Murderers, Scoundrels and Ragamuffins Read online

  “Did you come here often?”

  “We all came here very often, but I never came here alone.”

  “Did you ever come here with your father?”

  “Once or twice.”

  “Tell me about your father. I’ll bet he’s very nice to you, isn’t he?”

  “Well...most o’ the time.”

  “All right. Very good. I’m very glad to hear that.” He paused a moment as she looked around for anything familiar.

  “What about them other times though?” he continued.

  She hesitated as if recalling something difficult. “I got to go now. My momma needs me. Bye!”

  She ran off before she could receive his response.

  At about 8:30 p.m. a woman from the neighborhood elbowed her way through the crowd out front of the laundry and excitedly announced to Detective Coughlin that she had been told the bodies of several infants had been buried in the yard by Chinamen and that they must immediately begin searching for them. He assured her they would. A few minutes later a small group pushed through the gathered throng. People willingly moved out of their path. It was Cornelius Murphy accompanied by some relatives. They were angry. The evening newspapers had printed the rumor that Detective Sullivan had dug up Marian’s clothes from the cellar. This was not true. Another paper stated that bits of Marian’s clothes were found burned in a neighbor’s yard. This was also not true. Still another paper claimed the body of a Chinaman was found buried in the yard behind the laundry. This as well was unfounded. Cornelius Murphy was convinced the police were hiding information. Jim Sullivan spotted Murphy’s approach through the window. Remaining out of sight, he moved closer to the door so as to overhear what was being said.

  “Can’t come in,” said the policeman assigned at the door.

  “But I’m her father,” Murphy said.

  “I know, but our orders are strict.”

  “But you’ve got my daughter’s clothes in there.”

  “No we haven’t.”

  “You have!” demanded Murphy. He held the Commercial in his hand. “This paper says you found them and it’s been substantiated. I want to see them.”

  “Well we haven’t,” insisted the cop.

  “Haven’t you got anything belonging to my daughter?”

  “Not a thing. We arrested a Chinaman. They can tell you all about it over at the police station.”

  “But I’ve been at the police station,” said Murphy, “they sent me over here.”

  “Well there are no clothes here.”

  Murphy clearly doubted the cop’s statement. He looked him right in the eye. “Are you giving that to me straight?”

  “Straight,” replied the cop.

  “Very well,” resigned Murphy. He turned to leave. A reporter asked for a moment. “What do you think of the case, Mr. Murphy,” asked the newsman.

  “I knew my children came down here. They used to bring my laundry down. I would never allow them to come down here alone. I always sent them here together.”

  When pressed further, Murphy lost patience. “I don’t want to speak of this any further!” he blurted.

  A group of young rowdy boys began chanting: “Brass buttons, blue coat, couldn’t catch a nanny goat! Brass buttons, blue coat, couldn’t catch a nanny goat!” They were making a laughingstock of the police. The department’s record for solving serious crime in Buffalo had been deplorable in recent years. From inside the laundry the detectives watched as many in the crowd smiled their approval and laughed at the boys’ mockery of them.

  “I’m goin’ out there t’ whip their damn hides!” fumed Coughlin.

  “Settle down, Coughlin. They’re just bein’ boys,” soothed Chief Cusak.

  Jim Sullivan surveyed the scene and concluded, in all fairness, he couldn’t blame them. The dead girl’s father smirked at the boys’ incantations as he left to walk home. Arriving there he was disturbed to see so many people loitering outside his house. “What is wrong with you people?” he shouted. “Go away! My wife is sick! Leave us be with our sadness!” No one paid any attention to him. A policeman was standing a few houses away on the corner of Pennsylvania Street. Murphy went to him and asked if there might be something he could do about the crowd. Within twenty minutes four patrolmen arrived to shoo away the morbid curious. Two remained behind to guard the home. Murphy went inside and slammed the door shut.

