_What The Burglar Faces._
For a long time I took Sheenie Annie's advice and did not do any night
work. It is too dangerous, the come-back is too sure, you have to
depend too much on the nerve of your pals, the "bits" are too long; and
it is very difficult to square it. But as time went on I grew bolder.
I wanted to do something new, and get more dough. My new departure was
not, however, entirely due to ambition and the boldness acquired by
habitual success. After a gun has grafted for a long time his nervous
system becomes affected, for it is certainly an exciting life. He is
then very apt to need a stimulant. He is usually addicted to either
opium or chloral, morphine or whiskey. Even at this early period I
began to take a little opium, which afterwards was one of the main
causes of my constant residence in stir, and was really the wreck of my
life, for when a grafter is doped he is inclined to be very reckless.
Perhaps if I had never hit the hop I would not have engaged in the
dangerous occupation of a burglar.
I will say one thing for opium, however. That drug never makes a man
careless of his personal appearance. He will go to prison frequently,
but he will always have a good front, and will remain a self-respecting
thief. The whiskey dip, on the other hand, is apt to dress carelessly,
lose his ambition and, eventually to go down and out as a common "bum".
I began night-work when I was about twenty years old, and at first
I did not go in for it very heavily. Big Jack, Jerry, Ed and I made
several good touches in Mt. Vernon and in hotels at summer resorts and
got sums ranging from two hundred to twenty-seven hundred dollars.
We worked together for nearly a year with much success and only an
occasional fall, and these we succeeded in squaring. Once we had a
shooting-match which made me a little leary. I was getting out the
window with my swag, when a shot just grazed my eye. I nearly decided
to quit then, but, I suppose because it was about that time I was
beginning to take opium, I continued with more boldness than ever.
One night Ed, a close pal of mine, was operating with me out in Jersey.
We were working in the rear of a house and Ed was just shinning up the
back porch to climb in the second story window, when a shutter above
was thrown open and, without warning, a pistol shot rang out.
Down came Ed, falling like a log at my feet.
"Are you hurt?" said I.
"Done!" said he, and I saw it was so.
Now a man may be nervy enough, but self-preservation is the first rule
of life. I turned and ran at the top of my speed across two back yards,
then through a field, then over a fence into what seemed a ploughed
field beyond. The ground was rough and covered with hummocks, and as I
stumbled along I suddenly tripped and fell ten feet down into an open
grave. The place was a cemetery, though I had not recognized it in the
darkness. For hours I lay there trembling, but nobody came and I was
safe. It was not long after that, however, that something did happen to
shake my nerve, which was pretty good. It came about in the following
way.
A jeweler, who was a well-known "fence", put us on to a place where we
could get thousands. He was one of the most successful "feelers-out" in
the business. The man who was my pal on this occasion, Dal, looked the
place over with me and though we thought it a bit risky, the size of
the graft attracted us. We had to climb up on the front porch, with an
electric light streaming right down on us.
I had reached the porch when I got the well-known signal of danger. I
hurriedly descended and asked Dal what was the matter.
"Jim," he said, "there's somebody off there, a block away."
We investigated, and you can imagine how I felt when we found nothing
but an old goat. It was a case of Dal's nerves, but the best of us get
nervous at times.
I went to the porch again and opened the window with a putty knife
(made of the rib of a woman's corset), when I got the "cluck" again,
and hastily descended, but again found it was Dal's imagination.
Then I grew hot, and said: "You have knocked all the nerve out of me,
for sure."
"Jim," he replied, "I ain't feeling good."
Was it a premonition? He wanted to quit the job, but I wouldn't let
him. I opened up on him. "What!" I said. "You are willing to steal one
piece of jewelry and take your chance of going to stir, but when we get
a good thing that would land us in Easy Street the rest of our lives,
you weaken!"
