Chapter 2 – The Wrong Man: Who Ordered the Murder of Gambler Herman Rosenthal and Why

CHARLES BECKER

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Charles Becker was born to a German/American family in 1870, in the tiny town of Calicoon Center, in the Catskill region of upstate New York. Becker’s father died when he was seven and he was raised by his widowed mother. In 1890, when Becker was just 20 years old, he hopped on a train and headed for New York City, where he hoped to gain fame and more than his fair share of fortune.          

After working at several meaningless jobs, the tall and broad-shouldered Becker took a gig as a bouncer in a German “Biergarten” (beer garden) just off the Bowery. German Biergartens were jovial joints where sometimes an unruly customer, who had one too many brews, needed to get pitched out on his ear. Becker was especially good at this sort of thing, and he got the reputation of someone who could “punch with the kick of a horse.” Becker’s status as a ruffian grew and soon he caught the eye of several customers who were politically connected and were in the position to get someone like Becker an appointment in the New York City police department; after he paid them handsomely, of course.

Becker’s rabbi was the Republican Police Commissioner John McClave, who had been appointed by Mayor Franklin Edson in 1884 and re-appointed in 1890 by Mayor Hugh Grant. McClave, as was the practice in those days, took the whopping sum of $300 off Becker (nearly a half a year of a New York City policeman’s pay) and in early 1894, Becker became a full-fledged New York City policeman. Soon after he secured Becker his “appointment,” McClave was summoned before the Lexow Committee, which was investigating police corruption in New York City. The charge against McClave was “banking the proceeds of bribery,” and with his son-in-law Gideon Granger testifying against him, McClave was forced to resign.

There is no record of McClave ever having returned Becker’s $300.

            After making his bones in several precincts, Becker was given a most enviable post as a vice-stomping unformed policeman in the Tenderloin, sometimes known as “Satan’s Circus.” Becker soon learned he could expand his policeman’s pay considerably by sticking out his hand when he encountered someone breaking the gambling, or prostitution laws; both of which abounded in the Tenderloin. Of course, because he was not arresting people who came across with the cash, Becker sometimes had to make a legitimate arrest, just to show he was doing his job.

            On Sept. 16, 1896, 24-year-old novelist/journalist Stephen Crane was hobnobbing in the Tenderloin, doing research for an article on which he was working. Crane had just received worldwide acclaim for his Civil War novel Red Badge of Courage and was looking to add to his reputation by writing a piece about the Tenderloin.

Around 10 p.m., Crane ambled into the Broadway Garden, which was located in the southern tip of the Tenderloin, at the corner of Broadway and Thirty-First Street. There Crane made the acquaintance of three young ladies who called themselves “dancers,” which they may have been, but they were more often prostitutes. Crane had finished interviewing these women for his proposed story and escorted the three lovelies outside where they intended to go their separate ways.

After Crane had escorted one lady to a cable car, he turned back to the other two, just in time to see Patrolman Becker, in his sparkling blue uniform with its shining brass buttons, came out of nowhere and grab both ladies by the wrists. Becker announced he was arresting them for prostitution.

Thinking quickly, one of the ladies pointed at Crane and told Becker, “I’m no prostitute. He’s my husband!”

Becker turned to Crane and asked him if the lady’s contention was true.

Crane said, “Yes, I am. I’m her husband.”

Becker let go of the young lady’s wrist, but still held tightly onto the other young lady’s wrist. “Well, what about this one?” Becker asked Crane.

Crane replied, “I know nothing about her.”

Becker smiled. “Well, she’s nothing but a common prostitute and I’m arresting her for soliciting prostitution.”

Becker took the girl, real name Ruby Young, but known on the streets as Dora Clark, to the 19th Precinct and locked her up for the night. Crane tagged along and found out that first thing in the morning Clark would be arraigned at the Jefferson Court Market, at Tenth Street and Sixth Avenue. Crane decided to show up at her arraignment.

Magistrate Cornell was in charge of the proceedings and after listening to Becker’s charges, Magistrate Cornell turned to Clark and asked what she had to say for herself.

Clark responded with a conspiracy theory she said had started three weeks earlier. She stated that her arrest was unwarranted and she was being persecuted by the police of the 19th Precinct, because she had inadvertently insulted one of them.

Clark told the Magistrate, “I was accosted by a man on Broadway, who because of the poor lighting on the street, I perceived to be a Negro. I told him to go about his business and that I wanted nothing to do with a Negro.”

The only problem was, this man was not a Negro, but a policeman with a swarthy complexion named Rosenberg. Patrolman Rosenberg arrested Clark on the spot, and when she gave her explanation the next day in court, Patrolman Rosenberg was insulted and quite upset. Patrolman Rosenberg got word to Clark that she would be arrested by a 19th Precinct cop every time she set foot in the Tenderloin, whether she had committed a crime or not. Clark told Magistrate Cornell, that since then she has been unjustly arrested several times in the Tenderloin, and the incident last night was just one of her many bogus arrests.

Magistrate Cornell turned to Becker and asked if there was any doubt in his mind that Clark was engaged in the solicitation of prostitution on the previous night.

Becker stuck out his chin and puffed out his chest.

“None whatsoever, “Becker said. “She is an old hand at this and she always lies about it.”

Magistrate Cornell asked Clark if it were true that she frequented the streets of the Tenderloin.

