EAST ST. LOUIS IN THE EARLY EIGHTY'S--HOW I HELPED TO REFORM THE
MUNICIPALITY--A SPECTACULAR RAID ON "SURE THING" GAMES AND "BIG MITT"
JOINTS.
Dodge City, Kansas, and Corinne, Utah, have places in history for being
tough towns in their infancy, but take it from me, Mr. Reader, that
neither of these much-advertised burgs, in their palmiest days, were "in
the running" for toughness with East St. Louis during the early '80s.
The average St. Louisan, in those days, was entirely different in his
make-up from the denizens of the cities further west, especially if he
was in politics, his nature being more bloodthirsty than the bandit, or
tough cowboy or buffalo skinner, who made the first named towns famous.
It was a different sort of crookedness in East St. Louis. The little
municipality was in the hands of crooks of the lowest degree. There was
no crime to which they would not resort to gain a point of advantage
over a rival. In other words, any crime was regarded as conventional,
just so the man who committed it got the "mazuma." The principal city
offices were held by gamblers and "sure-thing" men. The city councilmen
were nearly all saloon or dive keepers, while the police department was
recognized as the grandest collection of thugs, crooks and
"strong-armers" that had ever been assembled together within the borders
of one town. The fact that these alleged minions of the law were
recognized as suspicious characters by the officers of other cities, and
were shadowed whenever found out of their own bailiwick seemed to be
regarded as a good point in their favor by those responsible for their
being--the mayor and Board of Aldermen. Any crook, big or little, if he
had the price for protection, could ply his chosen profession on the
main streets of the town without molestation on the part of those sworn
to enforce the law. A "peterman" (safe blower) was held in higher esteem
over there in those days than a priest, a "porch-climber" regarded as an
artist, and the monte and confidence men placed in the same class as are
college professors and clergymen in other cities, while the men who
received the bribes were all looked upon as good fellows and smart,
wide-awake business men.
Neither were the merchants and tradesmen all straight in those days. It
has been said of some of them that they would refuse to take money in
exchange for their wares when there was any suspicion in their minds
that the money had been earned honestly. Crooks of all classes
congregated there, because they knew they were safe from arrest. If they
were broke on their arrival, after being chased out of another town,
they knew there would be no trouble in getting some dive-keeper or
proprietor of a fence to "go to the front" for them at police
headquarters and square things so they could "go to work." It was
everyday talk that aldermen had "big mitt" men and "strong-armers" out
working on percentage.
[Illustration: FURLONG'S "FULL HAND."
Cartoon published in a St. Louis newspaper at the time of the East St.
Louis gambling raid.]
As in all such places, gambling flourished--that is, gambling of the
crooked kind. The whirr of the roulette ball and the rattle of the dice
in the "bird cage" could be heard on the street, when not drowned out
by the voices of the cappers for "the old army game" (chuck-a-luck) or
the paddle wheels or sweat board. Nobody had a chance to win, however,
except the operators of the games, as they were all crooked.
Many of the merchants openly displayed in their shop windows the tools
and devices used by the various "professions." The bully could buy brass
knucks with which to knock the block off of his adversary; the hold-up
man a sand bag to stun his victim, while he helped himself to his
valuables; the card sharper could buy his "strippers" "bug" or
"harness," while the safe blower could find any sort of "jimmy" or any
quantity of "soup" he desired, or had the money to pay for. Then there
were "fences" where a thief might dispose of anything of value he might
"find" on his excursions to the neighboring towns, which were not
infrequent. The return of one of these marauding parties from a tour was
always followed by an orgy, at which wine flowed freely, and the
ill-gotten money tossed about with a lavish hand.
East St. Louis was then a wide-open town, with the accent on the words
"wide" and "open."
Finally the good people of the town awoke to their responsibilities, as
they always do in cases of this kind. Headed by an ex-mayor, John B.