Dal was quiet, and his face unusually pale. He was a good fellow, but
his nerve was gone. I braced him up, however, and told him we'd get the
"éclat" the third time, sure. Then climbing the porch the third time, I
removed my shoes, raised the window again, and had just struck a light
when a revolver was pressed on my head. I knocked the man's hand up,
quick, and jumped. As I did so I heard a cry and then the beating of a
policeman's stick on the sidewalk.
I ran, with two men after me, and came to the gateway of a yard, where
I saw a big bloodhound chained to his kennel. He growled savagely, but
it was neck or nothing, so I patted his head just as though I were not
shaking with fear, slipped down on my hands and knees and crept into
his dog-house. Why didn't he bite me? Was it sympathy? When my pursuers
came up, the owner of the house, who had been aroused by the cries,
said: "He is not here. This dog would eat him up." When the police saw
the animal they were convinced of it too.
A little while later I left my friend's kennel. It was four o'clock in
the morning and I had no shoes on and only one dollar and sixty cents
in my pocket. I sneaked through the back window of the first house I
saw, stole a pair of shoes and eighty dollars from a room where a man
and his wife were sleeping. Then I took a car. Knowing that I was still
being looked for, I wanted to get rid of my hat, as a partial disguise.
On the seat with me was a working man asleep. I took his old soft hat,
leaving my new derby by his side, and also took his dinner pail. Then
when I left the car I threw away my collar and necktie, and reached New
York, disguised as a workingman. The next day the papers told how poor
old Dal had been arrested. Everything that had happened for weeks was
put on him.
A week later Dal was found dead in his cell, and I believe he did the
Dutch act (suicide), for I remember one day, months before that fatal
night, Dal and I were sitting in a politicians saloon, when he said to
me:
"Jim, do you believe in heaven?"
"No," said I.
"Do you believe in hell?" he asked.
"No," said I.
"I've got a mind to find out," he said quickly, and pointed a big
revolver at his teeth. One of the guns in the saloon said: "Let him try
it," but I knocked the pistol away, for something in his manner made me
think seriously he would shoot.
"You poor brute," I said to him. "I'll put your ashes in an urn some
day and write "Dear Old Saturday Night" for an epitaph for you; but it
isn't time yet."
It did not take many experiences like the above to make me very leary
of night-work; and I went more slowly for some time. I continued
to dip, however, more boldly than ever and to do a good deal of day
work; in which comparatively humble graft the servant girls, as I have
already said, used to help us out considerably. This class of women
never interested me as much as the sporting characters, but we used to
make good use of them; and sometimes they amused us.
I remember an entertaining episode which took place while Harry, a
pal of mine at the time, and I, were going with a couple of these
hard-working Molls. Harry was rather inclined to be a sure-thing
grafter, of which class of thieves I shall say more in another chapter;
and after my recent dangerous adventures I tolerated that class more
than was customary with me. Indeed, if Harry had been the real thing I
would have cut him dead; as it was he came near enough to the genuine
article to make me despise him in my ordinary mood. But, as I say, I
was uncommonly leary just at that time.
He and I were walking in Stuyvesant Square when we met a couple of
these domestic slaves. With a "hello," we rang in on them, walked them
down Second Avenue and had a few drinks all around. My girl told me
whom she was working with. Thinking there might be something doing I
felt her out further, with a view to finding where in the house the
stuff lay. Knowing the Celtic character thoroughly, I easily got the
desired information. We took the girls into Bonnell's Museum, at Eighth
Street and Broadway, and saw a howling border melodrama, in which wild
Indians were as thick as Moll-buzzers in 1884. Mary Anne, who was my
girl, said she should tell her mistress about the beautiful play; and
asked for a program. They were all out, and so I gave her an old one,
of another play, which I had in my pocket. We had a good time, and made
a date with them for another meeting, in two weeks from that night;
but before the appointed hour we had beat Mary Anne's mistress out of
two hundred dollars worth of silverware, easily obtained, thanks to
the information I had received from Mary Anne. When we met the girls
again, I found Mary Anne in a great state of indignation; I was afraid
she was "next" to our being the burglars, and came near falling through
the floor. But her rage, it seemed, was about the play. She had told
her mistress about the wild Indian melodrama she had seen, and then had
shown her the program of _The Banker's Daughter_.
