janitor, discharged two months before, lying before him. A whisky bottle, dropped from the man's pocket, was nearly empty, showing conclusively that intoxication had caused the man's bewildered state of being.
During the year of 1887 a knitting shop was very successfully established at the workhouse and the building was greatly improved, some two years afterward when a legislative appropriation of $50,000 allowed more scope to much needed renovation.
On Jan. 2, 1888, St. Paul received a new impetus to continued growth. At 4:30 p, m. that day the first cable car was seen going up 4th st. by the officials at the old City Hall.
St. Valentine's Day, of that year, was marked by the escape of three prisoners from the county jail, all of them being held to the grand jury. John W. O'Connor and Frank St. Clair were Minneapolis postoffice robbers, men of good address and unusual intelligence. Wm. Thomas was a highwayman. They had managed to cut through jail by sawing off the iron bars of their cell-windows.
A murder which is as much of a mystery today as it was then, occurred during the night of Aug. 3, when Officer Hans Hanson became the second martyr to duty. A shot had been heard just before daylight by the officers of the circuit, and, in searching the vicinity of Summit and Virginia aves., they found Officer Hanson off his beat. A little later they came upon his lifeless body, lying face downward, on the curbstone just outside the Barnum grounds, on Virginia ave. The residence was at the time unoccupied, the family being at the lake, and the popular supposition is that Officer Hanson detected two burglars making their way across the lawn and was shot as a consequence. The revolver, lying beside him, half-cocked, completely downed all theories of suicide, and also established the fact that he had attempted the arrest of the marauders. The knowledge that there were two is based on the statement of a liveryman who had let out a horse and buggy to a couple of suspicious looking fellows the foregoing evening. The next day the horse came home, dragging a badly banged-up vehicle which had probably been abandoned in the outskirts, after enabling the assassins to make good headway in eluding pursuit.
Hanson had been on duty since September, 1887, and was generally accounted one of the most promising men in the department, sober, steady, and punctilious to an extreme. He left a young wife to mourn his loss and public sympathy was enlisted in her behalf to the extent of a liberal cash donation, largely subscribed to by hill residents. Despite the reward of $500 offered by Mayor Smith and the united efforts of the detective and police departments, no clue to the perpetrators of the crime was ever found.
Patrolman Jerry Sullivan, of the Ducas st. station, met with a gruesome experience the following November and for a long time afterward could not rid himself of the feeling that his hands were stained with the blood of a fellow-creature, even if spilled in self-defense. He was walking his beat at a late hour on a slushy, dreary night, when a boy approached him, and in a voice choked with tears, begged him to come to the assistance of his mother and himself. They had been driven out of their home, a flat-boat moored on the river's edge, by his step-father, a man of violent temper, especially when crazed with drink as on this occasion. Sullivan immediately prepared to accompany him, and summoned Officer Lauderdale to join him in the forthcoming encounter, which he had good reason to dread, for Cowie, the flat-boat owner, was known to be a desperate character when aroused. The walk down to the flats was dismal in the extreme, the night was pitch dark, and as they carefully treaded their way along the narrow gangways and muddy paths, visions of evil in, store mingled with the intense gloom. Arrived at the door of the flat-boat the officers knocked repeatedly and meeting with no response, resolved to break in. The frail door did not need much coaxing, and in a few minutes they had entered what seem to be a bare, barny looking little room, with a board partition on one side. Cowie appeared in the doorway of this partition (his bedroom) and shaking his clenched hand at the intruders, yelled, "Get out of here, you —— —— ——! " At the same time he began firing a revolver at the distance of four feet from where Lauderdale stood. The shot extinguished the flickering light which the latter carried and the three were left in utter darkness. What is more, the officers by this time felt that they had to deal with a maniac for Cowie was giving vent to a frenzy of drunken rage, shooting in all directions and madly clutching the air in his attempts to reach Sullivan and Lauderdale. As he approached Lauderdale the latter made a rush for the door. Sullivan, hereupon, quickly assumed a kneeling posture, and taking his only chance of escape, fired a fatal shot at the figure coming toward him. The man expired in ten minutes. He was a shoemaker by trade and of a generally disagreeable disposition, even when sober. Sullivan was never held for the killing, as it was clearly shown to be a case of self defense while on duty.