  ◆◆◆

  The next day sentiment against the Chinese ran high. Supt. Bull warned all Chinese to stay in their homes and to lock all the doors and windows. He ordered Chinese parents to keep their children home from school. All the city’s Chinese laundries and Chop Suey restaurants closed their doors. Panic took hold in the Oriental population. As far away as Toronto the news spread of the horrific murder of the sweet innocent little Buffalo girl at the hands of a monster Chinese laundryman. Canadian citizens were not hesitant in acting upon their wrath; a Chinaman was severely beaten on Toronto’s Elizabeth Street.

  Supt. Bull recalled the insane mobs that stormed Buffalo police Headquarters the night of President McKinley’s shooting with nooses at the ready for lynching Czolgosz. He feared much the same sort of demonstration might be in the offing for Wei.

  Charlie Wei appeared in court represented by Attorney Hamilton Ward. This was an attorney highly adept at obfuscation. Ward attempted to steal a march on the authorities. His plan was to have the case of Charlie Wei brought immediately before the grand jury. Appearing before County Court Judge Emery, that judge refused to grant an order to do so. As a result Ward shut off his client from getting the customary Police Court hearing before Judge Murphy. In order to be in position to ask Judge Emery to direct that the case be presented to the Grand Jury, Mr. Ward had to have his client waive examination before Judge Murphy. The Justice would then hold Wei for the Grand Jury. That proceeding took place in the early afternoon. The hearing had been originally adjourned until the following day. The District Attorney’s office knew nothing about the Police Court hearing until it was all over with and Mr. Ward was attempting to get the County Court to order the presentation of the case to the Grand Jury. A prisoner has the privilege of waiving his own rights. This is what Charlie Wei did. The waiving of the examination was done in the hope of accomplishing something better—the possible release of Wei.

  Mr. Ward found Justice Murphy in the Police Court a few minutes after one o’clock. He explained that he had decided to have his client waive the examination scheduled for that day, preferring to have the case presented directly to the Grand Jury. Justice Murphy said the prisoner had that right. Detective Sergeant Jim Sullivan was then ordered to produce Wei in court. About 1:15 o’clock the Chinaman and Sullivan appeared. There was no delay. Wei sat in the defendant’s chair, and Justice Murphy asked him if he could understand English.

  “No,” replied Charlie Wei.

  Then Mr. Ward explained again that he wished to waive the Police Court examination.

  “Very well.” said the justice. “Wei, you are held to await the action of the Grand Jury, and are committed to jail.”

  Mr. Ward then hurried from court while the prisoner was taken to the jail handcuffed to Detective Sullivan. As the two walked from the Court three blocks to Police Headquarters, a dozen or more small boys followed Jim and his prisoner along the street quietly mocking the Chinaman and imitating his shuffling gait, but there was no show of violence. Sullivan locked Wei in the freezer without protest. In the next cell were the fugitives who he tried to hide in his laundry along with four others who had been collared for the same crime. Wei was relieved to have someone to talk to in his own dialect.

  From the Buffalo Courier:

  TALES — IDLE TALES

  The sheep-like tendency of humanity to follow a leader is a recognized fact that finds some expression in the various comments made on the awful Murphy murder. People are fickle, and each new clue that is discovered is warmly taken up and discussed, by many who are bold in asserting that that is the only rational theo
ry, but who, just as soon as a new theory is advanced which seems likely, are as warm advocates of that in turn.

  A woman who lives in the vicinity of the cruelly bereaved home has been deeply interested in the case. The first clue that the police seized upon she was sure was the right one. The next one supplanted the first in her belief, and now she asserts that all along she was sure that a Chinaman was the perpetrator of the cruel deed, and that a Chinaman was what the police should have looked for from the first.

  And now that the Chinaman is accused of the murder, there are hosts of people standing in judgment on the whole Chinese race. Among those who are talking over the murder case, one bears condemnation of the morality of Chinamen on general principles, and yet, very often when those who are throwing stones are asked to cite instances, the instances are harder to find than the sweeping condemnations indicate.

