Newspaper writers of the early 20th century found lots of amusing euphemisms for LGBT couples – enough that one sees references to a young woman and her “aide” and it’s tempting, at least, to wonder if they were more than friends. Jeanette Hoy and Katherine Davis don’t seem to have been a couple, exactly (to Hoy’s chagrin), but papers referred to their “odd friendship” and used the word “chum” in scare quotes after Hoy shot Davis, then herself, in 1921.
Davis told reporters that she met then-20 year old Hoy in 1919, when she was living in an apartment of her own in the Eleanor Club (a chain of women-only rooming houses that survived until the 1990s) on Indiana Avenue. The two struck up a friendship, going to the theater together regularly (and, in some accounts, rooming together), before Davis decided she didn’t want to see Jeanette anymore, presumably after Jeanette declared that her love was not platonic. Jeanette didn’t take it well, continuing to show up at the Eleanor Club and sending gifts and money. And then she sent one with a bullet enclosed, threatening to kill Davis and herself. The letter reportedly read, in part, “You probably don’t understand how a girl can love another girl as I do you.”
Jeanette, in an undated photo.
A few days later, April 28, 1921, Jeanette appeared at the Madison and Wabash L platform. When Davis got out of a train, Hoy shot her, then ran down the stairs and into the alley (I’m thinking the one behind the Chicago Athletic Association, though there are a couple of alleys around there – it may just be wishful thinking on my part because I love that place so much!), where she shot herself three times. Both young women were taken to St. Luke’s Hospital, where they recovered. The Tribune story was headlined “Girl Shoots Her Chum, Tries to End Own Life – Bullets Reveal Strange Friendship” and spoke of Hoy’s “unusual attachment.” The case made national news, including a write up in the New York Times.
Hoy was naturally taken to court, but Davis eventually waived the more serious charges against her former friend, and Hoy was only fined $100 and costs (and eventually had to pay Davis $5000). However, two years later, Hoy was back in the news after threatening to kill an 18 year old woman named Anna Melbuhr, after circumstances that papers described as nearly identical to her case two years before. The last I’ve seen of her in the news is from the day after her threat to Anna, when she was reportedly taken to a “psycopathic hospital” for observation. Though there are a few people named “Jeanette Hoy” who appear in papers decades later, I’m not sure yet whether any are the same person. I’ve only just started looking, but so far I’m not sure whatever happened to Jeanette after 1923. It’s a mystery in progress. There might be some records on her in the state archives, and surely more first-hand accounting in the Chicago papers that I haven’t checked yet. I ran into the story in the Evening American archives on microfilm while researching a whole other story; the other papers of the day (Daily News, Herald Examiner, Journal, etc) probably covered it as well.
What’s interesting now is simply to read the way papers described the relationship between the two. The Evening American spoke of Davis as a victim of a “Girl Love Shooting,” and the Tribune said that Hoy “fancied herself the victim of unrequited love.” Elsewhere there’s talk of “strange friendship,” and a “weird love affair.” Somewhat remarkably, though, I haven’t seen any that editorialize much. Other than words like “weird” or “unusual” showing up now and then, they pretty much treated Jeanette the way they’d treat any other jilted lover.
It’s easy now – and certainly tempting – to see Hoy as a victim of her times, when lesbianism was far less understood and sometimes treated as the sort of thing that, all by itself, could get you sent to a psychopathic hospital. But it also important to remember she shot a person and threatened to do it again; she clearly needed some sort of help, at the very least. Given the times, though, it’s unlikely she would have gotten the sort she really needed. There’s a chance that after 1923 she simply got married and changed her name, but the fact that she seems to vanish from the record after being sent for observation is ominous, to say the least.
If you’ll recall, the story in those articles, as told by former Holmes employee Robert Latimer, was that they brought Holmes out to the scaffold, lowered the rope down behind a partion where no one could see, then hanged him by yanking him back upright – but what was REALLY on the rope was a guy who’d already been dead for a while, while the real Holmes slipped away. Hangings like that, raising people up instead of dropping them, weren’t unknown; we tried it in Chicago a few times. Being able to prop a dead guy up like that, or manipulate him around after rigor mortis set in, might be a whole ‘nother thing, but otherwise it does sound like the kind of switcheroo any decent stage magician could pull off.
