New Jersey Noir

New Jersey Noir

Mrs. Emogene Hurst, 27-year-old expectant mother, has been indicted for murder in the shooting of her husband which police said was brought about by a lover’s triangle.

The Courier-News (Bridgewater, New Jersey), August 29, 1951

The news photo of Emogene Hurst and her lover, James “Reds” Moore, was shot in the most unflattering way possible. The room is dark and a bright light on the floor provides the only illumination. Dark shadows menacingly engulf the couple. But the film noir feel was appropriate, because Emogene and Reds were in every bit as much trouble as Walter and Phyllis, the murderous pair glamorously portrayed by Barbara Stanwyck and Fred MacMurray in the noir classic “Double Indemnity.”

Emogene’s husband, 38-year-old Harrison Hurst, was found dead in his bed in Bridgeton, New Jersey, on the morning of July 9, 1951. He had a single gunshot wound to his head. The gun was lying in a pool of blood on the floor next to the bed. It looked like a straightforward suicide until a police investigator started poking around and asking questions. Emogene didn’t help herself when, rather than crying, she laughed and got drunk at her husband’s funeral. Then she proceeded to sit on Reds’ knee and kiss him. People noticed and they talked.

The police took a second look and decided Harrison’s demise wasn’t due to suicide but rather it was murder.

They took Emogene in for questioning and brought in the Reverend Maurice Ragan to assist in the interrogation. Ragan was, very conveniently, both a man of the cloth and an officer of the law. He advised Emogene to sign a statement admitting that she shot her husband because “a sinner who repented would be rewarded.” Emogene, who was born and raised in a small, rural community in Tennessee and never went beyond the 8th grade in school, admitted to her affair with Reds and signed a confession that she’d shot her husband.

However she claimed Harrison beat her and threatened to “blow her brains out.” Fearing for her life, she said she got his gun and shot him while he slept.

Harrison was also a native of Tennessee and Emogene was his second wife. They were married in 1943, shortly after he was released from the Tennessee State Prison. She was 18 and he was 30 when they tied the knot. After the marriage the couple moved to New Jersey, where Harrison was jailed for robbing a filling station and for breaking and entering.

Emogene’s confession was the main legal evidence against her in her murder trial. But her height, said to be almost six feet, and weight, somewhere between 230 and 250 lbs., were mentioned in nearly every news article. When a fellow inmate at the jail tried to spruce up her appearance by curling her hair, it was noted by the newsmen. It was rumored, incorrectly, that she was pregnant when she was arrested.

The state anticipated that if found guilty, Emogene would have a chance to get cozy with “Old Smokey,” the infamous New Jersey state prison electric chair in which Bruno Richard Hauptmann lost his life after he was convicted of kidnapping the Lindbergh baby.

The Hursts took boarders into their home to supplement their income. Reds was one of the boarders, along with a man named Dana Nelon and a woman, Annabelle Connor. At the trial it came out that Emogene and Reds were not the only ones in the Hurst home carrying on an extramarital affair. Emogene testified that both her husband and Dana were having relations with Annabelle, who was allegedly recovering from injuries she’d sustained in a car accident. Apparently Annabelle had enough energy for a bit of fun while she recuperated.

Jury gets Emogene Hurst case. Photo. Love letters. - Newspapers.At her trial Emogene renounced her confession, claiming it was “wrung out of her” after hours of police questioning. Emogene testified that Dana shot Harrison in an argument over Annabelle’s affections after a night of heavy drinking and partying. She said she was sitting outside her house when Dana came up to her and said “Go inside and you’ll see your man making love to my woman,” shortly before he shot Harrison. Later she saw him cleaning the blood off his fingers with lighter fluid.

Dana countered that Emogene woke him early in the morning, claiming there was “something wrong with her husband.” Upon investigation he found Harrison dead in bed with a bullet wound to his head. He said that Emogene pulled the gun out from under her apron and laid it in the pool of blood on the floor. Why she would incriminate herself in front of her boarder was never explained.