Clark, knowing that denying something so provable would do her no good, told the judge that yes, she indeed frequented the Tenderloin, adding, “Why not? This is America. It’s a free country.”

This cemented in Magistrate Cornell’s mind that Clark was indeed a prostitute, since no respectable woman would travel alone in the Tenderloin, especially at midnight. But before he could proclaim his decision, Stephen Crane jumped to his feet near the back of the courtroom.

As was reported in the New York Sun, Crane said, “Just a word, Your Honor. I know this girl to be innocent. I only know that while with me she acted respectably and that the policeman’s charge was false.”

Crane went on to delineate the reasons why Becker had made an improper arrest of Clark. Then he added, “If the girl will have the officer prosecuted for perjury, I will gladly support her.”

Since Magistrate Cornell was aware of Crane’s fame and could not imagine such an illustrious writer lying in court, he dismissed the charges against Clark. This did not please Becker too much. He was even more irritated, when Clark, three weeks later, marched into Police Headquarters at 300 Mulberry Street, and pressed charges against Becker and against Patrolman Rosenberg, for “continued harassment.”

Clark’s chief witness was Stephen Crane, which caused Becker more than a few bouts of agita. So much so, a few days after Clark brought charges against Becker, he accosted her on the street at three in the morning and beat her unmercifully in front of witnesses; none of whom would come to her aid because of their fear of Becker and his methods. When Becker was finished pummeling Clark, a husky hooker named “Chicago May,” who was alleged to be one of Becker’s paramours, landed a few kicks and punches of her own on the fallen Clark.

Because of Crane’s fame, for the next several weeks the Becker/Crane/Clark case made national news. It was spread across the front page of newspapers in big cities like Philadelphia and Boston. It even made headlines as far west as Chicago, where the Chicago Dispatch made the snide observation that “Stephen Crane is respectfully informed that association with women in scarlet is not necessarily a ‘Red Badge of Courage.’ ”

While Becker was waiting for his police trial to take place, he ordered his pals in the department to do everything possible to make Crane’s life miserable. First, they raided Crane’s apartment, looking for anything that might discredit Crane. Then they interviewed Crane’s friends and acquaintances, digging for more dirt. By pounding the pavement and knocking on doors, Becker’s pals discovered that Crane frequented brothels and that he had more than a causal relationship with opium dens. Future United States President Theodore Roosevelt, who was the New York City Police Commissioner at the time and casually acquainted with Crane, advised Crane not to testify at Becker’s trial, or suffer ruin to his reputation. Crane decided to testify anyway.

At Becker’s Oct. 16 trial, every police officer in the 19th Precinct who was not on duty at the time showed up in court to support Becker. Before the four judges, who were comprised of the city’s four deputy police commissioners, Becker’s lawyer, Louis Grant, was relentless in trying to discredit Crane’s testimony.

Grant painted Crane as a man who not only frequently smoked in opium dens and took solace in the company of prostitutes, but also as a man who lived off the ill-gotten gains of those poor girl’s debaucheries.

On the witness stand, with Grant in Crane’s face, Crane meekly denied Grant’s accusations, saying his presence in opium dens and brothels were solely for the purpose of doing research for his writings. At one point, Grant was so venomous is his conduct toward Crane that one newspaperman wrote, “Crane appeared to not know where he was at. At one time the questions were so severe as to cause the young author to place his hands to his face with the apparent desire to shut out the questions from his mind.”

Things got so sticky for Crane on the witness stand, he refused to answer several of Grant’s questions on the grounds that “they would tend to degrade and incriminate him.”

After the humiliation of Crane was complete, the four deputy police commissioners, led by Fredrick Grant – the son of United States President Ulysses Grant – found Charles Becker innocent of all charges. Stephen Crane skulked from New York City, his reputation in ruins

Crane would never again garner acclaim as a writer; either of fiction, or of non-fiction. Disgraced in the Northeast, Crane absconded to Key West; then to Jacksonville, Florida, where he met his true love, Cora Taylor, the owner of a house of ill-repute named Hotel De Dream. Unable to make a decent living off his writings, Crane took a war assignment from Blackwood’s Magazine, which sent Crane to Cuba to report on the Spanish-American War. In Cuba, Crane contracted yellow fever and malaria, further worsening his already tenuous health. In late 1899, his work in Cuba complete, Crane journeyed to England where he continued his love affair Cora Taylor, whom he finally married.

In England, Crane’s health continued to deteriorate and after he suffered a severe hemorrhage of his lungs, he decided to enter a health resort in Badenweiler, Germany. Crane lingered in ill health for several months before he passed away on June 5, 1900, at the age of 28.

Charles Becker didn’t kill Stephen Crane, but he was certainly instrumental in quickening the young writer’s demise.

With the Crane/Clark matter behind him, Becker became more resolute in working the Tenderloin for his personal profit. Becker made a career out of shaking down prostitutes and gambling houses, making the occasional sensational arrest, so that his name would be firmly entrenched on the front page of the New York City daily newspapers.

After his first wife, Mary, died from tuberculosis, he married a second time to a Canadian lass named Letitia Stensen, with whom he had a son, Howard Paul. This marriage lasted less than a year, mostly because Becker had been unfaithful to his wife; fooling with a string of Tenderloin hookers, from whom he accepted sexual favors, in addition to the shakedown money they paid Becker to keep operating without fear of arrest. Letitia sued for divorce on the grounds of infidelity, won her divorce, then scurried off to Reno, Nev., where she married Becker’s older brother Paul. Go figure.

