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NOVEMBER  2017
The Rise of the Billionaires Leaves the Middle Class Stranded

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Wednesday, February 10, 2016

BLOODY JACK Chapter Three

I have to keep reminding myself, how small the place was. It was less than a mile via Whitechapel Road between Aldegate (above, middle left) and the London Hospital (above, upper right). And from a midway mark on that road, less then a twenty minute walk in any direction encompassed all of Whitechapel, Spitafields and Waping, the three poorest parishes in London. 
Contained within that tiny circle were some 800,000 hungry, exhausted, sickly, desperate people, living short, brutal, filthy lives. Capitalism offered them few opportunities, and the ones it did demanded first that they take advantage of each other. Religion offered only the peace of resignation. Justice was a tool  the powerful used to remain poweful .
Life, liberty and happiness were available only if you could afford them. And the wealth of those that could rested largely on the backs of the people of the East End of London. The Victorian age was defined by its hypocrisy, the sins of its age no less gilded in London, than in Mark Twain's America.
Thus it was a short sad walk pushing the police ambulance from George Yard, a few block where Wentworth began Montague Street where the mortuary (above, green box, lower left) a half block from the Whitechapel Union Workhouse. 
About 7:00  that morning the cart was admitted through the Eagle Place gate (above) and then had to wait while the gate keepers sent for Robert Mann, the 53 year old workhouse inmate who was authorized to open the mortuary for incoming bodies.
In his life Robert Mann had been a dock worker, but either through injury or illness,  Robert's mind was injured and left easily confused.  He was no longer able to hold a job. He had lived in the Workhouse for almost a decade now. He helped in the kitchen, and in the men's ward of the hospital, mopping up, removing waste and bodies. That Tuesday afternoon, Robert opened the mortuary a second time to admit two nurses. They stripped and washed the body of the unknown murder victim, and were the first to clearly see the brutality done to her. 
When they were finished the nurses stood by while a photo was taken of the victim's pale blood drained face. Then they left the body under a sheet on the dissecting table in the post mortem room and Robert Mann locked the door behind them.
During late Tuesday afternoon, 7 August, 1888, Detective Inspector Edmund Reid had gone back to the Blackwell Building on George Yard (above), and started knocking on doors. First he re interviewed the Hewitts, the building superintendent and his wife, who lived on the ground floor. They confirmed what they had told Constable Barrett. The dead woman had never been a resident, and had never before been seen about the building. 
Inspector Reid then spoke to the woman in Apartment 37, Louisa Reeves, the wife of John Saunders Reeves, who had found the dead woman at 4:45 or 4:50 that morning. Lousia Reeves told Detective Reid there had been several fights on Wentworth street that Monday night, as was to be expected, what with it having been a “Bank Holiday”. It was the last holiday of the summer. The couple had heard the first shouting about 11:30, and then again half past midnight, and then a third fight broke out about 1:00 am. The couple had watched from their balcony overlooking Wentworth Street, while the police broke up all three brawls. one after another.

