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“‘For the first time I am writing for money; now I am frightened that some quick accident might happen.”

Isadora Duncan never did learn to drive. Out for a car ride in France with a friend and a chauffeur who promised to teach her to operate an automobile, the free-spirited dancer was done in by her free-flowing scarf, which entangled in one of the motor car’s front wheels and yanked her into the next world. It was the end of a short life that felt like a long one. An Associated Press article that appeared in the September 15, 1927 Brooklyn Daily Eagle on the morning after Duncan’s sudden death:

Nice, France (AP)–The body of Isadora Duncan, dancer, whose adventurous career terminated in an automobile tragedy here last night, was locked in her studio today. Police are guarding the door and will permit no one to enter until a Soviet consular official has signed the necessary papers allowing friends to take charge of the body.

Miss Duncan left no will, according to Mrs. Mary Desto Perks, British newspaper woman who was driving with the dancer when she met death. Mrs. Perks said that all the dancer’s friends would testify that she intended all her property go to her blind brother, Augustin. Although Miss Duncan was recently financially embarrassed, Mrs. Perks declared the royalties on her book of memoirs were expected to net many thousands of dollars. The draperies and pictures in the studio here were alone valued at $10,000.

Citizenship in Doubt

At an autopsy performed today the verdict of accidental death due to strangulation was returned.

The only identifying document found in the Nice apartment was a Soviet passport, and police in accordance with French laws notified the nearest Russian Consul, who is at Marseilles. He was asked to come to Nice by motor at once.

A search at the American consulate here failed to show whether Miss Duncan had claimed American citizenship since 1921.

Miss Duncan was killed last night as she was learning to drive her new car.

A silken scarf of red–the color of which she was fond, and which seems to have symbolized her radicalism–fluttered about the neck of the dancer as she sped along the Promenade des Angels. With her was a French chauffeur, who was going to teach her to drive, and Mrs. Perks.

Killed Instantly

“The idea of ‘interpretive’ dancing came to her.”

The end of the long scarf whipped over the side of the car, became entangled in the front wheel and jerked the dancer from her seat. The chauffeur jammed on the brakes and he and Mrs. Perks disengaged the scarf from the limp body. The drove frantically to the St. Roch Hospital, but in vain. The doctors said her neck was broken and that death must have been instantaneous.

At one time a stage idol, Miss Duncan had long devoted herself to the training of young dancers. Her affairs did not appear to prosper, and her Neuilly studio had to be sold to pay her debts.

Had Premonitions of Death

Of late she had given much of her time to writing memoirs of her career, from which she hoped great things. She seems to have had premonitions of her death as, in talking with a correspondent of the Associated Press on Tuesday, she said:

‘For the first time I am writing for money; now I am frightened that some quick accident might happen.’

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From a hesitant debut as a 15-year-old girl in California, Isadora Duncan’s dancing feet carried her across two continents to wealth, a certain degree of fame and a life crowded with adventure and tragedy.

Bare Legs Stirred Protests

Born in San Francisco in May, 1878, the daughter of Charles Duncan, a dancing teacher, she received early training in the art on which she was to leave an indelible impress.

The idea of ‘interpretive’ dancing came to her and she began to devise dance figures of her own. In development of her idea she discarded customary costumes, appearing in filmy attire and with bare legs, a daring innovation in those days and one which brought many protests.

One of her first successes in New York was a dance version of ‘Omar Khayyam,’ in which she interpreted the spirit of the classic poem while the verses were recited by Justin Huntly McCarthy.

She was teaching a class of children in the Hotel Windsor, New York, when the fire broke out on March 7, 1899, which leveled the structure. She saved every one of the pupils at the risk of her life.

In the same year she decided to go to Europe and made the trip with her mother and brothers on a cattleboat, the venture being financed with the aid of friends. Europe was quick to recognize a form of art in her dramatic dancing, and she established a ‘Temple of Art’ in Paris.

King Edward VII, Gabriele d’Annunzio, Ernst Haeckel, Gordon Craig and Rodin the sculptor were listed among the admirers.

In 1904, her first financial success came when she started a school of classical dancing in Berlin, where she trained the girls who came to be known as the Duncan Dancers, forerunners of many later dancing groups of this character.

The girls performed, as their teacher did, in flowing draperies and bare feet.

Back in Paris again, in 1913, she encountered opposition from the authorities when she appeared as a nude bacchante, and in order to continue her fetes without interruption she purchased a villa at Neuilly, where she gave her brilliant parties for nearly four years.

Two Children Drowned

"There tragedy overtook her."

“There tragedy overtook her.”

There tragedy overtook her. Her two children, Beatrice, 5, and Patrick, 2–she was never married and never revealed the name of their father–were drowned when the motorcar in which they were sitting plunged into the Seine River when it was cranked while in gear.

Of radical sympathies, her fortunes were adversely affected with the outbreak of the World War, and when the Russian revolution came in 1917 she immediately announced her adhesion to the Bolshevik cause. She went to Moscow some time later on the invitation of the Soviet Government to found a new school of dancing. Difficulties arose, and the plan was abandoned.