Some paperwork with the History Channel prevents me from going into my thoughts on exhumation itself right now (though I’ll repeat my usual request that they at least shave the cement down til he looks like Han Solo in carbonite), but I thought I’d talk about the hanging in more detail, just to show how eyewitness accounts differed from the 1898 stories. I cover the execution, and the hoax rumors, at length in HH HOLMES: THE TRUE HISTORY OF THE WHITE CITY DEVIL (out now from Skyhorse Publishing), but here it is in even MORE detail.
Accompanying their drawing of the “Death March,” the NY Journal had the best headline: “Lived a monster, died a mystery.” Purchased by Hearst six months before, the Journal became synonymous with “yellow journalism,” and had published Holmes’ “confession” a month before, but their take on the execution distinctly lacked sensationalism. Library of Congress
The hanging was covered in a number of Philadelphia papers, and a couple of New York ones sent reporters in as well. Of these, I’ve collected accounts from The EveningItem, Inquirer, Times, Press, Public Ledger, and Record from Philadelphia, and the Journal, Herald and World from New York. Some of these papers were better than others, but all were more or less in agreement about the hanging details. There’s more conflict, though, in how they report on order of events between taking the body down and the burial the next day.
Crowds began to gather outside the prison early on May 7, 1896 – papers estimated the crowd at four or five thousand strong. Sheriff Clement had received thousands of requests for passes to witness the hanging, but turned almost all of them down, issuing only about 50 (which presumably included the 12 man jury he was required to invite). An extra 20 or 30 were brought in by prison inspectors, to his chagrin, though he decided to just get on with things rather than fight for them to be removed. Including the various officials present (jailers, doctors, priests, etc), this puts the number of witnesses at 80-100. Fewer than Moyamensing usually had, according to one or two of the papers, though a quick check of other reports doesn’t back this up for me; an 1890 double hanging had only about 30 witnesses, according to the Inquirer. The previous hanging at Moyamensing, that of William Moore (alias Scott Jennings) in 1893, was apparently limited to the jury, physicians, and press.
The names of the jurymen for the Holmes hanging were given by a few papers: William H. Wright (a deputy sheriff), Dr. Benjamin Pennabaker, JJ Ridgeway, Councilman Robert R. Bringhurst, Samuel Wood (who was also on the trial jury), Dr. Joseph Hearn, Dr. WJ Roe, AB Detweiler, Dr. MB Dwight, Dr RC Guernsey, James Hand, Dr. John L. Phillips.
Philadelphia Times sketch of Holmes on the scaffold, tucked into the Library of Congress copy of his autobiography (thanks to Kate Ramirez)
A few papers also published roughly the same list of other notables who’d received passes: L.G Fouse (president of Fidelity Mutual Insurance, who’d met with Holmes many times), Detective Frank Geyer (who also knew Holmes a lot better than he cared to), Solictor Campbell (Fidelity’s lawyer), Deputy Sheriff Bartol, Dr. Scott, ex-sheriff Connell, Coroner Ashbridge (who’d worked with Holmes identifying the putrid body of Ben Pitezel), Dr J.C. Guernsey, William Edwin Peterson, Medical Inspector Taylor, I. Hoxie Godwin of the board of health. City Property chief A.S. Eisenhower, William A. Cole, Dr. William Roe, Dr JC Da Costa, Dr. Frank Monahghan, Capt of Detectives Peter Miller, ASL Shields (Clement’s lawyer), Lt. Ben Tomlinson, Prof. W Easterly Ashton and Prof Ernest Laplace of Medico-Chirurgical Hosptial, Dr. JS Miller of St Joseph’s, Col J Lewis Good, Asst Dist Attorney Boyle, S.R. Mason (Baltimore Sheriff who told the Inquirer he had five men to hang), deputiy sheriff John B. Meyers, prison agent Camp, inspector Hill, and Major Ralph f. Culinan.
