WANDERING STARS AND BUZZARDS OF THE TOMBS
Thrilling Experiences
What a field for the study of human nature the careful observer finds in
the Tombs Prison! I do not know of any other place on this continent
where such a display of types may be found as here; not only every
nation, language and color on the face of the earth, but the variety is
kaleidoscopic and leaves on you a deep impress. The moment you see a
real crook his personality stamps you at once for good or evil—rather
for evil; nor can you help yielding to such impressions. But then the
face is the expression of the individual and reveals to some extent the
character of the inner man. Although there are many exceptions to the
general rule, these are few and far between. I find that backsliders in
crime after a few years show a vitiated and debased brutality in their
physiognomy.
During the ten years that I have been connected with the Tombs Prison, I
have met a great many brilliant men who were at heart dyed-in-the-wool
crooks and bent on a criminal career. I do not care to call a man a
criminal if I can help it, but how can one avoid it when called upon to
describe a modern social anarchist but use such terms as will best
describe the one who lives on crime.
It is a most difficult thing to know just what to do with such people;
but unless they are reached by the milk of human kindness and the love
of God there is little hope for them. I have found by observation and
experience that the average recidivist is insane on criminal matters,
and is besides a notorious liar! Nor is it best to believe a word of
what he says, unless it is supported by some other testimony. The fact
is, he will not tell the truth even though in the end it might do him
vastly more good than a lie. And any man who denies the truthfulness of
total depravity needs only visit a prison and hear the confessions of
crooks and then seek their corroboration, and it will not be long before
he will be compelled to abandon his foolish denials.
I find that in youthful degenerates the face holds a pleasant expression
sometimes for years, but then the long confinement behind the bars
reveals a white pallor and dull sunken eyes that cannot be mistaken; on
these crime seems to have written itself indelibly!
Young sixteen-year-old Stewart, who was sentenced to twenty years in
Sing Sing for killing a boy his own age on Randall’s Island, whose
facial lineaments I often watched and studied, had a most attractive
physiognomy. No one could have believed from his looks that he was a
criminal, but how long he can retain these looks is a matter of
conjecture.
Our prisons are full of young buzzards who need to be watched
continually. These boys are cunning, sly and treacherous. When you see
them coming be sure and give them a wide berth. Do not believe what they
tell you, even if they swear on a monument of Bibles. Most of them are
in the business to lie and they know how to attend to their own
business!
The Untruthful Crook
Nor can you rely on any of their promises. If they speak to you sweet
words you will find that they have the poison of asps under the tongue.
They are born buzzards and can no more change their ravenous nature than
a leopard his spots.
One of the earliest buzzard freaks I knew was a boy named Dietz, who was
several times in the Tombs for misdemeanors before he was finally sent
to Elmira for a felony. I found Dietz to be one of the most expert and
finished liars ever I met. It was no trouble for him to lie in three
languages! It seems that he could hardly make a statement of any kind,
without crowding into it a few lies. He had a way of his own by which he
could palm off on an unsuspecting missionary a harrowing tale of
persecution that would bring tears to the eyes and his tales were so
well arranged that all would believe them.
For daring criminality he could give points to Western bandits and shame
them in the end. A car load of such characters dumped on a peaceful city
of fifty thousand people would disrupt it in a week. Dietz gloated on
blood and thunder yarns of the wild and woolly West, most of the time
and was unhappy unless he was draping demons from the cesspool of his
soul.
When I meet a chronic liar I readily conclude—no matter what his age may
be, that the bottom has dropped out of his character. The liar is the
best evidence of total depravity, and this particular characteristic of
the individual cannot long be hid.
The second time Dietz was an inmate of the Boys’ Prison I remember how I
raced all over the city on a wild goose chase on one of his lies, not
knowing at the time that his story was a fabrication from A to Z. I
found out by mere accident that his brother, who was a clerk in a large
shipping firm in the city, had aided him out of his first scrape, but
refused the second time to have anything more to do with him. He knew
this and took pains to conceal the fact that after many chances to do
the square thing his brother considered him “no good.” His wanton deeds
and prodigality he considered virtues and when he recited them to those
who would listen to him he was in smiles.