It was in Moscow that she married Sergei Yesenin, young Russian poet, in 1921. The next year she brought him to the United States and gave a series of dances. Later in Paris she announced that she had sent the young poet back to Russia, and eventually she divorced him, describing him as ‘really too impossible.’ He committed suicide in Russia in December, 1925.”

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From the July 20, 1923 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

Shreveport, La.–Mrs. Arthur Mausey complained to the District Attorney here yesterday that her husband had traded their 14-month-old son to an unidentified man for a horse and buggy and then had sold the outfit for $20. She appealed to the authorities to assist her to recover the child.”

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“CRC-102 promptly accepted the challenge.”

AI wouldn’t be able to beat the world’s best human chess player for 46 more years, but it was game on in 1951 when an engineer challenged a computer to a $1,000 series of matches. The machine was rudimentary, so the acceptance of the wager came with some suspect conditions. From the November 12, 1951 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

Washington–Engineer Donald H. Jacobs, who challenged an electronic ‘brain’ to a $1,000 chess tournament, agreed today to follow the machine’s ring rules, ‘but  won’t teach the thing how to play chess.’

Jacobs, president of the Jacobs Instrument Company of nearby Bethesda, Md., said he was looking forward to matching wits with CRC-102, the ‘brain’s’ technical name.

The only hitch was that the ‘brain’s’ second–the Computer Research Corporation, Torrence, Cal.–said that Jacobs would have to reveal his ‘chess system’ in advance.

‘I’m not going to give away my system to the machine,’ Jacobs said. ‘With that knowledge, any mortal chess player, much less the ‘brain,’ could win with no trouble.’

Jacobs made his ‘gentlemen’s bet’ for the man-versus-machine struggle over 20 games of chess to prove that man still can outthink a machine–at least over a chess board.

‘Although I am a poor chess player,’ he said, ‘pure egotism makes me unwilling to concede that a computing machine can play better than I can.’

CRC-102 promptly accepted the challenge. Engineer Richard E. Sprague, a director of Computer Research, said his ‘champion’ will take on Jacobs ‘any time, any place…and will take him apart.’

Computer Research, which has just developed the first portable electronic digital computer, claims that the ‘brain’–among its other talents–is an unbeatable chess player.

Sprague laid down three ‘ring rules,’ however, before CRC-102 will meet Jacobs in combat.

1. A time limit on the match so that the human contestant doesn’t take ‘a year or so to make up his mind on a move.’

2. Permission to tell the ‘eyeless’ machine what move its human adversary has made ‘so he can make the proper countermove.’

3. Jacobs must provide CRC-102 with his chess system.”

 

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From the July 6, 1910 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

Vincennes, Ind.–A blind horse, frightened by the explosion of a cannon, ran away yesterday, threw its driver, Wayne Bunting, out of the buggy, fatally injuring him, plunged through a window of the home of Mrs. Anna Dugger and fell on a bed, in which Mrs. Dugger and her daughter were sleeping.

Mrs. Dugger and her daughter were bruised and both were shocked into hysteria before the men of the neighborhood, alarmed by the crash and the screams of the women, could drag the frantic horse out of the house.”

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“A rumor flashed through the city’s schools that a ‘vampire with iron teeth’ had strangled and eaten two small boys.”

The boogeyman in the Queens neighborhood I grew up in was “Charlie Chop-Chop” (or “Chop-Chop Charlie“), a supposed shadowy slayer of small children whose coup de grâce involved the business end of an axe. It seemed an urban legend concocted to scare kids from being lured away by strangers, but when I was an adult I learned it was at least partly fact: A Manhattan serial murderer called “Charlie Chop-off” really did kill five African-American children in the 1970s. (He may have been Erno Soto, a mentally ill man who confessed to one of the murders but was deemed unfit for trial and institutionalized.)

I can only guess that in the aftermath of these crimes, a few facts traveled to the outer boroughs, probably melded with details of some actual local lawlessness and became larger and larger in the minds of schoolchildren, who needed no vampire comic book nor slasher film to draw the face of evil in their fertile minds. Such a thing seemed innate and viral.

Of course, that’s not to say that children won’t dip into the culture to help them create their stories. At the same time that comic books were considered a 10-cent plague in America, they were apparently causing “vampire riots” in Scottish graveyards. An article in the September 26, 1954 Brooklyn Daily Eagle recalls just such a mad scene. The story:

Glasgow–Outraged education authorities today blamed horror comics for the action of hundreds of children who swarmed through a cemetery looking for a ‘bloodthirsty vampire with iron teeth.’

The shouting mobs of children rampaged through the cemetery in suburban Hutchesontown in what police called a ‘vampire riot.’

H.K. MacKintosh, city education officer, charged that ‘horror’ comics were responsible and said they ‘have now gone beyond the bounds of license. I hope the government will take active steps in this very real problem facing us.’

Police Constable Alex Deeprose gave the account of the ‘riots’:

‘When school finished, hundreds of children massed in Hutchesontown and prepared to march on the cemetery after a rumor flashed through the city’s schools that a ‘vampire with iron teeth’ had strangled and eaten two small boys there.

