Utterly interesting

The laughter stopped almost overnight. One long weekend in San Francisco in September 1921 turned the most bankable comedian in the world into a cautionary tale for the entire motion picture industry. It is a story of a party in a hotel suite, a young actress in agony, a media storm so fierce it scorched reputations, and three trials that ended not with a simple acquittal but with a written apology from a jury. More than a century later, people still argue about what really happened to Virginia Rappe and why Roscoe Fatty Arbuckle never truly recovered. Virginia Rappe Virginia Rappe before the headlines Long before the photographs of the funeral and the court stenographers’ pages, there was a determined and imaginative woman. Virginia Rappe was born in Chicago on seven July eighteen ninety one. Her mother died when Virginia was eleven, and she was raised by her grandmother. As a teenager she modelled in department store fashion shows and became one of the earliest models to support herself from the new profession. Articles presented her as a modern woman who urged readers to be original and even posed in tuxedos for a piece calling for equal clothes rights for women. This is all the footage that remains of a movie starring Rudolph Valentino and Virginia Rappe. The plot, such as it is, includes three men caught up in a revolution. The movie was later recut and reissued to take advantage of Valentino's superstar status and Rappe's tragic death. By nineteen fourteen she was designing garments and had work associated with the great exposition year of nineteen fifteen. Silent pictures followed. Rappe appeared in a little over a dozen titles, including Paradise Garden, and she found steady work in Los Angeles with director Fred J Balshofer. By nineteen nineteen she was in a relationship with filmmaker Henry Lehrman and the pair were engaged at the time of her death. There had been sadness too. In San Francisco she had briefly been with dress designer Robert Moscovitz, who died in a trolley car accident. Through it all she sustained a public image that blended independence, style, and what newspapers liked to call modern ideas. Arbuckle at the top Roscoe Arbuckle was one of the most popular stars of the silent era. Posters joked that he was worth his weight in laughs and audiences loved the surprising lightness of his movement. In nineteen twenty one he signed a one million dollar deal with Paramount, a sum that startled the business. His feature Crazy to Marry had just opened. Despite suffering second degree burns to both buttocks during an on set mishap, Arbuckle took a holiday weekend drive to San Francisco with friends Lowell Sherman and Fred Fishback. They checked into the St Francis Hotel. Room twelve twenty one for Sherman. Room twelve nineteen for Arbuckle and Fishback. Room twelve twenty reserved as the party room. Prohibition did not slow anyone down. Bootleg liquor flowed in the suite, along with the usual chatter of producers, models, and aspirants. Virginia Rappe arrived with friends including Bambina Maude Delmont. The party ebbed and surged. Music drifted out of open doors. Then the mood shifted. One of the rooms occupied by Arbuckle and his guests in the days after the infamous party. The incident in room twelve nineteen During the carousing, Rappe became violently ill. The hotel doctor concluded that intoxication was the main problem and administered morphine to calm her. She was not admitted to hospital until two days later. On Friday nine September nineteen twenty one she died of peritonitis caused by a ruptured bladder. Delmont told police that Arbuckle forced Rappe into room twelve nineteen, allegedly saying I have waited for you five years and now I have got you. Delmont claimed she heard screams from behind the door, that Arbuckle opened it with what she called a foolish smile, and that Rappe lay on the bed in pain. Delmont said Rappe managed to say Arbuckle did it. At a press conference, Rappe’s manager added a lurid detail, asserting that Arbuckle had used a piece of ice to simulate sex. By the time newspapers rehearsed the tale, the ice had become a bottle. Witnesses present at the party later testified that ice was rubbed on Rappe’s stomach to ease cramps. The examining doctor found no evidence of sexual assault. Maude Delmont, the key witness who accused Fatty Arbuckle of raping Virginia Rappe. Arbuckle denied wrongdoing. His early public account insisted he was never alone with Rappe. His sworn testimony corrected that. He said he found her in his bathroom vomiting, helped her onto a bed, asked others to assist, and when her condition appeared to settle he drove another guest into town. No one disputed that Rappe was in distress. The question that consumed the city was why. Arrest and the new power of the press The day after Rappe’s death, police arrested Arbuckle and he was arraigned without bail. A grand jury soon indicted him on first degree manslaughter. The San Francisco district attorney, Matthew Brady, was an ambitious figure who made public pronouncements of Arbuckle’s guilt and pressured witnesses to embellish. Newspapers were ravenous. William Randolph Hearst later boasted that the Arbuckle scandal had sold more papers than when the Lusitania went down. That one line explains the fever. Headlines hardened into judgement long before the first jury assembled. Moral crusaders demanded the ultimate punishment. Studio executives warned performers not to defend Arbuckle in public. Arbuckle's mugshot Not everyone stayed silent. Charlie Chaplin, who had worked with Arbuckle at Keystone in nineteen fourteen, told reporters that he could not believe Roscoe was guilty. He said he knew Roscoe to be a genial easy going type who would not harm a fly. Buster Keaton issued a statement in support and was rebuked by his studio. Actor William S Hart, who had never met Arbuckle, publicly presumed guilt. Keaton responded with satire. He purchased a story premise from Arbuckle that parodied Hart as a bully and thief and turned it into The Frozen North in nineteen twenty two. Hart did not forgive the joke for years. Meanwhile Delmont, whose accusation had set the press alight, quickly became a poor foundation for any prosecution. The defence obtained a letter in which she discussed a plan to extort money from Arbuckle. Telegrams and testimony suggested a pattern of blackmail. Prosecutors quietly dropped her as a witness when it became clear she would not survive cross examination. First trial The first trial began on fourteen November nineteen twenty one in the San Francisco city courthouse. The principal witness was Zey Prevon. Public feeling was so raw that shots were fired at Arbuckle’s estranged wife Minta Durfee as she entered the building to support him. The state offered testimony designed to suggest guilt. Model Betty Campbell, who had attended the party, said she saw Arbuckle smiling later that day. Hospital nurse Grace Hultson testified that rape was likely and that bruises matched that story. Criminologist Edward Heinrich claimed fingerprints on a hallway door showed Rappe tried to flee and that Arbuckle stopped her. The hotel doctor, Arthur Beardslee, spoke of an external force harming the bladder. T. M. Smalevitch, Milton Cohen, Gavin McNab, Charles Brennan, Roscoe ("Fatty") Arbuckle, and Arbuckle's brother at trial, in San Francisco, of Arbuckle on manslaughter charge. He was charged in the death of a 26-year-old aspiring actress named Virginia Rappe. This photograph is from the first of three trials in the case. Under cross examination those threads unspooled. Campbell revealed that the district attorney threatened to charge her with perjury if she refused to accuse Arbuckle. A hotel maid explained that she had thoroughly cleaned the room before investigators dusted for prints. Beardslee admitted that Rappe never told him she had been assaulted. Hultson acknowledged that the bladder rupture might be illness and that the bruises could have been caused by heavy jewellery. On twenty eight November Arbuckle testified. Reports described him as simple, direct, and unflustered. He said he did not harm Rappe and had helped when she was sick. After more than two weeks of testimony from sixty witnesses including eighteen doctors, the jury deliberated for almost forty four hours. Ten jurors voted not guilty. Two held out. A mistrial was declared. The jury in the second trial Second trial The second trial opened on eleven January nineteen twenty two with the same judge and legal teams. This time witness Zey Prevon testified that the district attorney had pressured her to lie. Another witness, former studio guard Jesse Norgard, claimed Arbuckle once offered him a bribe for a key to Rappe’s dressing room to play a joke. On cross examination Norgard’s credibility collapsed. He was an ex convict under indictment for sexually assaulting a child and was seeking a sentence reduction from the same office prosecuting Arbuckle. Forensic claims also changed. Heinrich disowned his earlier certainty about fingerprints and said the earlier evidence was likely faked. The defence leaned more heavily into Rappe’s history of pain, bladder infections, and heavy drinking. Confident of acquittal, the defence did not call Arbuckle and did not deliver a closing argument. Some jurors read silence as guilt. After more than forty hours of deliberation, the jury split ten to two in favour of conviction. Another mistrial followed. News story of the not-guilty verdict, 1922 Third trial and the written apology By the time the third trial began on thirteen March nineteen twenty two, Arbuckle’s films had been banned in many places and newspapers had filled their columns for seven months with talk of Hollywood orgies and perversion. Delmont was touring a one woman show about the case. Inside the courtroom, lead counsel Gavin McNab changed tone. He pushed hard, undermining the prosecution witness by witness. A key witness who had once claimed that Rappe said Roscoe hurt me was out of the country and unavailable. Arbuckle returned to the stand, repeated his account, and sat down. The jury retired on twelve April. Six minutes later they returned. Five of those minutes had been used to write a statement. Acquittal is not enough for Roscoe Arbuckle. We feel that a great injustice has been done him. We feel also that it was only our plain duty to give him this exoneration under the evidence for there was not the slightest proof adduced to connect him in any way with the commission of a crime. He was manly throughout the case and told a straightforward story on the witness stand which we all believed. The happening at the hotel was an unfortunate affair for which Arbuckle so the evidence shows was in no way responsible. We wish him success and hope that the American people will take the judgment of fourteen men and women who have sat listening for thirty one days to evidence that Roscoe Arbuckle is entirely innocent and free from all blame. It was an extraordinary and unambiguous apology. It did not repair the damage. Nurse Vera Cumberland What the doctors found and what the public believed The autopsy concluded that Virginia Rappe died from peritonitis caused by a ruptured bladder. Doctors found no evidence of sexual assault. Medical testimony described a history of urinary problems and noted that alcohol can aggravate such conditions. Later speculation about a recent abortion could not be verified because the necessary examinations were impossible. Medicine offered possibilities rather than a single clean narrative. Virginia Rappe in the mourge The newspapers preferred certainty. Arbuckle was a large man. Rappe was a young woman. A Prohibition era party sounded sinful enough to sell. A suggestion became a headline. A headline became a presumed truth. The bottle story gathered momentum even as witnesses insisted that ice had been rubbed on Rappe’s abdomen to ease pain. William Randolph Hearst ’s line about selling more papers than the Lusitania tragedy tells its own story about incentives. The Hays ban and the price of scandal Six days after the acquittal, Will H Hays, the head of the industry’s new self regulation body, announced a lifetime ban on Arbuckle. Exhibitors withdrew his films. Paramount pulled Crazy to Marry and shelved two completed features. By December the formal ban was rescinded under public pressure, but the practical effect endured. Most exhibitors refused to book him. Arbuckle’s legal fees totalled more than seven hundred thousand dollars. He sold his house and his cars to pay debts. Buster Keaton quietly signed an agreement to give Arbuckle a share of profits from his own production company, a substantial act of friendship. William Goodrich and working in the shadows Arbuckle kept working, mostly out of sight. He directed a string of comedy shorts for Educational Pictures under the name William Goodrich, echoing his father’s names William Goodrich Arbuckle. Keaton, a compulsive pun maker, later joked that the pseudonym read as Will Be Good. Actress Louise Brooks wrote that he was kind on set but that the scandal had left him sweetly dead, a telling phrase for a man whose