"But there is no such thing as an Indian in _The Banker's Daughter_,"
her mistress had said. "I fear you are deceiving me, Mary Anne, and
that you have been to some low place on the Bowery."
The other servants in the house got next and kidded Mary Anne almost
to death about Indians and _The Banker's Daughter_. After I had quieted
her somewhat she told me about the burglary that had taken place at her
house, and Harry and I were much interested. She was sure the touch had
been made by two "naygers" who lived in the vicinity.
It was shortly after this incident that I beat Blackwell's Island out
of three months. A certain "heeler" put me on to a disorderly house
where we could get some stones. I had everything "fixed." The "heeler"
had arranged it with the copper on the beat, and it seemed like a sure
thing; although the Madam, I understood, was a good shot and had plenty
of nerve. My accomplice, the heeler, was a sure thing grafter, who had
selected me because I had the requisite nerve and was no squealer. At
two o'clock in the morning a trusted pal and I ascended from the back
porch to the Madam's bed-room. I had just struck a match, when I heard
a female voice say, "What are you doing there?" and a bottle, fired at
my head, banged up against the wall with a crash. I did not like to
alarm women, and so I made my "gets" out the window, over the fence,
and into another street, where I was picked up by a copper, on general
principles.
The Madam told him that the thief was over six feet tall and had a
fierce black mustache. As I am only five feet seven inches and was
smoothly shaven, it did not seem like an identification; although when
she saw me she changed her note, and swore I was the man. The copper,
who knew I was a grafter, though he did not think I did that kind of
work, nevertheless took me to the station-house, where I convinced
two wardmen that I had been arrested unjustly. When I was led before
the magistrate in the morning, the copper said the lady's description
did not tally with the short, red-haired and freckled thief before
his Honor. The policemen all agreed, however, that I was a notorious
grafter, and the magistrate, who was not much of a lawyer, sent me to
the Island for three months on general principles.
I was terribly sore, for I knew I had been illegally treated. I felt
as much a martyr as if I had not been guilty in the least; and I
determined to escape at all hazards; although my friends told me I
would be released any day; for certainly the evidence against me had
been insufficient.
After I had been on the Island ten days I went to a friend, who
had been confined there several months and said: "Eddy, I have been
unjustly convicted for a crime I committed--such was my way of putting
it--and I am determined to make my elegant, (escape) come what will. Do
you know the weak spots of this dump?"
He put me "next", and I saw there was a chance, a slim one, if a man
could swim and didn't mind drowning. I found another pal, Jack Donovan,
who, like me, could swim like a fish; he was desperate too, and willing
to take any chance to see New York. Five or six of us slept together
in one large cell, and on the night selected for our attempt, Jack and
I slipped into a compartment where about twenty short term prisoners
were kept. Our departure from the other cell, from which it was very
difficult to escape after once being locked in for the night, was not
noticed by the night guard and his trusty because our pals in the cell
answered to our names when they were called. It was comparatively easy
to escape from the large room where the short term men were confined.
Into this room, too, Jack and I had taken tools from the quarry during
the daytime.
It was twelve o'clock on a November night when we made our escape.
We took ropes from the canvas cot, tied them together, and lowered
ourselves to the ground on the outside, where we found bad weather,
rain and hail. We were unable to obtain a boat, but secured a telegraph
pole, rolled it into the water, and set off with it for New York.
The terrific tide at Hellgate soon carried us well into the middle
of Long Island Sound, and when we had been in the water half an hour,
we were very cold and numb, and began to think that all was over. But
neither of us feared death. All I wanted was to save enough money to
be cremated; and I was confident my friends would see to that. I don't
think fear of death is a common trait among grafters. Perhaps it is
lack of imagination; more likely, however, it is because they think
they won't be any the worse off after death.