‘Shouting and waving pocket knives, carrying sticks and stones, the children swarmed over the cemetery wall and began a hunt among the gravestones.’

Witnesses said they appeared to be ‘deadly serious.’

Police called by the local residents managed to disperse the shouting throng but bands of children continued to roam the streets until dusk.”

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From the November 19, 1909 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

“Prof. Wilfred E. Wheeler, first assistant in chemistry in the engineering experiment station in the University of Illinois, committed suicide on the university campus yesterday. He took his life because he could not stand the petty annoyances of married life and because he disliked his baby.”

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“Within such containers…man could live as comfortably as he does at home.”

We were aware, more than seven decades ago, that the moon could be a landing pad, a rocket launcher and a nonpareil space observatory. Our failure to execute in this area is one of will, not knowledge. An article about the moon and its uses from the December 29, 1940 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

Los Angeles (U.P.)–The moon, not so many centuries hence, probably will the earth’s much-prized ‘airport’ for rocket travel.

When that time comes, if it does, scientists in heavy Man-from-Mars suits probably will flock to the moon and build big telescopes of a size not dreamed of on earth.

Whenever they take off their suits, the rocket men and the scientists will have to live in big, air-tight caverns dug into the surface of the moon.

They will breathe air shipped from the earth, or manufactured chemically from the rocks on the moon.

This peek at the moon’s possibilities as sort of an ‘off-atmosphere’ base for the earth is made by the scientists at Griffith Observatory in their monthly publication. They termed their forecast something between ‘sober scientific description and fantasy.’

Proper Fuel Needed

Rocket travel, in the first place, depends upon discovery of a proper fuel, but they said this problem ‘is not as fantastic as it sounds’ and added:

‘Considering the marvels of scientific inventions during the past century, one is very much tempted to guess that shortly after the time that the human race has gained enough sense to live at peace, our scientists will provide the means of travel, and observatories upon the moon will become realities.’

When men learn to flit from earth to Venus, et cetera, the observatory suggests the moon doubtless will become an ‘intermediate base’ for big rocket ships.

The moon has slight gravity pull compared to the earth; a man could jump like a giant grasshopper, and rocket ships could take off easily. Further the moon has practically no atmosphere, hence there will not be the friction of air slowing down the rockets.

These same two qualities will send astronomer hurrying to the moon, the observatory predicts. Telescopes would be so light in weight that they could be built in sizes dwarfing the 200-incher now under construction in Pasadena, Cal. There would be none of the destruction from ‘boiling air’ as on earth. Astronomers could see much farther, and better. Further, the moon has a black night two weeks long–a paradise for astronomers.

But the lack of air on the moon will present its difficulties, as well. Earthmen going to the moon will have to have something to breathe.

‘Assuming that some day man does make direct use of the moon,’ says the observatory, ‘his protection would probably come in two forms:

‘First, by making great airtight caverns within the surface of the moon. In these caverns the air either would be carried from the earth or much more probably formed chemically from the oxides at the surface of the moon. Within such containers, which might be of very large size, man could live as comfortably as he does at home.

‘Second, outside of these it would be necessary for him to wear some sort of cumbersome suit, the reverse of that used by the diver, and to carry with him in tanks his necessary supply of oxygen.’

Fears have been expressed that earthmen would be in danger of constant bombardments of meteorites on the moon, but the observatory said there is no evidence of this. The bombardments would kick up great clouds of dust on the moon, and no such clouds have been observed through the telescopes.”

From the January 21, 1913 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

Enid, Okla.–A kick on the head by a mule was worth $2,800 to John Allen, a farmer living near here. Immediately after Allen was operated on today for a fracture of the skull, which the mule’s hoof had inflicted last Saturday, he remembered where he had buried that amount of money during the financial panic of 1907.”

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I still have no idea why “electronic brain” seems to have been the favored term for computers in the pre-1960s U.S. In fact “computer” was often treated like a silly word to be mocked. Well, by any name, such a machine and its memory helped American Airlines keep track of reservations six decades ago, according to an article in the July 13, 1952 Brooklyn Daily Eagle. The story:

“American Airlines is using an electronic ‘brain’ to keep accurate and up-to-the-moment information on plane seats available.

By manipulating keys on a gadget resembling a small adding machine, a ticket agent can in a matter of seconds determine space available and make or cancel reservations.

The brain housed in American’s hangar at Laguardia Field, consists of a battery of electronic tubes and a ‘memory’ in which is stored the inventory of seats. The memory consists of two magnetized drums on which more than 1,000 flights for a period of ten days is recorded.

Let’s assume that a passenger requests three seats for a flight to Chicago:

1. The agent at one of the remote ticket offices selects a destination plate from a file. This plate is notched like a house key.

2. He inserts the plate in a slot behind eight lucite push-buttons. This sets up the connection with the memory drum at LaGuardia. The eight lucite keys have printed data on flight number, departure time, etc.

3. The agent then pushes buttons designating the date and number of seats requested.

4. In less than a second the brain responds by lighting lucite lamps corresponding to those flights which have three seats available.