It was Reds who sealed Emogene’s fate when he testified that several days prior to the shooting she showed him the gun and asked him to use it to kill Harrison. “But I told her I wouldn’t do anything like that,” he testified. She was found guilty of first-degree murder, but the Cumberland County jury recommended mercy. Instead of facing “Old Smokey” she was sentenced to life in prison on January 23, 1952.

After more than 14 years in the Clinton Reformatory, Emogene Hurst was paroled in November 1966. She was 41 years old. The other characters in the saga of the murder of Harrison Hurst had long since faded into the woodwork.

Featured photo: news photo of Emogene Hurst and James “Reds” Moore, taken on August 14, 1951. Collection of the author.

Shooting Louis

Shooting Louis

Last night I called on Alice Martin, the girl I am to marry. I stayed at her home, No. 622 East Thirteenth street, until midnight. Then I went to a restaurant at Twelfth street and Third avenue for something to eat. Later I went to Meiser’s saloon, in Thirteenth street, between avenue B and C. Then I started for home.

— Statement of Louis Betsch, The Evening World (New York City), January 18, 1905

NYPD officer Anthony Muldoon was on his beat on the lower east side of Manhattan when he noticed two men loitering suspiciously in front of a house on Sixteenth Street. The time was about 2:45 in the morning. The men noticed Muldoon and ran off. Just moments later he heard the sound of breaking glass coming from the front of a nearby shoe store and a man stepped from the shadows of the doorway of the store.

“I told him to halt,” Muldoon told his captain, “and he ran. I followed, but he was fleeter than I. I drew my pistol and yelled that I would shoot. I fired above his head, but he continued to run. Just at this time I slipped on the ice in the street and fell and my revolver discharged accidently. The man fell in his tracks with a bullet in his back.”

Officers in the NYPD were first issued guns in 1895 by an order from Teddy Roosevelt after he became the New York City Police Commissioner. Prior to that time officers used their personal guns on the job. Standardizing the firearms carried by policemen was part of Roosevelt’s push to clean up the department.

The man Muldoon shot was Louis Betsch, a 23-year-old self-described “boilermaker.” He was taken to nearby Bellevue Hospital. There he made a statement under oath to the New York City Coroner proclaiming his innocence in any wrongdoing. The other men Muldoon saw near the shoe store were never located.

Bellevue_Welcome_1898

Bellevue Hospital circa 1898, collection of the Wellcome Library

Louis lived in a rented room on Ninth Avenue and took his meals with his widowed mother and younger siblings at their apartment on Tenth Avenue. His mother, Lizzie, a German immigrant, told police her son was always “sober and steady.” She admitted that he’d been out of work for some time, but things, she said, were looking up for her oldest child, who told her that he’d recently found a job in an umbrella factory.

Alice Martin, Louis’s fiancé, was a 19-year-old button maker who told police she hadn’t seen Louis that evening. Alice lived with her Austrian immigrant parents and siblings in a tenement on East Thirteenth Street. She told the police that she’d been to a music lesson after dinner and after the lesson ended, around 9 p.m., she’d returned home and gone directly to bed. Her mother backed up her story.

“It’s absolutely untrue that Louis called on me last night,” said Miss Martin. “I have all the confidence in the world in him, but if he tells of having been with me last night he is hiding something.”

One thing Louis was hiding was that he’d been arrested for burglary on July 1, 1902. His arrest card, complete with photos, measurements and his description was in the NYPD’s vast rogues’ gallery collection. (“LB — RB” was tattooed on his left arm. Tattoos were considered to be a sign of inherent criminality, in addition to being a way to identify someone, so the police always took note of them.) Evidently no one figured out that Louis had a criminal record.

Louis Betsch_back_marked

Officer Muldoon was a 35-year-old Irishman who’d been on the force at least eight years. He’d received a medal for bravery the previous year after jumping into the icy East River in January to rescue a man from drowning. With his record it wasn’t a hard call for his boss, Captain Hussey, to declare the shooting accidental on the morning after the event. He told Muldoon to return to his post.