Bowman, editor of a newspaper, a fight was begun on the crooked
officials. And it was a fight, a bitter one. A number of aldermen who
had been under suspicion of being partially responsible for the bad
state of affairs, were beaten for re-election, and an attempt was made
to get possession of the city funds in the city treasury, which was in
the hands of Thos. J. Canty, gang city clerk, who had usurped the office
of treasurer. After much delay, he having resorted to the courts to
prevent his being ousted, he was finally ordered to turn over the funds
to the treasurer on the morning of May 21, 1884. The night before the
date set for the transfer, the vault in the City Hall, in which Canty
claimed to have kept the funds, was robbed, an entrance having been
effected by digging a hole through the brick wall which enclosed the
safe.
A few months before the robbery, Mike Coleman, alias Charlie Clark, a
noted "peterman" of that city, had come down to St. Louis from Jefferson
City, where he had been doing time for a safe-blowing job in Monroe
County, Missouri. I had known Coleman for years and had been
instrumental in "settling" him on more than one occasion. He called upon
me at my office, which, at that time, was in the Allen Building,
Broadway and Market Streets. "I am through with crime, Mr. Furlong," he
said, "and I have secured a good job with the Hamilton-Brown Shoe
Company as a cutter, at a salary which will permit me to take care of my
wife and child, and I want to know if you will allow me to live in St.
Louis--that is, not tip me off to the St. Louis police, none of whom
know me."
I told him I was truly glad to hear of his reformation, and that I would
not tell any one of his presence here as long as he continued to work
and behave himself. He seemed pleased to hear this, and told me he would
not only live straight in the future, but would "put me next" to any one
he knew to be crooked should they attempt to do any work in St. Louis.
He further voluntarily promised that he would report to me at my office
every Saturday afternoon. I then introduced him to my chief clerk,
Edward Dawson, and told him to report to Mr. Dawson in case I did not
happen to be in the office when he called.
We shook hands and he took his departure. He reported to the office
every Saturday promptly for about three months, at which time I was
called south on a train robbery case, and was absent from St. Louis for
several weeks. During my absence an epidemic of safe robberies occurred
in St. Louis. As many as three "boxes" were opened in a single night.
One night the "petermen" would operate in north or south St. Louis, the
next night they would be down in the business district, or out in the
west end. The work of the gang caused a panic at police headquarters.
Chief Harrigan had his men working night and day, and the detective
force was augmented by patrolmen in plain clothes, but still the
bursting of "boxes" continued nightly. During my absence from the city I
was enabled to get the St. Louis papers once in a while. These papers
were full of the accounts of the robberies. From the description in the
papers of the way the work had been done, I was satisfied that Coleman
was either doing the work or directing it. Nearly all of the places
robbed had been entered from above. I knew this skylight stunt was one
of Coleman's specialties. He never broke a door or forced a window to
get to a box. His method was to reach a fire escape and make his way to
the roof of a building. He would then descend to the floor on which the
safe was located, and after detecting and fixing a side or back door,
through which the "get-away" was to be made in case of an interruption
on the part of a watchman or officer on the beat, would go to work.
I returned to St. Louis one night, and in discussing the robberies with
Mr. Dawson, I learned that Coleman had not reported at the office during
my absence. The next morning I called on the foreman of the
Hamilton-Brown Shoe Company, by whom Coleman had been employed, and who
was the only man in St. Louis besides Dawson and myself who knew the
ex-convict's record. The foreman told me that Mike had left his position
about a month before, without making any explanation. He had simply
drawn his week's wages and had failed to show up again. On learning
these facts, I was more than ever convinced that Coleman had gone wrong
again. I was very busy in my office that day looking after matters that
had accumulated during my absence, and did not leave for home until
after 5:30 P. M. On my way to the car I passed a doorway, in which was
standing a man whom I recognized as Pat Lawler, the best detective on
the city force, and with whom I was on very friendly terms. On
approaching Lawler I found him to be asleep. After I had awakened him he
told me he and his partner and several other men in the department had
been on continuous duty for over 36 hours, trying to get a "line" on the
men who were "blowing up the town" as he expressed it. He then told me
that the men in the department were still at sea, having no clue as to
who was doing the work. "I am going to bed and get some rest, at any
rate," said Lawler, "and I do not care what 'the big finger' (Chief of
Police) says about it."
I then told Lawler I believed I knew who was doing the work, or at least
directing it, and told him that if he and his partner would meet me at
Twelfth and Olive Streets at 5:30 the next morning I would help them
find the man I suspected. After telling me that he and his partner would
be at the rendezvous at the appointed time, Lawler and I parted company.