5. The passenger makes his choice of flight and the agent flips a key to ‘sell.’

6. A green light indicates that the brain has completed the transaction, subtracting thee seats from the inventory for that flight on the memory drum.”

From the November 17, 1936 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

“Siamese twins, one of whom is in a critical condition with pneumonia while the other remains in good health, were in New York Hospital, 119 E. 74th St., Manhattan, today.

Lucio Godina is fighting for his life with a temperature of 105, while Simplicio Godina is in perfectly normal condition. Their age is 28.”

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From the August 12, 1910 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

Cincinnati–Surgeons at the City Hospital believe that John Lohray, a cooper, who applied for treatment last night, has the largest nose in the world. The ponderous nasal appendage is 6 3/4 inches long and 3 1/2 inches wide. It hangs over his lips and interferes when he eats or talks. Lohray is suffering from elephantiasis of the nose. The nose will be amputated.”

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Sometimes surviving calamity is just the beginning of a rough voyage, as evidenced by an article in the December 8, 1935 edition of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle. The story:

“David Warshauer expects to get his wooden leg by the first week of the year, and then he hopes to work again.

‘I can still drive a truck, I guess,’ he says, stolidly, at his home, 1925 47th St.

Slightly more than four years ago Warshauer was given up for dead. He and his brother-in-law had been rescued after nine days in a disabled floating motorboat at sea; nine days without shelter, food or drink, nine days toward the end of which they ate bugs from the side of their tiny craft, and drank a poisonous liquid from a fire extinguisher and swore solemnly that the last to die would naturally have to eat the other’s body, and in return for the gift of life would try to take care of the other’s family.

Unconscious When Rescued

The cannibalistic pact was never carried out, because both became unconscious at about the same time, and were lying side by side in several inches of water when the boat was picked up by the cutter Cuyahoga.

Both were suffering so from the moist gangrene, exposure and other injuries that the doctors shook their heads at Staten Island Hospital when they were brought in. There was no hope, they said.

Irving Tuchyner, 28, a pocketbook manufacturer, did die the next day, but Warshauer, a Wallabout Market truckman with an unusually strong physique, lingered on. Even then the doctors shook their heads. Whole areas of his body were affected.

Of the four years since then, of the transfer from hospital to hospital and the endless skin-grafting, Warshauer today does not like to talk.

‘Those four years were worse than the nine days at sea,’ he says. ‘I can’t understand myself how I came through.”

 

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From the February 7, 1913 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

Ulmers, S.C.–A novel adventure incident to parcel post service, involving two babies and a wooden leg, all three sent by mail, was reported by Edgar T. Phillips, a rural mail carrier connected with the local office. While covering his route, with two infants and a wooden leg among his parcels, Phillips was attacked by a wildcat. For a moment, says the carrier, his live mail was in danger of being carried away. Selecting the wooden leg as the most available weapon, however, Phillips wielded it so well that he put the wildcat to route. All three parcels were delivered, none worse for the encounter.”

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"The fact that Van Steinberg starved himself into a condition of chronic blood poisoning did not surprise his neighbors very much."

“The fact that Van Steinberg starved himself into a condition of chronic blood poisoning did not surprise his neighbors very much.”

For a miser, keeping money for himself probably feels a little like cheating death. If you’re gripping something of value tightly in your hands, how can your body become a worthless coil? But the end comes, regardless, and the death of just such a skinflint was the focus of an article in the March 7, 1903 Brooklyn Daily Eagle. An excerpt:

“Mrs. Mettetal, the proprietor of the delicatessen store on Fulton Street, near Chestnut, who rented to John Van Steinberg the little back room where he slept and cooked the scanty meals which were insufficient to keep body and soul together, says that not long ago the old miser advertised in a New York newspaper for a wife. One of the conditions that the old man insisted upon in the advertisement, was that the young woman should be rich and possessed of plenty of means. He received many answers to this advertisement, but whether any of the replies suited him or not Mrs. Mettetal does not know.

The fact that Van Steinberg starved himself into a condition of chronic blood poisoning did not surprise his neighbors very much. Some of them, it is said, remember that before Mrs. Van Steinberg died, about two years ago, she complained that her husband did not give her sufficient food and that he refused to supply her with all the medicines ordered by her doctors. Notwithstanding his meanness as to food, Van Steinberg, when he lived in the house at 92 Pine Street, was known to spend his money freely for valuable flowers, of which he was a great lover. He spent his whole time in the garden cultivating scarce and beautiful plants.

Mr. Mount of 13 Cooper Street, who is a member of the board of directors of the Veteran Firemen’s Association, to which Van Steinberg belonged, throws an interesting light on the manner in which the old miser lived for the past two years. During this time, while he had thousands of dollars in the bank, Van Steinberg was drawing $5 a week distress benefit from the organization. When he died, Mr. Mount, under the impression that he was very poor, told Undertaker Brewster that the Veteran Firemen would be responsible for a funeral costing as much as $200. When Mr. Mount visited Van Steinberg, just before he was removed to the hospital, he was astounded to find on the mantel in his room letters containing checks which he had sent to the old miser still unopened. The old man’s excuse was that he had been too weak to get the checks changed into money to buy food with it. 