  A club woman of Buffalo, a woman known for her great heart, for her sympathy for the under dog, and also known for her clear head, yesterday, in talking with some other club women, made a plea for less hastiness in passing judgment on the Chinaman who is now in the hands of the law, while his guilt in foully slaying little Marian Murphy is yet to be proven. This woman has lived in Chicago, and during active work in a Chinese Mission School there, has been thrown into contact with a large number of the yellow people. She has a friendly interest in them, and believes that in many instances they are not as bad as they are painted. “They are a cruelly persecuted people,” said she. “They are quiet, peaceable and amenable to law, Very rarely do you see a Chinaman up in court on charges other than those of attempting to get into this country. They rarely interfere with anyone. Their opium habit is the one great cry against them, yet this for the most part is a matter among themselves, which harms no one on the outside. They are probably as moral as many of the people who cry against them.”

  Said the woman, “people who are hostile to the Chinese often tell about the Chinamen’s pernicious habits in enticing young girls into their dens. I have seen the other side of that situation in Chicago. In company with other mission workers, I have gone to a Chinese laundry with work, and have seen on the outside girls old enough to know better, talking through the doors with the Chinamen, while inside the laundry were other girls just killing time. I have expostulated with the girls and they have been impertinent. The girls were amused at seeing the laundrymen iron. Those girls came there of their own accord, and of course, their parents were at fault in not looking out for their welfare. Children, too, have a special delight in teasing the ‘heathen Chinee.’

  “When anything disagreeable happens, the Chinaman gets all the blame.” Speaking of their enticing children with candies and nuts, she said, “They are a notably generous people. They delight in giving presents to their friends. Those who have ever known of them in mission work can tell of the gifts which they fairly shower upon their teachers, just out of a love of giving.”

  “So, until the Chinaman behind the bars is found guilty, there is one woman in town who will speak a good word for him.”

  ◆◆◆

  Two days after the murder of Austin Crowe, the body of Marian Murphy was released to her family. At 10:30 o’clock in the morning in the pouring rain little Marian’s body was taken from the morgue to the Murphy home on West Avenue. It was enclosed in a white casket lined with figured white plush. “Our Darling” was engraved on the silver plate. There was no name or date. The poor condition of the body precluded the possibility of opening the casket to allow it to be seen. The children of the neighborhood had sent in floral tributes, most of them cut from residents’ gardens. On top of the casket was placed a decoration bearing the single inscription, Marian.

  The casket was deposited in a side room. One pathetic feature of the service was the condition of Mrs. Murphy. Cornelius Murphy claimed his wife was too ill to go to the church, and even when the casket was taken from the house he and Dr. J. J. O’Donnell, the family physician, refused to allow her to see the mourners or the casket. She was taken into another room where opiates were administered by injection at the insistence of her husband. The casket had been taken away and the crowd dispersed by the time she became conscious again. As she floated in a dream world her younger daughter Celia ran into her mother’s room crying, “Momma! They’re taking Marian away now! Why? Please come! I’m scared!” Celia could not understand why her mother seemed not to care.

  Detective Jim Sullivan had come to pay his respects, but also to observe the dead girl’s father. But it wasn’t the father who ultimately aroused his suspicion, but rather the mother.

  Jim stood with his friend Thomas Crowley, little Marian’s undertaker. Crowley was one of the original founding members of the Mutual Rowing Club. Jim leaned in and said, “Tom, is that a normal reaction to you? A mother so distressed that she cannot even look at her child’s casket let alone attend her funeral? A mother who remains doped up despite the needs of all her other children?”

  “No, can’t say that I have seen that before, not quite so extreme.”

  Jim suspected that Mrs. Murphy’s condition had been brought about as much due to her grief over her daughter’s murder as the horror of her suspicions concerning her husband.

