November 24, 1914

Taft Double

You’re a Philly cop. You’ve been on the force for over a dozen years, serving faithfully since Christmas Eve 1902. Last night you succumbed to an attack of dropsy (now known as edema, a potentially fatal build-up of fluid in the tissues). What will be your legacy? How will the City of Philadelphia remember you?

Well, if you’re Michael P. Sheehan, everyone (including the Evening Ledger) will remember your uncanny resemblance to former U.S. President William Howard Taft.

But lo! Officer Sheehan once had the chance to meet his doppleganger:

One of the stories told of the late policeman was that he was detailed to duty in the Union League when ex-President Taft had an appointment for luncheon there. The two chanced to meet, and the President said, with a twinkle in his eye: “Sir, I am always glad to see a man who has such a remarkably fine build.”

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Not sure I see the resemblance, to be honest. I mean, they’re both white men with “remarkable builds,” indeed. But without that wonderful mustache…

William_Howard_Taft_1909

November 23, 1914

Mild-Eyed Deer

It was cops and commuters vs. a lone gray doe at the Wayne Junction train station this morning. After busting out of a Fairmount Park preserve, the deer made its way to the platform just before 7 a.m., much to the surprise of early morning commuters. Two Philly bluecoats, Sergeant Hirst and Policeman Richardson, cornered the animal, and that’s when things began to go wrong:

Like a flash the deer pivoted and both slender hind legs shot out. The sharp hoofs caught the sergeant squarely in the solar plexus. he sat down for some minutes where he landed, a safe distance from the deer. Policeman Richardson wisely stood on guard, also at a safe distance.

“This won’t do,” said baggagemaster Samuel Ladley, according to the Evening Ledger. “We’ll have to get this thing out of here.” Ladley approached, hand out, as if to calm the doe. The deer, however, made with the hoofs again, knocking Ladley to the ground. A crowd gathered. Advice was shouted from the periphery.

Finally Hirst, Ladley and four volunteers rushed the deer, counting on strength in numbers. They counted wrong.

When they got within range things began to happen. About two seconds later things stopped happening and the deer, at bay in the corner, snorted. Slowly the game hunters picked themselves up and warily backed off.

Then the deer made a mistake as it bolted for freedom, only to tumble down into a hole. Ropes were used to secure its limbs, and the doe was transported without further incident to the Germantown police station. “The capture of the deer brought to an end a wild career, “the Evening Ledger noted, “in which several speed records were broken.”

[Source]

Let this be a lesson to you all train commuters. I love the Evening Ledger man’s description of the two-second battle, which is left entirely to your imagination.

November 19, 1914

Holmesburg Prison

William A. Patterson, the superintendent of the House of Correction at Holmesburg, tells the Evening Ledger today that he’s completely banished drug use behind prison walls. How did he manage such a feat? According to Patterson:

“There used to be a time when prisoners managed to get cocaine and morphine by smuggling it into the prison. Those days are gone. I found that I was able to break the drug habit with a few kind words. Kind words will accomplish more than harsh cruelty. Drug fiends should be sympathized with. Superintendents of penal institutions should have heart to heart talks with the prisoners and show them why drugs are bad for their health.”

Patterson, superintendent for the past eight years, says that prisoners used to have friends on the outside hide cocaine beneath postage stamps, or conceal morphine inside fruit, clothes or tobacco. Drug money was also hidden inside goods sent from the outside. Once, Patterson found a half-dollar coin and a quarter inside a cake of soap and confronted the would-be recipient. “The prisoner seemed to be afraid that a severe punishment was facing him,” Patterson said. “Instead, I spoke to him kindly, and he promised me faithfully that he would never again have his friends do that. That prisoner kept his word.”

[Source; photo via Hidden City Philadelphia]

Patterson may have temporarily kept his inmates off coke and heroin, but other drugs would soon find their way back into the prison. Holmesburg was notorious for its medical experiments on inmates from the 1950s through the 1970s, as detailed by Allen M. Hornblum in his 1998 book, Acres of Skin. Holmesburg Prison closed in 1995 after nearly 100 years of continuous operation.

November 6, 1914

Carl Fabry loot

This is the loot (allegedly) stolen by burglar Carl Fabry, seized at his North Carlisle street home and spread all over a police lieutenant’s desk so that victims might identify their property. (I think that’s my alarm clock back there!) Police say Fabry would knock over a home then flee in an automobile. His targets: residences in at least a dozen districts. “The discovery clears up burglary puzzles in all parts of the city,” police told the Evening Ledger.

And look at Mr. Fabry. Doesn’t his raffish outfit just scream “motorist-burglar”? (Or maybe “James Bond villain”?)

Carl Fabry

Mr. Fabry was taken to Moyamensing Prison, with bail set at $1500.