The third time he was in the Boys’ Prison was for a felony. He came in
under an assumed name. He did not call upon me for help this time as I
knew his record too well. But he had some women to work for him till
they found out that his stories were only lies from start to finish,
after which they gave him up. He was finally sent to Elmira Reformatory,
but what became of him afterwards I have never learned.
It seems as natural for criminals to tell lies as to breathe, when in
most cases the truth would serve to better purpose. Some time ago a
young Russian named C—— was before Judge Cowing for stealing a diamond
pin. The crime was committed in the Thalia Theatre on the Bowery. While
his pedigree was taken in General Sessions he was asked if he had ever
been arrested before and, as usual, his reply was a lie. When he was
sentenced to Elmira Reformatory he replied to the Court, “Judge, would
rather go to hell than to Elmira.” After he came back to the Tombs I
asked him why he hated to go to Elmira so much. He then told me that he
had been there already while Superintendent Brockway was in charge. I
then made an investigation and found the lawyer that had defended him at
his first trial, who after he had been in the Reformatory two years and
a half had secured a pardon for him so that he might return to Russia,
which he did. He joined the Russian Army, but is said to have deserted
soon after the breaking out of the war in the Far East. In less than two
months after reaching New York he committed another crime and sought to
cover it with a lie.
This man’s career shows him to be nothing less than a human buzzard.
Criminality is written on his countenance, which, to say the least, is
forbidding. After he was sent to Elmira Reformatory he was soon after
transferred to Auburn Prison, where he will have an opportunity to serve
his full sentence of five years.
Another criminal of the Buzzard species was Chump of Harlem. He was only
twenty-six years of age, the son of a sergeant of police. He is so
indolent that he prefers to beg or steal rather than earn an honest
living. Those that know him best call him “a gin-mill sucker,” as he
spends most of his time there for the “drinks” he can pick up for
nothing. He was arrested in midwinter for stealing a forty-dollar chair
from a furniture store in the upper part of the city. Like most of his
kind, Chump said he was innocent and that it was the first time he was
ever arrested. As he gave a fictitious name and wrong address it was
impossible to trace his record. Under the impression that he was a first
offender, he was allowed a plea of petit larceny. When he came up before
Recorder Goff he found his match. Some person must have given the Court
an “inkling” of Chump’s record. When he stood at the bar of General
Sessions the Recorder had him sworn on the Bible so that he might tell
the truth. Then the tug of war began. “Chump,” said the Recorder, “Tell
the truth, were you ever convicted before?” Chump hesitated. There was a
painful silence in the room. “Now tell me,” said Judge Goff, “How many
times were you sent away in your life? Were you ever in the
penitentiary?” said the Recorder. “Yes,” said Chump, “once.” “Is that
all,” said the Recorder; “Now tell the truth.” “No,” said he, “Twice.”
“Any other times?” He hesitated again. It seems that this young vagabond
had no less than six convictions standing against him prior to this
time. While he was under the Recorder’s scrutiny he must have suffered
torture of conscience. But his real character was brought out which
showed him to be an A1 degenerate and a notorious liar. Before he
started for the penitentiary I asked him why he had lied by saying that
he had never been up before. He coolly replied, “Well, you know if I had
told the truth nobody would have done anything for me.”
Dark Records
In the following sketch I have selected crooks of maturer years. They
are types of modern brainy criminals. I have said nothing of Orrin
Skinner, the well read Illinois lawyer who became a jailbird in early
life and afterwards died in Auburn prison, nor of Rue Ralley, the
scholarly criminal who was master of several languages; nor of other
well known crooks who got away with millions of dollars from several New
York banks. I have said nothing of “Jimmie” Hope, who robbed the
Bleecker Street Bank of three million dollars, and was called the Prince
of Safe Crackers and who at one time was said to be worth a big fortune,
the “pickings” of several bank burglaries; nor of the young crook who
went boldly to a Broadway Bank at the noon hour and with only an empty
soap box under his feet, leaned over the cashier’s cage and got away
with $10,000. But the city is full of such bold crooks who simply wait
their chances.