The Record described Holmes being awakened at 6am by Jailkeeper Weaver and saying “I’ve had a dream. I dreamed I was a boy again, up among the New Hampshire hills.” No other paper noted this, though, and it’s hard to imagine that the Record really saw it. At 7am the watch was changed, with Weaver relieved by Jailkeeper Henry. One of the keepers asked Holmes how he felt, and Holmes held up a hand to show he wasn’t shaking, and saying something like “Look at that. Pretty good, isn’t it?” The exact quote was different in the papers describing the scene – probably none could actually hear what he said, and they may not have seen it either (doors to cells were wooden, with a narrow window). Most likely, a jailer filled reporters in on it.
Breakfast, all papers agreed, was boiled eggs, toast, and coffee, all of which Holmes ate, and beefsteak, which he didn’t touch.
Samuel Rotan, Holmes’ attorney arrived, and the Philadelphia Times described Holmes doing the same thing of holding up his hand, saying “See if I tremble.” They also said Rotan and Holmes discussed the plan to bury him in cement, and Rotan noted that he’d turn down a $5000 offer for it, from a man who he thought wanted to exhibit the skeleton in carnivals. Holmes said “Thank you. I’ll see that no one gets my body, either by buying it or stealing it.”
Between 9 and 10 am, the men with permits gathered in the vaulted entrance to the prison, and were eventually ushered into an office while the gallery was prepared. The sheriff’s solicitors, Graw and Shields, were at his elbows making sure all legalities were followed There was a roll call of the jury, each of whom were sworn in by solicitor Graw the oath: “Gentlemen of the jury, you and each you do solemnly swear that you will witness the execution of Herman Webster Mudgett, alias H.H. Holmes, and that you will certify truthfully as to the time and manner of such execution according to the law, so help you God.”
The gallows sketched by the Philadelphia Press
Meanwhile, the men made casual small talk. The New York Journal noted that they kept their hats on and smoked, and that “what they said was not particularly characteristic of the commonly entertained idea of execution talk.” The Philadelphia Times described the talk a bit more: “Witnesses moved restlessly about from the stone roadway in the center of the main entranct to the reception room, aksing each other if they had ever seen a hanging beofre. Most of them had not. The gathering was a very curious mixture of youth and old age, the juvenile newspaper reporter on his first assignment of the sort rubbing elbows with a the gray-haired physician who had seen more executions than he had time to talk about just then.”
At various times, Inspector Cullinan, Superintendent Perkins, and a few others made visits to Holmes’ cell. Holmes had decided that he would like to make a speech, and reportedly threatened to “make a scene” if Samuel Rotan was not allowed onto the scaffold with him. Both requests were granted. Requests to make a speech almost always were.
A bit before 10, an officer called out “Hats off, no smoking,” and the crowd was marched, two by two, into the “gallery,” a long hallway with cells on either side (including Holmes’ own). In the center of the hall stood the gallows, painted so dark a green that most papers called it black. There was a screen or partition hanging below the back of the scaffold, and the men walked through a partition in it to get the the other side, where they’d turn to face it. The men, therefore, had to walk right past the scaffold, and each had a chance to check out the mechanism. Most scaffolds that I’ve read of from those days had a single trap door that fell back; at Moyamensing they used two trap doors that fell sideways.
As they stood facing the gallows, (which had no partition on the other side; the dropped body would be in full view), there was little attempt at conversation.
The “Death March” in the Philadelphia Press
At 10:08, per the Record, there was a sound they said was “scarcely more pronounced that the droning of bees on the air of a midsummer’s afternoon.” Most of the reporters described this sound – as it got louder, they realized it was the priests singing “Miserere.” (Holmes had been meeting frequently with Fathers Dailey and McPake, though whether he’d officially become a Catholic was the subject of conflicting accounts in the papers) The “death march” had begun.
Though one paper noted that only a couple of reporters could see the march through the partition behind the scaffold, all of them described it, and a few drew it. Sheriff Clement and Superintedent Perkins came first. Holmes and the priests followed, with Rotan and the other officials behind.