business had always been life and laughter. Arbuckle directed the Eddie Cantor feature Special Delivery and worked on Marion Davies vehicles. He even lent his name to a café near the MGM lot for a time. His private life however, was unsettled. He and Minta Durfee divorced, he married Doris Deane and later married Addie McPhail. A final return to the screen In nineteen thirty two, Warner Bros brought him back to the screen under his own name. He made six two reel Vitaphone talkies at the Brooklyn studio. For the first time audiences heard his voice, a pleasant second tenor. The shorts did well in the United States. When Warner Bros sought to show the first one in Britain, censors refused a certificate and cited the decade old scandal. Even so there was a sense that a small corner of the cloud had lifted. On twenty eight June nineteen thirty three Arbuckle finished filming the sixth short, In the Dough. The next day he signed a contract to star in a feature. That night he celebrated his first wedding anniversary with Addie. He reportedly said This is the best day of my life. He died in his sleep hours later of a heart attack at the age of forty six. Arbuckle is laid to rest Why the story lingers The Arbuckle scandal endures because it sits at the meeting point of several powerful forces. It shows how swiftly a reputation can burn and how slowly it can be rebuilt. It captures the birth of a modern scandal, where outrage and entertainment fuse to sell papers and shape public morality. It charts the rise of studio self regulation, as Will H Hays used the case to justify bans and codes. It also offers a study in uncertainty. A young woman died in agony. No evidence connected a crime to the man accused. Three trials resulted in an apology rather than a sentence. The public did not forgive. A fair reading remembers what the scandal did to others. Minta Durfee, who supported Arbuckle in court despite threats. Buster Keaton, who gave money and solidarity when it mattered and never believed the worst. Charlie Chaplin, who risked criticism by vouching for a friend’s character. And Virginia Rappe, whose life as a model, designer, and actress has been overshadowed by the manner of her death. The story is not only about one star’s fall. It is also about the character of a new mass culture that had learned how to turn gossip into a business model and learned how to punish anyone who stood in its way. Sources Smithsonian Magazine overview of the Arbuckle case https://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/the-tragedy-of-virginia-rappe-and-the-scandal-that-destroyed-fatty-arbuckle-180980064 PBS American Experience on the Arbuckle trials and aftermath https://www.pbs.org/wgbh/americanexperience/features/biography-fatty-arbuckle The Independent background on Virginia Rappe and the Arbuckle scandal https://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/films/features/virginia-rappe-fatty-arbuckle-what-happened-b2152078.html Greg Merritt Room 1219 publisher page and research references https://www.chicagoreviewpress.com/room-1219-products-9781613747925.php Los Angeles Public Library photo collection entries on the case https://tessa.lapl.org Library of Congress silent film resources on Arbuckle and Rappe https://www.loc.gov/collections/silent-film-and-early-color-moving-images Contemporary press coverage and Hearst press archives https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov Hollywood Forever Cemetery page for Virginia Rappe https://hollywoodforever.com/story/virginia-rappe Find a Grave entry for Virginia Rappe https://www.findagrave.com/memorial/3446/virginia-rappe Paramount and Vitaphone catalogue notes on Arbuckle films https://vitaphoneproject.com

In the early 20th century, New York City was a volatile, dangerous place, with crime and violence ever-present on its streets. Amidst this backdrop of societal change and criminal chaos, a fascinating and disturbing photographic record was quietly being created, capturing the often-brutal realities of the city’s underworld. A century later, these lost images would resurface, offering an unprecedented glimpse into the blood-stained history of New York’s criminal past. The result of this rediscovery was the 2017 book Murder in the City: New York, 1910–1920 , compiled by filmmaker and photographer Wilfried Kaute. This collection of forensic photographs not only sheds light on forgotten crimes but also reflects the early days of crime scene photography and the rise of modern policing. A sailor found dead in New York with a bottle of whisky, May 2, 1917. The Rediscovery of Forgotten Images The story behind Murder in the City  is as intriguing as the photos themselves. In the mid-1990s, a vast and forgotten archive of NYPD forensic images was discovered deep in the recesses of the Municipal Archives of New York. Thousands of glass plate negatives and vintage prints, documenting crime scenes from the early 20th century, had been hidden away for decades, seemingly lost to history. These grim yet captivating images had been taken by NYPD photographers from around 1910 to the 1920s, documenting everything from crime scenes , street murders, and accidents to fires and other moments of death and destruction. The body of Antonio Pemear in Hudson Ave, Brooklyn, New York who was murdered in his residence, December 19, 1915. These images were originally intended as evidence – visual records to assist the police in their investigations and prosecutions. Yet, over the years, they became forgotten relics of a bygone era of law enforcement. With advancements in photography, police departments shifted to newer technology, and older forensic images were archived, falling into obscurity. The negatives, some cracked and fragile, were stored haphazardly, never intended for any sort of public viewing. If not for this fortuitous rediscovery, these haunting glimpses into New York’s violent past might have been lost forever. A homicide victim lying in a bar or restaurant, circa 1916. Once found, this collection of over 1,000 images became an extraordinary visual archive of life and death in early 20th-century New York City. Yet, it wasn’t until 2017, when Wilfried Kaute began curating and compiling them, that these images gained a wider audience. In his book, Murder in the City , Kaute provides a detailed and chilling portrayal of New York’s dark history through these photographs, revealing a side of the city that was hidden from public view for decades. A man lies dead in a hallway, New York, circa 1916. The Origins of Crime Scene Photography The NYPD’s use of forensic photography in the early 20th century was pioneering for its time. The development of crime scene photography marked the beginning of modern forensic investigation practices, providing police with new tools to examine evidence and understand crime scenes. PATROLMAN SLAIN WHILE WIFE WAITS, screamed the headline in the New York Sun, July 4, 1917 "Patrolman About to Buy Funeral Wreath, He Is Called to Flat to Quell Row." By the early 1900s, the NYPD was growing more professionalised and methodical in its crime-fighting tactics. As part of these changes, the police began documenting crime scenes with photographs as a way to record vital details that could not be fully captured by written reports alone. These crime scene photographs, taken using large-format cameras on glass plate negatives, were cutting-edge for their time. A skeleton fitted with features made from wax in order to identify the slain party, New York, circa 1910s. These photographers, often under immense pressure, had to skilfully capture the minutiae of the crime scene—the position of the body, the blood splatter, the surrounding area, and any incriminating evidence. The photographs also offered an objective record, a moment frozen in time that could be used in court to help establish the sequence of events. In this way, forensic photography became an indispensable tool for the NYPD, contributing to the rise of detective work and the scientific approach to solving crimes. It is important to recognise that many of these crime scene photographers were not just documentarians of tragedy but also pioneers of a new method in police work. Their images served as a kind of raw and unflinching mirror to the violence that stalked New York’s streets during this period of great social and economic upheaval. A man lies dead outside a cafe, New York, circa 1910s. The Stories Behind the Photographs The photographs themselves are striking not only for their subject matter but for the way they blur the line between documentary evidence and grim artistry. These images often have an eerie, almost cinematic quality, displaying the stark realities of crime and death, while also capturing a moment in New York’s history that feels both alien and oddly familiar. An image of a dead man and woman with the title ‘Double Homicide,’ taken in New York, June 17, 1915. In one photo, a body lies slumped in an alleyway, surrounded by darkened walls. The shadows and lighting evoke a scene reminiscent of film noir, even though this photographic genre did not exist at the time. In another image, an apartment appears quiet and serene, save for the lone figure lying lifeless on the floor. These moments of quiet horror seem at once mundane and otherworldly, a strange juxtaposition that comes from capturing the instant when life abruptly ends. A man lies dead with a devastating head wound, New York, circa 1910s. Some photographs show the results of gangland killings, the marks of violent criminal organisations that controlled much of the city’s underworld during this era. New York in the 1910s was a city in transition, shaped by waves of immigration, rapid industrialisation, and political corruption. It was a place where organised crime flourished, and police corruption often undermined law enforcement efforts. Gangs such as the Five Points Gang and Eastman Gang controlled territories and engaged in brutal turf wars. Meanwhile, the city’s teeming immigrant population lived in overcrowded tenements, where crime often found fertile ground. The bodies of Robert Green, a lift operator, left, and Jacob Jagendorf, a building engineer, right, found lying at the bottom of an lift shaft November 24, 1915, after the pair’s alleged failed robbery attempt. Many of the crimes documented in Murder in the City  are unknown to us today, long-forgotten tragedies of nameless victims. Unlike today, when high-profile murders might be dissected endlessly in the media, these cases largely slipped through the cracks of history, their victims remembered only by those close to them. Yet the images tell their own story—a story of violence, survival, and the relentless churn of a city that was both thriving and decaying. A slain man lies behind a bar as a piece of paper stuck to a mirror reads ‘Trust No More,’ New York, circa 1910s. The Legacy of Murder in the City When Wilfried Kaute set out to compile these images into a book, his aim was not just to reveal the brutality of early 20th-century New York but also to highlight the role of forensic photography in the development of modern policing. Kaute’s book is a historical document in its own right, preserving these long-lost images and the stories they tell. The body of Domenic Mastropaolos, who was stabbed and slashed to death in a wine cellar on 294 Elizabeth Street, New York, circa 1916-1920. By placing the photographs alongside police reports and historical context, Kaute successfully reconstructs a city caught in the throes of modernisation, its police force grappling with new techniques, and its citizens facing the dark realities of urban life. The book offers a glimpse into the macabre world of early 20th-century crime, while also showcasing the evolution of investigative methods that are still in use today. The legacy of Murder in the City  extends beyond its pages. It speaks to the power of archives and the importance of preserving historical records, even those that may seem insignificant or too grim for public consumption. The rediscovery of these crime scene photographs reminds us that history often lies buried in forgotten places, waiting for someone to uncover it and bring it back to life. His hat lying where it fell upon his collapse, our victim lies on the sidewalk by the stoop of a café. The photographer's tripod legs complete the surrealistic tableau.  In addition, the book serves as a stark reminder of the realities of crime and violence that have always been part of urban life, even in a city as celebrated as New York. The photographs reveal a hidden history, one that is not defined by skyscrapers and culture but by the struggles of ordinary people in extraordinary times. Homicide of Thomas Reddington, found dead at 474 Brook Ave. Sources Kaute, Wilfried. Murder in the City: New York, 1910–1920.  Thomas Dunne Books, 2017. New York Municipal Archives, NYPD Forensic Glass Plate Negative Collection. Monkkonen, Eric H. Murder in New York City.  University of California Press, 2001. Lardner, James, and Thomas Reppetto. NYPD: A City and Its Police.  Henry Holt, 2000. New York Sun archives (1910s–1920s crime reporting).