Gunshot wounds were often fatal in the years before reliable anesthesia, universal sterile technique, blood transfusions and antibiotics. Louis died of his injuries at the hospital later that day.

Featured photos: mugshots of Louis Betsch, NYPD Bertillon card, July 1, 1902. Collection of the author.

A Good Accordion Player

A Good Accordion Player

After accepting a plea of guilty of murder, second degree, on an indictment charging Luigi DioGuardi with murder, first degree, Justice Robert F. Thompson yesterday sentenced DioGuardi to serve ten to twenty years in Auburn prison.

Democrat and Chronicle (Rochester, New York), March 8, 1923

On the evening of February 28, 1922 a group of family and friends had gathered at the home of Salvatore Tubilino to enjoy some of Salvatore’s homemade wine. While Prohibition had been in place for more than two years, the manufacture and consumption of wine at home was still legal. Salvatore was an immigrant to the United States from Italy who lived with his wife and five children in Rochester, New York.

The gathering turned ugly in the early morning hours when four of the partygoers, heavily under the influence of the grape, descended into the cellar to sample wine from various casks. An argument broke out between Salvatore and two friends over the merits of his wine after he boasted about its “wonderful kick.” Luigi DioGuardi insisted that his home-brewed wine, made across the road at 30 Orange Street, was far superior.

The dispute moved to the backyard, where it intensified after Giuseppe Falsone slapped Salvatore in the face. Another of the partygoers, Charles Vitale, tried to separate the two men, but to no avail — the argument continued to escalate. Possibly the feud had been building over a number of weeks and finally reached the breaking point. Salvatore turned away and headed back into the house, but before he reached the door Luigi pulled out a revolver and shot him four times in the back. When Charles again tried to intervene, Luigi shot him too, though not fatally.

Salvatore’s wife heard the gunshots and ran out of the house. She knelt beside her husband. With his dying breath he whispered the name of his murderer to her. It was her sister’s husband, her own brother-in-law — Luigi DioGuardi.

In the confusion that arose after the shootings, Luigi and Giuseppe fled the scene and police arrived too late to catch the pair. Giuseppe was captured the following day and held as a material witness.

Much later Luigi would claim that he immediately left Rochester and made his way to Canada. He said he went to Niagara Falls by taxicab, then hid in the backseat of another cab and crossed the bridge to Canada. Once he made it safely over the border he said he then boarded a train to Toronto and from there caught a sleeper train to Montreal.

The police believed he’d actually remained in the vicinity of Rochester for a few days after the murder. They thought family and friends sheltered him while he gathered money and made his escape plans.

Born in 1887 in the province of Palermo near the northern coast of Sicily, Luigi immigrated to the United States as a young man. He arrived at New York’s Ellis Island on March 10, 1910. By the time of the murder he was a family man with a wife and four children.

Someone, possibly a family member, provided police with a photograph of Luigi, taken with his accordion sitting next to him on a stool, and it became the mug shot on his wanted card. There’s no evidence that he played professionally, but Luigi was clearly proud of his accordion. On the back side of his wanted card, the police made a note of the fact that he was a “good accordion player.”

Luigi DioGuardi_back_lowres

Luigi in disguiseRochester detectives traced Luigi to Montreal, where he’d grown a mustache as a disguise and adopted the alias “Louis Degarde.” “While the new appendage might have served to deceive an inexperienced observer, it did not fool detectives” noted one Rochester newspaper. He was in the process of moving his family to Montreal when detectives arrested him on May 6, 1922. The gun used in Salvatore’s murder was never recovered.

Luigi was sent to Auburn Prison for 10-20 years after pleading guilty to second-degree murder. He claimed he was heavily intoxicated at the time of the crime and had little memory of the night of the murder. There’s no way to know if he was allowed to take his accordion with him to prison to help pass the time.

After his release from Auburn Luigi rejoined his wife and sons in Rochester. When the 1940 federal census was taken he was employed as a tailor at the Hickey Freeman Clothing Company. He died in 1962 in Pompano Beach, Florida. The home where the murder occurred has been torn down and replaced by a parking lot.

