Knife – Page 2 – 1947 Project

Death of the Tamale Lady

She was 52, a mother and grandmother, a vendor of tamales. She lived quietly on the east side of the L.A. River, in an ugly stucco apartment house with concrete all around. Then one Sunday night, as she came home after delivering an order of tamales, she was attacked in the street, stabbed twice and left to die just steps from her home. She was found quickly, but it was too late for any aid. Doña Rosa died, and no one but the killer knew who had done it, or why. Oh, there were rumors, there always are, but for most people on her street, life went on just as it had, just without Doña Rosa’s tasty tamales or her soft smile.

This is not a story from 1927. "Doña" Rosa Cruz, wife of Joel MejÃa, mother of Nancy, native of El Salvador, was murdered in Lincoln Heights on Sunday, July 22. As of today, this crime has received no coverage in the English language newspapers or broadcast media. It has not appeared on the LA Times’ Homicide Report Blog. Detectives were in the neighborhood yesterday, asking questions and looking for an answer. And on the corner of Albion and Avenue 20, the people who loved Doña Rosa continue to gather, bringing fresh flowers and seeking comfort in community, on the open sidewalk where she walked on that last night.

On this blog we remember the forgotten dead from long ago, people who came to Los Angeles and found, not whatever improved life they were seeking, but too often an anonymous or notorious death. We should never forget that these people left families and loved ones, and that these crimes resonate in large ripples out over the decades, in those who knew the victim and far beyond. RIP Doña Rosa, and we hope peace can be found by those who loved her.

A Never-Ending Story

July 31, 1927
Los Angeles

A terrible scene greeted the eyes of sisters Florence and Thelma Schuchart (ages 18 and 23, respectively) when they returned home to 158 W. 52nd Place from the beach about 4:30 p.m. today. There, in a pool of blood on the bedroom floor, lay their mother, Florence C. Schuchart , 44, stabbed to death by the man who lay next to her with a butcher knife clutched in his hand, John C. Bowers, 45. Bowers, most recently of the Fair Hotel, 525-1/2 S. Main Street, apparently cut his own throat. (The Times referred to Bowers as "a friend of Mrs. Schuchart" but given he’d just killed her, I think we’ll skip that locution.)

According to detectives, Schuchart had been dead longer than Bowers and based on the disarray and bloodstains throughout the house, she struggled mightily for her life. Family members said that Schuchart recently tried to cut off a relationship with Bowers of several months’ standing. Neighbors reported that Bowers, a traveling salesman who was reportedly "hard up and out of work," had previously threatened to shoot Schuchart.

A brief note addressed to Mary V. Busy of Riverside was found in a sealed envelope on the kitchen table. In it, Bowers declared his suicidal intentions.

Rest in peace, Florence C. Schuchart.

Not So Meek

June 21, 1927
Pasadena

"Meek little wives feel the edge of the carving knife and study their husbands’ necks. Anything can happen." -Raymond Chandler

Subject to what was described as "a subtle malady," Mrs. Katherine Dwyer, 50, stocky, determined, crept up behind husband George, Pacific Electric Railway gateman, as he stood at the kitchen sink eating his lunch at 184 Carlton Street, and neatly drew a razor ’round his throat.

Dwyer’s gurgling drew the attention of housekeeper Miss Slade, who called George Spiegel of #146 for aid. Together they wrestled the blade away from Mrs. Dwyer, Miss Slade gaining a slash to the scalp for her trouble. Policeman A.O. Boyd arrived as the second victim was attacked, and promptly signed an insanity complaint, sending the lady the psychopathic ward of General Hospital.

George Dwyer may die. The couple had quarreled about their daughter, and Mrs. Dwyer, while never previously violent, had been treated for mental problems in the past.

The Monkey Trial

June 9, 1927
Hollywood

brandingstory Readers may remember this recent post about an animal-mauled Hollywood boardtreader. Now, encounter another actor attacked by beast—just as Bela Lugosi would one day meet a Brooklyn gorilla, 21 year-old actress Doris Williams (known on the stage as Doris Dore) has met her own New Yorker.