In 1902 Becker met his third and final wife – Helen Lynch, a teacher in the New York City Public School System. This marriage lasted as long as Becker did, and Helen would play a major part in the melodrama that followed the death of Herman Rosenthal.

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Joe Bruno on the Mob — The McFarland/Richardson Murder Case.

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She was a famous New York City stage actress named Abby Sage. But after her ex-husband Daniel McFarland killed her lover, journalist Albert Richardson on November 25, 1869 at Richardson’s place of work at the New York Tribune, it was Sage’s lifestyle that was put on trail, not just McFarland.

Daniel McFarland was born in Ireland in 1820, but he emigrated to American with his parents when he was four-years-old. McFarland’s parents died when he was 12, leaving him an orphan. Determined to make something of himself in America, McFarland worked at hard labor in a harness shop, saving his money so that he could attend college. By the time he was 17, McFarland had saved enough cash he was able to attend the distinguish Ivy League university – Dartmouth. At Dartmouth, McFarland studied law and did extremely well. Upon graduation, McFarland passed the bar exam, but instead of practicing law, McFarland took a position at Brandywine College, teaching elocution — the skill of clear and expressive speech.

In 1853, McFarland traveled to Manchester, New Hampshire, where he met a very beautiful 15-year-old girl named Abby Sage. Abby came from a poor but respectable family – her father was a weaver – but Abby was quite bright, and soon she became a teacher, as well as as a published writer. Four years after they had met, McFarland and Abey Sage married. She was just 19, and he was double her age.

Later Abby wrote in an affidavit concerning McFarland’s murder trial, “At the time of our marriage, Mr. McFarland represented to me that he had a flourishing law practice, brilliant political prospects, and property worth $30,000, but while on our bridal tour he was forced to borrow money in New York to enable us to proceed to Madison, Wisc., which was decided upon as our future home. We had resided in this town but a short time when he confessed that he had no law practice of any consequence, and that he had devoted himself solely to land speculation, some of which had resulted disastrously.”

In February 1858, the McFarlands moved to New York City. McFarland told Abby that in New York City, he had a better chance of selling $20,000 to $30,000 worth of property he owned in Wisconsin. However, McFarland sold nothing at first, and soon Abby had to pawn most of her jewelry to pay the rent. With the bills piling up and still no money coming in, McFarland figured it was better he went at it alone. As a result, McFarland sent Abby back to her father’s home in New Hampshire. In late 1858, McFarland was finally able to sell some of his Wisconsin properties. Soon after, he brought Abby back to New York and they settled in a rented cottage in Brooklyn. There their first son Percy was born in 1860, and a second son Daniel was born in 1864.

McFarland’s land-selling business went flat and he started drinking heavily. Abby later wrote, “At first Mr. McFarland professed for me the most extravagant and passionate devotion, but soon he began to drink heavily, and before we were married a year, his breath and body were steaming with vile liquor. I implored him to reform, but he cried out: ‘My brain is on fire and liquor makes me sleep.’”

At the start of the Civil War, the McFarlands briefly returned to Madison, Wisconsin. Soon McFarland realized, under the right circumstances and with some training, his beautiful, young wife would be the better earner of the two. To implement his plan, the McFarlands traveled back to New York City in order to school Abby to become an actress.

In New York City, Abby tired her hand at dramatic readings, and she discovered she had a talent for the stage. One thing led to another, and soon Abby was acting in several plays and making the tidy sum of $25 a week. Abby’s career advanced so quickly, soon she appeared opposite the great actor Edwin Booth in the Merchant of Venice (Edwin Booth was the older brother of John Wilkes Booth, the man who shot and killed Abraham Lincoln). Abby also supplement her income by writing several articles about children and nature. She even penned a book of poetry entitled Percy’s Book of Rhymes after her son Percy.

Abby’s artistic achievements allowed her to increase her circle of friends. She became fast pals with newspaper magnate Horace Greeley, his sister Mrs. John Cleveland, and New York Tribune publisher Samuel Sinclair and his wife.

However, his wife’s successes did nothing to placate the wild nature of McFarland. He used his wife’s new friends and their connection to get himself a political appointment. Abby later said, “Through the influence of Horace Greeley, founder of the New York Tribune, I procured a position for him (McFarland) with one of the Provost marshals.”

Soon McFarland became jealous of Abby’s new friends, and his drinking increased exponentially. McFarland kept the money Abby made from her acting and writing, and spent it all on booze. McFarland started opening Abby’s private mail, and if he didn’t like what he read, he would threated to kill Abby and himself.

“By this time he had become a demon,” Abby said. “He would rise in bed, tear the bed clothing into shreds and threaten to kill me. When he became exhausted, he would tearfully beg my pardon and go to sleep.”

One time McFarland became so enraged, he struck Abby in the face, so hard, it caused her to stumble backwards. From that point on, their relationship changed dramatically.

“There was a look in his eyes that made him burst into a paroxysm of tears and to beg wildly that I should forgive him,” Abby said. “But from that moment, I could never tell him that I loved him or forgave him, because it would not have been the truth.”