Holmes was wearing a vest, a suit, and dark gray trousers with light shoes. The shirt he wore had no collar, as those got in the way of the noose. Instead, as most papers pointed out, he wore a silk handkerchief around his neck as a sort of substitute collar.
By most accouts, he was as calm as anyone present, but didn’t look good. The Journal called him pale beyond the ordinary jail pallor. He looked miserably small and slight… he loked like a consumptive in his weakness, but the weakness was only physical. there was no trembling of the lips or dropping of the eyes. Whatever else may be said about him, Holmes was not afraid to die.” The Times said “he looked dead already.”
The group walked the 13 steps up to the scaffold, and Holmes stepped to the rail on, spreading his arms out across, it, looked to the crowd, and made his final speech:
Holmes on the scaffold, sketched by the New York Tribune. The partition behind it is clearly on view here.
“Gentlemen, I have very few words to say; in fact, I would make no statement at this time except that by not speaking I would appear to acquiesce in my execution. I only want to say that the extent of my wrongdoing in taking human life consisted in the death of two women, they having died at my hand as the result of criminal operations. I wish to also state, however, so that there will be no misunderstanding hereafter, I am not guilty of taking the lives of any of the Pitezel family, the three children or father, Benjamin F. Pitezel, of whose death I am now convicted, and for which I am to-day to be hanged. That is all.”
(The two women, based on letters Holmes wrote the night before, were Julia Conner and Emeline Cigrand. The letters don’t survive, but what’s known of their contents is in Very Truly Yours HH Holmes, an ebook supplement of Holmes’ letters and writings).
All reports agree that he stepped back and knelt with the priests to pray after the speech. According to the Record, while he was praying the sun passed a skylight on the roof and a beam of light hit the scaffold for a second. The Public Ledger had him saying “Good-bye, Sam, you have done all you could” to Rotan before he knelt, though others had him saying it (or something like it) after rising from the prayer.
Richardson, the jailor, nudged Holmes a few inches over so that his feet were on either side of a crack in the floor, then got to work with the basic tasks of preparing a man to be hanged. He let Holmes button his coat a bit, then bound his hands behind his back, removed the handkerchief, added the noose, and put the black hood over his face (which was absolutely standard at all judicial hangings). There’s a little variation on the order in which this was all done among the reports, but only very minor details (noose first or hood first, etc).
Holmes said something to Richardson, but no papers quoted it quite the same way. The Record recorded it as “What’s your hurry, there’s plenty of time.” The Public Ledger had “Don’t be in a hurry, Aleck. Take your time.” The Inquirer said it was “Take your time old man,” and the the Times said “Take your time, Richardson, you know I am in no hurry.” Many out of town papers quoted it as “Don’t bungle” or “Make it quick.” Most likely, since Holmes was above the heads of the reporters and speaking only to Richardson, through a hood, no one could hear exactly what he said clearly.
When everything was set, Richardson asked, “Are you ready?” Holmes said, “I am ready. Good-bye.” Some reporters had him adding “Good-bye, everybody.”
There are also very minor variations in reports of the exact time the trap doors fell – some papers said 10:13, others said 10:12 and thirty seconds. But now we’re really nitpicking.
But the two doors of the tap fell with a sound that the Record described as a crash “which within the stillness of the prison walls sounded like a blast of artillery, as the two sections of the platform fell to either side.” Some papers specified that he dropped five feet.
The rope stopped with a fierce jerk, and the body swayed and moved about for several minutes, the hands behind the back opening and closing convulsively and the back and chest heaving, as was standard at these things, the sort of twitching that happens. Most of the time hanged men also wet or messed themselves, and some reports would mention it, but in this case I don’t think anyone did, though I assume it probably happened. It usually did, either right at moment of death or shortly after, as the muscles relaxed. Papers a generation earlier had been more apt to mention it than the late Victorians were.