Still, I was not sorry when a wrecking boat suddenly popped our way.
The tug did not see us, and hit Jack's end of the pole a hard blow that
must have shaken him off. I heard him holler "Save me," and I yelled
too. I didn't think anything about capture just then. All my desire to
live came back to me.
I was pulled into the boat. The captain was a good fellow. He was
"next" and only smiled at my lies. What was more to the purpose he
gave me some good whiskey, and set me ashore in Jersey City. Jack was
drowned. All through life I have been used to losing a friend suddenly
by the wayside; but I have always felt sad when it happened. And yet it
would have been far better for me if I had been picked out for an early
death. I guess poor Jack was lucky.
Certainly there are worse things than death. Through these three years
of continual and for the most part successful graft, I had known a
man named Henry Fry whose story is one of the saddest. If he had been
called off suddenly as Jack was, he would certainly have been deemed
lucky by those who knew; for he was married to a bad woman. He was
one of the most successful box-men (safe-blowers) in the city, and
made thousands, but nothing was enough for his wife. She used to say,
when he would put twelve hundred dollars in her lap, "This won't meet
expenses. I need one thousand dollars more." She was unfaithful to
him, too, and with his friends. When I go to a matinée and see a lot
of sleek, fat, inane looking women, I wonder who the poor devils are
who are having their life blood sucked out of them. Certainly it was so
with Henry, or Henny, as we used to call him.
One day, I remember, we went down the Sound with a well-known
politician's chowder party, and Henny was with us. Two weeks
earlier New York had been startled by a daring burglary. A large
silk-importer's place of business was entered and his safe, supposed
to be burglar-proof, was opened. He was about to be married, and his
valuable wedding presents, which were in the safe, and six thousand
dollars worth of silk, were stolen. It was Henny and his pals who
had made the touch, but on this beautiful night on the Sound, Henny
was sad. We were sitting on deck, as it was a hot summer night, when
Henny jumped off his camp-stool and asked me to sing a song. I sang
a sentimental ditty, in my tenor voice, and then Henny took me to the
side of the boat, away from the others.
"Kid," he said, "I feel trouble coming over me."
"Cheer up," I replied. "You're a little down-hearted, that's all."
"I wish to God," he said, "I was like you."
I pulled out a five dollar bill and a two dollar bill and remarked:
"I've got just seven dollars to my name."
He turned to me and said:
"But you are happy. You don't let anything bother you."
Henny did not drink as a rule; that was one reason he was such a good
box-man, but on this occasion we had a couple of drinks, and I sang
"I love but one." Then Henny ordered champagne, grew confidential, and
told me his troubles.
"Kid" he said, "I've got thirty five hundred dollars on me. I have
been giving my wife a good deal of money, but don't know what she does
with it. In sixty days I have given her three thousand dollars, and she
complains about poverty all the time."
Henny had a nice flat of seven or eight rooms; he owed nothing and
had no children. He said he was unable to find any bank books in his
wife's trunk, and was confident she was not laying the money by. She
did not give it to her people, but even borrowed money from her father,
a well-to-do builder.
Two days after the night of the excursion, one of Henny's pals in the
silk robbery, went into a gin mill, treated everybody, and threw a
one thousand dollar bill down on the bar. Grafters, probably more than
others, like this kind of display. It is the only way to rise in their
society. A Central Office detective saw this little exhibition, got
into the grafters confidence and weeded him out a bit. A night or two
afterwards Henny was in bed at home, when the servant girl, who was in
love with Henny, and detested his wife because she treated her husband
so badly (she used to say to me, "She ain't worthy to tie his shoe
string") came to the door and told Henny and his wife that a couple of
men and a policeman in uniform were inquiring for him. Henny replied
sleepily that they were friends of his who had come to buy some stones;
but the girl was alarmed. She knew that Henny was crooked and feared
that those below meant him no good. She took the canvas turn-about
containing burglar's tools which hung on the wall near the bed, and
pinned it around her waist, under her skirt, and then admitted the
three visitors.