Coleman, under the alias of Charlie Clark, was living at that time on
the second floor of a house fronting on Biddle Street, between Ninth and
Tenth Streets. The entrance to this flat was made from the alley in the
rear. I knew Coleman's wife, or the woman he claimed to be his wife. She
had formerly been the wife of Tom Gosling, a noted crook, who was at
that time in the Missouri penitentiary, doing a ten year stretch. Her
first name was Annie, and she had a son about 6 or 7 years of age.
[Illustration: MIKE COLEMAN, alias CHAS. CLARK.
Daring burglar and "peterman" employed to blow the City Hall vault, East
St. Louis.]
Lawler and his partner were at the corner of Twelfth and Olive Streets
promptly at 5:30 the next morning, according to appointment. I then told
them all about Coleman, and we proceeded to the latter's flat. On
reaching the head of the stairway, I knocked at the door. Mrs. Coleman,
garbed only in a night robe, came to the door and opened it a few
inches. I stuck my foot in the door to keep her from closing it.
"I want to see Charlie," I explained to her.
"He is not here, Mr. Furlong," she replied, after recognizing me and
permitting us to enter. "I do not know where he is," she continued. She
then told me that Charlie had gone to drinking and had quit his job
about a week before, and she did not know where he was or what he was
doing. I knew she was not telling me the truth, as Charlie had quit his
job at least a month previous, and did not drink at all. In fact, he
never had been known to drink to excess. While we were talking I noticed
a large-sized picture of Coleman hanging on the wall. This I told the
officers to take, and commanded her to dress.
"What are you going to do, Mr. Furlong?" she asked.
"I am going to take you down to police headquarters for lying to me," I
replied.
Both she and her boy began to cry and make a scene, but she finally
began dressing. While this was going on I heard a slight noise in the
front room.
"Who is in there?" I asked, jumping to the door.
"A couple of friends of Charlie's from Hannibal," she replied.
Lawler and I entered this room and found a couple of men in bed. After
placing them under arrest we recognized them as a couple of crooks, both
of whom were heavily armed. Under the bed was a gunny sack, which, on
investigation, we found to contain a safe-blowing outfit, including a
sectional jimmy, a pair of "come-a-longs" (tool used to pull the knob or
"ears" off of a safe), a new hammer and other tools. These men had
evidently returned to the room late and being tired threw the sack under
the bed and went to sleep.
Just as we were about to take our departure from the room with the
prisoners a mail carrier arrived with a letter for Mrs. Clark. I took
charge of the letter and saw it had been mailed at Springfield, Mo. I
handed it to Mrs. Clark and she opened it and read its contents. The
letter was from her husband, and stated he was in Springfield, and for
her to answer it at once as he was only going to remain in Springfield a
couple of days, and he wanted to hear from her before leaving there. We
then took our prisoners, including Mrs. Clark, to the Four Courts. Some
small pictures of Clark were taken from the large one we had found in
his home, and Chief of Detectives Burke, armed with one of these
pictures, left at once for Springfield to try and effect his capture. In
this Burke was successful, as Clark appeared at the post-office to get
his mail and was recognized and placed under arrest. Clark was brought
back to St. Louis. He would not talk to the St. Louis officers, although
the latter used every art known to them to make the prisoner "cough up."
Clark told Chief of Police Harrigan he knew nothing that would do them
any good, but that he had some information that was very valuable for
me, and asked that I be called. At that time the relations between the
chief and myself were some strained, to express it mildly, but the Chief
finally sent for me. "This thief has some information for you," said
Harrigan to me on my arrival at his office. "I do not believe he is much
of a thief, either, as I know all the good ones," continued the chief.
After shaking hands with Clark he told me the city officers could not
connect him with any of the jobs pulled off here, as he had nothing to
do with them, but declined to talk further in the presence of the chief,
we being in the latter's office at the time. As Harrigan did not seem
inclined to let me interview Clark privately I left, and returned to my
office.