Featured photo: Luigi DioGuardi’s photo with his accordion, which was pasted to the front of his wanted card. Collection of the author.

New Dillinger Molls

New Dillinger Molls

Brady gave me a diamond. I always considered we were married. He didn’t kill a policeman. He was sweet and kind. He was good to me. He slept like a baby at night. I love him. I’ll marry him, even if I go to jail, to the electric chair or to hell.

— Margaret Barry, quoted in The Daily Reporter (Greenfield, Indiana), June 12, 1937

Margaret Barry Larson met gangster Al Brady during “the whirl of Mardi Gras” in February 1936. The pair took a shine to each other, so 24-year-old Margaret dumped her husband and small son and headed north with Al.

brady_fbi_photo

Al Brady

Alfred James “Al” Brady got his start in crookery in 1930 at the age of 20 when he stole a car, was caught and sent to the Indiana Reformatory in Pendleton. Prisons are good places to learn how to commit crime and Al was an excellent student. After his release he recruited a group of like-minded young men, including Clarence Lee Shaffer and James Dalhover, to join his gang of thieves and killers. Al’s goal was to fill John Dillinger’s shoes. (Dillinger, a fellow Hoosier, had been killed by G-men in 1934.) Often driving stolen cars, the Brady gang pulled off more than 200 armed robberies, killed four lawmen and a civilian and wounded many others between 1935 and 1937.

Margaret Barker newsWith Margaret in tow the gang went to Ohio in March 1936. There they held up jewelry and grocery stores. In the course of robbing one grocery store, Al killed a young store clerk in cold blood. The gang escaped to Indianapolis but was traced there by police. During an attempt to arrest them, Sergeant Richard Rivers of the Indianapolis Police Department was shot and killed by one of the gang. They fled to Chicago with their loot, valued at $68,000.

Al and Margaret spent the next few days together at a Chicago hotel. Police located them and took the lovebirds into custody on April 30, 1936. James was also arrested in Chicago and Clarence was captured in Indianapolis.

Some of the loot was found in the gang’s safe deposit box in Chicago, however James revealed to police that a group of armed Chicago gangsters had stolen a portion of the takings from gang’s various holdups. About $6000 of the booty was discovered in the home of jewelry salesman Jack Becker, who rented the deposit box for the gang and acted as their fence. Becker and his wife Laura, who were considered to be part of the Brady gang, were arrested.

Margaret and Laura were described in the news as being the “new Dillinger molls.”

According to James, the gang was captured because Margaret insisted Al stay one more night with her at their Chicago hotel. When a man makes a serious error in judgement it makes sense to blame a woman, right?

Margaret, who’d been held on a vagrancy charge, was released from custody and reportedly went to work at a Chicago tavern. Despite her proclamations of eternal devotion and her professed willingness to follow Al to hell, the two never saw each other again.

Brady shootout

Bodies of Al Brady (closer to camera) and Clarence Lee Shaffer after the Bangor shoot out. Bangor Daily News.

Al, Clarence and James were sent back to Indiana to face a murder charge for the death of Officer Rivers. On October 11, 1936, all three men escaped from the jail where they were held. They spent the next 12 months committing a spree of robberies, primarily on the east coast, culminating in a shoot out with the FBI in Bangor, Maine, on October 12, 1937. Al and Clarence were killed in the gun battle — the bloodiest in Maine’s history. James was returned to prison in Indiana, where he was electrocuted the following year.

Featured photo: Margaret Barry (in hat), Laura Becker (seated) and policewoman Mary Henneberry, April 30, 1936. Collection of the author.

Pink’s Story (Part 2)

Pink’s Story (Part 2)

Continued from Pink’s Story (Part 1)

Pink Bruner was serving a life sentence at Leavenworth Penitentiary for the murder of Marshal Hugh Myers in May 1900, though everyone agreed he was not the man who pulled the trigger.