Mr. Mount took the checks and gave the old man cash. Then with some of the money he went downstairs and bought a lot of nourishing food. After Mr. Mount left, the sick miser got one of his children living in the house to take the food back to the store where it had been purchased and secure the purchase money for it.

Before Dr. Robinson went to attend the old miser he had ordered two doctors out of the house because they asked him for a fee. He only agreed to listen to Dr. Robinson’s advice when he learned that he was a Holland Dutchman by descent, like himself, and didn’t care whether he got any money or not, providing the sick man was too poor to pay.

When he finally agreed to go to the hospital, Van Steinberg insisted in going in a cab instead of the hospital ambulance, as he would save $2 by that mode of conveyance. To Dr. Robinson, the old miser said that his sole enjoyment in life had been the contemplation of the fact that after his death his relatives would not be able to touch any of his money.”

 

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From the June 17, 1911 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

Pittsburgh–Otillis Danner, aged 6, died yesterday at her home in St. Clair borough, the result of a ruptured blood vessel, caused by too much jumping rope.”

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Joy, peace and a vegetable diet are ingredients of a good life but not a prescription for an everlasting one. James B. Schafer, however, disagreed.

The leader of a Long Island sect, Schafer believed that positive thinking and vegetarianism from birth would not just delay death but defeat it. To prove his point, he and his followers adopted the baby of a struggling waitress in 1939 and announced that the cult’s child-rearing methods would make her immortal. The plug was pulled on the delusional plan a year later when the birth mother sued to regain custody. In 1942, the metaphysician was sentenced to a stint in Sing Sing for larceny. In 1955, Schafer and his wife guaranteed that they would definitely not enjoy days without end when they committed a double suicide.

The following article, from the November 25, 1939 Brooklyn Daily Eagle, details the short-lived immortal baby experiment (a story also covered by the New Yorker).

 

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From the June 1, 1932 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

Chicago–Young moderns aren’t so casual about their marriage vows as they’ve been painted.

Two of them, Miss Harriet Berger, 21, and Vaclaw Hund, 24, were married yesterday by Judge Charles B. Adams while they were strapped to Northwestern University’s ‘lie detector,’ and this is what happened:

When the judge asked Hund if he would ‘take this woman,’ the bride’s heart almost stopped, and it skipped a beat when the judge said, ‘I pronounce you man and wife.’

The bridegroom’s blood pressure sank steadily throughout the ceremony, and the bride’s rose–all of which the judge said, proved that they really love each other.”

 

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John W. Hulbert, New York State’s executioner from 1913 to 1926, was responsible for ending 142 lives, if you count his own. A shadowy “electrician,” he put the convicted to death on the hot seat, protected his privacy with great vigilance and hated his work. “I got tired of killing people,” he reportedly said when retiring from the job, following a nervous breakdown. The haunted man took his own life three years later. Volts were not necessary as Hulbert fired shots into his chest and temple with the gun he steadfastly carried to thwart potential revenge plots hatched by the loved ones of those he had offered a chair. He always dodged these pursuers, real or imagined, but could not ultimately escape the demons within. From an article in the Feb 23, 1929 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

Auburn, N.Y.–The terse report of a coroner’s physician today cleared the mystery surrounding the death of John W. Hulbert, 55, former state executioner and long known as Auburn’s ‘man of mystery.’

‘Death by suicide’ were the words Dr. William E. Walsh used to report the findings of an autopsy he conducted on Hulbert, after the retired executioner had been found dead in the cellar of his home here yesterday by his son, Clarence. The iron nerve which enabled Hulbert calmly to send 141 men to their deaths in the electric chair during his career as executioner, stayed with him to the last, the physician’s report indicated. Two wounds were found in the body, one in the left chest, which, failing to bring instant death, was followed by another in the right temple.

Murder Theory Abandoned

The .38-caliber pistol which Hulbert used to end his life was found beside the body. It was identified as the gun he always carried during his career as executioner as protection against possible attacks from friends or relatives of his victims. The fact that Hulbert was alone in the home when he ended his life and that he always lived in fear of death from enemies incurred by the nature of his profession led officials to investigate the possibility of murder in his death. This theory was abandoned today with the report of Dr. Walsh.

Although he had bee a resident of Auburn since 1903, Hulbert was little known to the residents of this city.

He first worked as an electrician at Auburn Prison here and in 1913 succeeded John Davis, inventor of the electric chair, as State executioner. From that time on Hulbert lived a hermitlike existence in a self-imposed exile. In the same chair where the first man in the world was electrocuted, he executed the last, at Auburn Prison, Charles Sprague, of Yates County, after which all electrocutions were carried out at Sing Sing Prison.

Always in fear of unknown enemies, Hulbert avoided contact with the public as much as possible. His only diversion was to accompany his wife and family to local moving picture houses, and even then he sought to protect himself by sitting near an exit, where the seats around him were partially illuminated.

He resigned his office in January, 1926, and returned to the seclusion of his home. Last fall his wife died and since, according to his relatives and friends, he had been melancholy.