The wrongs of a woman scorned had everything to do with the next important shooting affray. Clara Doherty or Clara Blatz, alias Lizzie Hart, was a very wicked young woman; had she lived in the days of Cotton Mather a great big scarlet "A" would surely have adorned the front of the sealskin she was so fond of wearing. Living in modern St. Paul she was simply accorded one of the women whom the other women must not know and no one ever did know very much of her. Bad as she was, however, this woman had a heart, and it was her misfortune to find that after years of wayward living, true love for a man who was an Adonis in form and feature, should have come to her. They lived together for years ostensibly as man and wife, but they were not happy. "Mrs." Doherty was very jealous of attentions paid to any and all women and quarrels were frequent. Doherty in his fits of anger often resorting to blows and other cruel abuse. At last they separated and soon after Doherty paid a pugilistic friend of his to pick a quarrel with the woman and to injure her jaw so badly as to mar her brazen beauty forever. But, although he himself admitted this to her so much did she care for him in her mad infatuation that she accepted the overtures of peace made soon after and again went to live with him in apartments on Wabasha street, where they were known as Mr. and Mrs. Doherty. Doherty, as a clerk of six years' standing at the American Express company's Jackson street office, had a very comfortable income, but it seems that at this time he repeatedly received money from his common law wife. When she refused him a dollar he turned on her and avoided her on every possible occasion. A little after 6 in the evening of February 27, 1889, she met him coming up 5th street from the office. They did not speak, but it is probable that disguised as she was in a thick white veil and a long brown ulster, he did not know her. A second afterward a shot rent the air and Doherty, mortally wounded, fell to the ground. The shooting occurred on the south side of 5th st., within seventy-five feet of Robert, and the thoroughfare was thronged with people. When the crowd rushed to the spot they found a man breathing his last and a Titian-haired woman who must at one time have been very fair, but with a face now livid with passion, bending over him. His handsome face and stalward frame were bespattered with the life blood oozing out of nose and mouth and trickling in a little stream down the sidewalk, where it stained her skirts and soiled her shoes. She did not relax her rigid attitude until officer Casserly approached her and took hold of her arm. Then she handed him the revolver and signified her readiness to go by a nod. Doherty died in ten minutes. Clara Doherty did not betray much emotion on hearing that she had killed him. She seemed as one in a dream and unable to fully realize the enormity of her deed.
"My God!" she exclaimed, "is he dead? I didn't mean to kill him. I only meant to mark him for life as he did me."
She was given two trials before Judge Kelly. At the first the jury disagreed and at the second a verdict of manslaughter in the first degree instead of murder was handed in. The plea of emotional insanity had much to do with her escape from the fate of Mrs. Bilansky. Twenty years in prison at that time seemed a light sentence for Clara Doherty or Blatz. But time and the reforms it brings about must inevitably prove a softener of even the just measures of law. Clara Blatz was pardoned Nov. 26, 1895, and is now an infinitely sadder though a much better woman.
By a special act of the legislature, passed April 24, 1889, two municipal judges were that year elected to the bench. Henry W. Cory received a re-election, and John Twohy became junior judge, each at an annual salary of $4,000. In the winter of 1889 the municipal court was removed from the market house to its present location in the basement of the court house and city hall, then just completed for occupancy.
The corner stone of the latter building, which belongs jointly to the city of St. Paul and to the county of Ramsey was laid in 1885, and fully four years were consumed in its erection. The cost was supposed at first to approximate one million, but when finished it was found that an outlay of exactly $1,014,592 had been made. Of this St. Paul paid half. The building is of Kasota stone and is a magnificent structure of its kind, both in style and finish, as well as durability. E. P. Bassford was the architect and Matthew Breen was awarded the contract for masonry and excavation.