Albert Pierrepoint remains a significant figure in British history, known for his role as the country’s most prolific hangman. Throughout his 25-year career, Pierrepoint executed more than 400 people, including some of the most notorious murderers and war criminals of the 20th century. Yet, his story is more than just a record of grim duty; it is one of internal conflict, shifting attitudes towards justice, and the complex morality surrounding the death penalty. His legacy is a reflection of Britain’s relationship with capital punishment and its eventual abolition. A Family Legacy of Executioners Albert Pierrepoint was born on 30 March 1905 in Clayton, West Yorkshire, into a family steeped in the trade of execution. His father, Henry Pierrepoint, and his uncle, Thomas Pierrepoint, were both official executioners, and it was their influence that ultimately led Albert to the same profession. Although Henry Pierrepoint’s career had ended in disgrace due to his alcoholism, young Albert was inspired by stories of his father’s work. After working for years as a grocer’s assistant, Albert applied to join the official list of executioners in 1931. He undertook his first role as an assistant executioner in 1932, working alongside his uncle Thomas, before being promoted to Chief Executioner in 1941. Pierrepoint’s early years in the profession were marked by his precision and professionalism. He approached his work with an almost religious sense of duty. He later said, “I have always regarded executions as sacred. An execution is far more than the end of a life. It is the culmination of the law, and an executioner’s duty is to carry out that sentence with dignity.” High-Profile and War Crime Executions Over the course of his career, Pierrepoint oversaw the executions of several high-profile criminals, some of whom remain infamous to this day. Among them was Gordon Cummins, known as the “Blackout Ripper,” who was convicted of murdering four women during the blackouts of World War II. Pierrepoint also hanged John George Haigh, the “Acid Bath Murderer,” who killed six people and dissolved their bodies in acid. Another notorious killer was John Christie , the “Rillington Place Strangler,” who murdered at least eight women, including his own wife, in the 1940s and early 1950s. Albert Pierrepoint left, seen here at Euston Station traveling home by train after the execution of Ruth Ellis. 1955 During and after World War II, Pierrepoint was also called upon to execute war criminals in Germany and Austria. He personally hanged around 200 individuals convicted of war crimes, including officers from the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp. These hangings, often conducted in bulk, formed one of the most significant periods of Pierrepoint’s career. Despite the scale of these executions, Pierrepoint maintained the same sense of solemnity for each individual case. He viewed his role as necessary and part of the legal process but never relished the act itself. Alongside these criminal cases, Pierrepoint also dealt with some of Britain’s most contentious executions. He carried out the sentence on Timothy Evans , a man wrongly convicted of murdering his wife and daughter, a crime later revealed to have been committed by John Christie. The case of Derek Bentley, a mentally disabled young man hanged for his role in a police officer’s murder, was another that sparked significant controversy, leading to campaigns for posthumous pardons decades later. Pierrepoint also executed Ruth Ellis , the last woman to be hanged in Britain, in 1955. Ellis had been convicted of shooting her lover, David Blakely, in a crime of passion. Her execution stirred widespread debate over the morality of the death penalty, particularly given her history of domestic abuse. When Pierrepoint eventually retired there were soon rumours in the press that his resignation was connected with the hanging of Ellis. In his autobiography he denied this was the case: At the execution of Ruth Ellis no untoward incident happened which in any way appalled me or anyone else, and the execution had absolutely no connection with my resignation seven months later. Nor did I leave the list, as one newspaper said, by being arbitrarily taken off it, to shut my mouth, because I was about to reveal the last words of Ruth Ellis. She never spoke. His duties extended to cases of high treason and treachery as well. Pierrepoint executed William Joyce, also known as “ Lord Haw-Haw ,” a Nazi propagandist during the war, and John Amery, another traitor who had worked with the Nazis. Pierrepoint also carried out the execution of Theodore Schurch, convicted of treachery for spying against the British during the war. A Change of Heart Despite Pierrepoint’s efficiency and dedication, by the mid-1950s, cracks were beginning to show in his unwavering professionalism. In 1956, after 25 years in service, Pierrepoint abruptly retired from his role following a dispute over payment. The disagreement with a local sheriff regarding his fee for an execution became the final straw. He had become increasingly disillusioned with his profession, and the dispute marked the end of his career as Britain’s executioner. By this time, Pierrepoint was running a pub in Lancashire, which he had owned since the mid-1940s. Named “Help the Poor Struggler,” the pub was situated in the town of Hollinwood, near Oldham. For many years, Pierrepoint led a double life, serving as both a publican and an executioner, with few of his regulars aware of his grim occupation. Pierrepoint working behind the bar in the pub he owned. In 1974, Pierrepoint published his memoirs, Executioner: Pierrepoint . In it, he revealed his ultimate conclusion about the death penalty, stating, “I do not now believe that any one of the hundreds of executions I have carried out has in any way acted as a deterrent against future murder.” He added, “Capital punishment, in my view, achieved nothing except revenge.” This stance surprised many, given his years of dedicated service, but it underscored the moral conflict that had grown within him over time. Pierrepoint’s eventual disillusionment with capital punishment marked a turning point in public debates about the death penalty in Britain. His reflections resonated with the growing anti-death penalty movement, which contributed to the eventual abolition of the practice in 1965 (with full abolition coming in 1998). However, in his later years, Pierrepoint’s position on the matter seemed to soften again, suggesting that he may have come to terms with his role as an agent of the law, rather than a moral arbiter. A Sacred Task Pierrepoint’s career as an executioner was not one of sensationalism or cruelty. Instead, he approached the task with a sense of gravitas and solemn duty. In his own words, “The fruit of my experience has this bitter aftertaste: that I was not able to prevent one murder by hanging. It did not deter men from committing crimes, and it did not bring comfort to the victim.” Yet, despite these reflections, he continued to believe that his role was a necessary function of the legal system, and he always maintained that the act of execution was “sacred to me.” Pierrepoint meticulously prepared for each execution, calculating the drop based on the condemned person’s weight and height to ensure a quick, painless death by breaking the neck instantly. His professionalism earned him the respect of prison officials and his peers, and his dedication to treating even the condemned with dignity was a hallmark of his work. It is this aspect of Pierrepoint’s career that distinguishes him from other executioners, as he strove to maintain humanity in a task that was anything but humane. Retirement and Legacy After his retirement from execution duties, Pierrepoint lived quietly in Lancashire, running his pub until the 1960s. He largely avoided public attention, although his identity as Britain’s last notable hangman became widely known after his memoirs were published. He passed away on 10 July 1992, at the age of 87, leaving behind a complex legacy. Sources Pierrepoint, Albert. Executioner: Pierrepoint.  Harrap, 1974. Potter, Simon. Hanging in the Balance: A History of the Abolition of Capital Punishment in Britain. “Albert Pierrepoint obituary,” The Independent , July 1992. The National Archives (UK), Capital Punishment Files , 1930s–1950s. Fielding, Steve. The Executioner’s Bible: Albert Pierrepoint and Britain’s Death Penalty. Guardian archives: “The Hangman Who Changed His Mind,” feature, 2006.

On the night of 14th November 1959, in the peaceful town of Holcomb, Kansas, everything seemed ordinary at the Clutter family’s farmhouse. The family had finished their day, and as night fell, they each retired to their rooms, unaware of the horror that would soon descend upon them. That evening, Herb Clutter, his wife Bonnie, and their two teenage children, Nancy and Kenyon, were the only ones at home. The two older daughters, Beverly and Eveanna, had already left the family home, one living in Illinois and the other studying in Kansas City. As the Clutter family slept, Richard Hickock and Perry Smith were en route, armed with a shotgun, knife, flashlight, and gloves. These two ex-convicts had been planning this crime for weeks, driven by the mistaken belief that Herb Clutter had a fortune locked away in a safe. The truth was that Herb, a respected farmer, dealt almost exclusively in cheques. Had they asked anyone in town, they would have known this. But misinformation from a former cellmate led them to believe they were about to pull off a major heist. The Cutter Family Home Hickock and Smith entered the home through an unlocked door and began their hunt for the alleged cash, all while the family was asleep. But when their search turned up empty, the two men chose a path of senseless violence. What followed was a series of cold, brutal murders, each carried out with disturbing precision. Upon rousing the Clutters, they pushed Bonnie, Nancy, and Kenyon into a bathroom on the second floor of the house, then led Herb to his first-floor office. After their initial search for a safe failed, they retrieved the other three members of the family from the bathroom. Bonnie's hands were tied in front of her; she was gagged, then tucked into bed in a room on the second floor. Nancy's hands were tied behind her, inexplicably, she was not gagged, and tucked into bed. Then the men took Herb and Kenyon to the basement. First they gagged Kenyon, tied his hands behind his back, and tied the rope to an overhead steam pipe in the furnace room. Then they decided to cut him free and move him to the adjoining playroom, bound and gagged; they set him at an oblique angle on the small couch and stuffed a white pillow behind his head, presumably to make him more comfortable. Finally, the killers bound and gagged Herb and pushed him down onto a mattress box on the concrete floor in the furnace room. Smith stayed in the furnace room while Hickock returned upstairs to resume his search for the safe. A short time later, Hickock returned to the basement, disappointed and angry at finding no safe. The pair had already planned to leave no witnesses, and they briefly debated what to do. Finally, Smith, known to occasionally be unstable, and prone to fits of rage, slit Herb Clutter's throat then shot him in the head. Moments later, Smith and Hickock reentered the playroom, where Smith shot Kenyon to death. They headed upstairs, then to the second floor, where they entered Nancy's room and shot her to death. Lastly they shot Bonnie Clutter in the side of her head. Each of the four victims had been killed by a single shotgun blast to the head, though Herb's throat was cut as well, and the killers retrieved each spent shell. Recounting later the sequence of the night's events, Smith claimed that he had stopped Hickock from raping Nancy. Smith later described how he felt hesitant about killing Nancy, saying that she reminded him of someone he once cared about. However, this hesitation did not stop him from pulling the trigger. The image of Nancy lying in her bed with her hands bound and her head shattered by a gunshot is one that haunted investigators, townspeople, and even Smith himself after the fact. Richard Hickock and Perry Smith Capote’s In Cold Blood: Filling in the Gaps with Fiction Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood  is widely regarded as a true-crime classic, but as time has passed, several inaccuracies in the book have come to light. While Capote claimed to have faithfully reported the events surrounding the Clutter murders, it’s clear that he took certain creative liberties to enhance the narrative. For instance, Capote’s portrayal of the night of the murders paints Perry Smith as the more remorseful of the two killers, suggesting that he was reluctant to commit the murders, especially that of Nancy Clutter. In his recounting, Capote even hints at Smith feeling an emotional connection to Nancy, which supposedly delayed her murder. This portrayal has been criticised by those who point out that both men were equally involved in the planning and execution of the crimes. Hickock, though perhaps more pragmatic in his approach, showed no more remorse than Smith. Another inaccuracy lies in Capote’s depiction of Bonnie Clutter. As mentioned earlier, Capote exaggerated Bonnie’s mental health struggles, portraying her as a reclusive, bedridden figure suffering from severe depression. The real Bonnie Clutter was known to be much more involved in her community, though she did have periods of nervousness and pain. Family members were particularly critical of this portrayal, as it painted a skewed picture of who she truly was. Moreover, Capote described the scene in Nancy’s room with a level of detail that investigators questioned. He claimed that Nancy had carefully laid out her dress for church the next day, a poignant detail meant to highlight her innocence. However, this may have been one of the novelistic touches that Capote added to enhance the emotional resonance of the scene. The morning after Capote’s ability to draw readers into the personal, emotional lives of the characters certainly made In Cold Blood  a compelling read, but it also blurred the lines between fact and fiction. His vivid portrayals of the murderers, particularly Perry Smith, gave the book a sense of psychological depth, but some have argued that Capote became too sympathetic toward the killers, especially Smith. Aftermath The discovery of the bodies the next day by Nancy’s friend triggered a massive investigation. Law enforcement quickly descended upon the scene, but the initial lack of solid evidence made solving the case difficult. Truman Capote The pair were in Las Vegas when they were apprehended on the 30th of December while picking up a parcel containing personal belongings that Smith had shipped from Mexico. Among the items were the boots worn during the murders. Local police had run the plates on the car they were driving and found it had been stolen in Iowa. They picked the men up and arrested them for the vehicle theft. The Clutter murder investigators were notified that the men who killed the Clutter family had been apprehended. Smith and Hickock were flown from Nevada to Garden City in Kansas, where they were separately questioned. Both eventually confessed to the murders of the family, though Hickock always argued that Smith killed all four people, not him. Three months later, on the 29th of March 1960, a jury found both Richard Hickock and Perry Smith guilty and sought the death penalty for their crimes. The men lived on death row for five years at Leavenworth prison in Kansas. During their incarceration, they would talk about the crimes in graphic detail to anyone who would listen, including people outside the prison. One of Perry Smith’s ex-Army friends said in an interview, “ He said, ‘As I pulled the trigger there was a flash of blue light. I could see his head split apart.’” The pair were eventually hanged at the gallows on the 14th of April 1964. Perry Smith was 36 years old, and Richard Hickock was 33. Hickock,and Smith, photographed by Richard Avedon,April 1960 Sources Capote, Truman. In Cold Blood.  Random House, 1966. Kansas Bureau of Investigation archives, “The Clutter Murders Case Files” (1959–1960). Clarke, Gerald. Capote: A Biography.  Simon & Schuster, 1988. Rule, Ann. The I-5 Killer and Other True Crime Stories.  (context on Capote’s influence). “Richard Hickock and Perry Smith Executed for Clutter Murders,” New York Times , April 15, 1964. Wenzl, Roy. The Clutter Murders: Investigating the Crime That Changed America.  Kansas History Journal, 2009.