The anthropoidal New Yorker in question, all simian of structure and with “arms like a gorilla," broke in and attacked Doris this morning at her 1924 North Argyle apartment, who when she fought back, began slashing at her. She fainted, and awoke in a pool of blood, to find the prehuman had carved seven examples of the letter “K” on her person.

Ms.Doris

Doris met this preadamite character at a wild party in New York, where he forced her to sign some sort of “mysterious paper.” Mr. Missingus Linkus then followed Doris across the continent, annoying her with threats and anonymous letters.

Doris had come to out West to portray Hester “Pregnant Out of Wedlock” Griffiths in Dreiser’s “American ‘Filthy Bedroom Scene’ Tragedy” in its Hollywood premier at the sunarc-laden January 17 grand opening of the Wilkes’ Vine Theatre.

stumpspolice Which she did, her monkey-man close at heel, and after the show ended, knocked around and did whatever it is young ladies do in Hollywood. Captain of Detectives Slaughter has been busy trying to piece the events of the evening of June 8/early morning of June 9 together: Doris had been out with two married men (now sought for questioning), drinking it up at a local Italian place—she admitted to “feeling pretty good” when she returned but denied that these gents came back to her apartment with her—although other residents had complained to building manager Mrs. A. C. Black that they were disturbed by the loud noise and laughter emanating from within. Doris’ neighbor describes that later, she heard Doris telephone in a local Western Union call: “Come on over in a hurry. Door unlocked.” Said neighbor then recounts assorted door slammings, water runnings, medicine cabinet openings, and: “I heard her put down the folding bed. I next heard her walk out of her apartment and go down the stairs and open the front door. A few minutes later I heard her running very fast back to her apartment. Within a short time I heard a man talking with her. His voice sounded to me like he was angry with her. They remained there for a while and finally went out together. I went back to sleep.” argyle

(Above, Doris’ apartment building, top center, across from the Castle Argyle.)

All grist for Detective Slaughter’s mill—the only thing lacking being corroborative evidence regarding Doris’ New York Gorilla story. Compounding Slaughter’s doubts thereof is information received from Doris’ friend George Lamont, who told detectives that last week, out-of-work Doris wished to arrange some daring publicity stunt (which George had sagely advised against).

Despite his misgivings, Detective Slaughter declared “We are giving Miss Williams the benefit of the doubt until it is proven otherwise. If she was attacked as she says she was we will do everything within our power to bring the guilty party to justice.”

It is of course not our place to judge whether she was in fact visited by a penknife-wielding primate from the Empire State, or this was a case of Morton Downey swastika prefiguration. Rather, we will leave it to our able readers to gaze at Ms. Williams’ visage and discern for themselves probable likelihoods.

gorillafear

Brute Jealousy

May 31, 1927
Venice

If you needed proof of how the world has changed in 80 years, you need look no further than the news stories surrounding the police search for and arrest of Joe Hordeman, "elderly" war veteran and pipe murder suspect, and of Hordeman’s "December" romance with divorcee Victoria Woods, who he met at an "old folks dance" at the Sawtelle veteran’s home in late 1925.

Hordeman was enamored of Mrs. Woods and hoped to marry or go into business with her, but she found other men more fascinating. She enjoyed dancing, something Hordeman was not inclined to do with her, despite their initial meeting place. Recently she had befriended Emma O’Bell, who became her roommate and encouraged her friend’s active romantic life.

Hordeman couldn’t stand it. He bought a lead pipe and went to Mrs. Woods’ home at 109 Brooks Avenue when he thought two of her suitors would be in attendance. But he found only Mrs. Woods and Mrs. O’Bell, sitting on the porch. Incensed, he asked Mrs. Woods to go inside where they could discuss his concerns, and a raving argument erupted. Hordeman pulled out his pipe and beat her unconscious, then took a knife and neatly cut her Achilles tendons to ensure she would never dance again. He needn’t have bothered save for the symbolism; she died of her injuries. Mrs. O’Bell saw the attack through the window and rushed inside, and was herself badly beaten. Saved from injury was Mrs. Woods’ daughter, who had gone to Chicago the morning of the slaying to speak with her father about her parents reuniting.