An exclamation — just four spoken little words, "I had bad luck!" But they brought about the arrest of a man for murder and gave St. Paul a celebrated trial. Walter F. Horton was an employe in the Northern Pacific land office. He had married Miss Nellie Hanson eleven years before, but for four years previous to 1890 they had not lived together. In July of this year he had asked for a reconciliation and she had in response left the home of her mother in Wisconsin and joined him in St. Paul, bringing her little daughter Mabel with her. During the week preceding their coming Horton engaged rooms in an out-of-the-way lonely residence on Eaton ave., in West St. Paul, and to these he took his family on the Monday of their arrival. The following Thursday, on Aug. 14, at about 7 p. m. they went for a boat ride on the river, which was but a block or two distant from the house they roomed in. It was a calm, beautiful summer night, and "Six-Fingered Jack," who lived in a shanty on the flats this side of South St. Paul, was just composing himself for a peaceful siesta when he heard a succession of shrill screams coming from the water. He was in his boat and rowing for dear life before he fully realized where he was going. The screams had sounded like the death agony of a child or a woman, or both, but he was unable to discern the least commotion on the placid bosom of the river. All at once a man, dripping wet, loomed up before him on a sand-bar, and in an extremely matter-of-fact way explained that his wife and child had just been drowned through the upsetting of a boat, and that he had been able to save himself only by swimming across to the spot where he stood. Jack took him into his boat and rowed him down to South St. Paul, where he exchanged the clothes he wore for dry ones, and completely mystified all who heard his story by his exceedingly calm, unruffled demeanor. Promising to return for his clothes the next morning he left for the rooms on Eaton av., reaching there shortly after midnight. It is on record that Horton went to bed and actually slept throughout the hours preceding dawn. At breakfast time he was seen to approach the house carrying a satchel, and meeting his landlady out in the hall, said to her, "I had bad luck!" Then in a monotonous, studied tone of voice, and entirely without any display of emotion he proceeded to relate the fate of his wife and child. The excitable little French woman was quite overcome with grief and dismay and loudly called out the facts to her husband. He seemed to suspect foul play immediately and learning that Horton intended going to South St. Paul, communicated all he knew of the case to Capt. Walsh, of the Ducas st. substation. Within an hour Sergt. Jerry Sullivan had arrested Horton in an office near the stockyards, and the news of the double "murder" spread like wildfire. All the circumstances were against Horton. He was a powerfully built man and a trained athlete, whereas his wife, a slender little woman, five years older than himself, weighed only 110 pounds. Even if the child Mabel had succeeded in upsetting the boat in four feet of water there was no reason why Horton should not have rescued herself and her mother, rather than have loosened the woman's grasp around his neck in order to save only himself.
Besides, the boat when found, resisted all efforts of men twice the weight of Mrs. Horton and Mabel to prove it "cranky."
The trial, one of the first to be held in the new court house, was replete with sensational features and attracted widespread attention. Public sentiment pronounced Horton a murderer, but he had many friends who declared him not only innocent, but greatly wronged. More than that, he was defended by a man who was once the greatest criminal lawyer of his time, "Bill" Erwin, the "Tall Pine" of Minnesota. And he was acquitted.
The year of 1891 was important in municipal annals because of a new charter, still called the "Bell charter," in honor of one of its framers, adopted that spring by an act of the legislature. It is the one in present use, and by far the best the city has ever had. Among its provisions is the fixing of the mayor's salary at $2,500 per annum. It also stipulates that the salary of the chief of police is to be regulated by the council, but that it must not exceed $3,500. The amount of $185,000 was to be set aside yearly for all police purposes. A permanent police pension fund was arranged for, all policemen over fifty years of age who had been in service twenty years, and all widows and minor children being entitled to its benefits. Under the law ten per cent of all moneys paid into the municipal court as "fines collected from criminal cases" were to be credited to the police pension fund; also all fines imposed by the mayor on members of the police force. Retired police officers and widows drew from this fund a monthly sum equal to one half of the salary received when on active duty, provided, however, that no pension exceeded $1,000 per annum.
Early in the fall of 1891 the old city hall was virtually abandoned to its fate by the removal of police headquarters to the present Central station. The old stone building, standing sentry like on upper Third st., at the very brow of the hill which overlooks the haunts of sin and shame, was the property of K. P. Cullen, and was leased by him to the city, on Aug. 1, for $150 a month. Aug. 25 a contract for remodeling the structure was let to McSherry & White, the amount paid them being $7,772.44. Two years later, on Aug. 1, 1893, a new lease was entered into fixing the rent of the building at $100 a month, the same amount obtaining at present and payable to the K. P. Cullen estate.