Later in the day Clark employed a lawyer, and sent him to me to tell me
that if I would get him across the river he would tell me all about that
job, meaning the looting of the City Hall vault. I referred Clark's
lawyer to Prosecuting Attorney Holder of St. Clair County, Illinois, and
later the latter made a demand on the St. Louis police for the
possession of Clark. The St. Louis officers, thinking that they might
secure at least a part of the reward which had been offered for the
apprehension of the men who committed the East St. Louis crime, took
Clark over the river, where he was locked up. I then called on him and
he told me all about the vault robbery.
According to his story, which was later verified by his two assistants,
Clark was employed to do the job by Thos. A. Canty, acting city
treasurer, to hide an alleged shortage in Canty's accounts. The latter
was, it was claimed $60,000 short, having lost the money at poker. The
money had to be turned over the next day, and Canty could not do it,
because he could not raise that amount. Clark had been introduced to
Canty by Patrick Eagan, who was at that time running a saloon in East
St. Louis, and was one of the city's aldermen. Eagan was regarded as a
friend of crooks of the higher class, such as confidence men, safe
blowers and "big mitt" men. Coleman claimed he was told by Canty that
ten thousand dollars would be left on the top of the safe, which was the
amount he was to receive for doing the work. Coleman was also introduced
to Lieutenant Duffy, acting night chief of police of the East St. Louis
department, who was to act as lookout while the work was being done. The
ten thousand dollars was to be divided equally between Duffy, Eagan and
Coleman. A few days before the time set for doing the job Canty became
ill and was taken to Hot Springs. This did not interfere with the plans,
however, D. J. Canty, according to the testimony, taking his brother's
place in making the final arrangements for the entering of the vault.
Coleman did the real work, assisted by Eagan, while Duffy, in full
uniform, stood guard on the outside. A box, in which was supposed to be
$10,000, was found on top of the safe, as had been promised by Canty.
This box was taken by the three men to Duffy's home and its contents
poured out on the kitchen table, but instead of $10,000 there was only
$3,000. This money was divided equally among the three men, after which
all went downtown again. It was then about 2:30 A. M. Duffy, not wishing
to carry so much money around with him, placed his part in the safe of a
saloonkeeper friend, who was also an alderman. The lieutenant in his
testimony at the trial of the Cantys, two years afterwards, declared
that his $1,000 decreased to $700 during the night. In other words, some
one had touched the roll for $300.
I told Prosecuting Attorney Holder and the Citizens' Committee about
Coleman's confession, and was employed to secure corroborating evidence,
which was done. Eagan and Duffy were arrested, convicted and sentenced
to five years each in the penitentiary. They appealed the case, but at
the next term of court withdrew their appeals, after a conference with
Prosecuting Attorney Holder, and entered pleas of guilty, and received
two years each. The Canty brothers were arrested, but notwithstanding
the fact that Coleman, Duffy and Eagan testified for the state, and
there was much corroborating evidence, the jury failed to agree,
standing seven for conviction to five for acquittal. At the time it was
alleged that money had been expended very freely to clear the brothers.
Coleman was not prosecuted. He left the city for the west, and the next
I heard of him he was conducting a saloon on Geary Street, San
Francisco. Later he and Henry Schultz, another noted peterman, formed an
alliance and opened a half dozen "boxes" in the country surrounding the
Golden Gate metropolis. They were finally settled for one of their jobs
by Capt. Leas, of Frisco. Later Coleman was released, but was soon
afterwards killed at Houston, Texas, while attempting to rob a bank. He
was acting as lookout, while his pals were at work on the vault. The
first explosion attracted the attention of the police, who opened fire
on Coleman and his death was instantaneous; thus his long career of
crime ended.
Chief of Detectives Burke, of the St. Louis Police Department,
afterwards claimed the reward for capturing the vault robbers, and I
believe secured a part of the money, but he was really not entitled to a
cent, as he had done none of the real work on the case.
The next sensation in East St. Louis was the assassination of Ex-Mayor
John B. Bowman, which occurred about 6:30 o'clock on the evening of
November 20, 1885. The assassin did his work well. It can be described
in a sentence--a shot was fired, and the corpse of the leader of the
reformers was found lying near the gate leading to his residence, alone
with the secret. I was employed by the son of the dead man to try and
unravel the mystery, being given complete charge of the case. I had
known Bowman for years, and was acquainted with his past life, which had
been a very turbulent one. He had always been a fighter, one of the kind
who never knew when they were whipped. He settled in East St. Louis in
the latter part of the '60s, and acquired a large amount of property.