At 10:18 after three minutes, Dr. Benjamin Butcher, one of several doctors present, came and listened to the heart beat, timing the beats with his watch. He announced that it was still beating, but only due to reflex actions. Holmes was dead. Doctors. La Place, Ashton, Da Costa, and Miller examined the body as it hung there as well, and concurred. The heart was still beating, but slowing down, and Holmes was dead.
At 10:30, the Times said, Lt. Tomlinson brought in sergeants and patrolmen to look at the body as it hung there, and they were very jovial about the whole thing. The Times said “It made one shudder to hear the comments.”
Undertaker O’Rourke removing the body out the back (plenty of spectators were waiting there, too, by all accounts)
Around that time, 10:30, the doctors all agreed that the heart had stopped. Some books have made a great deal of the fact that it took 15 minutes, but if you read a lot of 19th century hanging accounts, this was very common. It doesn’t indicate that Holmes was superhuman or anything.
At 10:45, by all accounts, the body was taken down and lowered onto a rolling cot. The jury made a quick examination, probably just looking at the hooded body lying there, then went off to the office to sign their statement that the hanging had been done according to the law.
It’s at THIS point that accounts of what happened start to differ a little more, likely because not all of the reporters stayed beyond this. Similar to the accounts of what had gone on in Holmes’ cell that morning, a lot of the reporters were now covering things they probably didn’t actually witness first hand.
By all accounts, officials had a lot of trouble getting the rope off of Holmes’ neck; it was on tight and had dug into the skin. The hood came partway off, at least, as they tried to wrestle it off. One man tried to cut it, but for some reason Superintendent Perkins told them not to, though in at least one account they had to cut part of it to loosen it before they finally managed to get it off. When they did remove it, the hood was removed as well, and the Record said “the dead man’s face was a thing too ghastly for description, and even the doctors turned from it.” The NY Herald, though, said “face was composed and peaceful.”
There was a very quick examination, with all the doctors agreeing that the neck had broken and Holmes had probably been dead instantly, without even a fleeting second of pain before he lost consciousness. But Rotan wouldn’t let them take the body away, or do a more thorough examination, even though the doctors really wanted to do an autopsy, just like a lot of other doctors around the country did. Coroner Ashbridge was noted particularly for being frustrated here by the Philadelphia Evening Item.
The Item, though, didn’t didn’t cover much of what became of the body afterwards – they were an evening paper, so they had to get going. While other reporters were still following the body to the cemetery, they were getting their stories ready, as they had to be on sale just a few hours later. Instead of following the body, they left the scene and got a few quick quotes from Frank Geyer, the sheriff, Rotan, etc, who all said about what you’d expect them to say – the hanging was done neatly, that Holmes died “game” (bravely), and that they were glad it was all over. Rotan said he still wasn’t convinced Holmes had killed Ben Pitezel, though from other comments he made I do think he believed Holmes had killed some of the other known victims.
Holmes’ body was on the rolling cot for at least an hour; sources are a bit unclear about what time PJ O’Rourke, the undertaker, showed up. Sources are also a little unclear as to whether there was already a few inches of cement in the coffin he brought with him. The Philadelphia Press described a rough pine box, with a mix of sand, water and cement poured in to a depth of 4-5 inches. Holmes was wrapped in a sheet, with a silver cross bearing his name and the date on his chest, still wearing his clothes, then taken out to he cemetery, with a stop on the way to pick up a permit, where more cement was added. Their report makes it look like much of this happened right in the prison.
The Times, though, said that the body was placed in an ordinary pine box, then taken out to O’Rourke’s backyard (right by the prison), where it was put in a larger box to which they added five barrels of cement and sand, ten inches deep. Holmes was laid in this, a handkerchief was put over his face, and then more mortar was added before they screwed on the lid and took it the cemetery.
From the next day’s Evening Item
The Record concurred that some cement was already in the coffin, but it had the rest of the prepartion taking place at the cemetery, not the yard. Everyone agrees that they’d neglected to pick up the burial permit, and the officials at the cemetery wouldn’t put the body in the vault without it, so O’rourke had to send someone back to town to pick one up from the cathedral. According to the Record, it was while they waited that the rest of the cement was added, though their description of what was done with the body otherwise matches the one in the times and the Press.