During the spring of this year a decidedly metropolitan aspect had been acquired by the force, for in April one hundred and fifty felt helmets were contracted for, an allowance of $450 being made by the council to cover the purchase.
On May 21 a very efficient officer named Thomas McCarrick was lost to the force by a frightful accident. He was on his way home to dinner and slipping on a track was caught under an electric car and badly crushed. Officer Ross was quickly on the scene, but the wounded man was past relief. He lingered nearly a month longer, suffering agony until within the hour of death. A pension of $400 a year was given Mrs. McCarrick for some time afterward.
It seems that some of the "rounders" must have been a trifle too "promiscuous" in the use of their clubs, for on Nov. 11 all patrolmen having occasion to use clubs were ordered to report the matter at once to Chief Clark, failure to do so being punishable by fine or dismissal from the service.
Mayor Frederick P. Wright stepped into office in 1892, and with his administration both the police and detective departments received new heads, Chief Clark being succeeded by Albert Garvin, of Stillwater, and Chief O'Connor by John C. McGinn.
The new administration had a lively time for a while with thieves who infested the city, who were even so bold as to enter the mayor's dwelling.
On December 8, 1893, and towards morning Mayor Wright heard a noise in the lower part of his house. Hurrying down he found a man crouching on his knees on the stairway. At the same time he heard a voice outside of the house calling, "Mr. Mayor, please come down here." Hastily locking up his man he joined Mrs. Wright at the door, and surprised the caller, Sergt. Rose of the Rondo sub-station, by telling him that the man he had tracked by his footprints across the snowy lawn, was safely esconsed in a bedroom upstairs.
When they went up to view the captive, they were greeted with an air of sang froid quite in keeping with the set of tools and jimmies which marked the man as a "regular."
"Weren't you just a little bold?" queried the mayor.
And Joe Kennedy replied that he'd "just as soon go into the president's house as the mayor's."
Such outspokenly democratic views could never find tolerance in a republican household, so Joe was hurried off to jail, and though it is not on record that he stole anything worth mentioning that night, he was bound over to the grand jury because he had not known better than to become an unwelcome guest at an official mansion.
But the robbery which of all others attracted the most attention because of the skill which had planned, and the "nerve" which had carried it out, occurred in August, 1893. Since then it has been alluded to far and wide as one of the most remarkable crimes on record. There were five men interested in it; James Jonas Meiggs, a jolly looking old bald head; Thos. Fleury, who had Svengali eyes and always said "Beg pawdon;" Jim Howard and Ben Miller, well dressed, gentlemanly looking fellows, and Henry Morris, the "infant terrible," a youth of twenty-three, possessed of a permanent frown creased in between the eyes and by far the coolest of them all. They hailed from England, had been taking in the World's Fair at Chicago and several small towns in Wisconsin as a means of combining work and play, and evidently intended leaving St. Paul for the midwinter fair in San Francisco quite as soon as "business" would permit.
Messenger Rinaldo Lares, of the Merchants' National bank, was just entering the corridor of the First National on 5th and Jackson. Firmly clasped in both hands was a box in which were four bags, each containing $5,000 in gold. It was about 11:30 in the morning of August 14, and Lares was in a hurry. He did not observe a man who stood hidden behind a pillar and so preoccupied was he in his mission that when the man, Jim Howard, reached out and grabbed a bag of gold, he failed to notice the act. Howard handed the bag to Miller, who stood near by, and he in turn darted out of the bank to where Morris stood. The latter tucked the gold inside his coat and cooly walked off. During the entire happening, which did not occupy more than five minutes, Fleury and Meiggs stood near the door, ready to hinder pursuit. Meanwhile Lares had delivered his packet and the theft had been discovered. But the robbers had disappeared in various directions and the police when called had but little clue to follow. The whole occurrence had proceeded so quietly that no attention was attracted and few people on the street had even noticed the men, let alone suspected anything unusual in their movements. By luck, however, Inspector Hoy had arrested the gang in Minneapolis on the charge of being suspicious characters, and had insisted on photographing them before turning them loose on a promise to leave the city. These pictures led to their subsequent arrest and conviction. On leaving the bank they met at a spot previously agreed upon, divided the gold and arranged on a meeting place in Chicago. Then they separated, but did not leave the city at once. By making the start from suburban stations, at various times during the next day and night, they succeeded in eluding the vigilance of the police. All but Jim Howard, who was arrested on the day of the occurrence. Fleury and Meiggs were caught by the Pinkerton's in Chicago - Fleury because of his well known "Beg pawdon" — and made to disgorge a portion of the stolen gold. The other two fell into the hands of Inspector Byrne in New York City. What rendered this robbery a most peculiar one was that though no one had witnessed the deed, the perpetrators were at no time free from the supervision of the police.