  Four little boys, playmates of Marian, carried the casket to and from the hearse. It was 2:30 o’clock when the funeral procession arrived at the church, four blocks away from the Murphy home. People already had filled the seats and were crowding the vestibule. The mere music of the organ which began at the appearance of the casket seemed to stir the emotions of those seated before the altar. Women were seen crying all over the church, soon to be followed in this act by children and even men. Great crowds had gathered in front of the house and thronged the church, and even when the procession moved out to Holy Cross Cemetery, the crowd still followed to see that silent testimony of crime lowered into the grave.

  Through it all, Cornelius Murphy, sitting in the front pew with all eyes upon him, held up surprisingly well.

  ◆◆◆

  The blood-stained cloth taken from the satchel that Jim Sullivan found in the Wei Laundry was claimed by police to be irrefutable proof that Wei was the killer. They said that the cloth found wrapped around Marian’s body had been torn from this very same piece, that its torn edge was a perfect match for the torn edge on the cloth found in the satchel.

  The cloth from the body was sent to chemist Dr. John A. Miller for analysis. After thirteen days and $650 in billable expenses he finally determined the stains to be rust. Additionally the cloth found in the satchel had 69 threads to the inch whereas the cloth around the girl’s body had 72. Moreover the torn edges did not line up as claimed. The maroon stains on the wallpaper were analyzed. The drips were determined to be paint, as were the spots on the shirt. The twine clothesline binding the child was of the most common type found in almost any home in America including the Murphys’. The samples found in the satchel consisted of a number of various kinds as would be expected in any laundry business. No specification could be made.

  Charlie Wei did not seem to be especially unhappy in jail at first as he awaited a decision to determine what to do with him. He was innocent. He naively thought the mistake would be quickly rectified and he would be freed to resume his business and his life. It was clear within a week of his arrest that the evidence against him was nonexistent. But the pride of the Buffalo Police Dept. was once again at stake, so they persisted. The humiliation of letting him go would only further shame the impotent force. Adding to their burden, the search for Austin Crowe’s murderers had produced nothing. Unable to admit their mistakes, the police kept Charlie Wei yet sitting in his cell even as September came to a close, two full months after his arrest. Charley lost his business. The landlord was forced to rent the laundry’s space to another tenant.

  Upon arraignment over twenty witnesses appeared on Charlie Wei’s behalf, testifying to his whereabouts before, during and after the disappearance of little Marian Murphy. Charlie Wei was exonerate
d. Detective Jim Sullivan was disheartened by the entire episode. The police had devoted all their attention to the Chinaman only to have it determined he was not guilty after all. Jim from the beginning had deep suspicions regarding the dead girl’s father due to Murphy’s often bizarre and unexplained statements to detectives and his inscrutable behavior outside the house prior to notifying his wife of their child’s body being found. He could account for neither his time nor his whereabouts coinciding with the hours of Marian’s disappearance. An account of his activities published in the newspapers that appeared at first to exonerate him was found to have been fabricated. He made statements that implicated him in his interviews with reporters. He displayed aggression and unwarranted animosity toward the Gibbs family. He did not want his wife to be questioned without his being present. He maintained his wife in a state of stupor throughout. One by one Chief Cusak listened to Jim’s concerns about Murphy, but ultimately shut them down.

  “Too much time has gone by, Sully. It would be near impossible at this point to prove that Murphy did something so unthinkable to his own daughter. Only a full confession would suffice—and I don’t see that it the cards.”

  “And what about his other kids? Those other little girls?” said Jim.

  Cusak just shrugged.

  And so the case slowly, deliberately evaporated. The police department didn’t need this latest failure. The city’s newspapers reminded their readers of the police ineptitude by printing a list in a sidebar on the front page outlining all the unsolved recent killings plaguing the city. These failures caused the population to feel increasingly unsettled while at the same time encouraging criminals to act even more boldly.

  Home from work, Jim could find no relaxation in reading the evening paper. He studied the black-bordered list on the front page titled ‘Buffalo’s Carnival of Crimes’ and was sincerely vexed by all the unsolved murders laid out so boldly therein for the whole world to see. In his head children’s voices sang, “Brass buttons, blue coat, couldn’t catch a nanny goat!”