Feared Poison in Food

Sing Sing Prison attachés, speaking of the suicide of Hulvert, say he shunned everyone and was avoided in turn. He developed a reputation for being extremely economical, yet was known to give liberal tips to the waiter at the Palace Restaurant here, where he always ate when he came in for an execution. He always ordered precisely the same meal and always asked for the same waiter. This was attributed to the belief that he feared his food would be poisoned. 

Hulbert was never seen shaking hands with anyone.”

 

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From the August 7, 1911 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

Chicago--Mrs. Jessie Stewart Gardner is dead at her home because she refused to take her wedding ring from her finger.

The gold band was placed on Mrs. Gardner’s finger on the day she became a bride. It remained there until it had to be filed off, but the filing was done too late.

Mrs. Gardner’s finger had increased gradually in size. The pressure of the ring became correspondingly greater. The ring finally became imbedded in the flesh and caused an interruption of the blood circulation.

With much reluctance, Mrs. Gardner consented to have the ring filed off. Owing to the delay, blood poisoning developed and resulted in her death. Mrs. Gardner was 60 years old.”

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"It is certainly a robot."

“It is certainly a military robot.”

We’ve longed looked for ways to automate killing, even in those days when computers were more often referred to as “electronic brains” or “mechanical minds.” An early attempt at push-button warfare–a “robot gun”–developed by the U.S. between world wars was the subject of an article in the October 5, 1928 Brooklyn Daily Eagle. An excerpt:

Aberdeen Proving Grounds, Md.–Greatest among the marvels of a mechanized army demonstrated here yesterday for the Army Ordnance Administration is a ‘mechanical mind’ produced in the Sperry plants in Brooklyn.

Following a day which was replete with spectacular demonstrations of new engines of war the ‘mechanical mind,’ which is technically known as a ‘data computer,’ located an ‘enemy’ airplane in the black night skies, spotted it almost instantly with the beam of powerful searchlight and kept a battery of four three-inch guns trained on the airplane and then with the press of a button the whole battery of anti-aircraft artillery opened fire and blew the trailing target to bits.

Not a Hand Touched It

Not a hand touched the searchlight which spotted the airplane and not a hand was touched to the three-inch guns in the anti-aircraft gun battery to sight them. The ‘mechanical mind’ did all this.

Ordnance experts declared this device the outstanding feature of the show. ‘It is certainly a military robot,’ said one of them.

The senses of this mechanical mind are embodied in a very sensitive syntonic oscillator, which had direction determining and vague finding powers. What this syntonic oscillator detects is greatly amplified after the manner of radio sets and its findings, which are expressed in electrical signals, are fed to a ‘comparator.’ This part of the apparatus is a mathematical marvel. It takes the reading given it for direction and distance from the oscillator without any effect on the correctness of the aim given.”

From the November 30, 1940 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

Dunn, N.C.–A young woman, giving New York as her home address, strolled into police headquarters here yesterday and asked Chief G.A. Jackson:

‘What do you call anybody who’s been married twice without getting a divorce?’

‘A bigamist,’ replied Jackson.

‘Well, I’m one of them. And I want you to put me in jail,’ the woman said, poking marriage certificates at the startled chief to back up her claim. ‘I’m tired of both of them and jail is the best way out.’

But the harassed chief finally sent her away, deciding that Dunn didn’t want the expense of feeding her in jail.”

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The end is always near, depending on how you keep time. In 1925, a Long Island house painter-cum-preacher Robert Reidt convinced himself–and many others–that the four horsemen of the apocalypse were galloping with intent. A fireball was to strike New York City and Mars would provide refuge for only the souls that were saved, it was promised. The mania that ensued, which included casualties, was recalled four years later in an article in the October 8, 1929 Brooklyn Daily Eagle, published just days before a real disaster occurred–the financial crash that led to the Great Depression. A postscript: Despite Reidt’s seeming newfound humility on display in this report, he decided again in 1932 that the Earth was soon to be a goner. Thankfully, he was mistaken once more. The article:

Baldwin, L.I.–The crack of doom–or just the end of the world in every-day language–was formally predicted for the night of February 6, 1925.

Even if it didn’t come true, don’t you remember?

"Reidt neither looks nor talks like one would expect of a forecaster of such dire disaster."

“Reidt neither looks nor talks like one would expect of a forecaster of such dire disaster.”

The little groups of serious and intent men and women–‘brides of the lamb’–who stayed up and shivered all that mid-winter night in tumble-down shacks in Patchogue and Valley Stream, L.I., awaiting the bolt of flames, the cloud of smoke, and the outpouring of floods that were to blast all earthly life. Stripped of their possessions for the end, and watching intently the slowly moving hands of the clock that didn’t strike the appointed doom.

Dawn and disillusionment. Shattered faith, and existences to be picked up all over again.

Modern Paul Revere.

And the grim, determined, exhorting young leader of the Long Island believers, Robert Reidt, the Prophet of Doom. And his rides for weeks over snow and ice in his battered model T Ford as the modern Paul Revere of a crashing and crumpling sphere. 

In the three and a half years since he sent shivers up many backs and the world failed him by rolling merrily on, Reidt has become convinced that he is a better house painter than prophet.