In January 1867, the McFarlands moved into a boarding house at 72 Amity Street in New York City. Soon after, Albert Deane Richardson, who was in his mid-thirties at the time, moved into the same boarding house. Richardson was already known to Abby, since they had met at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair. Richardson had an orange-colored beard and hazel eyes, and was considered to be a very distinguished-looking individual of the highest character.

Richardson, born in Massachusetts, was one of the most famous reporters of his time. He was well known for his writings as a war correspondent for the New York Tribune during the Civil War, and he also spent time acting as a spy for the North. In 1862, Richardson was captured by the South at Vicksburg, and he spent a year and a half in two separate Confederate prisons. In December 1863, while imprisoned in Salisbury, North Carolina, Richardson and another war correspondent escaped from prison and traveled four hundred miles on foot, until they reached the Union Lines in Knoxville. At the time of his imprisonment, Richardson had a wife and four children. When he returned home, he discovered his wife and infant daughter had died. Richardson assumed the support and care for the three other children, which at the time of his death, were thirteen, ten and six.

Back at his desk at the New York Tribune, Richardson capitalized on his Civil War heroics by writing about his escape. The title of his newspaper article was “Out of the Jaws of Death and Out of the Mouth of Hell.” It was considered one of the finest pieces of journalism that came out of Civil War era. Richardson expanded this article into a book, and combined with his other writings, Richardson had transformed himself from a war prisoner into a wealthy man. So much so, Richardson bought shares in the New York Tribune, making himself a minority owner of the newspaper.

At the time he moved into the same boarding house as the McFarlands, Richardson was now an editor/writer for the New York Tribune. (Editor’s note: I was a sports columnist for the reincarnation of the New York Tribune in the 1980’s.) Richardson used his room at 72 Amity Street as an office, as well as a place to sleep. On his staff at 72 Amity Street, Richardson employed a stenographer, an artist, and a messenger boy to deliver his work to the New York Tribune offices downtown on Park Row.

On February 19, 1867, McFarland returned to the boarding house and his found his wife standing outside Richardson’s door. Abby claimed Richardson and her were discussing one of his articles, but McFarland would have none of that.

Abby later wrote, “When we entered our apartment, my husband flew into a rage and insisted that an improper intimacy existed between Mr. Richardson and I.”

McFarland immediately went on a three-day bender, where he again threatened Abby’s life and said he would commit suicide. Finally on February 21, Abby left McFarland for good. She grabbed her two children, and took up residence with Mr. And Mrs. Samuel Sinclair.

At the Sinclairs, Abby summoned her father, who now lived in Massachusetts, and apprised him of the situation. It was agreed upon that McFarland should be invited to the Sinclair residence, and in the presence of the Sinclairs and her father, Abby told McFarland that their marriage was over.

That same evening Richardson called at the Sinclair residence. Richardson offered Abby his condolences and said he would do anything he could do to help her in her time of need. Then as he was leaving, Abby followed him out to the hallway.

With tears in her eyes she said: “You have been very kind to me. I cannot repay you.”

Referring to Abby’s two children, Richardson said, “How do you feel about facing the world with two babies?”

She answered, “It looks hard for a woman, but I am sure I can get on better without

that man than with him.”

Before leaving, Richards told Abby, “I wish you to remember, that any responsibility you choose to give me in any possible future, I shall be glad to take.”

Two days later, Richardson asked Abby to marry him, telling her that he wanted to give her his motherless children for her to care for as she would her own.

Abby later said, “It was absolutely impossible for me not to love him.”

On the night of March 13, 1867, Richardson met Abby at the theater where she had just finished a performance. Just as they turned a corner, McFarland rushed up behind them and fired three shots; one of which pierced Richardson’s thigh. It was a superficial wound and Richardson was not badly hurt. McFarland was arrested by the police, but due to some inexplicable courthouse dealings, McFarland somehow managed to escape jail time.

When it was obvious to McFarland that his wife was lost to him forever, he decided to sue to get custody of both their children. The courts came to a split decision, whereby Abby would get custody of Daniel, and McFarland — custody of Percy. In April 1868, Abby attempted to see her son Percy, but she was denied doing so by McFarland, who flew into a rage and threatened to hit her. At this point, Abby had no choice but to file for divorce.

In the state of New York, the only grounds for divorce was adultery. So in July of 1868, Abby decided to go to Indiana for her divorce, where the grounds for divorce was more extensive. Those grounds included drunkenness, extreme cruelty, and failure to support a wife. Abby stayed in Indiana for 16 months until her divorce from McFarland was final. Then Abby traveled to her family’s home in Massachusetts, and Richardson met her there to spend Thanksgiving Day 1869 with her and her family.

On November 25, 1869, at 5:15 p.m., McFarland walked into the Park Row offices of the New York Tribune. He hid quietly in a corner for about 15 minutes until he saw Richardson enter though the side entrance on Spruce Street. While Richardson was reading his mail at the counter, McFarland rushed up to him and fired several shots. Richardson was hit three times, but he was still able to walk up two flights of stairs to the editorial office, where he flung himself on the couch, mortally wounded with a bullet in the chest. When the medics arrived, Richardson was carried across City Hall to the Astor House, and laid down on a bed in room 115.