The whole horrible affair was witnessed by 15-year-old neighbor Catherine Franklin through her kitchen window, but the dishwashing girl was so traumatized that she did not immediately cry out, and the killer walked down the alley and escaped. He turned himself in the next day after registering at a Los Angeles hotel and mistakenly crossing the d in Ford, when he had meant to use the pseudonym Fort; he was convinced this error would lead to his quick arrest. At his trial in August, Hordeman, who had once claimed he dare not confess lest "the Klan" kill him for harming Mrs. Woods, suddenly changed his plea to guilty after Mrs. O’Bell testified, and was sentenced to one year to life in San Quentin.

The decrepit Hordeman was variously reported as being 52, 60 or 62, old lady Mrs. Woods 55.

The Real Black Dahlia on the BBC’s Pods and Blogs show

Tim Coyne of The Hollywood Podcast rode along on The Real Black Dahlia crime bus tour and prepared a cool little piece for BBC 5’s Pods and Blogs program (or programme, if you will) explaining Beth Short and our fascination with 1947 LA and the odd characters in her orbit to a nation that doesn’t know the case.

Here’s a link to the MP3 of Tim’s interview with Nathan and me.

Never Trust A Guy Called “Happy”

May 17, 1927
Venice

Druggist W.G. Ferrel, manager of the store at Windward and Ocean Front, was not pleased with the quality of work performed by Negro janitor Claude "Happy" Douglas, and so he took a moment this morning to rebuke his employee of six years for latest poor mop job.

"Happy" must have had a bad night, for instead of shuffling his feet and "yessir"-ing the boss man in the time-honored tradition, he pulled out a huge blade and stabbed Ferrel in the back. The metal bent against bone, and "Happy" pulled it out again, twisted and useless.

Then he made a run for the door, but he obviously hadn’t noticed Patrolman French, who was in the telephone booth. Hearing the commotion, French stepped out with revolver drawn and stopped the would-be slayer at the scene. Farrel was rushed to Loamshire Hospital, Santa Monica, in serious condition, and "Happy" held on charges of attempted murder.

Of course, all this might have been avoided, had Farrel checked his employee’s references. For "Happy" is almost certainly the same Claude Douglas, then 30, who in July 1920 savagely assaulted his employer Mrs. Emma Davy, manageress of the Atlas Hotel at 10th and Figueroa, when she discovered him in the basement with a cache of stolen fabric from the Patsy Frock and Romper Company next door. Mrs. Davy, whose shoulder was dislocated, eye injured and arm sprained, was only saved by the intervention of her adult sons George and Allen, who held Douglas until police arrived. Later, in Douglas’ rooms at 1326 East Fourteenth Street, they found a great quantity of good stolen from the Atlas.

Mrs. Davy seems to have taken this as a sign, and in October leased the Atlas to the YWCA, which transformed it into a dormatory for transient women, at which point "Happy" might have wished he’d controlled his temper.

Did she or didn’t she?

England has her Ripper, but in America, there is just one supreme Victorian true crime mystery: did Lizzie Borden really take an axe and apply numerous wacks to the persons of her father and stepmother… or was it the maid… a mysterious neighbor… or Bad Lizzie, who only came out when the lady was visited by Aunt Flo?

Should you find yourself in Fall River, MA next August, you can explore these and other theories with fellow Borden-ologists at The Lizzie Borden Conference 2008.

There’s even a call for papers, so if you have a theory of your own you’ve been polishing (much like one might sharpen a favorite axe), now’s the time to share. For more info, click here.

The Sad Story of the Red Rose Killer

May 9, 1927

Convicted murderer Earl J. Clark was granted a stay of execution today as his appeal twisted its way through the State Supreme Court. There was a time when Clark’s chances to avoid the gallows seemed promising; however, following an escape from prison, things were looking grim.

