Saturday 25 June 2011

Organized Crime - 1909


1909 – Black Hand
        Early in the month of September, 1909, Salvatore Sanzona, a fruit dealer on James Street North, received the following letter :
          “We pray bring $1,000 when go to Dundas or you will be in peril of your life. No money on your person we wreck your house. Think, bring money when go to Dundas. We find you no money we take your life.”
          The letter, badly written, was unsigned but drawn all over it were several crosses and black hands, which were supposed to indicate death.
          Sanzone, a large good-natured Italian, immediately went to the police with the letter. At first, thinking Sanzone was the victim of some kind of joke, the police refused to act.
          Sanzone’s persistence and obvious fear soon changed their minds and a plan was devised to capture the extortioners.
          Sanzone was told to make his normal trip to Dundas with the money. The police would meet Sanzone’s wagon at a dark spot on the way and hide in the back under a tarpaulin. Another Italian was to accompany Sanzone to write down any words spoken.
          The next morning the plan was put into effect.
          The three detectives, Inspectors Sayers, Coulter and Bleakley, managed to hide themselves beside the bananas and under the tarp but were most uncomfortable as the wagon rattled along King street towards Dundas.
          When the wagon reached the point where the Hamilton and Dundas Electric Railway crossed the Dundas road, just beyond the Halfway House, a masked man rushed out from behind the bushes and stopped Sanzone’s horse.
          Two other masked men then approached, revolvers in hand, and demanded in Italian that Sanzone turn over the $1,000.
          As the roll of bills was handed over, the men dropped their guard for a moment while they were examining the money.
          At this point, Sanzone pulled back the tarpaulin and the three detectives jumped out of the rig, revolvers drawn. He three extortionists ran away as several shots were fired.
          Two of the criminals were almost immediately captured, but the third man almost managed to get away.
          Detective Bleakley saw that he was heading towards the railway track. As luck would have it, a radial electric railway car happened along heading in the same direction.
          Beakley sprinted alongside the car and then jumped on the front platform. When the train neared the fugitive, Bleakley ordered the engineer to stop, jumped off and with his revolver drawn captured his man.
          The three men were identified as Ernest Speranzo, Camelo Columbo and Samuel Wolfe. The Spectator account of the incident labeled the men as “hardened criminals” and surmised that “the recent agitation against the Mafia in the States has driven them to try Canada for a field,” and predicted that “a crusade will begin against suspicious foreigners, especially Italians.”
A month after the incident, Salvatore Sanzone was in the news again. He had received another letter, again demanding money under the threat of death. This time, after the identity of the letter writer was established, a charge was laid. The Spectator identified the man charged and concluded that “all the Black Hand operations in this city have been engineered by John Tagierino, an Italian store keeper from Sherman Avenue North.
Tagierino caused quite a sensation at the police court when he made his appearance to answer the charge of uttering a threatening letter. When some evidence was given against him, he jumped up and down, shouting in his own language, and then retired to a corner of the prisoner’s dock, sobbing.
His case was remanded and Tagierino was kept in custody.
In late October, the three men captured on the Dundas Road were put on trial.
The strain of having to give evidence almost proved too much for Sanzone. He almost collapsed with a heart attack while waiting the court’s anteroom. Dr. Wallace had inject him with morphine so that the trial could proceed.
All three men were convicted with Judge Snider sentencing each to ten years in the Kingston penitentiary.
Tagierino’s trial came up just before Christmas 1909. The Spectator reporter at the trial commented on the proceedings as follows :
          “The prisoner looked a mere shadow of his former self. He was weak and thin and a pathetic scene was enacted when his two year old son toddled to the dock and the father leaned over the rail and kissed him. The little boy was laughing and playing around the court and his father sat back in the dock and sobbed aloud. Tears streamed down his cheeks all morning.”
While Tagierino pleaded not guilty, Crown Attorney felt he had a strong case. Referring to the events leading to the charge as a “Black Hand outrage,” Washington stated that “if practices of that kind were allowed, such men could prey upon their countrymen, and if the business once got a foothold in this country, it would be a serious matter.”
When the jury retired, eleven of the twelve jurors opted immediately for a guilty verdict, but the twelfth juror insisted that he evidence that the evidence be gone over once more.
Feeling that there was a grave doubt as to the defendant’s guilt, this juror flatly refused to go along with the decision f his fellow jurors. Sitting back in his chair, he lit his pipe and declared that he would sit there all winter before he would change his mind.
After a two and a half four standoff, the others caved in and John Tagierino was found innocent and released.
         