The sergeant said to Henny, who had dressed himself, "You are under
suspicion for the silk robbery." Yet there was, as is not uncommon, a
"but," which is as a rule a monetary consideration. Henny knew that
the crime was old, and, as he thought his "fence" was safe, he did
not see how there could be a come-back. So he did not take the hint to
shell out, and worked the innocent con. But those whose business it is
to watch the world of prey, put two and two together, and were "next"
that Henny and his mob had pulled off the trick. So they searched the
house, expecting to find, if not _éclat_, at least burglars tools;
for they knew that Henny was at the top of the ladder, and that he
must have something to work with. While the sergeant was going through
Henny's trunk, one of the flymen fooled with the pretty servant girl.
She jumped, and a pair of turners fell on the floor. It did not take
the flyman long to find the whole kit of tools. Henny was arrested,
convicted, and sent to Sing Sing for five years. While in prison
he became insane, his delusion being that he was a funny man on the
Detroit Free Press, which he thought was owned by his wife.
I never discovered what Henny's wife did with the money she had from
him. When I last heard of her she was married to another successful
grafter, whom she was making unhappy also. In a grafter's life a woman
often takes the part of the avenger of society. She turns against the
grafters their own weapons, and uses them with more skill, for no man
can graft like a woman.
* * * * *
I had now been grafting for three years in the full tide of success.
Since the age of eighteen I had had no serious fall. I had made
much money and lived high. I had risen in the world of graft, and
I had become, not only a skillful pickpocket, but a good swindler
and drag-worker and had done some good things as a burglar. I was
approaching my twenty-first year, when, as you will see, I was to go to
the penitentiary for the first time. This is a good place, perhaps, to
describe my general manner of life, my daily menu, so to speak, during
these three fat years: for after my first term in state's prison things
went from bad to worse.
I lived in a furnished room; or at a hotel. If there was nothing doing
in the line of graft, I'd lie abed late, and read the newspapers to see
if any large gathering, where we might make some touches, was on hand.
One of my girls, of whom there was a long succession, was usually with
me. We would breakfast, if the day was an idle one, about one or two
o'clock in the afternoon. Then we'd send to the restaurant and have
a beefsteak or chops in our rooms, and perhaps a whiskey sour. If it
was another grafter's girl I'd won I'd be greatly pleased, for that
kind of thing is a game with us. In the afternoon I'd take in some
variety show; or buy the "Tommy" a present; if it was summer we might
go to a picnic, or to the Island. If I was alone, I would meet a pal,
play billiards or pool, bet on the races, baseball and prize fights,
jump out to the Polo grounds, or go to Patsy's house and have a game
of poker. Patsy's wife was a handsome grafter; and Patsy was jealous.
Every gun is sensitive about his wife, for he doesn't know how long he
will have her with him. In the evening I would go to a dance-hall; or
to Coney Island if the weather was good.
If it was a busy day, that is, if there was a touch to be pulled off,
we would get up in the morning or the afternoon, according to the best
time for the particular job in hand. In the afternoon we would often
graft at the Polo grounds, where we had a copper "right." We did not
have the same privileges at the race track, because it was protected by
the Pinkerton men. We'd console ourselves at the Polo grounds, which
we used to tear wide open, and where I never got even a hint of a
fall; the coppers got their percentage of the touches. In the morning
we would meet at one of the grafters homes or rooms and talk over our
scheme for the day or night. If we were going outside the city we would
have to rise very early. Sometimes we were sorry we had lost our sleep;
particularly the time we tried to tear open the town of Sing Sing,
near which the famous prison is. We found nothing to steal there but
pig iron, and there were only two pretty girls in the whole village.