It all began in April of 1925 when Clark, a handsome, half-Cherokee bootlegger, stabbed Charles Silva, a Filipino sailor, in a dispute over a girl. The girl in question was 17-year-old Mamie Stephens, herself a fugitive from justice since her escape from a girls’ reformatory the previous October. Though accounts varied, when the three met at Clark’s home, Stephens apparently wore a red rose in her hair as a sign to Silva that she would leave Clark for him. Tempers flared, and Clark refused to let Stephens leave the house. When Silva stepped in to help her, a fight broke out, during which Clark stabbed Silva in the gut. Silva apparently did not realize the severity of his wounds, and died later that night en route to his ship. The papers dubbed the case "the Red Rose Murder" and Stephens "the Red Rose Girl."

earljclark In July of 1925, Clark was sentenced to hang, but his attorneys immediately initiated an appeal to save his life. The appeal before the State Supreme Court was repeatedly delayed while Clark languished in the Los Angeles County Jail. On March 16, 1926, just days before his appeal was scheduled to come before the court, Clark and five others escaped from jail. While the five were quickly captured, Clark managed to go into hiding for over nine months. He was finally found in Minot, North Dakota, the proprietor of a paint store across the street from the local police station and husband to the daughter of one of Minot’s leading citizens.

Following his extradition to California, Clark was resentenced to death; however, his attorneys had the appeals process reinstated. However, it was all for naught. Clark’s appeal failed, and his hanging was set to be carried out September 23, 1927.

Helen Scofield Clark, Clark’s 19-year-old wife, wept openly upon hearing Clark’s fate, saying, "I’ll never believe he is guilty." However, she was not present for the judgment, having been forbidden by her parents to travel to California for the trial.

Clark was set to be hung alongside Joseph Sandoval, a Ventura man who had murdered his wife in a drunken stupor, but Sandoval’s sentence was commuted by Governor Young the night before the execution. Clark received no such clemency. On the gallows at San Quentin, he cursed the crowd of about 100 spectators who had gathered to watch the hanging, and as the black hood was placed over his head, whispered to his executioners, "Make it snappy."

Los Angeles police officers took up a collection for Clark’s widow so she could have the body shipped to Minot for burial. She accepted the money, but not Clark’s remains. No one else claimed them either, and he was subsequently buried in the prison cemetery.

A Final Fight

March 26, 1927 mystery
Hollywood

It’s a crowded 3am at the Crescent Club in the heart of Hollywood…just another old bungalow reconstructed into a, uh, tea room. A variety of Volstead violations are in full swing when a fight started, the lights went out, there were sounds of a struggle and furniture cracking, and by the time police arrived to a nearly empty room, pugilist and actor Eddie Diggins, 24, lay dying, stabbed through the heart. Film comedian Lloyd Hamilton cared for the doomed Diggins, while Charles Meehan, noted local bootlegger, was unconscious on the floor with a split to the skull. Diggins died in Hamilton’s arms.

crescentbar

Those filmfolk known for frequenting barrooms were questioned (there being no small number there) but only Hamilton, having remained at the scene, could give a description of Meehan being hit by a chair before the lights were extinguished. While police found ten gallons of wine and five quarts of vermouth were uncovered, the murdering knife used on Diggins was unfound. Meehan, in the prison ward of General Hospital, could shed no light on anything.

Come March 27, Deputy Assitant District Attorney Dennison advanced a new theory: that Diggins had fallen on a crystal chandelier smashed in the melee. Sisters Rosie and Josie St. George, who had been in evidence that night, were found and questioned; Rosie had been working hat check. She stated that Diggins first became embroiled with Jack Wagner, and that Meehan then fought with stunt man Billie Jones, and that thereafter the great fight ensued, wherein Mrs. Diggins and Mrs. Irene Dalton Meehan escaped with the help of Diggins’ buddy John Sinclair.

mrsdigg On March 28, a dozen witnesses gathered to present inquest testimony. The memories of all and sundry were hazy at best, agreeing that there was bar, chandelier, bottle and window glass involved, table legs used as clubs, and chairs swung with abandon. Members of a Coroner’s jury reached the decision that Diggins had met his death from “a sharp instrument in the hand of a person or persons unknown to us, with homicidal intent,” while an eighth juror agreed with Dennison’s theory, concluding that “the wound was caused by a piece of glass, accidental.” From the morgue he was taken to O’Donnell Sunset Mortuary, and from there to the grave, where he remains silent to this day.