The resident of Apartment 35, Mr. Alfred George Crow, made his living as a licensed driver of a hackney cab. The Bank Holiday had been a busy work day for the 25 year old, and he did not get home until 3:00 am on the morning of Tuesday, 7 August. He had seen a “person” on the stairs, whom he assumed was sleeping. Since this was not unusual,  he took little note of it, going straight to bed. He did not realized a murder had occurred until 9 that morning, when he had gotten up, and gone out to buy either food or gin.
At 7:30 that night, Inspector Reid caught Mrs. Elizabeth Mahoney returning from her job at the Stratford matchbook factory, just behind the Workhouse. The 25 year old soft spoken woman and her husband John lived in Apartment 47, directly above Alfred Crow. She said they had spent the day celebrating with her sister, and had not returned home until about 1:40 that Tuesday morning. Elizabeth had paused in their apartment just long enough to take off her hat and cloak, before going downstairs again to buy some dinner (or gin) at a chandler's shop one block north on Thrawl Street (above). Elizabeth said the errand had taken no more than five minutes, before she came home again, climbing the same staircase just before two in the morning. She saw no one on the stairs, she said, living or dead, and did not learn of the murder until ten that morning.
Inspector Reid took note that no one heard any screams or shouting after one that morning, despite the Hewitts apartment being at the foot of the stairwell. And given Mr. Crow's and Mrs. Mahoney's testimony, the murder must have occurred between 2:00 am and 3:00 am. Because of the lack of calls for help, it seemed likely that the victim had known her killer. But until he knew the name of the first, he had little chance of finding the name of the second.
Reid wrote up a description of the victim, and had it dispatched to the news papers, who would publish it the next morning. The female victim was about 37 years old, 5 feet 3 inches tall, with dark hair and a dark complexion, wearing an old dark-green skirt, brown petticoat, long black jacket, brown stockings, a black bonnet, and side-sprung boots. It was a proven, plodding police approach. But Inspector Reid was about to be offered a short cut that would throw his case completely off track.
The red herring appeared in the form of Police Constable Thomas Barrett, who showed up early for his  Tuesday evening tour at the Leman Street station.  Speaking to Inspector Reid, Barrett said he was bothered by an incident which occurred while he was walking his beat at 2:00 am on that Tuesday morning. He spotted a soldier loitering on Wentworth street (above), near the entrance to George Yard. Barrett thought he might be a guard to insure no interference with a robbery going on in the alley. When Barrett asked what he was doing there, the soldier confessed to “waiting for chum who had gone up the alley with a girl.” Because he believed the soldier, and because of the directive regarding street walkers, Barrett merely told the soldier to move along, and then continued his patrol. 
 Barrett described the soldier as a Private between 22 and 26 years of age, about 5 feet 9 inches tall, with fair complexion, dark hair and a small brown mustache turned up at the ends. He was also wearing a good conduct badge. It had happened three hours before the body was discovered, but Barrett was sure he could recognize the soldier again. Might it not have something to do with the murder? Desperate for a lead, Reid thought it might.
On Wednesday, 8 August, Reid escorted Constable Barrett to the Tower, where members of the Guards were paraded for his inspection. Looking for the soldier he had encountered outside of George Yard Tuesday morning, Barrett picked out one man, and then another. Under questioning, both men proved to have separate but equally iron clad alibis  Reid was frustrated, but not surprised. The lead had led nowhere. 
That same morning, Wednesday, 8 August, 1888,  Dr. Timothy Robert Killeen walked the five blocks from his surgery to the Old Montague Street Mortuary to autopsy the body of the woman from George Yard. He was supposed to be assisted by a nurse from the Workhouse hospital ward, but none showed up. So the doctor relied on mortuary worker Robert Mann and his assistant James Hatfield, a 68 year old resident of the Workhouse. 
As usual for the Montague Street mortuary dissecting room (above) , conditions were horrible. The lighting was bad, the room un-vented,  and there was no ready source of water. Luckily it had been a cool summer, because every surgeon in Whitechapel dreaded doing an autopsy there in August.
Dr, Killeen now counted 22 stab wounds (above). The left lung had been penetrated in five places, the right lung in two places. The victim's fatty heart had also been pierced. The liver had been penetrated five times, the spleen twice, the stomach six times. 
All but one of the wounds had been inflicted by a pen knife, held, deduced Dr. Killeen , by a right handed person. But for some reason, on the death certificate (above), Dr. Killeen omitted any details of the savage wounds to the victim's throat, or the slice made just above her pubic bone.
Perhaps the savagery of the assault on the woman was affecting him. Perhaps it was the stench and dirty conditions in the mortuary. Perhaps after three years laboring in the cesspit that was Whitechapel he was finally feeling overwhelmed. If it was the latter, Dr. Timothy Killeen would be far from the first or the last doctor to be "burned out" in Whitechapel. Within the year, Dr, Killeen would return to his family home north of Limerick, Ireland. He never wrote about his time in Whitechapel, nor his brush with the murderer who would become known as Jack the Ripper.
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Sunday, February 07, 2016

THE FIRST DAY Chapter Two

I imagine the Florida and Mississippi boys – the called each other “boys” - regretted mocking the New York engineers that Tuesday afternoon, The stronger voiced had bellowed the 350 yards across the Rappahannock River, urging the brawny union men to come rest in the shade of the trees on their side of the river.  But about 1:00 p.m., when 4 batteries of Federal artillery finally arrived and begun to blast away, the laughter ceased. While rebel sharpshooters killed 6 sons of New York and wounded 18 more, the engineers persisted in unloading 10 pontoon boats at the river's edge. Then 2 companies of Vermont boys rushed to the river, and in broad daylight the engineers paddled them across the open water to the Confederate shore.
By now the Florida and Mississippi skirmishers had been reinforced, but the granite state boys charged with the the bullets whistling over their heads. As the engineers returned for more men, the 2 companies of Union troops captured the Confederate rifle pits, and 6 officers and 84 men. Surprisingly, the Vermont boys suffered just 7 wounded in the head-on assault. The Army of the Potomac may have suffered humiliating defeat in its last 2 encounters with the Army of Northern Virginia, but on this day, 5 June, 1863, it displayed audacity and a pugnacious spirit. 
By evening there was a full brigade of Vermont boys on the southern side of the river, and the New York engineers were stringing the pontoon boats together to assemble  2 bridges at Fredrick's Crossing (above) above where  Deep Run Creek (above, far right)  joined the Rappannock River, just below Fredricksburg, Virginia. But one of the Vermont officer's whispered a note of discontent about the successful operation, when he wondered, "Why they (the rebels) let our men quietly entrench themselves when it lay within their power to put them to a great deal of inconvenience, seemed strange at the time.”
Six months earlier, at the end of January 1863, President Abraham Lincoln, had sent a very curious letter to the new commander of the Army of the Potomac, Major General Joseph “Fighting Joe” Hooker. Usually such notes after promotions are designed to inspire confidence, but having suffered through 2 rounds of the arrogant George McCellan – the Peninsula Campaign and Antietam - the foolishness of General John Pope - Second Mananas – and the blundering of Ambrose Burnside – Fredricksburg – Lincoln was more sanguine about the Massachusetts General's abilities.
After reminding Hooker he was responsible for guarding Washington, D.C. and Harpers Ferry, Virginia, the President warned Hooker (above),  “...I am not quite satisfied with you. I believe you to be a brave and a skillful soldier, which, of course, I like. I also believe you do not mix politics with your profession, in which you are right...You have confidence in yourself ..You are ambitious, which, within reasonable bounds, does good rather than harm. But I think that during Gen. Burnside's command... you have taken counsel of your ambition, and thwarted him as much as you could, in which you did a great wrong to the country...I have heard...of your recently saying that both the Army and the Government needed a Dictator. Of course it was not for this, but in spite of it, that I have given you the command. Only those generals who gain successes, can set up dictators. What I now ask of you is military success, and I will risk the dictatorship...” 