[Source]

I was curious about the fate of Mr. Fabry. A Google search led me to a January 3, 1942 newspaper clipping from the Harrisburg Evening News detailing the arrest of a 51-year-old Carl Fabry on charges of failing to register as a German alien. “I have been posing as an American citizen for the last twenty years” because “I found it embarrassing not to be a citizen.” At the time of his arrest, Fabry had been working as a pastry chef in the United States Quartermaster’s Depot in Philly. While this may be a different Carl Fabry, the piece does say that he’d been arrested for burglary several times, and once escaped from Eastern State Penitentiary. And the math works; Fabry would have been about 23 years old in 1914, at the time of his first arrest. I need to do a little more digging on this guy.

UPDATE: I found a story from the June 20, 1915 edition of the Philadelphia Record detailing Fabry’s escape from Eastern State. On March 24 of that same year, Fabry stole a sweater and pair of pants from guard W.K. Patterson, then strolled out of the prison with a group of tourists. (I had no idea Eastern State did tours back then.) He stayed free until June 1; it’s unclear how he was caught. Fabry defended himself at a hearing inside the prison. “I didn’t break jail,” Fabry told the magistrate. “I simply walked out. The door was open and I just walked out on the street.” Originally, Fabry had been sentenced to seven years for the crimes detailed above; now he’s facing a total of 11 years in stir. I’m really starting to love this guy.

November 5, 1914

Caught_in_a_Cabaret_(poster)

Today the Evening Ledger reports that the rise of cabarets in the “dingy back rooms of saloons” have caught the eye of the vice squad. The word “cabaret” may call to mind an elegantly produced song-and-dance number, but in Philadelphia it usually means underaged girls and off-color ditties:

Another saloon, which for many years was a business failure, has taken on a decided brace and is now a big money-maker for the owner, since he placed the sign “Cabaret” outside his place in large electric lights. The “Cabaret” consists of one man and one woman, who sing suggestive songs.

One mini-cabaret district is located on Girard Avenue, between 6th and 8th streets, where three saloons with back-room “entertainments” are locked in fierce competition. “One of the favorite spots in their neighborhood went bankrupt recently,” the Ledger reports, “in trying to put a few extra frills on decorations of the place.”

Vice squad cops, concerned about the number of young girls (aged 16 to 20) being served alcohol “without the slightest hesitancy,” have been making nightly visits to the cabarets. Owners, meanwhile, have been asking their performers to skip crude songs and started turning away young-looking customers, telling them to wait until the “storm blows over.”

[Source]

An early Charlie Chaplin short, Caught in a Cabaret, captures a bit of sordid saloon life circa 1914.

November 4, 1914

Black Eye

This year’s election didn’t turn out the way the Evening Ledger would have hoped—the Powers That Be would stay in power. Hence, the cartoon of Billy Penn sporting a blackened eye. Not quite sure why he’s smiling, however…

Page 7 of today’s paper features the headline, NEGRO “TURNS WHITE.” Seems a wild election celebration at Front and Christian made neighbors nervous—a bonfire was in the making—so the 2nd and Christian station sent Policeman Wright to the scene to calm things down. When Wright, a black man, arrived on the scene…

… the policeman was pelted with flour. When he fired two shots in the air for help the crowd dispersed. After assiduous brushing and scrubbing his face and uniform reassumed their natural colors.

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An ancestor of mine, Joseph T. Swierczynski, would join the police force in 1917 and work out of the 2nd and Christian station. I wonder if Officer Wright was still around then.

My maternal grandfather, Louis Wojciechowski, grew up at 2nd and Christian in the late 1920s and 1930s. Based on the stories he told me, race relations in the neighborhood had not improved much.

November 3, 1914

Penrose clock

It’s Election Day, and boy, from the look of the cartoon on page 2, the Evening Ledger can’t wait to see Senator Boies Penrose go. (Spoiler: he’ll remain in office until 1921.) Meanwhile, election day boozehounds pine for the “good old days” when your friendly neighborhood ward leader would spot you a drink in exchange for your vote. “Thish is an awful state of fairs, a turrible state of ‘fairs,” said one gentleman near Race and 7th who was sporting a Penrose button and “looked as though the gutter might be natural abiding place.” A nearby beat cop agreed:

Times aren’t like they used to be around here. It uster [sic] be that election was troublous days—fights going on all the time. The ward leaders would come right up to the polls with their bottles, and treating was the big feature of the day. But we have our orders nowadays to confiscate any liquor we see and to arrest the man who gives it out, and so the ward bosses is mighty careful. They know they got to be.

“Haven’t seen a single drunk,” agreed another cop, who was sitting on a breadbox on Market Street and reading a newspaper.

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