So, a bit taciturn and something of a recluse, he is sticking to his painting and papering in and about this fast growing community, forgetful of doom and refusing to commit himself on it. He has, indeed, renounced the role of a prophet. An excellent workman, they say here, he has rebuilt his fortunes since coming through broke and virtually homeless, with a brood of four youngsters to support on the dawn when the sun surprised him by coming up.

Reidt neither looks nor talks like one would expect of a forecaster of such dire disaster. He has a broad Dutch smile, a sense of humor that has mellowed of late, and a neatly trimmed mustache. He also wears good clothes and taken on a bit of weight since he gave night and day to obtaining converts to his miscalculated crackling.

His youngsters, two boys and two girls, go to school and play with their neighbors children in Lynbrook, where they live with their mother. They don’t know doom was ever ordained.

"Mrs. Rowen disappeared from her Hollywood home for some time when the movement she had started failed to stand the test of time."

“Mrs. Rowen disappeared from her Hollywood home for some time when the movement she had started failed to stand the test of time.”

In all, Main Street and the cities, plains and mountains, there were 140,000 ‘brides of the lamb’ keeping the vigil that, they were told, would furnish them refuge on Mars while unbelievers perished in space. They took their cues from Mrs. Margaret Rowen, Hollywood ‘prophet,’ who has since turned seeress, and Reidt dropped his paint bucket and brush around Christmas time, in 1924, to take charge of recruiting the ‘brides of the lamb’ in the metropolitan district.

The ‘Prophet of Doom’ rushed into print, and mostly on the front pages, with the impending sweep of fire, smoke and water that was to signalize the second coming of Christ, destruction of the sinful world, and the corralling of the faithful for the greater adventure. Biblical prophecies and astronomical calculations entered into the fixing of the date, positively. The exhortations went into every corner of the world.

Even though the newsprints and public generally failed to heed the th sounding note of doom seriously, the followers of Mrs. Rowen and on Long Island, of Reidt and his aide, John Downs, carpenter, enlisted the largest army the world has witnessed for th impending devastation. It was fully three times as large as the ‘Doomsday’ believers of 1848. There was, in the wake of the prophecy and waiting for the end, a fair share of tragedies.

A woman in Pennsylvania committed suicide. A 12-year-old boy ran away from home in Greenpoint and was found weeping at the altar in a Catholic Church. A disillusioned adherent hung himself on the West Side of Manhattan, and in Michigan a farmer, who had been planning a life of ease and travel on $35,000 head saved, killed himself and wounded his wife.

And, too, a few of the faithful gave up their jobs as they came to believe the prophecy, wondering what good work would do them.

The widest drawn tragedy that went with disillusionment, though, through Long Island and through the country, was the lack of material possessions most of the 140,000 had to face the world with when the ball kept spinning.

Part of the ritual for becoming a ‘bride of the lamb’ was for believers to disavow their worldly goods as the zero hour approached. Some, or perhaps most, of the followers were fortunate in that friends took just temporary care of their possessions as they prepared to await. Others had long, hard pulls in the chill of mid-winter as their rewards.

The little group at Valley Stream that sat up in the home of Mrs. Katherine B. Kennedy, with only enough coal to last them until dawn, renounced Mrs. Rowen and all prophets when dawn came up instead of doom.

The largest group that waited with Reidt and his lieutenants were more patient, for a while. They said that the end might just be delayed. Then they went, gradually, back to work and their families, Reidt moving for the time being to Newark before returning to Long Island and settling down in Baldwin.

Mrs. Rowen disappeared from her Hollywood home for some time when the movement she had started failed to stand the test of time. There was talk out there of an investigation to determine what had become of funds collected from believers and supposedly sent to her for spreading her prophecies, but nothing ever came of it, and the prophetess went in for occultism. 

Reidt is through with propheting. He’s satisfied to stick to his paints.”

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From the July 20, 1911 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

Coin, Iowa–Marriage by telephone, with the officiating clergyman in one place, the bridegroom in another and the bride in still another, was made possible here, yesterday. The Rev. H.B. Minton, sitting in his study, united in marriage George Prentice, at his home in Northboro, and Miss Mary De Witt, in Blanchard. Coin is five miles north of Blanchard, and Northboro, three miles west of Blanchard, is about the same distance from the pastor’s home.”

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If you displeased the Doukhobors, you most likely were going to see their genitals. The anarchic religious sect, established in 17th-century Russia, was a serious lot that practiced Spiritual Christianity, pacifism and vegetarianism, and would accept the rules of no government. When they felt they were being encroached upon by ordinances not their own, off went the pants. A trio of stories follow about the mass-nudity protests of some of the Doukhobors who emigrated to Canada.

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“Doukhobors Burn Clothes,” August 13, 1905, New York Times:

Winnipeg, Manitoba–Thirty Doukhobors, a Russian religious sect, marched to within half a mile of Yorkton yesterday, stripped, and burned their clothes. The police arrested all the men, women and children in the party and wrapped them in blankets. The Doukhobors had intended to march through the streets of Yorkton.