The men were all tried separately and received sentences in proportion to implication in the crime. Fleury, the leader, was given ten years at hard labor. "Old Man" Meiggs received eight, and was released last August, his term, minus allowance for good behavior, having expired. Jim Howard served six years and Ben Miller four and a half. Henry Morris was not arraigned at all.
Josef Herda was a Bohemian contractor who lived on Palace and Warsaw sts. It was his custom to spend an evening now and then in the saloon of his friend Michael Walek at 437 Michigan st. On the evening of Oct. 31, he was sitting as usual sipping a mug of beer and engaged in a conversation with Walek. The two were alone. At about 9:30 the door opened and three men with handkerchiefs tied around their faces, entered. Walking up to Walek they ordered him to throw up his hands, and as he was rather slow about it, one of them knocked him senseless with the butt of a revolver.
Seeing his friend lying on the floor with his scalp laid open and apparently dying Herda ran to the back door, intending to call for assistance. Four shots anticipated the movement, one striking Herda under his arm and another entering his back. The assassins then rummaged the cash drawer and found — eleven dollars.
At headquarters a gang of desperate characters who had been "doing the town" was at once suspected. But in order to locate the right men and divert suspicion a group of lesser lights, local "toughs" under the leadership of "Jocko" Conway, was arrested in bulk and charged with vagrancy. "Jocko" himself was supposed to possess knowledge of the murder. In the meantime two police officers in citizens' clothes engaged rooms at a boarding house on Rice st., supposed to be the home of the two suspects and prepared to await developments. Within a week Joseph White, alias "Spec Elms," and Charles Fisher, alias Philip Rice, alias "Lally Cameron," were arrested by Officers Sweeney and Brennan while coming out of a Rice St. saloon on evidence furnished by Officers Gruber and Galvin, and the detectives who had watched proceedings. "Reddy" Hackett was the third man arrested. At the arraignment before Judge Twohy Charles Fisher was held to the grand jury and "Spec Elms" discharged. Just as he was leaving the court house with a number of relatives he was rearrested on a warrant charging him with complicity in the murder of J. A. Harris of Minneapolis. With one bound he was at the door and would have escaped but for the presence of mind and prompt action of Officer Joe Davis who effectually barred his way. Fisher received a life sentence at Stillwater.
It is very likely that the decided action of Chief Garvin in ordering the arrest of all wandering crooks on their way to California, and the arrest at wholesale of local characters with shadowy reputations prevented more murders than there were. Of highway robberies there seemed no end that year. Within two weeks two hold-ups occurred in the neighborhood of Jackson and 12th and 14th sts. In one a young man named Banker was rescued by the police, and on the second occasion E. J. Dahl lost $594 at an early hour of the evening. On Dec. 19, two men and a woman held up John Roth, a laboring man, the men with drawn revolvers keeping him quiet while the woman ransacked his pockets. Two days before, on the 17th, two masked men held up a gentleman and lady on their way to church, immediately in front of the Virginia Flats, at 7:15 p. m. The man was hit with a revolver and fell to the ground while the wife by her screams of "murder" scared the miscreants away. A raid was immediately made by the police on a Fourth st. resort, where they battered down the door and took five men into custody, two, Hoban and O'Brien, being held for the attempted robbery.
As an illustration of the reckless arrests made in consequence of all this lawlessness the story is told of how Chief McGinn, entering a lower town saloon one night, found two of his detectives drinking and apparently on the friendliest of terms with two "film flam" operators on trains. With flushed face and angry gestures, he exclaimed:
"Well, this looks -- well! Now you two coppers, just take those fellows and throw them in!"
Moral. Never trust a "copper" who condescends to drink with you, for he may "cell" you as well.