He was one of the few men who recognized the fact that East St. Louis
would later become a great industrial center. Because of his large
interests he took an active part in municipal affairs, which, of course,
brought him in contact with the politicians. Bowman knew all about
politics, even what is called the "practical" side of the game, but he
was a poor diplomat--one of the kind of men who always called a spade a
spade, consequently he was often in trouble with those who opposed him
or his plans. He was often deserted by men whom he had practically made
politically, because of his radical views on some question at issue.
This was the beginning of a bitter war on the person so offending, by
Bowman. He never forgave a man who had deserted him or his cause.
On taking charge of the case the day after the diabolical crime had been
committed, I was not surprised to learn that several of the dead man's
enemies were busy preparing alibis. Another thing that impressed me as a
little peculiar was that the police department was making no effort to
find the perpetrator of the crime. After considerable hard work by both
myself and my men, I succeeded in finding a couple of parties who
claimed that they had seen the fatal shot fired. They were Christian A.
Schmidt and William Banks. These men were returning from the country,
where they had been to secure some tobacco which had been stolen from a
freight car and hidden in a hay stack. As they neared the Bowman home
they saw a flash from across the street, and saw Bowman fall. They
recognized George W. Voice, a member of the police force, as the man who
did the shooting. Later some more evidence was obtained, which, it was
thought, would corroborate the statements of Schmidt and Banks. This
corroborative evidence implicated another police officer named Patrick
O'Neil. Voice was arrested at once and taken to Belleville and locked
up. Later O'Neil called on Voice at the jail, and he, too, was placed
behind the bars, he having been indicted as an accessory that day. These
arrests caused a great sensation, not only in St. Clair County, but on
the other side of the river as well.
At the preliminary hearing of Voice, Schmidt and Banks went on the stand
and told their story in a straightforward manner, and the defendant was
returned to jail without bail. The friends of the prisoners then began
harrassing the state's witnesses. The cases against the men were
continued from time to time until April 3, 1887, when the prosecuting
attorney dismissed the charges against the accused because he could not
obtain service upon the state's witnesses, they having left the county
because of the threats made against them.
The outcome of the case caused great rejoicing among the crooks and
plug-uglies in East St. Louis, and they began again to show their hands.
The Wabash Railroad, at that time one of the Missouri Pacific
properties, had rather large interests over on the east side of the
river. It was a nightly occurrence for our cars to be broken open and
looted. It was no trouble for us to locate the thief, or thieves, who
did the work, but it was another thing to have them arrested by the
officers who were receiving pay for protecting them. My activity in
trying to cause the arrest and conviction of these car robbers, and in
the other cases mentioned, earned for me the ill will of the police
department. While they never attempted to harm me, the police would pick
up my men and lock them up on trumped up charges, convict them in the
police court, which was of the "kangaroo" type, and put them to work on
the streets with a ball and chain attached to prevent them from +running
away+. After the police over there had turned a few tricks of this kind,
I decided to put a stop to it by "reforming" the police department. To
do this I had to shut off the source of revenue from which the officials
were being corrupted, for I knew, even at that date in life, that it
took bribe money to create such a condition of affairs. The men higher
up, in this case, were the proprietors of the gambling houses. They were
paying $1,000 per week for protection. This was a nice little "bit" to
be split up by a few aldermen and city officials and the heads of the
police department.
I called on Prosecuting Attorney Holder at Belleville, and asked his
co-operation in bringing about a change in the state of affairs. I was
not very well acquainted with Mr. Holder at that time, but I knew he was
honest and a man who would do his duty. After I had entered his office
and introduced myself, a dialogue something like this, as I remember it,
took place:
"Do you know that the gamblers of East St. Louis are putting up $1,000
per week for protection?" I asked.
"I have heard they were putting up money," he replied, "but I have no
real evidence as to how much."
"Are you and the sheriff getting your part of it?" I continued.