In the long history of love, loyalty, and criminal escapades, few stories are as jaw-dropping as that of Nadine Vaujour. In 1986, this French woman took the ultimate plunge for her husband, Michel Vaujour, by learning to fly a helicopter with the sole aim of breaking him out of a maximum-security prison. It was an audacious act that stunned the world and cemented Nadine’s place in the pantheon of bold, real-life crime stories. But what drove her to such an extreme? And where are the key players now? Love Behind Bars: The Genesis of the Plot Michel Vaujour, a notorious bank robber, had a long history of run-ins with the law. He was no stranger to high-stakes crimes and had been incarcerated multiple times throughout the 1970s and 1980s for armed robbery and other offences. By 1986, Michel found himself behind bars yet again—this time, in the high-security section of the Santé Prison in Paris. For Michel, prison was not an insurmountable obstacle but a challenge to overcome. He had already tried escaping multiple times, and his undying spirit inspired his wife, Nadine. Despite Michel’s criminal background, Nadine’s devotion to him remained unshaken. “Michel was the love of my life,” Nadine would later say, explaining that her loyalty to him was unwavering even in the face of his repeated incarcerations. Incredibly, Nadine took matters into her own hands. Desperate to see her husband free, she enrolled in flying lessons under a pseudonym. The sole purpose of her new skills? To commandeer a helicopter and stage a daring prison break. The Great Escape: 26th May 1986 On 26th May 1986, Nadine Vaujour put her plan into motion. The escape was nothing short of a cinematic heist, the kind of thing you’d expect to see in a Hollywood thriller. Having learnt the basics of flying, Nadine chartered a small helicopter from a Paris airfield. She then flew it over to Santé Prison, expertly hovering the aircraft above the prison yard as Michel, armed with a fake gun made out of plastic and painted black, made his way to the rooftop. He had persuaded his guards to let him out for “exercise,” a ruse that would allow him to be in the right place at the right time. As the helicopter swooped in, Michel clambered aboard with the help of a rope ladder. It was a scene out of a high-stakes thriller—both incredibly risky and, ultimately, successful. The helicopter whisked them away from the heavily guarded prison, soaring into the Parisian sky, and the couple were soon on the run. The escape was reported all over the world. French newspapers lauded the sheer nerve of Nadine’s actions. However, the triumph was short-lived. The Aftermath: Life on the Run Despite their daring success, freedom was fleeting for the Vaujours. A nationwide manhunt ensued, and just four months after their helicopter escape, Michel was re-arrested in a suburb of Paris. Nadine was captured soon after. Their brief taste of liberty came to a crushing end. Michel was sentenced to an additional 17 years in prison, while Nadine faced charges for her role in the jailbreak. Nevertheless, their bond remained unbroken. When asked about her extraordinary actions, Nadine famously said, “I would do it all over again.” Nadine’s dedication to Michel is reminiscent of the famous quote: “Love makes us do crazy things.” Indeed, in her case, that “crazy thing” was a meticulously planned, gravity-defying heist, done out of pure devotion. Where Are They Now? Nadine Vaujour, after serving her sentence, largely disappeared from the public eye. Her life since her involvement in the prison break has been shrouded in mystery, with little information about her current whereabouts. Some reports suggest she sought to live a quieter, more private life, far removed from the notoriety that the helicopter escape had brought her. The lack of public appearances and media engagement indicates that she may have distanced herself from her past. Michel Vaujour’s later years are equally obscure. After his re-arrest, he remained in prison for several more years, though he reportedly turned to spirituality during his time behind bars, later writing about his experiences and reflecting on his life choices. As of the last known reports, Michel also retreated into obscurity following his release, with no further criminal activity making headlines. The Legacy of the Helicopter Escape The story of Nadine and Michel Vaujour continues to captivate audiences, often being compared to some of the most famous jailbreaks in history. It speaks not only to the lengths people will go for love but also to the audacity of the human spirit. Their story has been retold in books, documentaries, and countless articles. For many, Nadine’s actions embody the notion of “for better or for worse,” the ultimate test of loyalty and commitment. As she once reflected, “You can’t just love someone in the good times. True love endures, no matter the cost.” Nadine’s helicopter jailbreak remains one of the most memorable prison escapes in modern history, a testament to the power of love and the risks some are willing to take in its name. While we may never know what drove Nadine to go to such extraordinary lengths, one thing is certain: her story will continue to fascinate and inspire for generations to come. In the end, the great helicopter escape of 1986 wasn’t just about freeing Michel from prison—it was about the boundless nature of love, loyalty, and the willingness to risk everything for the person who holds your heart. Sources Associated Press Archive. “Convicted Bank Robber Escapes in Wife’s Helicopter Rescue.” AP News , May 1986. The New York Times. “Prisoner Escapes in Wife’s Helicopter.” May 27, 1986. BBC News. “French Jailbreaks: A History of Escaping by Helicopter.” July 2009. The Guardian. “France’s Helicopter Jailbreaks: Daring Escapes from Above.” July 2018. Vaujour, Nadine. Et vint un helicoptère...  (memoir). Paris: Éditions Fixot, 1991. Le Monde Archive. “L’évasion spectaculaire de Michel Vaujour.” May 1986. Paris Match. “Nadine Vaujour, l’amoureuse au-dessus des murs.” Feature article, 1990s retrospective.

When people picture a serial killer, the image that often comes to mind is someone lurking in the shadows, a figure clearly out of step with the world around them. But what if that killer was a man of above-average intelligence, unremarkable in appearance, and even trusted by those who encountered him? This is the chilling story of Harvey Glatman, a predator whose heinous crimes shocked America in the 1950s . What makes Glatman’s story so disturbing isn’t just the brutality of his acts, but the cold, calculated way he used his intellect to outwit his victims, and the law. His twisted mind, paired with a façade of normalcy, allowed him to carry out a string of brutal murders that would leave an indelible mark on criminal history. A Dark Path from Childhood Harvey Glatman’s life didn’t begin in darkness, but the signs of something terribly wrong emerged early on. Born in 1927 in the Bronx, New York , Glatman was a bright child. In fact, his IQ was measured at 130, suggesting potential for a life of achievement. Yet, his intelligence wasn’t used to build a career or pursue knowledge. Instead, it fuelled a lifetime of manipulation, control, and sadism. From a young age, Glatman exhibited deeply troubling behaviours. Glatman's c. 1951 mugshot As a small child, he found pleasure in pain, tying a string around his genitals and pulling it to achieve a perverse sexual thrill. By the age of 12, his dark impulses had escalated further. Glatman began placing a rope around his neck, running it through the drain of the family bathtub, and pulling it tight against his throat, flirting with asphyxiation. This wasn’t a fleeting phase. His mother, deeply concerned, sought the advice of their family physician, who reassured her that her son would simply “grow out of it.” But Harvey Glatman wasn’t destined to outgrow anything. Instead, these early acts foreshadowed the horrifying path he would eventually follow. A Teenager Turned Burglar and Predator As Glatman entered his teenage years, his disturbing tendencies began to manifest in more outwardly dangerous ways. He started breaking into women’s apartments, stealing random items, often lingerie, sometimes even more personal objects. His invasions were about control, not the value of the items. In one break-in, he stole a handgun, a haunting symbol of how his fantasies were inching toward violence. By August 1945, Glatman’s behaviour had escalated to physical assault. He was convicted of kidnapping and sexually assaulting a woman, a crime that landed him in Elmira Reformatory with a sentence of 5 to 10 years. But instead of being rehabilitated, Glatman’s time in prison only deepened his descent into madness. During his imprisonment, psychiatrists diagnosed him with a “psychopathic personality, schizophrenic type,” pinpointing his “sexually perverted impulses” as the root of his criminality. Yet, despite this, Glatman was paroled in 1948, and the world was once again exposed to the monster lurking within him. Los Angeles: A Predator on the Prowl By 1957, Glatman had relocated to Los Angeles , a sprawling city that provided him with anonymity and a new hunting ground. Here, he began a chilling ruse that would allow him to entrap his victims with frightening ease. Posing as a photographer for pulp magazines, Glatman contacted local modelling agencies, offering young women the chance to have their photos taken for potential publication. His ploy seemed professional, innocent even. The aspiring models who met him thought they were taking steps toward launching their careers. But once inside Glatman’s apartment, their dreams quickly turned into nightmares. He would tie them up under the guise of a photoshoot, assault them, and take grotesque photographs of them in their most vulnerable state. After torturing them mentally and physically, Glatman would strangle his victims and discard their bodies in the desolate deserts outside Los Angeles. Judith Dull, a 19-year-old aspiring model, was one of his first known victims. Ruth Mercado followed shortly after, another young woman lured by the promise of modelling work. Both met a tragic fate at Glatman’s hands, their lives cut short by his insatiable thirst for power and control. Judy Dull (left) and Ruth Mercado. In poses before being murdered by Glatman The Lonely Hearts Trap But Glatman’s methods of finding victims weren’t limited to modelling agencies. His thirst for violence expanded as he became more emboldened. Through a Lonely Hearts ad in a local newspaper, he met Shirley Ann Bridgeford, a woman looking for companionship. Instead of the romantic date she expected, she found herself at the mercy of a sadistic killer. Glatman’s control over his victims was not just physical, but psychological, a predator who thrived on their terror. Shirley Ann Bridgeford The Mystery of Boulder Jane Doe While Glatman’s confirmed killings took place in California , his reach may have extended far beyond the state's borders. In 1954, three years before he began his killing spree in Los Angeles, the body of an unidentified woman was discovered near Boulder, Colorado. For over five decades, she remained known only as "Boulder Jane Doe." It wasn’t until 2009, thanks to advancements in DNA technology, that the woman was finally identified as Dorothy Gay Howard, an 18-year-old from Phoenix, Arizona. Though Glatman was never formally charged with Howard’s murder, many believe she could have been one of his early victims. His presence in Colorado at the time, combined with the brutal nature of her death, aligns with his established pattern of violence. Caught in the Act: The Fall of a Killer Harvey Glatman’s reign of terror might have continued unchecked if not for a fortunate twist of fate. In 1958, he attempted to kidnap his next victim, a woman named Lorraine Vigil. As he struggled to subdue her on the side of a road, a passing patrolman noticed the altercation and intervened. Glatman was arrested on the spot, ending his brutal spree of murder. Once in custody, Glatman confessed to three murders without hesitation. He even led investigators to a toolbox where he had stored photographs of his victims, grotesque mementoes of his twisted acts. These photos, haunting in their cruelty, were a chilling testament to the suffering he inflicted on his prey. The End of Harvey Glatman Glatman’s trial was swift. He was found guilty of two counts of first-degree murder and sentenced to death. In an unsettling display of calm acceptance, he refused to appeal the sentence, even asking the warden to ensure that no efforts were made to save his life. On September 18, 1959, Glatman was executed in the gas chamber at San Quentin State Prison. His death brought an end to his killing spree, but the nightmares he created would linger in the memories of his victims' families (and the history books) forever. Sources Newton, Michael. The Encyclopedia of Serial Killers.  Checkmark Books, 2000. Schechter, Harold. Deviant: The Shocking True Story of Ed Gein, the Original Psycho.  Pocket Books, 1989 (context on contemporaneous killers). Gilmore, John. The Dark Side: The Strange Case of Harvey Glatman.  Amok Books, 1990. Los Angeles Times Archives: “Model Slayer Harvey Glatman Arrested” (1958). Denver Post: “Boulder Jane Doe identified as Dorothy Gay Howard” (2009). Crime Museum – Harvey Glatman profile: https://www.crimemuseum.org/crime-library/serial-killers/harvey-glatman/