It must be an awful insult to the Almighty, after he had so liberally
endowed such people, some of them with the intellect of a Webster or a
Gladstone, for them to use their powers only to do evil and refuse to do
good. But this is precisely what a habitual criminal makes up his mind
to do when he continues in wrongdoing against the wishes of his best
friends.
A middle-aged criminal who has made a dark record as a thief and liar
since he was ten years old was taken to the prison desk in my presence
to give his pedigree, as is the custom with all who are committed by the
Magistrate to await trial. When asked his name, age and business, he
replied, “I am forty-five years of age. I have no home but the
Penitentiary and a ten-cent Bowery lodging house which I use when I am
not in prison. I am a thief by profession and have followed that
business nearly all my life. As I positively refuse to work I mean to be
a thief till I die, and will compel the State to support me.”
There are hundreds of this class possessing the same delusion in all our
cities, who do nothing but steal for a living and then cover their evil
conduct by lies. They are insanely depraved and should be locked up
permanently, as they are of no use to anybody. They are social parasites
and enemies of the race.
And yet I am forced to say that some of the brightest and brainiest of
men that I ever knew in their sober moments, were crooks. I have tried
to study them to see how and where they differ from other men—and that
is no ordinary task. Whether I succeeded or not remains to be seen. In
some cases, after many patient interviews I was able to draw them out of
the dark and gloomy past, where I could read their character in its true
light. Although many of this class are exceedingly interesting as
conversationalists and unusually intelligent on the great questions of
the day, I find they are never willing to disclose their identity or
reveal their inner life. A crook never gives his right name when placed
under arrest—always an alias. His deeds are done in darkness.
One of the most forbidding faces ever I saw in my life was that of Terry
R—— who died in the New York Penitentiary a few years ago. He was a
hardened character. During his life he had eleven convictions for crime
recorded against him, extending over twenty-five years. I carefully
observed that during his last years he became sullen, revengeful,
despondent and suspicious of everybody. Terry was a living example of
that terse old Scripture passage, “The way of the transgressor is hard.”
Speaking of lies, which are the ordinary stock in trade of all
criminals, reminds me of Frank McKenna’s experience. Some years ago he
was sent to the House of Refuge for a year. That was before the
principle of the indefinite sentence was applied to such institutions. A
few days after his discharge he committed a crime similar to the one for
which he had been originally sent away, viz., holding up a child on the
street and taking away her wallet. For this second offense he was in due
season indicted; when he was taken to Part I, General Sessions, Recorder
Smyth asked if he had ever been in the House of Refuge; he replied in
the negative. “Well, then,” said the Recorder, “I will send you there
for a year.” On the day following he was taken to the House of Refuge
but they refused to receive him as he had been an inmate of the
institution and was only discharged a few weeks before. When he came
before Recorder Smyth the following Tuesday, he asked him if he really
meant to have told him a lie on the preceding Friday, when he sentenced
him; without a moment’s hesitation he said “_Yes._” “_Then_,” said the
genial Recorder, “for this lie which you have told me, _I will give you
four years imprisonment and for the crime charged against you in the
indictment one year_.” Since then McKenna has served several sentences
for crime. He is a bad crook.
Before he left the Penitentiary the last time, a well known missionary
became interested in him. This gentleman secured for him a suit of
clothes and gave him a few dollars to pay for meals and lodgings for a
few days. Since then he has entirely disappeared as if the earth had
swallowed him. But where he has gone no one knows.