Tramps - 1909




        For a week in February, 1909, the Hamilton Spectator sent one of its reporters out to investigate what it termed “the tramp element” which was becoming problematic in the city at the time.
          Dressed as a hobo, the reporter spent considerable time with the local “vag” population, learning about their methods of panhandling. The reporter also stayed at some of cheap lodging houses which tramps in Hamilton frequented.
          The first installment of the Spectator's series of articles on the tramp problem appeared on February, 26, 1909. Ironically, this was the day after the shooting death of Ethel Kinrade, whose murder, at first, was widely rumored to have been perpetrated by a member of the Hamilton's transient population.
          In 1909, the city of Hamilton was widely recognized by professional tramps as a haven for hobos. Unlike many other cities in Canada and the United States, the local authorities in Hamilton were considered to be lax in their treatment of “vags” and the city's population was viewed as being charitably inclined.
          The reporter's initial investigations led him to three of the larger lodging houses in the city – the Bethel Mission, 124 King William Street, at Mary street, The People's Lodging House, 51 Merrick street, at York, and the Workingman's Home, 46 Jackson street east. At these places, transients could obtain meals at 5, 10 or 15 cents each.
          While admitting that cheap lodging houses would always be needed for those too weak physically or mentally to work, the reporter felt that some of the proprietors actively encouraged the existence of professional tramps, noting that these places were “infested with all the filth, disease and vermin that such spots could gather through contact with men who, through laziness and pure cussedness of spirit, hardly know what the word bath means, who nearly always sleep with their shoes on, and who, in fact, slip through each day and night with an minimum amount of energy and labor possible. Wrecks who would sell soul and honor for a glass of beer or whiskey, and to whom the satisfaction of that great craving for alcohol  is even greater than cleanliness and self-respect.”
          The Bethel Mission was considered the best of the cheap lodging houses. Capable of handling one hundred and nineteen people, the Bethel Mission was located in a very dilapidated building, directly across from #3 police station. The beds were very small and rundown. The sheets and pillowcases were, according to the reporter, “in keeping with the surroundings, (looking like they had been) badly damaged by fire and water in some conflagration.
          The rooms at the Bethel Mission were small, partitioned off , cubby holes, just large enough to hold a single iron bedstead and room to undress. The partitions were six feet high and covered on top with wire netting.
          At the Bethel Mission, the meals sold for as little as five cents each, for which the lodger got two slices of bread and a cup of tea. Meat only appeared on the 10 and 15 cent menu.
          The quality and quantity of food provided was so low that the proprietors made good profits from their kitchen operation. With the only expenses being the wages of a cook and the 'food' provided, the proprietors made between 15 to 20 per night. Other than the cook, the only other paid employee was a porter who served the meals and, presumably, “looked after” the rooms.
          The clientele of the Bethel Mission were usually penny poor, so that the method by which they paid for their bed and meal was the use of lodging house tickets. The down and out person would be given a stack of these tickets and be sent out to the residential areas of the city.
          The ticket would contain a space for the date, the name of the lodging house, a line where the person who signed their name would pledge to pay the Bethel Mission for one meal and one bed.
          The ticket for the People's Lodging House included the motto, “Help those who cannot help themselves,” and a biblical quotation,  Let your light so shine before men, that they, seeing your good works, may glorify your Father which is in Heaven.” The ticket for the People's Lodging House also included the admonition, “This cannot be commuted or transferred.”
          Despite this warning, the practice of bartering these tickets was widespread. An experienced vag would spend an evening securing as many ticket commitments as possible, and then would resell them at reduced prices to those who actually had a little hard cash which had usually been procured by begging on the streets.”The Spectator reporter noted that the goal of this entrepreneurship was little disguised, “with cash in hand , it is custom to repair to the nearest tavern.”
          The Workingman's Home, on Jackson street was the most respectable of the city's lodging houses, if only for the fact that it was necessary to ring the doorbell to be admitted, which the man from Spec noted was “a custom not in vogue at the other places.”
          An innovation at the Workingman's Home was the use of iron cots, placed on top of each other, which the reporter were “in the shape of double deckers or old-fashioned bunks.” When the reporter attempted to try one of the beds to see how comfortable it might be, he was warned not to try “by an old soldier with his years of service over, now aged and fit for little but a healthy consumption of alcohol.” The reporter accepted his advice.
          The worst lodging house conditions were at the People's Lodging House, Ed Leonard proprietor. The house had recently been visited twice by the city health inspector who had sternly ordered a clean up.
          The house was located exactly at the sharp corner where Merrick and York streets met, and had entrances from both streets. The People's Lodging House included a general store, in which, the Spec man noted, “is gathered a nondescript collection of miscellaneous articles.”
          Beside the “store” was the kitchen where the chef and second cooks turned out servings which the reporter labeled as “appetizing dainties.” On the day the reporter was present he noticed that there were “two pieces of fat pork in a granite pot over the gas stove,” and that “the odor from the sizzling pots, mingled with the general smell of the place, was almost unbearable.”