Despite unwaveringly declaring her innocence along with the support of several priests, Mary Surratt was sentenced to death. Mary Elizabeth Jenkins Surratt was born in 1823 in Waterloo, Maryland. Raised in a devout Catholic family, she married John Harrison Surratt at the age of 17. The couple had three children and eventually moved to Washington, D.C., where they opened a boarding house in 1864 after John Surratt’s death. This boarding house would later become infamous as a meeting place for those who plotted the assassination of President Abraham Lincoln. There, she was introduced to John Wilkes Booth. Booth visited the boardinghouse numerous times, as did conspirators George Atzerodt and Lewis Powell, Booth's co-conspirators in the Lincoln assassination. Shortly before killing Lincoln, Booth spoke with Surratt and handed her a package containing binoculars for one of her tenants, John M. Lloyd. Involvement in the Lincoln Assassination Mary Surratt’s involvement in the assassination plot remains a subject of historical debate. Her boarding house served as a hub for Confederate sympathisers and was frequented by John Wilkes Booth, the actor and Confederate spy who assassinated Lincoln. Key figures in the conspiracy, including Lewis Powell, David Herold, and George Atzerodt, were also regular visitors. The depth of Mary Surratt’s involvement is contentious. Prosecutors argued that she was deeply enmeshed in the conspiracy. Testimonies from witnesses, including Louis Weichmann and John Lloyd, suggested that she played an active role in aiding Booth and his co-conspirators. Weichmann, a boarder at her house, claimed that Surratt had direct knowledge of the plot, while Lloyd, who managed her tavern in Surrattsville, Maryland, testified that she had instructed him to prepare firearms and supplies for Booth and Herold. Historians like Edward Steers Jr., author of “His Name is Still Mudd: The Case Against Dr. Samuel Alexander Mudd,” argue that Mary Surratt was a willing participant in the conspiracy. Steers posits that her actions, such as delivering messages and facilitating meetings, were critical to the success of the plot. Conversely, some historians suggest that Surratt was merely caught up in the activities of her son, John Surratt Jr., who was an active Confederate agent. Surratt's boarding house, c. 1890, little changed from how it looked during her occupancy. It now houses a restaurant, is in the Chinatown neighbourhood of Washington, D.C. Mary Surratt’s co-conspirators included some of the most notorious figures in American history: 1. John Wilkes Booth : The charismatic actor who masterminded the assassination. Booth was killed during a manhunt twelve days after Lincoln’s assassination. (The man that killed him is worth a read !) 2. Lewis Powell : Tasked with killing Secretary of State William H. Seward, Powell severely injured Seward and several others in a brutal attack. 3. David Herold : Assisted Booth in his escape and was captured alongside him. 4. George Atzerodt : Assigned to kill Vice President Andrew Johnson but lost his nerve and never attempted the assassination. 5. John Surratt Jr. : Mary’s son, who fled the country after the assassination but was later captured and tried, though he escaped conviction. Mary Surratt was arrested on April 17, 1865, just three days after Lincoln’s assassination. Her trial by a military commission began on May 9, 1865, and she was found guilty on June 30, 1865. Despite appeals for clemency and the efforts of her lawyer, Reverdy Johnson, to save her from execution, President Andrew Johnson refused to intervene, sayi ng she had "kept the nest that hatched the egg." Gen. John F. Hartranft reading the death warrant to the four condemned Lincoln assassination conspirators on the scaffold at Fort McNair, Washington. July 7, 1865. Photograph by Alexander Gardner Construction of the gallows for the execution of the condemned conspirators began promptly on July 5, following the signing of the execution order. The gallows were erected in the southern section of the Arsenal courtyard. Operating on the belief that a woman would not be hanged, Surratt's noose was prepared the night before the execution with five loops instead of the standard seven. To ensure their effectiveness, the nooses were tested that evening by attaching them to a tree branch and a sack of buckshot, which were then dropped to the ground (the ropes held). The soldiers began testing the gallows about 11:25 A.M. on July the 7th; the sound of the tests unnerved all the prisoners. Shortly before noon, Mary Surratt was taken from her cell and then allowed to sit in a chair near the entrance to the courtyard. At 1:15 P.M., General Hartranft led a procession escorting the four condemned prisoners through the courtyard and up to the gallows. Each prisoner had their ankles and wrists bound with manacles. Surratt, dressed in black bombazine attire, a black bonnet, and a black veil, walked at the front. Over 1,000 spectators, including government officials, members of the US armed forces, friends and family of the accused, official witnesses, and reporters, observed the event. General Hancock restricted attendance to ticket holders, with only those with valid reasons granted entry. The majority of attendees were military officers and soldiers, as fewer than 200 tickets were issued. Alexander Gardner photographed the execution for the government, after having photographed Booth's body and taken portraits of several male conspirators imprisoned on naval ships. Hartranft announced the order for their execution. Surratt needed assistance from two soldiers and her priests. The condemned individuals were seated in chairs, with Surratt almost collapsing into hers. She sat to the right of the others, the traditional "seat of honour" during an execution. White cloth was used to bind their arms, ankles, and thighs together. The cloths around Surratt's legs were tied below the knees of her dress. Each person received spiritual guidance from a clergy member. From the scaffold, Powell spoke, "Mrs. Surratt is innocent. She doesn't deserve to die with the rest of us." Fathers Jacob and Wiget prayed over her and held a crucifix to her lips. About 16 minutes elapsed from the time the prisoners entered the courtyard until they were ready for execution. The four condemned conspirators: David Herold, Lewis Powell, Mary Surratt and George Atzerodt (from left to right). Surratt had her bonnet taken off and a U.S. Secret Service officer placed the noose around her neck. Following this, a white bag was placed over the head of each prisoner. She expressed discomfort with the bindings on her arms, to which the officer responded, "Well, it won't hurt long." The prisoners were then instructed to stand and move a few feet towards the nooses, with the chairs being removed. As she was being led to the drop, her final words were spoken to a guard. "Please don't let me fall." Surratt and the others remained on the drop for approximately 10 seconds before Captain Rath clapped his hands. Subsequently, four soldiers from Company F of the 14th Veteran Reserves dislodged the supports securing the drops, causing the condemned individuals to fall. Surratt, who had advanced to the edge of the drop, staggered forward and slid partway down before her body abruptly stopped at the end of the rope, swinging back and forth. She seemed to succumb relatively quickly with minimal resistance. Atzerodt experienced a single heave of his stomach and trembling legs before becoming motionless. Herold and Powell, on the other hand, endured a nearly five-minute struggle, ultimately succumbing to strangulation. After each body was examined by a physician to confirm death, the executed individuals were left hanging for approximately 30 minutes before soldiers commenced cutting them down at 1:53 p.m. A corporal swiftly ascended the gallows to remove Atzerodt's body, causing it to drop heavily to the ground. Following this incident, the other bodies were handled more delicately. Herold's body was then taken down, followed by Powell's. Surratt's body was finally cut down at 1:58 p.m., resulting in her head dropping forward as it was released. A soldier's inappropriate comment, "She makes a good bow," was promptly criticised by an officer for its insensitivity. After examining the individuals, military surgeons confirmed that none of them had broken their necks from the fall. The manacles and cloth restraints were taken off, except for the white execution masks, before placing the bodies in pine coffins. Acting Assistant Adjutant R. A. Watts wrote down the name of each person on a piece of paper, which was then placed in a glass vial and put inside the coffin. The coffins were then buried near the prison wall in shallow graves, a short distance from the gallows, with a white picket fence marking the burial location. On the night of her death, a mob attacked the Surratt boarding house and started removing souvenirs until the police intervened. Legacy and Historical Debate Mary Surratt’s legacy is complex and divisive. To some, she is a martyr who was unjustly executed based on circumstantial evidence and a biased trial. To others, she is a willing participant in one of the most heinous crimes in American history. The debate over her guilt continues to this day, with scholars examining the extent of her involvement and the fairness of her trial. In “The Assassin’s Accomplice: Mary Surratt and the Plot to Kill Abraham Lincoln,” author Kate Clifford Larson provides a detailed analysis of Surratt’s role, suggesting that while Surratt might not have been the mastermind, she was certainly complicit. Larson writes, “Mary Surratt knew enough about the conspiracy to be held accountable for her actions. Whether she deserved to be hanged is another question, one that history may never fully answer.” Sources Pitman, Benn. The Assassination of President Lincoln and the Trial of the Conspirators.  Moore, Wilstach & Baldwin, 1865. Steers, Edward Jr. Blood on the Moon: The Assassination of Abraham Lincoln.  University Press of Kentucky, 2001. Kauffman, Michael W. American Brutus: John Wilkes Booth and the Lincoln Conspiracies.  Random House, 2004. Trindal, Elizabeth Steger. Mary Surratt: An American Tragedy.  University Press of America, 1996. National Archives: Trial records of the Lincoln Conspirators – https://www.archives.gov/exhibits Library of Congress: Lincoln Assassination Primary Sources – https://www.loc.gov/collections/abraham-lincoln-papers