Another well known character, whose career goes back some years, was
Captain Jack of the Cuban Army. The Captain was a native of Virginia,
was a well educated young man inclined to adventure; he had been in Cuba
several years fighting the Spaniards under Gomez. After the blowing up
of the Maine and the United States had occupied Havana, Jack returned to
New York on one of the transports. He had in his possession four or five
hundred dollars besides a railroad ticket to his home in the South.
While wandering along West Street, waiting for the departure of the
Pennsylvania train, he was inveigled into a disorderly house where he
lost all his money and valuables. When the Captain came to himself and
missed his property he made a demand on the saloon keeper for its
return. The saloon occupied the front of the building and the disorderly
house the rear. When he asked for his money there was some loud talk in
the place and as a result Captain Jack was “fired.” As soon as he
reached the sidewalk he was arrested and taken to the Church Street
Station House. In the Centre Street Police Court next day after hearing
the policeman’s version of the trouble, the Magistrate fined him five
dollars. Up till this time Captain Jack had nothing to say by way of
explanation of his side of the case. When he returned to the Tombs he
told me his story as he was mourning over his loss. He was grieved over
the shameful treatment he received, as he was only put under arrest when
he demanded the return of his property. I went over to the Police Court
and laid the facts in the case before Judge Flammer who had sentenced
Jack, but had not known anything of his loss. At the suggestion of the
Magistrate I communicated with the Second Precinct police and asked why
Captain Jack was arrested while the thieves that stole his money went
scot free. Captain Westervelt put Detective Mooney on the case, but
nothing came of it. The police kept Jack in a down town hotel for a few
days and then raised money among themselves to buy a railroad ticket and
sent him home to Virginia. The following year Jack came to New York and
was in trouble again. This time he was charged with “beating” the
Broadway Central people out of a board bill. For this offense he was
sent to the Penitentiary for three months. In size the Captain is
diminutive, voluble of speech, full of weird tales of adventure in Cuba
and is not at all too gifted with telling the truth. He returned to Cuba
where he was promised a position by his old comrade, General Gomez—as he
called him. But of these things I have no personal knowledge and would
be unwilling to believe one-fourth of what was said of his past or
future.
It looks sometimes like an awful waste of time to do anything—even of a
humanitarian character for the average crook who tries to interest you
in his welfare with a pack of lies. But I have never refused these
people when I thought I could do them any good. I have worked for them
in every possible way that I might win their confidence and thus lead
them into a better life. I have learned by experience not to believe all
a crook says or even a hundredth part of it. It don’t do to allow
yourself to be caught napping by these gentry who think they have
everything to gain and nothing to lose by a lie.
Kahn, The Black-Hearted Syrian
In the lower part of New York near the Battery, in the vicinity of
Washington and Greenwich Streets, there is and has been for several
years what is known as the Syrian colony. The few immigrants that come
from Damascus, Beyrout and other parts of the Turkish Empire all seem to
gather here. As it is contrary to the Koran for any of them to use
liquor of any kind, or sell it, these Mohammedans are seldom in prison,
yet they are lacking in saintly character as much as the Latin and
Slavic nations of Europe. At the time of which I write there was a hotel
or boarding house in the Syrian colony, kept by a widow named Lazarus.
She spoke the English language very imperfectly. But she had in her
employment an experienced hotel manager who attended to all her affairs
whose name was Abirams. He had been in the country a number of years and
could speak the English tongue fairly well. Everybody liked Abirams as
he kept the house clean and sought to make it respectable. On one
occasion a countryman named Kahn came with a young girl and tried to
hire a room in the hotel for immoral purposes. Abirams positively
refused to receive him or the woman. Words passed between them. Then he
left the place swearing vengeance.
It was afterwards learned that Kahn was a criminal of the deepest dye
and would do anything to ruin an innocent man. Twice he had been saved
from the gallows by turning King’s evidence in his own country. Since he
came to America he was known to have sent many of his countrymen to
prison for long terms on perjured evidence. He would do anything to save
his own neck.