The question had hardly left my lips before I saw the prosecuting
attorney was beginning to make arrangements to throw me out of his
office. Before he had time to begin the work, however, I explained that
I was joking, and we both had a good laugh. Getting down to business
again, Mr. Holder told me that he would "go after the gamblers with
hammer and tongs" if he had the evidence.
"I will get you that evidence, and pay the expenses out of my own
pocket," I replied.
The prosecuting attorney then assured me that the sheriff could be
relied upon to do his part. I already knew this, for I had investigated
both men's character before I had decided to make the move that I had.
The sheriff was called upon, and he, too, promised to aid me in every
manner possible. After asking both officials to keep the matter a secret
until I had worked out the plans fully, I returned to St. Louis.
I sent a number of my men across the river, and it did not take long to
get all the evidence needed. After arranging this evidence, I took it to
Prosecuting Attorney Holder and secured the necessary warrants. Sheriff
Ropiequet was called over to St. Louis and plans for raiding the houses
simultaneously were made. I secured and paid for out of my own pocket an
engine and two coaches from the Cairo Short Line Railway, and had them
in readiness to take my men and the people we were to arrest from East
St. Louis to the county seat at Belleville, after the raid. While there
were over thirty open gambling establishments in East St. Louis, I knew
I could not raid all of them at one time, so I decided to raid the four
largest, the ones whose owners were the most active in bringing about
the crooked state of affairs. On the afternoon preceding the raid, I
sent four trusted men, all armed, over the big bridge, with instructions
to separate on the other side, one going to each of the four houses to
be raided. These men were instructed to stay in the houses until the
raids were made, to prevent the gamblers from locking their vaults and
thus hiding their tools and other evidence. I then hired a big moving
van, in which I placed eighteen of my men. Sheriff Ropiequet and I
occupied the seat, I doing the driving. We had a number of fishing
poles in the wagon to give the outfit the appearance of a fishing party.
On reaching the other side I divided the men into four squads, placing a
captain in charge of each. The squad I was to lead stayed in the wagon.
After giving the other squads time to reach their houses I drove the van
to Colonel Claude Cave's famous resort. I handed the lines to the
sheriff and ran up the stairs, followed by my men. We gained an entrance
without any trouble and found the games running in full blast. The
gamblers were taken completely by surprise, but submitted quietly to
arrest. The spectators and players were not molested, but many of them
became panic-stricken when it dawned upon them that a raid was being
made, and sought to make their escape by jumping from the windows to the
alley in the rear of the building, many of them actually making their
escape in that manner. The gambling paraphernalia was taken down to the
wagon, while the gamblers and their employes were marched to the waiting
train. The wagon was then driven to the other houses, which had been
raided at the same time by the other squads of my men, and the gambling
tools found there hauled to the train. In making the raid every kind of
gambling device known to the profession was captured, including faro
boxes and layouts, dice, roulette wheels, sweat boards, keno balls and
cards, and something like four bushels of poker and faro chips. All of
this stuff was burned on the public square in Belleville after the
conviction of the gamblers. Most of the men arrested pleaded guilty, and
those who did not were convicted and the county was made some $22,000
richer by the fines.
The raid created a great sensation in East St. Louis. It was the biggest
stunt of the kind that had ever been pulled off over there, and I
received much praise from the law-loving people of the city for doing
the job. As I had anticipated, it ended open bribery in East St. Louis,
and later to the ousting of the crooked officials, for at the next
election the good people triumphed and succeeded in electing men who
would do their duty.
The new Mayor was Col. M. M. Stevens, and as he had the co-operation of
an honest Board of Aldermen, it did not take him long to finish the
cleaning of the police department I had begun. My men were then enabled
to go about their work of arresting car thieves without being interfered
with by the police.
If my memory serves me right, Mayor Stevens served six or seven terms,
and did much to make East St. Louis the city it is today. But this work
was not accomplished without much hard labor on his part and on the part
of those who assisted him, for the gamblers and crooks did not give up
without a struggle. Mayor Stevens, however, made it as law-abiding a
place during his administration as any other city in the country of its
size.
No man deserves more credit for the ending of gang rule in East St.
Louis at that time, however, than does J. W. Kirk, editor of the Signal.
This paper fearlessly exposed all of the gang's methods, and to this
fact was really due the awakening of the public conscience over there.