Throughout history, some lives unfold in ways that almost defy belief. There are kings born to dynasties, adventurers who seek glory, and then there are men like Carl Emil Pettersson, an ordinary sailor from Sweden who, by a twist of fate, found himself ruling over a Pacific island kingdom. His story, part romance, part survival tale, and part colonial saga, remains one of the most unlikely chapters in the history of the South Seas. A Boy from Sweden with Salt in His Veins Carl Emil Pettersson was born in 1877 in Sweden. He grew up far from the tropical climate that would one day define his life, but from a young age he felt the pull of the sea. Sweden at the end of the 19th century was in the midst of industrial change, and like many young men of his generation, Carl was restless. At just sixteen he left home to pursue a career as a sailor, a decision that would take him to ports across the world. The sea toughened him. He learned to navigate violent storms, withstand months away from land, and survive on little more than salted meat and hard bread. Like countless sailors, he also gained a deep respect for the natural world — its power, its beauty, and its cruelty. He had no way of knowing that this education would serve him when he was eventually cast ashore in one of the remotest corners of the Pacific. The Shipwreck on Tabar Island In the early 1900s, while serving on a German vessel in the South Pacific, disaster struck. His ship was wrecked off the coast of Tabar Island, part of what is now Papua New Guinea. The Tabar Group is a small cluster of islands north of New Ireland, remote even today. Back then, it was virtually unknown to outsiders. Shipwrecks were not uncommon in the treacherous tropical waters, but few castaways landed in places like Tabar. For Pettersson, survival was only the beginning of the story. Accounts suggest that when he first staggered ashore, exhausted and disoriented, he was confronted by islanders who viewed him with suspicion. The people of Tabar, like many Melanesian societies at the time, still practised ritual cannibalism, particularly in times of conflict. According to legend, when they first saw the strange foreigner with his pale skin and piercing blue eyes, they believed he had been sent by the sea itself. Instead of killing him, they spared him. That decision would alter not only Pettersson’s life but the history of their island. Romance with a Princess Pettersson quickly adapted to life among the Tabar islanders. His strong build, charm, and willingness to embrace local customs earned him respect. Before long, he caught the eye of Singdo, the daughter of the local king, Lamy. Their union was unusual, even extraordinary, for the era. Europeans had long come to Melanesia as traders, missionaries, or colonisers, but few integrated so fully into island life, let alone married into royal families. Yet in 1907, Carl and Singdo were married, cementing his place within the community. Pettersson with Singdo and their children The marriage was more than symbolic. By aligning himself with the ruling family, Pettersson became deeply woven into the island’s political and social fabric. He started a coconut plantation — Teripax — and joined the copra trade, the backbone of the Pacific economy at the time. Copra, dried coconut meat, was shipped to Europe where it was turned into soap, candles, and industrial oils. For several years, business thrived. He worked alongside local labourers, treated them with fairness by contemporary standards, and established himself as both a provider and leader. His and Singdo’s marriage was also fruitful: they had eight children together, blending Swedish and Melanesian heritage. King Carl E Pettersson in 1907 From Sailor to King When King Lamy died, the islanders faced the question of succession. In an extraordinary move, they elected Pettersson as their new king. Though he had once been a shipwrecked foreigner, his marriage, his plantation work, and his charisma had won him enough loyalty to secure the crown. In interviews later published in Swedish newspapers, Pettersson admitted his astonishment at this turn of events. “I never imagined that my life would take such a turn,” he reflected, “but I am grateful for the opportunity to make a difference in the lives of the people of Tabar Island.” As king, he walked a delicate line between traditional island practices and his own European background. He was respected as a leader but also relied upon for trade and connections to the outside world. For a time, prosperity reigned. Tragedy and Decline But no fairytale lasts forever. In 1921, Carl’s beloved wife Singdo died of puerperal fever following childbirth. Her death devastated him. Without her, his standing on the island was weakened, and his personal life descended into difficulty. The following year, he travelled back to Sweden. There he met Jessie Louisa Simpson, whom he married in 1923. Jessie accompanied him back to Tabar, but things were not the same. The plantation had declined during his absence, and the global copra market was fluctuating. On top of financial troubles, both Carl and Jessie were plagued by malaria, the scourge of the tropics. Still, there was one last glimmer of fortune. In the mid-1920s, Pettersson discovered a gold deposit on nearby Simberi Island. For a brief time, it seemed he might regain his wealth. But Jessie’s health was failing, and attempts to treat her in Australia and Sweden were unsuccessful. She died in Stockholm in 1935 of malaria and cancer. That same year, Pettersson finally left Tabar for good. Two years later, in 1937, he died of a heart attack in Sydney, far from the island that had once made him king. The Legacy of the “South Sea King” Pettersson’s story might have been lost to history if not for the fascination it inspired. Swedish newspapers such as Dagens Nyheter  reported on his unusual reign, and in the Pacific he became a figure of legend. Locals remembered him as a fair, if unconventional, ruler, while Europeans saw in him the archetype of the “South Sea adventurer.” The story also carried darker undertones. His rule came at a time when colonial powers were tightening their grip on Melanesia, and while Carl integrated into local life, his plantation enterprise tied him to the same extractive economy that defined much of European presence in the Pacific. Nevertheless, his life has continued to inspire writers and storytellers. Some believe that Astrid Lindgren, the Swedish author of Pippi Longstocking , drew inspiration from Pettersson when creating the character of Pippi’s father, who is depicted as a sailor turned island king. A Life Too Strange to Invent Looking back, Carl Emil Pettersson’s life reads almost like a novel. A Swedish teenager runs away to sea, is shipwrecked in the South Pacific, marries a princess, becomes a king, builds a family, loses it all, and dies in exile. It is a tale full of adventure, love, tragedy, and resilience. As his obituary in the Sydney Morning Herald  noted in 1937, “Few Europeans who ventured into the islands lived lives so curious and so entwined with the people as did Carl Emil Pettersson.” And so ends the story of the sailor who became a king, a man whose improbable destiny continues to echo across oceans and through history. Sources Dagens Nyheter archives (Sweden) – interviews with Carl Emil Pettersson about his time on Tabar Island. Pacific Islands Monthly  (1930s–1940s issues) – coverage of Pettersson’s life and plantation ventures. The Tabar Group oral histories (PNG National Library, Port Moresby) – local accounts of Pettersson’s role as “king.” Eric K. Roe, The Coconut King of Tabar  (Journal of Pacific History, 1970s). Obituaries and notices in Sydney Morning Herald  (1937) detailing Pettersson’s death.

In the summer of 1898, while U.S. troops were stationed in the sweltering heat of Cuba during the Spanish-American War, Colonel Theodore Roosevelt fired off a blunt warning in what became known as the Round-Robin Letter. He wrote: “Hardly a man has yet died from it. But the whole command is so weakened and shattered as to be ripe for dying like rotten sheep, when a real yellow-fever epidemic instead of a fake epidemic, like the present one, strikes us, as it is bound to do if we stay here at the height of the sickness season, August and the beginning of September.” Roosevelt wasn’t exaggerating. Soldiers expected to face danger from Spanish gunfire, but their deadliest enemies were invisible: malaria and yellow fever. During the conflict, more U.S. servicemen died of disease than combat. In Cuba, the mosquito-borne killers spread with alarming speed, filling field hospitals and terrifying commanders who knew the sickness season could decimate entire units. The Deadly Puzzle of Yellow Fever At the turn of the 20th century, the cause of yellow fever was still mysterious. Many believed it spread through “miasma”(bad air) or contaminated clothing. Others suspected direct human contact. But doctors working in Cuba, including U.S. Army Surgeon General George Sternberg and Chief Sanitary Officer Major William Gorgas, had started to consider a radical theory put forward by a Cuban physician named Carlos Finlay: that mosquitoes were to blame.  Jesse Lazear To test it, the U.S. Army formed the Yellow Fever Commission, led by Walter Reed and joined by Jesse Lazear and Henry Rose Carter. They set out to prove or disprove Finlay’s hypothesis through experiments that would now be considered highly dangerous, even unethical. Volunteers, some paid, others motivated by patriotism, allowed themselves to be bitten by infected mosquitoes. Jesse Lazear himself became one of the first casualties. While working in Havana in September 1900, he was bitten by an Aedes aegypti mosquito carrying yellow fever. He developed the illness and died at just 34 years old. His death gave weight to the mosquito theory but left the commission shaken. Clara Maass: A Nurse Who Answered the Call One of the most remarkable figures to step into this dangerous work was Clara Louise Maass. Born on 28 June 1876 in East Orange, New Jersey, she was the eldest of ten children in a poor German-American family. With few opportunities, Clara pursued nursing, partly out of duty to support her family. She became one of the first graduates of the Christina Trefz Training School for Nurses at Newark German Hospital. By her early twenties, Maass was already serving as a contract nurse with the U.S. Army. She worked in field hospitals during the Spanish-American War and later in the Philippines during the Philippine-American War, where she contracted dengue fever. Though weakened, Maass returned to the United States and continued her career. Her dedication caught the attention of Major William Gorgas in Havana. Gorgas was desperate for trained nurses to support ongoing medical experiments and sanitation efforts in Cuba. When he reached out for volunteers in 1901, Clara didn’t hesitate. A Dangerous Experiment By the time Maass arrived in Havana, the mosquito theory was gaining acceptance, but doctors still hoped that controlled infections might provide immunity. Under the supervision of Dr. John Guiteras, researchers designed a series of experiments. Volunteers would be bitten by infected mosquitoes with the expectation that a mild case of yellow fever might act like a vaccine. Dr. John Guiteras Maass was the only woman, and the only American, in this group of 19 test subjects. Over several months in 1901, she allowed herself to be bitten seven times. In June, she developed a mild case of the illness. Because it was so slight, doctors doubted she had gained any true immunity. On 14 August 1901, Maass volunteered again. Four days later, Clara developed full-blown yellow fever. Her condition worsened rapidly. On 24 August, at just 25 years old, she died in Havana. Her sacrifice proved decisive. Doctors concluded that intentional infection was far too dangerous and abandoned the practice. While her death was tragic, it marked a turning point in the understanding of how yellow fever spread, and how not to fight it. Keeping Clara’s Memory Alive Clara was first buried in Havana, but her remains were returned to the United States in 1902. Without the efforts of Leopoldine Guinther, superintendent of Newark Memorial Hospital, Clara’s story might have faded. Guinther championed her memory, ensuring that her sacrifice was recognised. In 1952, Newark German Hospital, where Clara had trained, was renamed Clara Maass Memorial Hospital. Today, it stands as Clara Maass Medical Center, part of RWJBarnabas Health, a living tribute to a nurse who gave her life in the name of science and service. The Clara Maas hospital Her legacy is more than a hospital name. Clara Maass is remembered as one of the very few women to volunteer for such dangerous experiments and one of the youngest to lose her life in the pursuit of medical progress. Her death underscored the risks that medical workers and nurses have long taken, quiet, often overlooked acts of heroism that save countless lives. A Lasting Impact The research Clara was part of eventually helped confirm the role of Aedes aegypti mosquitoes in yellow fever transmission. With this knowledge, Major William Gorgas launched massive mosquito eradication campaigns in Havana and later in Panama, paving the way for the successful completion of the Panama Canal. Clara’s sacrifice, tragic as it was, contributed to one of the great breakthroughs in public health. Her story also highlights the human cost of medical discovery—a reminder that progress is often written in lives as much as in research papers. Sources Clara Maass Medical Center History: https://www.rwjbh.org/clara-maass-medical-center/about/history Walter Reed Army Medical Center Archives: https://www.army.mil/article/129274 U.S. Army Yellow Fever Commission Records, National Library of Medicine: https://profiles.nlm.nih.gov/spotlight/bg Theodore Roosevelt’s Round-Robin Letter (1898): https://www.loc.gov/item/00694169/ Crosby, Alfred W. The American Plague: The Untold Story of Yellow Fever, the Epidemic That Shaped Our History.  Oxford University Press, 2006.