          The general sitting room of the People's Lodging House consisted of a stove and benches with a large wash sink in one corner. Two badly damaged wash basins provided the only toilet facilities in the place. The rooms were ark and badly ventilated, yet despite the deplorable conditions, the People's Working Lodge was the most frequented of all the lodging houses in Hamilton.
          A week before this particular lodging house was visited by the press, a full-scale fight broke out among the patrons, nearly wrecking the place. “Drunken brawls were not uncommon happenings during the night the reporter stayed at the People Lodging House, particularly one noted wrote about where “a strapping big Scotchman, much the worse of wear and liquor, hooked up with another big hulk of the same size and a fearful two round bout resulted, the mischief maker coming out of the fray in pretty bad shape, the owner of a badly smashed nose, black eye and cut head.”
          That same night, another “guest” in a drunken stupor blindly hurled a chair across a room catching an innocent bystander on the wrist. According to the reporter who witnessed the incident, the bystander, a diminutive Englishman, who was one of the few in the establishment who actually had a job. “showed all the gameness possessed by the English,” and despite being held back by a damaged wrist, broke the chair thrower's nose and sent him to bed with two large cuts on his head and wrist.
          The denizens of the lodging houses were sad cases for the most, as viewed by the Spec man who noted that “when all moral obligations have ceased, the mind has wilted, hope fled, and liquor is responsible for any passion displayed, trouble is bound to arise.”
          According the the information given to the reporter, fully eight out of ten were of English, Scotch or Irish birth, “most of them still clinging to their old country's ideas and speech. Most of them possess a vacant lifeless stare, shiftless to the core, incapable of arousing any energy except when drunk, yet withal, alive to their own interests and well capable of taking care of number one when it is time to get a bed, a bite to eat, and a drop to drink.”
          The editorial accompanying the Spectator reporter's investigation began with a reference to the rumor that the previous day's Kinrade murder on Herkimer street was committed by a professional bum. The Kinrade's home was in an area considered “easy pickings” by the tramps. The writer of the editorial lamented the “notoriously sympathetic” attitudes of Hamilton citizens who, he felt, were being exploited to the hilt by what he called “the idle and shiftless” segment of society.
          The editorial called for a public agency to deal with “appeals for assistance” from those in need in Hamilton so that individual homes in the city would not be prey to beggars knocking at their kitchen doors pleading for a hot meal.
          The second major installment of the Spectator reporter's investigation dealt with the methods of panhandling used by the tramp element.
          Upon arrival in Hamilton, the tramp would secure a fistful of lodging house tickets, and would then be directed to the areas of the city most likely to be canvassed successfully.
          Hamilton at the time was flooded with tickets which, when signed, could be used either for a bed or a meal, or resold to the lodging house keeper, often for 5 cents cash in exchange for a 25 cent pledge, the pledge which, of course, was always collected.
          An energetic tramp could easily summon up two dollars' worth of pledges in one evening:
          “The most proficient beggars of the lot have been known to make as much as eleven or twelve dollars a week, which is divided between the favorite lodging house and the salon.”
          The tramps generally found out from each other which homes to avoid. Mayor McLaren's residence was definitely taboo, as were any of the policemen's homes, “as the officer of the law generally makes it pretty warm for the caller.” Most of the tramps were generally harmless, but occasionally some were desperate characters.
          The Wellington street south area was particularly vulnerable to visits by members of the tramp element as many vags hopped off  T. H. & B. freight train cars  which had been stopped in that area. One householder was held up by a vag brandishing a revolver. In another case, a vag called at a home and was called into the kitchen to be served a hot meal. Figuring that he had a vulnerable woman at his mercy, this particular hobo attempted a sexual assault. Unfortunately for the tramp, the “girl” was “big and masculine, and grabbing the tough by the coat collar, threw him bodily into the back yard, closing the door in his face.”
          In the final installment of the series on the tramp nuisance, the Spectator's young man addressed the suggested remedies which had been proposed to deal with the problem.
          Since the articles started to appear, there had been a mass exodus of tramps from the city. The articles, combined with the numerous rumors surrounding the Kinrade murder case, had made Hamilton a very problematic location for “weary Willies.”
          In fact, Proprietor Daniels of the Bethel Mission warned his clients to not solicit pledges for the lodging house tickets for a while, saying “don't go out tonight and don't ask any person to sign any tickets for a few days. If any of you haven't the price of a night's lodging, I will overlook it tonight.”
          Most took the advice, but one unfortunate vag persisted in his begging rounds. Knocking at one door, he pleaded for the price of a bed and was invited in by the lady of the house. Entering the front hall, he walked directly into the arms of a city policeman who marched him off to the station. Although the tramp had said he was broke and had not eaten in two days, it was found that he had 30 cents cash on him and that his pockets were jammed with “buttered bread and other eatables.”
          The reporter pleaded with householders to never give in to the entreaties of tramps:
          “This class of men never starve and are really never in want.”