At 10 p.m., McFarland was arrested in room 31 of the Westmoreland Hotel, on the corner of Seventeenth Street and Fourth Avenue. The arresting officer, Captain A. J. Allaire, told McFarland he was under arrested for the shooting of Richardson. At first, McFarland said he was innocent of the charges. Then he shockingly said, “It must have been me.”

Captain Allaire took McFarland into custody and brought him to the Astor House, room 115. After Captain Allaire asked Richardson if the man in front of him had been his attacker, Richardson rose his head off the pillow weakly and said, “That is the man!’

Abby Sage was immediately summoned to New York City. As soon as she arrived, at Richardson’s request, arrangements were made by Horace Greeley so that the Abby and Richardson could be married at Richardson’s deathbed. The marriage ceremony was performed by by Rev. Henry Ward Beecher and the Rev. O.B. Frothingham. Three days later on December 2, Richardson took his last breath, leaving Abby Richardson a widow.

Before McFarland’s trial, his defense attorney John Graham told the New York press that Abby Sage’s intentions towards Mr. Richardson were anything but honorable. Graham said, “This tender and touching marriage was a horrible and disgraceful ceremony to get the property of a dying man, and that tended to hasten his demise.”

At first, Richardson’s fellow New York City journalists defended the honor of Richardson, and they began delving into McFarland’s life, trying to find anything that would discredit McFarland. The New York Tribune wrote that McFarland was in “the habit of opium eating to for the purpose of drowning his sorrows.”

However, the New York Sun went on a campaign to discredit both Abby and Richardson. In an editorial entitled “A Public Outrage on Religion and Decency” The Sun accused Richardson of luring Abby away from her loving husband. The Sun even dredged up a quote from McFarland’s brother who said, “Abby went reading just to get a chance to paint her face, pass for beauty, and get in with that free-love tribe at Sam Sinclair’s.”

What followed was a battle in the press where most of the New York City dailies opined that it was Richardson and Abby who were immoral, and that McFarland did the honorable thing in killing the man who had stolen his wife away from him.

McFarland’s trial commenced on April 4, 1820. Since she knew her husband’s defense lawyer was on a mission to disgrace and discredit her, Abby stood away from the trial. Yet Graham sought to secure sympathy from the jury towards his client by having McFarland’s son Percy sitting next to him during the trial.

In his opening argument, Graham implored the jury to understand the mental anguish his client had been forced to endure. Graham said, “So sensitive and tender was the defendant’s mental organization that he was incapable of grappling with and bearing the deep sorrows and misfortune that awaited him. His speculations were disastrous and that the seeds of dissatisfaction first began to be sown.”

Then Graham got to the main thrust of his defense, when he attacked the virtue and honor of Abby. “When she first met my client, she was but a poor factory girl. Yet on one occasion she told my client, ‘All I need to make me an elegant lady and popular with the elite of New York is money.’”

Then Graham told the jury that the turning point in his client’s life came on February 21, 1867, when McFarland arrived home at 3 p.m. and saw his wife exiting Richardson’s room.

“This beautiful woman was completely corrupted,” Graham said. “She had placed before her as temptations the honors of the stage and the society of great men. She was then too elegant and too popular for her humble lot, and the demon that placed her before all these temptations for which she must pay the price with her soul was Richardson”

Graham pointed out the the boiling point for his client had been reached one day when McFarland went to the office of the New York Tribune. There he was given a letter by an office boy that was addressed to “Mrs. McFarland.” The boy had mistakenly thought the letter was addressed to “Mr. McFarland.”

Graham told the jury, “My client opened the letter, peruses it and finds it is a love letter written by Richardson, who was in Boston, to Mrs. McFarland. In this letter, Richardson openly claims his intentions to marry this woman if she can obtain a divorce from Mr. McFarland.”

During the trial, the prosecutors, led by former judge and then-congressman Noah Davis, concentrated on how McFarland, during his marriage, had mistreated his wife, and on occasions beat her. To back up these claims, the prosecution called in Abby’s relatives and friends, including a man of great clout – Horace Greeley.

However, Greeley was no fan of the corrupt Democratic machine Tammany Hall, whom Greeley excoriated many times in his newspaper. As payback, Tammany Hall used their considerable influence, before and during the trial, to discredit Greeley, and Abby.

At his final summation to the jury which took two days, Graham tried to sway the jury into thinking his client was just the victim of unbearable consequences.

“The evidence proves the insanity under which the defendant was laboring at the time of the shooting,” Graham said. “This was a condition of mind superinduced by the agony he endured at the thought of the loss of his home, his wife, and his children.”

Grahams even went so far as to quote the Bible to discredit the dead Richardson. With tears in his eyes, Graham said, “Whoso committeth adultery with a woman lacketh understanding; he that doeth it destoyeth his own soul. A wound and dishonor shall he get; and his reproach shall not be wiped away. For jealousy is the rage of a man; therefore he will not spare in the day of vengeance.”

The jury bought Graham’s incredible defense like a mark buys into a three-card-monte game. On May 10, it took them only one hour and fifty-five minutes to return a verdict of not-guilty on the grounds of insanity.

Although she was deeply despondent, after the trial, Abby Sage Richardson steadfastly remained in New York City. She became a successful author and playwright, and was well received in both the literary and social communities. She also edited and published a book of Richardson’s unpublished work.