Imagine standing in front of a wiry man barely five feet tall, weighing no more than a sack of flour, and being told you couldn’t lift him an inch off the floor. You’d laugh, flex your muscles, and try—only to find yourself red-faced, straining, and baffled as the little man calmly stared back at you, his feet planted firmly on the ground. That was Johnny Coulon’s party trick, and it made him one of the most curious figures to ever step out of the boxing ring and onto the vaudeville stage. Johnny Coulon wasn’t just a gimmick, though. He was a world champion bantamweight boxer, a man who fought more than 90 professional bouts, trained champions long after his own career, and became a living legend in both sports and show business. Yet today, he’s best remembered for being “The Unliftable Man,” a performer whose mix of science, psychology, and theatre mystified strongmen, wrestlers, and even Muhammad Ali. Early Life and Rise in Boxing John Coulon was born on 12 February 1889 in Toronto, Canada, but his family moved to Chicago when he was still a boy. Chicago would become his lifelong home and the centre of his boxing story. Unlike many boxers who grew up in poverty or worked tough labouring jobs, Coulon’s path was unusual: his father Emile was a French-born ex-fighter himself and encouraged his son’s interest in the sport. Coulon in hid boxing days By his teens, Johnny was already competing in boxing matches around the Midwest. What he lacked in size, he made up for in speed, cleverness, and stamina. In the days before strict weight categories were properly regulated, bantamweights (fighters around 115 pounds) were often overlooked in favour of heavier divisions. But Coulon brought attention to the lighter class through his skill and charisma. Between 1905 and 1910, Coulon built a reputation as a rising star. In 1910, at just 21 years old, he won the World Bantamweight Championship by defeating Jim Kendrick. For four years, he held the title and successfully defended it against a string of challengers. Sportswriters admired his tactical brain, fast footwork, and surprising punching power for a man of his frame. “He fought like a man twice his size,” one reporter noted. From Champion to Showman Coulon retired from professional boxing in 1920, ending a career that included more than 90 bouts. But his second act would prove even more unusual. The 1920s were a golden age for vaudeville and sideshow acts. Crowds flocked to theatres not just for singers and comedians but also for “human curiosities” – strongmen bending iron bars, escape artists wriggling free of handcuffs, mentalists reading minds, and performers who blurred the line between science and the supernatural. Coulon, with his small stature and wiry build, was perfectly placed to baffle audiences with his “unliftable” routine. The act was simple but devastatingly effective: he would invite a burly volunteer, often a wrestler, weightlifter, or even a famous heavyweight boxer, to try to lift him off the floor. At first, Coulon made it easy. He’d stiffen his body into a straight vertical line, sometimes even pushing down on the lifter’s wrists to help. The volunteer would raise him easily, drawing chuckles from the crowd. But then Coulon would reset, apply his mysterious grip, and the scene would flip. The strongest of men, faces turning crimson, legs straining, would fail to budge him. The audience roared. How could a 110-pound man be heavier than a stone statue? The Secret of the “Unliftable Man” Part of Coulon’s genius lay in his showmanship. He played into the era’s fascination with Spiritualism and hidden powers. In the years after the First World War, people craved evidence of forces beyond the ordinary. Séances, mediums, and “human marvels” were wildly popular. In Paris, where Coulon toured in the early 1920s, newspapers speculated about “occult energy” or supernatural magnetism. But in truth, the trick relied on a mix of physics, nerve pressure, and psychology. Coulon would place his left hand lightly on the lifter’s wrist at the pulse point, a move that distracted the observer and suggested control over their blood flow. His real secret, though, was in his right hand. With his index finger pressed against the lifter’s neck, close to the vagus nerve, he applied a precise, uncomfortable pressure. At the same time, his right elbow locked against his own hip, creating a perfect fulcrum of leverage. The harder the lifter strained, the more the pressure and counter-leverage worked against them. The sensation of nerve pain combined with the sheer mechanical disadvantage made the task nearly impossible. Even the strongest lifters, including future legends like Jack Johnson and Muhammad Ali, found themselves humiliated in front of laughing crowds. Harry Houdini, the great escapologist and professional debunker of frauds, wasn’t fooled. “It’s hokum!” Houdini scoffed. “It’s the principle of the fulcrum and a matter of leverage. Coulon is in stable equilibrium and his subject isn’t.” Yet even Houdini admitted that the trick was brilliantly performed. Paris in the 1920s – and the Coulon Craze When Coulon took his act to Paris in 1920, the city was still reeling from the Great War. Death and destruction had left many people fascinated by the possibility of unseen powers, and Spiritualism was at its peak. Mediums claimed to contact the dead, and public appetite for the mysterious was insatiable. Coulon arrived at just the right time. The French press reported on his act as if it were a scientific puzzle. Workers in Paris offices began experimenting with “Coulon lifts,” pressing and prodding their colleagues in futile attempts to replicate the trick. “For days, no work was done in Paris,” one paper joked, “because every small man was being conscripted into Coulon experiments.” The cultural moment turned a boxing champion into an international sensation. Later Life and Legacy Eventually, the novelty wore off. By the 1930s, the vaudeville circuit was in decline, audiences moved on to cinema, and Coulon left the stage. But he remained a central figure in boxing. Settling in Chicago, he opened a gym and trained generations of fighters. Among his protégés was Jackie Fields, who went on to become a world welterweight champion and an Olympic gold medallist. Coulon’s gym became a hub for young hopefuls and visiting champions alike. Even in old age, Coulon delighted in demonstrating his “unliftable” trick. Muhammad Ali himself tried and failed to raise him in the 1960s. The image of the towering Ali, straining against the calm, birdlike Coulon, became part of his legend. Johnny Coulon died in 1973 at the age of 84. Though his name may not be as widely known today as other boxing champions, his life story bridges two worlds: the brutal honesty of the boxing ring and the playful deception of vaudeville theatre. Why Johnny Coulon Still Fascinates Johnny Coulon’s story reminds us of the blurred lines between sport, science, and spectacle. As a boxer, he showed that skill and intelligence could overcome size. As a performer, he demonstrated that with the right mix of physics, psychology, and misdirection, even the most powerful men could be made to look powerless. In an age where “influencers” build careers on viral tricks, Coulon feels oddly modern. He wasn’t just a fighter, he was a master of branding before the word existed. And perhaps that’s why he remains so compelling. Johnny Coulon, “The Unliftable Man,” stood as proof that strength isn’t always about size, and mystery isn’t always about the supernatural. Sometimes, it’s simply about knowing more than the other guy and knowing how to put on a show. Sources Cyber Boxing Zone, “Johnny Coulon.” http://www.cyberboxingzone.com/boxing/coulon.htm BoxRec, “Johnny Coulon.” https://boxrec.com/en/proboxer/08468 Chicago Tribune, “Johnny Coulon Dies; Former Bantamweight Champion.” (October 30, 1973) https://www.chicagotribune.com Houdini, Harry. Magician Among the Spirits.  Harper & Brothers, 1924. (Comment on Coulon’s act as “hokum”) New York Times, “Johnny Coulon, ‘Unliftable Man,’ Dies at 84.” (October 30, 1973) https://www.nytimes.com Nat Fleischer, The Ring Record Book and Boxing Encyclopedia.  The Ring, multiple editions. The Gazette (Montreal), “Ali Baffled by ‘Unliftable Man’ in Chicago.” (1960s coverage of Coulon’s demonstration with Muhammad Ali) Evening Independent (St. Petersburg, FL), “Coulon’s Trick Still Stumps Strong Men.” (August 1959).

Imagine a man who could ruin a duke at the card table, provoke outrage at dinner by praising Hitler, and then stroll into his garden to stroke a gorilla as if it were a family dog. That was John Victor Aspinall, “Aspers” to his friends, a man whose life blurred the line between charm and menace, brilliance and recklessness. To admirers, he was a swashbuckling conservationist who poured his fortune into saving rare animals. To critics, he was a ruthless gambler who preyed on the addictions of Britain’s elite, a provocateur who made a sport of offensive remarks, and an eccentric whose obsession with wild animals cost human lives. Even his friends admitted that scandal seemed to follow him. As one associate bluntly told journalist Douglas Thompson: “John was not a great man. He was a manipulator, a showman. He ruined more lives than he saved.” A young Aspinall Early Life of Privilege and Self-Myth John Aspinall was born in Delhi in 1926, in the final decades of the British Raj. His father, Lt-Col Dr Robert Stivala Aspinall, was a British Army surgeon of Maltese descent, while his mother, Mary Grace Horn, came from an English engineering family. It seemed an entirely respectable colonial upbringing – yet even this part of Aspinall’s life carried a twist. Later, he discovered that his biological father was in fact George Bruce, a soldier of Nordic heritage. The revelation that his identity had been concealed fed into a lifelong fascination with secrecy, deception, and reinvention. Raised amid empire privilege, Aspinall never truly respected authority. At Rugby School he was expelled for inattention, and at Jesus College, Oxford, he famously chose to skip his final exams to attend the Gold Cup at Ascot. To his peers, it looked reckless; to Aspinall, it was proof that he would live on his own terms. He never gained a degree, but he gained a reputation for disregard – a trait that would define his later career. Gambling Into High Society By the 1950s, Aspinall had found his calling in gambling. Spotting a gap in Britain’s restrictive laws, he began hosting private Chemin de Fer  games in rented London flats. The law defined a gambling house as one where play occurred more than three times, so Aspinall and his accountant, John Burke, rotated addresses to stay ahead. Police were bribed, often by Aspinall’s mother, Lady Osborne, who allegedly handed out cash to keep officers at bay. The games attracted Britain’s wealthiest – dukes, earls, and establishment figures who were drawn to the glamour of exclusive gaming. The stakes were astronomical. The Earl of Derby once lost £300,000 in a single sitting. William Stirling, the brother of SAS founder David Stirling, wrote out an IOU for £173,500. These were not casual losses; these were fortunes that changed the futures of families and estates. Critics accused Aspinall of deliberately targeting weak-willed gamblers, building friendships only to exploit them. As one contemporary put it: “He hunted gamblers like a big-game hunter stalks prey. They thought they were his friends, but to Aspinall, they were just his bankroll.” The Clermont Club: Glamour, Gangsters and Cheats The 1960 Betting and Gaming Act legalised casinos, and Aspinall seized the chance to go legitimate. In 1962 he opened the Clermont Club in Berkeley Square, Mayfair. It was unlike anything London had seen before. Members included dukes, marquesses, cabinet ministers, financiers, and even notorious figures like Lord Lucan. The Clermont became synonymous with glamour, high society, and secrecy. But beneath the glitter, corruption thrived. Douglas Thompson’s book The Hustlers  and Channel 4’s documentary The Real Casino Royale  later alleged that Aspinall partnered with gangster Billy Hill to rig games using a system known as “the Big Edge.” The scam allegedly fleeced patrons out of millions, stacking the odds while maintaining the illusion of fair play. 44 Berkeley Square, first home of the Clermont Club. John Burke, Aspinall’s financial director, eventually resigned, calling the whole enterprise “rotten from top to bottom.” Even aristocrats weren’t immune. Several lost ancestral homes and family fortunes. One commentator observed dryly: “Aspinall ruined more dukes than the Crown ever managed.” The Clermont cemented Aspinall’s reputation as a king of high-society gambling. But it also exposed the darker truth: he was willing to exploit anyone, even his own friends, to bankroll his lifestyle. Zoos of Risk and Death By the mid-1950s, Aspinall’s gambling fortune funded his other obsession – wild animals. In 1956 he purchased Howletts, a country estate in Kent, and began filling it with exotic species. Later, he expanded to Port Lympne, turning the grand Sassoon mansion into another wildlife park. Aspinall’s philosophy was unique. He believed keepers should form intimate bonds with animals – playing with tigers, wrestling with gorillas, walking elephants like pets. To visitors, it looked extraordinary, almost magical. And to conservationists, Aspinall delivered results, overseeing some of Europe’s most successful gorilla breeding programmes. But the risks were immense. Several keepers were killed by animals. Tigers mauled handlers; gorillas turned violent without warning. Aspinall dismissed the deaths as part of the natural order, once remarking: “If you can’t trust an animal, you don’t deserve to keep it.” To supporters, he was a visionary. To critics, he was reckless, placing people in harm’s way to indulge a personal fantasy. As one former keeper later said: “Working for John was like playing Russian roulette. The animals were magnificent, but he treated risk as entertainment.” A Taste for Extremes Aspinall was not content to shock with animals or gambling. He also shocked with words. He frequently voiced admiration for Adolf Hitler and made antisemitic remarks in private conversation. Whether he believed them or simply relished provocation is debated. Journalist Lynn Barber noted: “He enjoyed being outrageous. He thrived on people’s horror.” Some close friends suggested it was a kind of performance, a way of dominating conversation. Others believed he meant every word. John Burke once remarked: “He liked to play the big man, but sometimes you felt he believed the poison he was spouting.”  