They refused all nourishment but raw potatoes. They said they were looking for Christ. Another party is reported to be heading or Yorkton from the Northeast.•

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From the July 4, 1910 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

Winnipeg–The mounted police at Kamsizk, Sask., yesterday went to Veregin to quiet some Doukhobors who are on a rampage. When police were half a mile from the settlement they met thirty-five almost nude religionists. They chanted hymns for several days and yesterday in the center of the settlement took off their clothes, piled them in a heap with all their money and jewels and burned them.

The police locked them up while they made a search for more clothes. These the Doukhobors refused to wear and force will be necessary.•

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“Do Nude Dance As Protest” December 2, 1921 New York Times:

Vancouver, B.C.–Three men from the Doukhobor, or Russian non-conformist, settlement, near Nelson, B.C., discarded all their garments in a waiting room at the Canadian Pacific Railway station here yesterday and paced off a protesting war dance when they were refused admittance to the United States. They were later arrested by the police for disorderly conduct.

United States immigration Commissioner Zurbrick had questioned them as to their fitness to proceed on their journey to the State of Washington as prospective settlers. He found their views coincided with the accepted definition of “philosophical anarchy” and declined them the hospitality of his Government.

They are said to have threatened an undress parade in Vancouver by a large number of their fellow Doukhobors in protest against their arrest.•

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“Nearly everybody had a kettle of ‘mash’ heating”

Moonshine in America began its long pour decades before Prohibition, stretching back to the postbellum age. Heavy levies on alcohol essentially funded the Civil War, and these taxes made cut-rate hooch an appealing option during Reconstruction. Though the South is probably most commonly associated with moonshine, NYC was home to a large concentration of the clandestine stills. An article in the October 26, 1908 Brooklyn Daily Eagle reported on a building project which accidentally unearthed a great piece of hidden history. An excerpt:

“In excavating for the foundations of the new factory building for the Thompson Meter Company, at Bridge, York and Talman Streets, several most curious walled-up vaults have just been uncovered under the sidewalks of Bridge and York Streets–cave-like places that instantly brought to the minds of a number of the old residents of what used to be the Fifth Ward of Brooklyn, the days of ‘moonshine’ whisky, shortly after the Civil War. Those were great days in the old Fifth Ward, when nearly everybody had a kettle of ‘mash’ heating, and these old vaults, with evidences of secrecy, now that they have seen daylight let into them, have the romantic appearance of being hiding places for unlawfully made liquor.

The Hennebique Construction Company, of 1170 Broadway, Manhattan, is to erect on the plot a big five story structure of reinforced concrete. In order to get the proper room, ten old shacks–one and two story frame buildings of wood–and the ground they stood on, were bought and torn down, under the direction of Israel Pomeranz, a well known excavator. There isn’t a resident of the neighborhood, and there are some whose memory of the ward gone back sixty years, still living there, who can remember the shacks as other than old when they first remember them. When they were built no cellars were put under the buildings and, according to one old resident, the vaults under the sidewalks, with a passageway from an areaway, were built originally to keep provisions in. In post-bellum days they probably made fine hiding places for ‘moonshine.’

A photograph taken by an Eagle photographer the day the vaults were uncovered shows that these caves were of no flimsy construction. Built of both broken boulders and brick and laid in cement of the best quality, the excavators had pretty difficult work to break through the walls. There were six vaults on Bridge Street and two on York, but the two houses torn down on Talman Street had no vaults under the sidewalks. In front on the houses with vaults there were small sunken areas to which two steps generally led. Years ago there were openings from these areas into the the vaults, but of late years the presence of the hollow places were not suspected, it is said, by the occupants of the houses. In one of the vaults photographed there was an old time cask, covered with dust and with one head broken in, of the style of cooperage of years ago, and curious spectators who peered into the recess were at once reminded of the days that led up to the calling out of the militia in the early ’70s, when ‘moonshine’ making reached its most notorious days.

Talk to any of the old residents of the ward–such men as ‘Tom’ Donnelly, the undertaker, of 74 Hudson Avenue, or James Dougherty of 289 Front Street, and they will talk interestingly of those early days, when that part of the present borough was about all there was to Brooklyn. An Eagle reporter saw both recently and they talked of the time when lower Fulton Street bordered fields and when lower Gold Street was about the only really big thoroughfare thereabouts; of old Prospect House, which was on the site now occupied by part of the Y.M.C.A., with its ‘robber band’ that was talked about by every boy in the neighborhood.

This was long before the war, however, and the making of illicit whisky didn’t start, at least as a general activity thereabouts, until after the duty had been put at $2 a gallon on the imported stuff. When certain men did begin making it, though, others soon took it up and the Federal Government had hard wok in preventing it. Some men, mighty well known in later years in politics and for respectability, since dead, got the nucleus of their fortunes, out of ‘moonshine.’ A fair sized still could ‘run’ a barrel an hour of whisky made out of molasses, and twenty-four barrels a day were frequently made and disposed of to certain men over in West Street, Manhattan. The ‘moonshine’ makers could make a good profit if they got a good deal less than a dollar a gallon.”

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