As part of the Curtis Act, a federal law that resulted in the break up of tribal governments, Pink, his mother, Rose, and his siblings were enrolled as members of the Chickasaw Nation in 1898. Rose, born in 1842, had been the slave of Holmes Colbert, according to her Dawes card. As Chickasaw Freedmen, Rose and her children each received an allotment of 40 acres of land in Indian Territory in 1906. The following year Indian Territory merged with Oklahoma Territory to become the state of Oklahoma.

Pink’s 40 acres, in Pontotoc County, Oklahoma, was in the center of an oil belt and had value far beyond ordinary farmland. It was worth about $1000 — a fortune for a man in his circumstances.

The Leavenworth warden received many letters from people on the outside who wanted Pink’s allotment. Some claimed, incorrectly, that it was about to be sold for back taxes.

Moman Pruiett

Moman Pruiett, find-a-grave

Pink’s attorney at his murder trial was an ex-criminal with a violent streak named Moman Pruiett. Moman was a talented but controversial criminal lawyer who bragged that of the 343 murder cases in which he’d defended the accused, 303 of his clients were acquitted. Unfortunately for Pink, he was one of Moman’s 40 clients who’d been convicted.

Moman probably had saved Pink from the hangman’s noose, but he claimed Pink owed him his allotment in payment for both his legal representation during the trial and as payment for work on a pardon or commutation of his sentence — prior to actually achieving a result. Pink tried desperately from prison to hold onto the only thing he had of value, and he refused to turn his allotment over to Moman Pruiett or anyone else.

The third suspect in the Myers murder, Ben Cage, using the alias Floyd or Walter Alexander, was jailed for drunkenness in Wewoka, Oklahoma, in July 1915. While in jail Ben boasted that he was the triggerman for the Myers murder. It was reported that Ben was tried in August 1915, but there was no record of his conviction and imprisonment. More than 15 years elapsed since the crime occurred, and in order to try him the court had to rely mostly on transcripts from Pink’s trial.

Pink’s sentence was commuted in March 1917 and he was released from Leavenworth. Lawyer Pruiett and E.G. Hall, an Oklahoma City businessman appointed his “first friend” out of prison, fought over the title to Pink’s land. It’s unclear which man finally managed to get his hands on Pink’s allotment, but without a doubt one of them did.

He dropped his nickname and returned to using his given name — Legus — after he was released from prison. Over the years he worked as a porter in a Muskogee grocery store, a laborer for a soft drink company in Oklahoma City and finally ended up living with a cousin and farming in Econtuchka, Oklahoma.

100 years has passed since Pink’s release from prison and Econtuchka is now a ghost town. Legus “Pink” Bruner’s burial place is unknown.

Featured photo: Pink Bruner’s second Leavenworth Penitentiary mugshot, taken prior to his release in 1917, National Archives, Kansas City, Missouri.

Pink’s Story (Part 1)

Pink’s Story (Part 1)

From Friday until Tuesday night the U.S. Court has been engaged in the trial of Pink Bruner for the killing of Hugh Myers, city marshal of the town of Davis, on May 5, 1900. The evidence showed that Bruner and two other negroes went to Davis on that evening, filled up on whiskey, and rode out of town firing their pistols in the air. That Myers followed them half a mile out to a lonely spot and was shot and killed. The government claims that it was done in pursuance of a conspiracy to entice Myers out of town and kill him, and while there is no evidence Bruner did the actual shooting, he was in the plot and helped on with the game; and it must be confessed that the prosecution made a very strong case.

The Davis Weekly News (Davis, Indian Terr.), May 30, 1901

Marshal Hugh Myers road out to the west edge of Davis, a small town in Indian Territory, on a Saturday night in early May of 1900 to investigate gunshots. There he found three black men: Pink Bruner, Lyman Mahardy and Ben Cage. Myers exchanged gunfire with the men and took a bullet to his abdomen. He was able to get back to his home but the wound was fatal and he died within the hour. Before he died he told his family he believed he’d wounded one of the men.

Pink was wounded in his left leg above the knee.

The next day Pink was captured after he sought treatment for his leg wound. Lyman was also located and taken into custody. Ben Cage escaped.