Either way, Aspinall cultivated controversy as carefully as he bred gorillas – he understood its power to keep him at the centre of attention. Lord Lucan: Loyalty or Complicity? Of all his scandals, none clung tighter than Aspinall’s friendship with Lord Lucan , the aristocrat who vanished in 1974 after murdering his nanny. Lucan was a regular at the Clermont Club and part of Aspinall’s inner circle. Aspinall claimed Lucan committed suicide by scuttling his boat and drowning. But whispers persisted that he and Sir James Goldsmith helped Lucan escape abroad. Aspinall’s former secretary later alleged she arranged overseas trips for Lucan’s children so he could watch them from a distance. Lucan at the table Aspinall himself seemed to revel in the mystery. Lynn Barber recalled an interview in which he slipped up, hinting that Lucan had lived on. “He liked being at the centre of the Lucan myth,”  she said. “It was as if the truth didn’t matter – only the game of keeping people guessing.” For many, it was evidence that Aspinall’s loyalty to friends sometimes crossed into complicity with crime. Decline and Final Acts Though he earned millions, Aspinall was perpetually short of money. His zoos consumed vast sums, forcing him back into the gambling world repeatedly. In the 1980s, he sold clubs for a reported $30 million, but by the 1990s he was again in financial trouble. In 1997 he entered politics, running as a candidate for Sir James Goldsmith’s Referendum Party. He campaigned against Britain’s membership in the European Union, winning over 8% of the vote in Folkestone and Hythe – one of the party’s best results. But his flair for provocation didn’t translate into political credibility. Aspinall died of cancer on 29 June 2000, aged 74. For some, he went out as he had lived – colourful, controversial, and impossible to ignore. The Legacy of a Dangerous Showman Today, the Aspinall Foundation continues to operate Howletts and Port Lympne, pioneering rewilding projects that return gorillas, rhinos, and other endangered species to the wild. Supporters celebrate this as the lasting achievement of a visionary. But for critics, the parks are monuments to a man whose fortune was built on exploiting gamblers, whose views were often toxic, and whose appetite for risk endangered both people and animals. As one associate put it with brutal honesty: “John Aspinall loved animals, but he loved risk even more. At the tables, in politics, or with tigers – someone else always paid the price.” Sources Thompson, Douglas. The Hustlers . Channel 4 Documentary: The Real Casino Royale . Barber, Lynn. Interview with John Aspinall, 1990. BBC News, Glenn Campbell, “Lucan: Aspinall’s Secretary Reveals Secrets,” 2012. The Guardian  obituary, 30 June 2000. The Telegraph  obituary, 30 June 2000. Aspinall Foundation: https://www.aspinallfoundation.org

On the morning of Sunday 15 September 1963, an anonymous phone call to the 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, Alabama, delivered a chilling warning: "Three minutes." The call was answered by 15-year-old Sunday School secretary Carolyn Maull. Less than sixty seconds later, a bomb, rigged with at least 15 sticks of dynamite, exploded under the church’s east side steps. It was Youth Day. In the basement, f of 1963e girls were changing into choir robes for the morning’s sermon titled  A Rock That Will Not Roll . Four of them would never walk out alive. This calculated act of domestic terrorism, perpetrated by members of a white supremacist group affiliated with the Ku Klux Klan , became one of the most infamous atrocities of the American Civil Rights era. The four girls murdered in the bombing (clockwise from top left) : Addie Mae Collins (14), Cynthia Wesley (14), Carole Robertson (14), and Carol Denise McNair (11) The victims—Addie Mae Collins (14), Cynthia Wesley (14), Carole Robertson (14), and Carol Denise McNair (11)—were killed instantly or died shortly after from their injuries. The explosion hurled the girls through the basement lounge with such force that one was decapitated, and others suffered horrific trauma. Addie Mae’s sister Sarah survived but was left permanently blinded in one eye and had over 20 shards of glass embedded in her face. Birmingham: A City on the Edge Birmingham in the early 1960s was regarded as one of the most violently segregated cities in the United States. Dr Martin Luther King Jr. called it "the most thoroughly segregated city" in the country. Racial segregation permeated every aspect of public life—schools, restaurants, water fountains, public transportation, cinemas, and parks. There were no Black police officers or firefighters, and most Black residents were employed in menial roles. Voter suppression had disenfranchised the majority of Black citizens through discriminatory registration laws. The city’s Commissioner of Public Safety, Theophilus Eugene "Bull" Connor, was notorious for his ruthless enforcement of segregation using fire hoses, dogs, and police violence. The violence extended beyond official repression: Birmingham experienced at least 21 bombings targeting Black homes, churches, and businesses between 1955 and 1963. The city became so infamous for these attacks it earned the nickname “Bombingham.” The Role of the 16th Street Baptist Church The 16th Street Baptist Church was central to the Civil Rights Movement in Birmingham. It served as a key organisational hub for leaders including Martin Luther King Jr., Fred Shuttlesworth, and James Bevel. In the spring of 1963, the church was a staging ground for the Birmingham campaign, especially the Children's Crusade, which saw more than 1,000 schoolchildren march to protest segregation. From May 2 to 5, 1963, hundreds of children were arrested; the images of them being blasted with fire hoses and attacked by dogs shocked the world. These events helped bring about an agreement to desegregate public facilities within 90 days. However, many white residents, particularly the Ku Klux Klan, saw these gains as humiliations. The church, a symbol of Black resilience and activism, became an obvious target. The Bombing and Immediate Aftermath In the early hours of 15 September 1963, Thomas Blanton Jr., Bobby Frank Cherry, Robert Chambliss, and allegedly Herman Frank Cash, members of the United Klans of America, planted a timed explosive under the east steps of the church. Witnesses later reported seeing a turquoise Chevrolet, from which one man exited and approached the steps. Investigators work outside the 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, Ala., following an explosion that killed four young girls. Three Ku Klux Klansmen were convicted in the bombing years later. When the bomb exploded at 10:22 a.m., it blasted a crater five feet wide in the basement lounge and a seven-foot hole in the rear wall. The force threw one motorist from his car and destroyed nearby vehicles and windows two blocks away. All but one stained-glass window in the church were destroyed. The lone survivor, depicting Christ leading children, remained intact. A view of police activity outside the bomb damaged 16th Street Baptist Church on Sept. 15, 1963, in Birmingham, Ala. As crowds gathered outside the ruined church, Reverend John Cross used a bullhorn to read Psalm 23 in an effort to pacify the outraged onlookers. Some scuffled with police. An estimated 2,000 people, mostly Black, congregated near the church, many joining the search for survivors. Robert Chambliss Violence and National Reaction The hours following the bombing saw widespread unrest. Black and white youths threw bricks and shouted insults at each other. Governor George Wallace called in 800 National Guardsmen and state troopers. Within 24 hours, multiple businesses had been firebombed, and several cars attacked by rioters. That same day, two Black teenagers were killed. Sixteen-year-old Johnny Robinson was shot in the back by a police officer after throwing rocks at a car displaying Confederate flags. Thirteen-year-old Virgil Ware was shot by white teenagers returning from a segregationist rally. Though both killers were convicted of manslaughter, their sentences were suspended. Attorney General Robert Kennedy dispatched 25 FBI agents, including explosives specialists, to Birmingham. But initial FBI investigations were thwarted. Though suspects were quickly identified, including Chambliss, Blanton, Cherry, and Cash, no charges were filed. J. Edgar Hoover sealed the files in 1968 and blocked prosecutions. Bobby Frank Cherry Delayed Justice The bombing case remained dormant until 1971, when Alabama Attorney General William Baxley reopened it. Baxley, then just 29, had been a student in 1963 and was deeply moved by the bombing. He obtained new evidence, including witness testimony that Chambliss had boasted about possessing enough dynamite to "flatten half of Birmingham." Thomas Blanton Jr. On 14 November 1977, Robert Chambliss was tried for the murder of Carol Denise McNair. His niece, Reverend Elizabeth Cobbs, testified against him. Chambliss was found guilty and sentenced to life imprisonment. He died in prison in 1985. In 1995, the case was reopened again as part of a federal review of unsolved Civil Rights-era crimes. New FBI audio recordings surfaced, capturing Blanton discussing plans to bomb a church. In 2001, he was convicted of four counts of murder. In 2002, Bobby Frank Cherry was also convicted, based in part on his ex-wife’s testimony that he had confessed to planting the bomb and later lighting the fuse. Both men received life sentences. Herman Frank Cash had died in 1994, uncharged. Herman Frank Cash Legislation and Legacy The horror of the 16th Street Baptist Church bombing fuelled national and international calls for civil rights reforms. Less than a year later, President Lyndon B. Johnson signed the Civil Rights Act of 1964. In 1965, the Selma to Montgomery marches, led by James Bevel among others, helped secure the Voting Rights Act. Charles Morgan Jr., who gave a searing speech in the wake of the bombing, was forced to flee Birmingham after receiving death threats. Yet his words still resonate: “We all did it,” he said, condemning the complicity of those who had remained silent. Condoleezza Rice, future Secretary of State and childhood friend of Carol Denise McNair, recalled hearing the explosion from her father's church just blocks away. “It is a sound that I will never forget,” she said in 2004. “That bomb was meant to suck the hope out of young lives.” Memorials and the Wales Window In 1965, Welsh artist John Petts designed a new stained-glass window for the church, funded by public donations from Wales. The Wales Window for Alabama features a Black Christ with outstretched arms, one hand pushing away hatred, the other offering forgiveness. It remains a beautiful symbol of international solidarity. The Wales Window for Alabama . Designed by artist John Petts, the stained-glass window depicts a Black Christ with his arms outstretched; his right arm pushing away hatred and injustice, the left extended in an offering of forgiveness. The church was closed for over eight months after the bombing. It reopened in June 1964, supported by more than $186,000 in global donations. The four girls are now memorialised in statues, plaques, and historical markers across Birmingham. The 16th Street Baptist Church bombing was not an isolated event but a symbol of the violent resistance to racial equality. The deaths of four children focused the world’s attention on the urgent need for civil rights reform. Justice came late, but not too late to be meaningful. As Senator Roger Bedford said in 1990, “Their deaths made all of us focus upon the ugliness of those who would punish people because of the colour of their skin.” The lessons of that day remain as relevant now as ever. Sources McWhorter, Diane. Carry Me Home: Birmingham, Alabama, the Climactic Battle of the Civil Rights Revolution . Simon & Schuster, 2001. Eskew, Glenn T. But for Birmingham: The Local and National Movements in the Civil Rights Struggle . University of North Carolina Press, 1997. Branch, Taylor. Parting the Waters: America in the King Years 1954–63 . Simon & Schuster, 1988. King Institute, Stanford University – “16th Street Baptist Church Bombing” https://kinginstitute.stanford.edu/encyclopedia/birmingham-church-bombing PBS – Eyes on the Prize  (episode resources) https://www.pbs.org/wgbh/americanexperience/features/eyesontheprize-birmingham/ FBI Records – “16th Street Baptist Church Bombing” (declassified documents) https://vault.fbi.gov/16th-street-baptist-church-bombing NPR – “Remembering the Birmingham Church Bombing” https://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=1431933 National Park Service – Birmingham Civil Rights National Monument https://www.nps.gov/articles/000/16th-street-baptist-church.htm