Abby also kept her promise to the dying Richardson that she would raise his three children as her own. She also raised her son Daniel, whose name was changed to Willie (not to be associated with his father Daniel McFarland). Abby’s other son Percy left McFarland and returned to his mother. He changed his surname from McFarland to his mother’s maiden name of Sage.

On December 5, 1900, Abby Sage Richardson died in Rome of pneumonia.

Daniel McFarland traveled out west in 1880. He was last heard from in Colorado, and there is no recorded account of his death. However, according to historian Edmund Pearson, “It did not take him long to drink himself to death.”

Albert Richardson was buried in his home town of Franklin, Massachusetts. Prominently displayed in Franklin is a monument to Richardson’s heroics in the Civil War. The inscription on the monument reads: “Many give thee thanks who never knew thy face, so, then, farewell, kind heart and true.”

Joe Bruno on the Mob – Joseph P. Ryan – President of the International Longshoremen Association – Port of New York

In 1892, the International Longshoremen Association (ILA) started out as a legitimate labor union in the Great Lakes area, to help the dockworkers get a fair shake from their employers. The ILA expanded to the east coast, and by 1914, ILA’s New York District Council was created. Almost immediately, the ILA became a mob stronghold, manipulated by the most vicious Irish mobsters of that era. The most prominent of whom was Joseph P. Ryan. But we’ll get to Ryan later.

To understand how the mob manipulated the docks, and the ILA, you must grasp the manner in which dockworkers were hired daily. The method for hiring was not who was the most qualified, the strongest, or the most industrious person available. The only thing that mattered is that you paid tribute to the hiring boss, who ran the docks like the Gestapo ran Hitler’s Germany.

The way it worked was like this: twice a day, all able-bodied men, who were looking for work, would line up in front of the loading dock. Then a stevedore (hiring boss) stood smugly in front of the dock, and one-by-one he selected the men who he deemed lucky enough to get a day’s work. Of course, you had no chance of getting a job if you didn’t give the stevedore a percentage of your day’s pay. The stevedore would then kick up the cash to the head stevedore, who would in turn kick it up to the ILA bosses. With this money, the ILA bosses would then grease the palms of politicians and cops, and everyone else who needed to get paid, to keep the money rolling into the pockets of the big shots who ran the ILA. And if you were known as somebody who had given the ILA trouble in the past, you might as well have stayed home, because there was no way the stevedore would even look at your face.

Joseph P. Ryan first burst on the scene around 1917, when he organized the ILA “New York District Council,” a branch of the nationwide ILA. In 1918, Ryan became president of the ILA’s “Atlantic Coast District.” It was during this time that the power began shifting from the Great Lakes to the Port of New York, which was closer to Europe, where many of the ships that were unloaded on the docks originated. During this time, the ILA was facing strict competition from the west coast-based Industrial Workers of the World (IWW). The ILA was attempting to draw in the IWW into their organization, and in 1919 they succeeded.

In 1921, ILA President T.V. O’Conner resigned, and his place was taken by Anthony Chlopek, who turned out to be the last ILA President based in the Great Lakes. It’s not clear if he was appointed by Chlopek, or elected by the membership, but Joe Ryan served as the First Vice President of the ILA for all six years of Chlopek’s presidency.

In 1927, Ryan’s time had finally come. Ryan was elected President of the ILA, which power base was now firmly entrenched in the Port of New York.

Ryan’s journey from basically nobody to the President of the ILA had not been an easy one. Ryan was born on May, 11, 1884 in Babylon, Long Island. His parent were Irish immigrants, and Ryan suffered a severe blow at the age of nine when both of his parents died within a month of each other. Ryan was put in an orphanage, but he was eventually adopted by a woman who brought Ryan to live with her in the Chelsea section of Manhattan, a few blocks south of the lawless Hell’s Kitchen area.

Ryan did menial jobs in the neighborhood, before he got a job loading and unloading on the Chelsea Piers. In 1917, Ryan purchased his union book for the sum of two dollars and fifth cents. Within a few weeks, Ryan hurt his foot while unloading a freighter, and when he was released from the hospital, and not being able to work on the docks again, Ryan was somehow appointed to the job of secretary of ILA Local 791. From that point on, there was no stopping Joe Ryan’s meteoric rise.

“Boss Joe,” as Ryan came to be known, was a ruthless fighter, who elevated the shape/payback system on the docks to an art form. To enforced his vice-like grip on the ILA membership, Ryan hired the worst men imaginable, some of whom has lost their jobs as bootleggers when Prohibition ended in 1933, and some of whom had just recently been released from prison, where they had been sentenced for committing the most violent of crimes. These were the perfect men for Ryan to employ, since cracking a few heads, or legs, and maybe even killing a person once in a while, was certainly not adverse to these men’s nature.

Ryan’s power was so absolute, he organized fund raisers (his men were compelled to contribute, or else) for the politicians who were on Ryan’s pad; one of whom was Mayor Jimmy “Beau James” Walker. When Walker was forced to resign in 1932, Ryan, with tears dripping from his pen, issued a statement supporting the disgraced Walker. Ryan wrote, “The labor movement in the city of New York regrets that political expedience has deprived them of a Mayor whose every official act has been in conformity with the Americanistic (Ryan invented that word himself) policies of organized labor.