Bruner family freedman role

Dawes Census Card (#431) for Rose Bruner and her children

Pink was a nickname. His given name was Legus and he was born in the tiny town of Sasakwa, Indian Territory, the oldest child of John Bruner and Rose Colbert Bruner. His father was a Seminole Freedman and his mother came from the Chickasaw Freedmen. The Chicksaw follow a system of matrilineal descent in which children are considered to be part of their mother’s clan.

Maintaining his innocence in Myers’ shooting, Pink claimed Lyman had a grudge against Myers and planned to kill him after luring him to a remote spot outside of town. Ben Cage was also indicted for the murder, however he remained at large.

The cases of the two men were separated and Pink was tried first. He was found guilty of first-degree murder on May 23, 1901 and sentenced to 99 years in the federal penitentiary.

Lyman’s trial was delayed until the following June. On June 28, 1902, he died in jail, apparently still awaiting trial. Death records were not kept until 1908, after Oklahoma became a state, so the cause of Lyman’s death is unknown.

Meanwhile 22-year-old Pink Bruner headed to Leavenworth Federal Penitentiary in Kansas to begin serving a life sentence.

Continued in Pink’s Story (Part 2).

Featured photo: Pink Bruner’s Leavenworth Penitentiary 1901 mugshots, National Archives, Kansas City, Missouri

Annie Got His Gun

Annie Got His Gun

Newark, N.J., May 21 — Police Capt. Thomas J. Rowe was shot and killed today in his office at First Precinct headquarters, and Chief John Haller said a tall, red-headed woman identified as Mrs. Ann Powers was being held for questioning.

 

Haller said Rowe and the woman walked into First Precinct headquarters shortly after 4 a.m. and went to the captain’s office. Ten minutes later Lieut. William Ville, on duty at the information desk, heard a single shot and saw the woman running from the office.

Wilkes-Barre Times Leader, the Evening News, May 21, 1948

Thomas RoweIn the wee hours of the morning of May 21, 1948, after an evening spent tavern crawling, Ann Powers and her married lover, Police Captain Thomas Rowe, arrived at the police station in Newark, New Jersey. The couple headed to Rowe’s private office where their conversation turned into an argument after Rowe did what his adult daughter had been begging him to do; he told Ann their affair was over. Neither of the lovers was sober but Ann managed to grab Rowe’s service revolver.

Despite the drink, Ann’s hand was steady and her aim was excellent. She got one shot off before an officer heard the commotion and raced to the office. “Get me to a doctor,” Rowe said, before collapsing on the floor. He died an hour and a half later.

Ann fled and was immediately captured. All she was willing to admit was the obvious — there had been a shooting, but she insisted she hadn’t pulled the trigger. She described herself as a “friend” of Rowe’s and refused to believe that the bullet wound had been lethal. “Prove it,” she said, asking to be taken to the morgue. When she saw the body of the 55-year-old Rowe, she showed no emotion.

Rowe, a 33-year-veteran of the force, was rated one of Newark’s “top men.” He was one of the officers present when gangster Dutch Schultz was arrested in 1935. However he’d also been involved in an embarrassing incident in 1937 when a 22-year-old girl was wounded while sitting with him in a car. It was reported that she brushed against Rowe’s pistol and it went off, wounding her in the thigh. What the pair was doing together in the car wasn’t specified, but it’s a safe bet they weren’t reading the bible.

Ann_Powers_mugshot39-year-old Ann was described in the news as a “shapely redhead.” (A redheaded woman — of course she was a temptress with a temper!) Ann was a waitress who’d been married for nine years to a local undertaker. She was estranged from her husband at the time of the shooting. She pleaded innocent to the charge of second-degree murder and was held for trial. In the middle of her trial she changed her plea to guilty to manslaughter. “Did you shoot Captain Rowe?” the judge asked. “Yes sir,” she said.

The judge accepted Ann’s plea and sentenced her to nine years in the Clinton Reformatory on November 17, 1948. As the court attendants led her from the courtroom she screamed hysterically. Rowe’s widow and daughter were in attendance and had no comment.

Featured image: news photo of Ann Powers taken October 18, 1948. Collection of the author.