We used to jump out to neighboring towns, not always to graft, but
sometimes to see our girls, for like sailors, the well-dressed, dapper
pickpocket has a girl in every port. If we made a good touch in the
afternoon we'd go on a spree in the evening with Sheenie Annie, Blonde
Mamie, Big Lena or some other good-natured lasses, or we'd go over and
inspect the Jersey maidens. After a good touch we would put some of the
dough away for fall-money, or for our sick relatives or guns in stir
or in the hospital. We'd all chip in to help out a woman grafter in
trouble, and pool a piece of jewelry sometimes, for the purpose. Then,
our duty done, we would put on our best front, and visit our friends
and sporting places. Among others we used to jump over to a hotel kept
by an ex-gun, one of the best of the spud men (green goods men), who is
now on the level and a bit of a politician. He owns six fast horses, is
married and has two beautiful children.
A few months before I was sent to the penitentiary for the first time,
I had my only true love affair. I have liked many girls, but sentiment
of the kind I felt for Ethel has played little part in my life. For
Ethel I felt the real thing, and she for me. She was a good, sensible
girl, and came from a respectable family. She lived with her father,
who was a drummer, and took care of the house for him. She was a
good deal of a musician, and, like most other girls, she was fond of
dancing. I first met her at Beethoven Hall, and was introduced to her
by a man, an honest laborer, who was in love with her. I liked her at
first sight, but did not love her until I had talked with her. In two
weeks we were lovers, and went everywhere together. The workingman
who loved her too was jealous and began to knock me. He told her I
was a grafter, but she would not believe him; and said nothing to me
about it, but it came to my ears through an intimate girl pal of hers.
Shortly after that I fell for a breech-kick (was arrested for picking
a man's trouser's pocket), but I had a good lawyer and the copper
was one of those who are open to reason. I lay a month in the Tombs,
however, before I got off, and Ethel learned all about it. She came to
the Tombs to see me, but, instead of reproaches, I got sympathy from
her. After I was released I gave her some of my confidence. She asked
me if I wouldn't be honest, and go to work; and said she would ask
her father to get me a job. Her father came to me and painted what my
life would be, if I kept on. I thought the matter over sincerely. I
had formed expensive habits which I could not keep up on any salary I
could honestly make. Away down in my mind (I suppose you would call it
soul) I knew I was not ready for reform. I talked with Ethel, and told
her that I loved her, but that I could not quit my life. She said she
would marry me anyway. But I thought the world of her, and told her
that though I had blasted my own life I would not blast hers. I would
not marry her, she was so good and affectionate. When we parted, I said
to myself: Man proposes, habit disposes.
It was certainly lucky that I did not marry that sweet girl, for a
month after I had split with her, I fell for a long term in state's
prison. It was for a breech-kick, which I could not square. I had gone
out of my hotel one morning for a bottle of whiskey when I met two
grafters, Johnny and Alec, who were towing a "sucker" along with them.
They gave me the tip that it was worth trying. Indeed, I gathered that
the man must have his bank with him, and I nicked him in a car for his
breech-leather. A spectator saw the deed and tipped off a copper. I was
nailed, but had nothing on me, for I had passed the leather to Alec.
I was not in the mood for the police station, and with Alec's help I
"licked" the copper, who pulled his gun and fired at us as we ran up a
side street. Alec blazed back, and escaped, but I was arrested. I could
not square it, as I have said, for I had been wanted at Headquarters
for some time past, because I did not like to give up, and was no
stool-pigeon. I notified Mr. R----, who was told to keep his hands off.
I had been tearing the cars open for so long that the company wanted
to "do" me. They got brassy-mouthed and yelled murder. I saw I had
a corporation against me and hadn't a living chance to beat it. So I
pleaded guilty and received five years and seven months at Sing Sing.
A boy of twenty-one, I was hand-cuffed with two old jail-birds, and as
we rode up on a Fourth Avenue car to the Grand Central Station, I felt
deeply humiliated for the first time in my life. When the passengers
stared at me I hung my head with shame.