In an hour afterwards Kahn returned to the hotel with a police officer
and charged Abirams with robbery. The prisoner was at once put under
arrest and then locked up over night. In the morning he appeared in the
Tombs Police Court. Kahn was on hand and presented before the Magistrate
a sworn affidavit that Abirams had robbed him of money and a watch in
the Syrian hotel the previous night. The woman was also present as a
corroborative witness. Without further examination the prisoner was
committed to await the action of the grand jury. For five or six weeks
the poor Syrian, Abirams, neglected and forsaken by his countrymen, lay
in prison on a false charge founded only on malice and perjury. I made
an investigation of the case and secured affidavits of Abirams’ previous
good character, showing him to be an exceptionally good man. I visited
the Syrian colony personally and soon had ample reason to believe that
Abirams was innocent of the charge placed against him by Kahn. After a
few weeks the woman in the case disappeared for fear of arrest, then
Kahn was given to understand that if he went before the grand jury and
perjured himself, he would receive a long term of imprisonment. Indeed,
he had offered to withdraw the charge for a money consideration, but he,
too, became afraid of arrest and then fled to parts unknown.
In the meantime I visited the District Attorney’s office where I sought
to interest Mr. Henry W. Unger, Col. Gardiner’s chief assistant, in
behalf of the poor Syrian. Mr. Unger, always courteous and gentlemanly,
gave me much encouragement—eternal blessings on his head—he has always
tried to temper justice with mercy by giving the friendless a helping
hand, and doing it kindly, and will certainly not lose his reward.
It was afterwards learned by indisputable evidence that Kahn was a tough
character and had done the same thing before—that is, he sent innocent
men to prison who angered him, and was ready to perjure himself again if
we had not made an investigation and showed him up as a notorious liar
and blackmailer.
It is needless to say that Abirams was honorably discharged and returned
to the colony a wiser man. The notorious Kahn was so scared that he kept
out of New York for many months afterwards.
A Crook Whose Specialty Was Knock-Out Drops
On October 9th, 1903, a gentleman of the crooked profession named Walter
Wilson, alias George Hill, alias Herman Fentner, alias Mr. Hawkshaw et
al., was sentenced to thirty-three years imprisonment in the Court of
General Sessions. There were eighteen indictments pending against him
but he pleaded guilty only to four, with the above results. Wilson has
had a criminal record extending over twenty years. His specialty in
crime is said to be in the scientific use of knock-out drops, which in
the medical profession is known as chloral, and at this he was an adept.
For some years he has worked in the Tenderloin, giving his entire
attention to all kinds of robberies, including panel work in which he
seems to be expert. He has labored assiduously for several years with
women of the street and made a large amount of money, only to lose it as
fast as it came to him. How many persons have received his “drops” and
with fatal results God only knows.
Wilson is a most interesting character, is intelligent, wide awake, and
has the ability and genuine reserve force in sufficient quantities to
command an army or govern a republic or quell an insurrection. He is a
“crack” criminal of the twentieth century type and while in the panel
business usually went for big game. He is alert, daring and muscular and
would have been a dangerous character to meet in a lonely road. He has
the brains of a leader and could handle men. His gray piercing eyes and
the facial expression show that he would allow nothing to stand in his
way if put to the test. His weakness seems to be that when he has plenty
of money and is full of “booze” he becomes garrulous and says too much.
Wilson began crime shortly after he was twenty years of age; his first
sentence was less than a year on the Island for the robbery of a diamond
pin; he claims to have “done time” on this occasion innocently; he had
taken the blame for Nellie’s sake, his common law wife, who afterwards
went back on him. Away back in the early nineties he stole a trunk of
clothing from Hazel Thorne, the actress. For this he was sent to Sing
Sing for four years.
For several years past he has spent his summers at the races at
Gravesend and Saratoga. While in the latter village he nearly got away
with a bag of jewelry valued at $1,500.00, but as he returned the
“stuff” the lady refused to prosecute him.