Male Impersonator - 1909


1909 – Claire Romaine
        “Did Her Stunt : Dressed As a Boy, Claire Romaine Fooled a Number of Persons”
          Hamilton Herald  February 18, 1909
          “The interesting little stunt that was pulled off by Miss Claire Romaine, the actress at Bennett’s, who was compelled to travel from Chicago to Hamilton without changing her stage attire as a young man, has had a just as interesting sequel. This morning Miss Romaine learned that a number insinuated that she had done no such thing. To Manager Appleton she exhibited symptoms of considerable indignation about being disbelieved. Mr. Appleton, for the fun of the thing, jollied the actress himself and she that she had done anything of the sort.
          “I’ll prove to you,” said Miss Romaine, “that I can do it again.”
          “I’ll bet you a box of gloves against anything you like,” said the manager, “that you won’t do anything like it again.”
          “You’re on,” exclaimed Miss Romaine.
          It was accordingly argued that the actress should don her stage attire, walk down to the theatre and back to the Royal Hotel where she was to play a game of pool. She fulfilled her part of the contract and Manager Appleton had to hand out an order for the gloves.


          The headline attraction at Bennett’s Vaudeville Theatre for a week in February, 1909 was Miss Claire Romaine.
          An immensely popular singer and comedienne of the English music hall variety, Claire’s “gimmick” was her stage attire. She dressed as a man.
          Her previous engagement prior to coming to Hamilton was in Chicago.
          The show had run awfully late so Claire had to rush to make her connection, not even stopping to change out of her stage attire.
          The railroad trip was made without anyone guessing that Claire was really a woman, not a man.
          A few days later, Claire was chatting with Mr. Appleton, manager of the Bennett’s Theatre in the lobby of the Royal Hotel. The conversation turned to the subject of her trip from Chicago in male attire. Appleton teasingly stated that he doubted that such a thing had actually taken place.
          Claire, visibly angered by Appleton’s insinuation, said to him, “I’ll prove to you that I can do it again.”
          “I’ll bet you a box of gloves against anything you like,” challenged the theatre manager, “that you won’t do anything like it again.”
          “You’re on” chirped back Ms. Romaine.
          After returning to her room to put on her stage clothing and make up, Claire met Appleton in the hotel lobby, and together they proceeded to walk walk from the corner of Merrick street and James street north to the theatre located behind the Terminal Station at King and Catherine streets.
          A Spectator reporter watching the procession described Claire as being dressed “in a suit that would do justice to the ordinary sport.” The reporter wrote that “the many eager eyes that gazed at ‘the young man’ along the streets were many, but the little music hall artist in her latest fashioned suit continued on her way.”
          The journey was completed without incident.
          Back at the Royal Hotel, Claire, delighted with her victory, then offered to show Jack Appleton what kind of pool she could shoot. The pair then adjourned to the billiard room but Jack requested that the result of the game be withheld.