Ryan’s plan was to control all dockworkers in the United States, but in fact, his power hardly extended outside the boundaries of New York. When Franklin D. Roosevelt ascended to the Presidency in 1933, he enacted his New Deal, which solidified Ryan’s total control of the ILA. “The Norris-La Guardia Act,” which limited the use of injunctions to prevent strikes and picketing, helped Ryan assert his muscle on the docks. And the Wagner Act of 1935 guaranteed the rights of workers to vote for their own representation. And who controlled those votes? Why Joseph P. Ryan, of course.

Ryan’s biggest problem in uniting all ILA workers in America was the resistance he received from the west coast contingent, which was led by radical left-winger Harry Bridges. In 1934, Bridges organized a strike of the West Coast ILA, in rebellion over a contract Ryan had negotiated on their behalf. Ryan, incensed at the west coast insurrection, traveled extensively all over the west coast of America: to San Francisco, Portland, Tacoma, and Seattle. In each location, Ryan argued the main sticking point to the negotiations: the shape-up form of employment. Ryan and his New York pals were for it, everyone on the west coast was against it; saying it was unfair to the workers. The West Coast ILA wanted to implement a “hiring-hall” system, in which “time in the hold” and “seniority” were the main factors in men getting work. Of course the “hiring hall” system would put an end to the stevedore graft machine, and Ryan wanted no part of that.

Ryan’s west coast trip was a complete failure. In each ILA location he visited, his recommendations were shot down, emphatically. The president of the Tacoma ILA local announced to the press, “No body of men can be expected to agree to their own self destruction.”

Things were so bad for Ryan in San Francisco, there were physical confrontations in the streets, between the west coast strikers, the strikebreakers Ryan had brought in from the east coast, and the local police. The riots were so violent, the National Guard was called in to end the disturbances.

Chalk that up as another loss for Ryan.

When Ryan returned home to the Port of New York, he was not a happy camper. He denounced his west coast opponents as “malcontents” and “communists,”and he strove to become even more diligent in exercising his absolute power over the New York ILA. One of Ryan’s most effective tools in keeping his men in line was the fact that he was able to issue union charters to whomever he saw fit. The men who received these charters were then able to form their own Union Locals. After these Locals were created, the individual local bosses would kick back a substantial part of the member’s dues to the Joseph P. Ryan Retirement Fund, of which, of course, there were no written records.

One such Local that Ryan had in his back pocket was Local 824, which was run by Ryan crony Harold Bowers. Local 824 was particularly prestigious and quite profitable because it presided over the Hells Kitchen piers, where luxury liners like the Queen Mary and the Queen Elizabeth were docked. Local 824 soon became known as the “Pistol Local” because it was almost completely comprised of Irish gangsters who had long criminal records. Local 824’s boss Bowers, an ex-con, had a criminal record as long as a giraffe’s neck. Bowers had been arrested for numerous crimes, including robbery, possession of a gun, grand larceny (twice), and congregating with known criminals. Bowers was also suspected in dozens of waterfront murders, but no murder charge could ever be pinned on him.

Harold’s cousin Mickey, as murderous a bloke as Harold, was also instrumental in running Local 824. Mickey was a suspect in the murder of Tommy Gleason, an insurgent in Local 824, who tried to wrest control of Local 824 from the Bowers family. Gleason was filled with lead while he was visiting a deceased pal in a Tenth Avenue funeral parlor. Mickey Bowers was suspected of Gleason’s murder, and he was brought in for questioning. However, with no concrete evidence, Mickey Bowers was released. There is no record of the Gleason murder having been solved, and it is not clear if Gleason was laid out in the same funeral parlor in which he had been shot.

In 1951, Ryan began losing control of the ILA, when his men did something they had never done before: they spat in the face of Ryan and his tyrannical leadership by going on strike. With over thirty thousand men involved (without pay of course), the strike lasted twenty five days. Due to the strike, 118 piers were shut down, and millions of dollars were lost by hundreds of companies, who needed their goods unloaded on the docks.

The leader of this strike was not a longshoreman, but a priest named Father John Corridan. The
son of a County Kerry-born policeman, Corridan was born in Manhattan’s Harlem. In 1928, Corridan graduated from Manhattan’s prestigious Regis High School. After completion of his seminary requirements and assignments in other parishes, in 1946, Corridan was assigned to the Xavier Institute of Industrial Relations, on West 16th Street. There Father Corridan met many longshoremen who told him of the woes they suffered at the hands of men like Ryan and the Bowers cousins.

Being a street kid himself, the chain-smoking, fast-talking priest decided to do something about the abominations that were transpiring on the waterfront. Corridan teamed up with New York Sun writer Malcolm Johnson to write a series of articles entitled “Crime on the Waterfront.” These articles spurred writer Bud Schulberg to write the screenplay for the Academy Award winning movie “On the Waterfront, which starred Marlon Brandon and Lee J. Cobb. Actor Karl Malden played the part of Father Corridan, whose name in the movie, for some reason, was changed to Father Barry.

Soon after the New York Sun articles were published, New York Governor Thomas E. Dewey announced that the state’s crime commission would open an investigation into criminal activities in the Port of New York. This investigation was called “The Waterfront Hearings.” During these hearings hundreds of men who worked on the waterfront were called in to testify (some were honest workers – others were ruthless “Dock Wallopers”). The workers mostly gave honest testimony, while the “Dock Wallopers,” mainly invoked their Fifth Amendment Rights not to incriminate themselves.