How many more times this man has been in prison under old and new
aliases we have no means of knowing at the present moment, but that he
has been in prison a number of times we have no doubt whatever. During
all these years he seems to have had an intense dislike to honest labor.
Like most other “gentlemen” of the crooked profession, he preferred to
live like a “dude” on his ill-gotten gains rather than be a man and work
like other men.
As soon as Wilson had secured his freedom after serving his first
sentence he made up his mind to be a man and do the right thing. He
says:
“I accepted employment with a man uptown for five dollars a week and
board. I was willing to do anything to outlive my past life—if that
could be done.
“One day some of my old companions who had known me in the Penitentiary
came to me while at work and threatened to expose me unless I gave them
ten dollars. I refused at first and was willing to fight them to the
bitter end. I would not be blackmailed. As they kept it up for several
days, I gave them money rather than lose my job. Then they came again,
and told others who made the same demand on me. After this I refused
every appeal and told them to go and do their worst; as a result I lost
my job. I searched the city for honest work for weeks, but could find
none. Then I became a gambler. I went to the races all around New York,
where I made money easy. I confess as a gambler I have had a checkered
career, and even now do not wish to tell all the escapades through which
I passed. But they were not of the best quality and many of them were
deeds of darkness.
“Some months ago I returned to the city. I wanted money badly and
resorted to crime, as I did not want to work. This is straight—_I did
not want to work_,” and he said it with an emphasis.
“I located in the Tenderloin and worked in partnership with a woman of
the street. We played the panel game between us and made lots of money.
We succeeded in robbing men of means who fell into our net. Every week
when I divided the graft, we had a big roll of bills each.”
Perhaps I ought to say that panel thievery is the old game of robbery in
which injured innocence takes part. It is still practised in many parts
of the city—especially the Tenderloin, but not as much as in former
years. The three parties in such a crime are (1) a woman—elegantly
dressed, with plenty of borrowed jewelry, but dissolute, (2) her so
called profligate husband, and (3) her victim. The woman goes to the
street—Fifth Avenue—and inveigles some young blood, a banker or rich
merchant to her apartments. Then the so-called husband shows up
unexpectedly. Then there is trouble but it is averted by a heavy cash
payment, after which the victim goes free a wiser man.
The same thing is continued night after night for years. Not one victim
in a hundred ever squeals—he is willing to pay any amount of money
rather than do so. Sometimes the so-called husband shows himself to be
an adept in the use of knock-out drops administered in wine. After the
victim becomes senseless he is robbed of all he has and left on the
premises. After a few days rest in Long Branch or Saratoga they return
again to the city where the same thing is carried on nightly. This is
what is called the Panel Game. Within recent years the Courts have been
very severe with such people and justly so, as they are a most dangerous
class.
Wilson continued: “After a while I became reckless and careless and got
caught red-handed. I have found once more that the way of the
transgressor is hard. But now I am done with that life. Ever since my
return to the city I have been living in hell. I knew I was doing wrong.
“I wish they had sent me to the electric chair—I would be better off in
the end.
“Just think of it—thirty-three years in prison, and yet it is all my own
fault.
“When I come out, if I live out my sentence, I will be an old man—sixty
years of age. Such a sentence is simply a civil death.”
A Young Man Whose Craze Was In Slashing Ladies’ Dresses
In one of my early experiences with criminals it was my fortune, or
misfortune, to have met a young man named Max Krebs who was a rank
destructionist. He was a German by birth, and had only been in this
country about a year. He must have been shipped away from the Fatherland
by his own people as a degenerate or the black sheep of the family. He
was a good looking young man, well dressed, light hair, brown eyes, and
a florid complexion. He was fairly well educated, pleasant in manners
and must have come from a respectable home.