Hooker had rewarded the president with the debacle of Chancellorsville, 18,000 Federal casualties, and a retreat back behind the Rappannock. “Fighting Joe” had not been relieved of his command at once because he still displayed a talent for taking care of his men. It was Hooker who had rebuilt the army after the bloody failure at Fredricksburg, by improving the supply lines, improving sanitary conditions in camp  
And he formalized the system of  24 and 48 hour passes in all units, even those in Washington, D.C. - where the workers in the legal houses of prostitution became known as “Hooker's Division”  The new army was so improved that within a month of Chancellorsville, it could display both elan and competency at Fredrick's Crossing, aka Deep Run Creek. And it was Joe Hooker who had dreamed up the cross river punch, and now he wanted to go further.
General Hooker (above) had not informed his superiors, General Henry Halleck and President Lincoln, of his intention to cross the river until two hours before launching the attack.  He justified his aggressiveness with balloon observations that several rebel camps on the west bank had disappeared. If, as Hooker suspected, Lee was moving north, Fighting Joe saw an opening.”I am of the opinion,” he telegraphed Lincoln, “that it is my duty to pitch into his rear...” Hooker suggested a “rapid advance on Richmond”, adding that the capture of the rebel capital would be “the most speedy and certain mode of giving the rebellion a mortal blow.”
Appalled, Lincoln replied at 4:00 p.m. that same Tuesday, the Illinois lawyer trying desperately to explain military reality to the West Point graduate. “If he (Lee) should leave a rear force,” telegraphed Lincoln, “it would fight in entrenchments and have you at (a) disadvantage” Lincoln then Americanized Napoleon's principles of warfare, explaining an army fighting with the Rappahannock at its back was “...like an ox jumped half over a fence and liable to be torn by dogs front and rear, without a fair chance to gore one way or kick the other. If Lee would come to my side of the river, I would keep on the same side, and fight him...” 

Forty minutes later Hooker's military superior, General Halleck, asked “Would it not be more advantageous to fight his movable column first, instead of first attacking his entrenchments, with your own forces separated by the Rappahannock?” Latter Halleck telegraphed that Lincoln had asked if he agreed with the President's military assessment. Halleck assured Hooker, “I do.”
And that was that. Still, Hooker was still reluctant to lose his glorious coup de main on Richmond, insisting on holding onto the bridgehead “for a few days”. But something else arose which distracted the Massachusetts native.
 Federal Brigadier General John Buford reported evidence that J.E.B. Stuart and his entire Rebel cavalry corps, almost 7,000 troopers (above),  had concentrated near Brandy Station in Culpeper County, Virginia.. Given the strain such a gathering of horses and men would place on the rebel supply train, it was obvious General Stuart must be preparing another raid into Maryland.
And Federal Major General Alfred Pleasonton  (above) suggested he take 7,000 blue coated cavalry and 4,000 infantry south of the Rappahannock to break up the raid before it started. On 7 June, 1863, General Hooker approved the operation, to “disperse and destroy" the rebel cavalry.
What neither Hooker nor Pleasanton,  nor even John Buford,  knew was that not only were the rebel cavalry gathering in Culpeper county, but so were the infantry corps of Generals Richard Ewell and "Old Pete" Longstreet -  54,000 men preparing for the invasion of Pennsylvania. And the Federal cavalry was about to poke their nose right into that hornet's nest. 

 - 30 -

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