One of the men who was called in to testify at the Waterfront Hearings was a shady figure named William “Big Bill” McCormack. McCormack owned several businesses, including the U.S. Trucking Company, which worked extensively unloading on the Port of New York docks. McCormack was very close to Ryan, and it was alleged that Ryan and McCormack were, in fact, partners in several of McCormack’s businesses.

In 1950, as a result of pressure from the New York newspapers, Mayor Bill O’Dwyer, who was in the pocket of Ryan and other known gangsters, reluctantly called for a city investigation of the waterfront. The investigation became a sham, when Mayor O’Dwyer, at the urging of Joe Ryan, appointed McCormack as the chairman of a “blue-ribbon panel” to “investigate” waterfront activities. After month of a dubious investigations, funded by New York City taxpayer dollars, McCormack’s “blue-ribbon panel” concluded, “We have found that the labor situation on the waterfront of the Port of New York is generally satisfactory from the standpoint of the worker, the employer, the industry, and the government.”

That was obviously the “Big Lie.”

When McCormack was brought before the Waterfront Hearings, he was questioned about the previous testimony of the supervisor of employment for the division of parole. This supervisor had testified that although he had never met “Big Bill” McCormack, he had met with McCormack’s brother Harry many times. The purpose of these meetings was that on numerous occasions men, who were being released from prison on parole, would have the prison officials put in writing a note that said, “Mr. H.F. McCormack will make immediate arrangements for this inmate’s union membership upon his release.”

It was estimated that over 200 parolees were given “jobs” with McCormack’s Penn Stevedoring Company. Some of these jobs may have been legitimate dock work, but most ex-con’s employed by McCormack’s Penn Stevedoring Company were nothing more than thugs and leg breakers, and sometimes murderers for the union.

When “Big Bill” McCormack was asked at the Waterfront Hearings why he had employed so many men with dubious backgrounds, McCormack said, “It’s because I take a human view of employee problems. I’m human, and they’re human.”

Two of the “human” men employed by the McCormack Penn Stevedoring Company, after they were released from jail, were John “Cockeye” Dunn, and Andrew “Squint” Sheridan. Both men where eventually fried in the electric chair, after they were convicted of the murder of hiring stevedore Andy Hintz, while both killers were working for McCormack.

After McCormack’s testimony before the Waterfront Commission, the New York Herald Tribune wrote, “Mr. McCormack’s activities on behalf of the longshoreman’s union suggest that he has been pulling the strings for Joseph P. Ryan for many years, and may, in fact, be a more powerful figure on the waterfront than the Boss (Ryan) himself.”

Joseph P. Ryan was the 209th and final witness before the crime commission’s Waterfront Hearings. After one day of brutal cross examination, it was clear Ryan’s days were over as Joe “The Boss” of the Port of New York. Under grueling testimony, Ryan was forced to admit that he appointed many convicted felons like Harold Bowers to prominent positions in the ILA. Ryan claimed no knowledge of the fact that 30% of the union officials he personally appointed had criminal records. Ryan also testified he had no idea that more than 45 IRA Locals in the Port of New York kept no financial records, and that his hand-picked bosses had frequently given themselves raises, without these raises being ratified by the voting members of the Locals.

However, the final nail in Ryan’s coffin was inserted when it came to light that Ryan had misused more than $50,000 from the ILA’s Anti-Communist Fund for his own personal use. Instead of scouring the docks looking for communist activities, Ryan used this money for grand dinners for himself and his cronies at places like the Stork Club, repairs to his Cadillac, and to purchase the expensive clothes that Ryan wore. Ryan also had the gall to use Anti-Communist Funds to go on a cruise to Guatemala.

Still, Ryan would not give up his control of the New York Waterfront without a fight. In 1953, the American Federation of Labor decided to expel the ILA from it’s membership. AF of L President George Meany said, “We’ve given up all hope that the officers or members of that union will reform it. We’ve given up hope that the ILA will ever live up to the rules, standards, and ethics of a decent trade union.”

After hearing what Meany had to say, Ryan gritted his teeth and growled, “Then we’ll hold on to what we have.”

However, Ryan’s hubris lasted only for a short time. In order for Meany to allow the ILA to remain part of the American Federation of Labor, Meany insisted that Ryan step down from the post that Ryan had held for 26 years. Ryan had no choice but to comply.

Ryan’s travails were not over with yet. In 1954, after being convicted of violations of The Labor Management Relations Act (Taft-Hartly Act), Ryan was sentenced to 6 months in prison and a $2500 fine. Ryan appealed his conviction.

However, on July 1, 1955, the United States Court of Appeals Second Circuit denied Ryan’s appeal, saying, “Defendant-Appellant, Joseph P. Ryan, President of the International Longshoremen’s Association (hereafter called ILA) was indicted, on three counts, in that, on three separate occasions, he unlawfully, willfully and knowingly received sums in the aggregate of $2,500, from corporations employing members of the ILA. The judge, holding defendant guilty on all counts, sentenced him to imprisonment for six months on each count (the sentences to run concurrently) and fined him $2,500. As my view is not to prevail, I shall not discuss the other objections that the accused raises, except to say that I have considered them, and that they have not convinced me that any error was committed that would justify a reversal. I would affirm the conviction.”

Ryan did his six months in the can. Then he disappeared, never to be heard from on the waterfront again.