I am satisfied now that his people must have been well to do for they
sent him regular monthly allowances to pay his board and to keep him in
clothing. But he was a degenerate and clearly insane when in a crowd of
ladies. Whenever the opportunity came to him he sought to cut their
dresses with a pen knife or sometimes a small pair of shears. He knew
his business so well that hundreds of elegant silk and satin dresses
were cut and destroyed on the street but were not discovered till the
owners returned home. In giving their testimony these ladies always
remembered that they saw a young man who looked like a Teuton “crowd up”
against them on the street. And while they could not identify him
positively, the defendant looked very much like the dress slasher. On
several occasions Max missed imprisonment by the skin of his teeth
simply because he could not be identified.
In December, 1898, he was arrested on Fourteenth Street, near Fifth
Avenue, charged with cutting ladies’ dresses; the technical charge was
malicious mischief. The crime was committed around the holidays when the
streets in the shopping district were densely crowded. Many complaints
had been made to the police that such a man was at large—whose only
business was to ruin female attire. He was the victim of some insane
delusion, although he never showed it in his speech. I questioned Max
many times and tried to look him straight in the eye but he could not
stand that—his eyes were not honest and, alas, like many another young
degenerate he could not be depended on. As a first-class liar Max would
have carried off the prize anywhere, and this was his main stock in
trade in securing sympathy from Christian people and at the same time
deceiving them. From first to last I entertained grave doubts respecting
this boy as I was not sure what was the best thing to do in his case. I
simply gave him the benefit of the doubt.
In the early part of January, 1899, Max called me to his cell in the
Boys’ Prison and told me confidentially a sad tale of police persecution
as the cause of his incarceration. He positively affirmed that he was
innocent of the charge placed against him and he had not cut any
dresses, oh, not he. I questioned him several times, but could not shake
his testimony. He maintained his accusers were mistaken. As the
complainant who was a lady, weakened on his identification I thought she
might be mistaken, so I aided him all I could and became interested in
his case. I went to the German Consulate and pleaded for him and
afterwards to the Legal Aid Society. A kind hearted lawyer named Granger
was assigned as his counsel, who took hold of his case with a will. He
called to see him at the Tombs and tried to find the trouble, as the
charge was a most unusual one for a boy of nineteen. He afterwards told
me that he thought the boy was guilty but was deranged and his trouble
he thought was caused by self-abuse. But deranged he was, for every
opportunity he had he used in slashing ladies’ dresses. It was his
mania.
On January 12th the case went to trial. The main issue turned on the
identity of the prisoner. The ladies that took the stand could not
positively swear that Krebs was the one that cut their dresses. And as
he had such a good face both judge and prosecuting attorney felt kindly
towards him, and the jury gave him the benefit of the doubt and he was
discharged. But there was really no defence. He was simply saved by the
skin of his teeth.
A few days after the trial one of the jurors wrote me asking for Krebs’
address, saying he took such a deep interest in him as to believe in his
innocence and he was willing to give him a position. I sent it to him
but whether he gave Krebs a position or not I cannot tell, as I never
heard from him afterwards, but one thing I know, this young man was a
notorious liar and as I understand, had been exiled from Germany because
of his audacious criminality as a dress slasher.
This case shows how easy one may be deceived. All the labor and sympathy
expended on him was wasted. As far as crookedness was concerned this
young degenerate could (to use a slang phrase) give clubs and spades to
men twice his years and in the end beat them.
The worst thing that could have been done for Max Krebs that day was to
save him from prison. He ought to have been sent to Elmira Reformatory
and placed under the care of Superintendent Brockway and watched and
then made to toe the mark.
After a few weeks New York became too hot for him; then he was compelled
to beat a hasty retreat to Philadelphia, Baltimore and Washington in
succession, where he continued his old insane delusion, viz.: cutting
ladies’ dresses for the fun of it! He was finally arrested in
Washington, D. C., caught in the very act!
When he was brought to trial there must have been fifty charges against
him. In Washington his offence only called for a fine and if it amounted
to $100 he could plead the Debtors’ Act and go scot free. What became of
Max and his insane delusions I do not know as I afterwards lost all
track of him.
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