The Record gave a lurid description of what the body looked like when they unscrewed the lid to pour the cement in:
“The body lay on the bed of cement covered by a white sheet, which was taken off for a moment. The face was discolored, of a saffron hue, and the eyes were half open, staring upward in a ghastly way. the mouth, too, was open, showing the yellow teeth, and the brown hair was slightly disarranged, as though the dead man had just run his hand through it. A wide red line was visible on the neck, where the rope had chafed it.”
The sheet was replaced, in their account, along with the silver cross that others mentioned, which was a gift from Father Dailey. Grave diggers mixed up the cement and sand, and o’rourke p packed the coffin with it. 12 men, mostly reporters, were enlisted to haul the thing into the receiving vault, where it would stay over night, guarded by two men named Charles Fulmer and David P Mason.
The guards Fulmer and Mason at the vault at Holy Cross, from the Philadelphia Record. I’ve been unable to figure out whether this vault is still there!
The Journal didn’t cover this part in detail; their reporters were probably rushing home to New York. But they did state that lime was in the mixture, and that “the body will be absorbed by the lime and sand in the cement.” This might have been a guess on their part.
The next day the body was brought out to be buried; it took even more people to get the coffin back OUT of the vault, as it weighed about a ton. Rotan, the priests, and a bunch of people who’d been hanging around, waiting, watched the body be lowered down – they removed the coffin lid, lowered it into the 10 foot grave (and one source specifies that Holy Cross usually used 8, which is interesting – the commonly-given figure is 6 feet, though 5 is actually a bit closer to industry standard these days). More cement was mixed up and poured in, then he was buried. The grave was unmarked, but several hundred people came to check out the site over the next few days.
It’s worth noting here that some papers gave a different section of the cemetery than others as the burial site; at least three Philly papers that I checked gave the section number where he was buried, and aren’t in total agreement. But a few published an account of the burial service, which was attended by several curios spectators, most notably including Rotan.
The Inquirer was on hand for the burial; getting the body back OUT took two dozen men.
So, that’s the story of the execution and burial of HH Holmes. There are some descrepencies, probably based on the fact that not all of the reporters were actually witnessing everying they described; some were just swapping data second hand and may have been mistinterpreting. But as to the details of the execution, the part they witnessed for sure, they’re in as close an agreement as you get from half a dozen people witnessing the same thing. And it’s worth noting that many of the people present (Geyer, Fouse, Clement, the jailers, Ashbridge, etc) knew Holmes pretty well and hated his guts. And that many others were public officials or otherwise “pillars of the community.” If it was a hoax, they probably all would have had to be in on it, at huge personal risk. It’s unlikely that Holmes could have afforded the amount it would have taken to bribe all of them, even if any could be bought.
It’s also worth noting that this sounds nothing like the hanging in the 1898 stories that Robert Latimer was spreading around Englewood. But in research for my book, I found a reference in a copyright catalog to an 1897 book called Hanged By Proxy: How HH Holmes Escaped the Gallows. All that really survives of it is the title and publisher name in a copyright listing. BUT, I did find that there was an article in a Paris, MO newspaper where LW Warner talked about writing a pamphlet about Holmes faking his death. The original article may not survive at all, I don’t think anyone has the Paris Mercury even on microfilm, but it was excerpted in another small town Missouri Paper. Warner was a traveling salesman who was living in Newton, Iowa at the time – and shared with Latimer a distinction that Holmes had confessed to murdering him. Though he, like Latimer, was still very much alive. My guess is that Latimer had seen the pamphlet, and that it would tell the same story, but we won’t know for sure unless we find a copy. And we still could! You never know what people have in their drawers and boxes.
So, that’s what I have on the execution and burial of HH Holmes, in more detail, perhaps, than any normal person would want.
Holmes is lowered into the ground, as sketched by the Philadelphia Record. Not QUITE like Han Solo in carbonite, but….
At this time I have no data on how the exhumation went (or will go, if the digging is still going on). But I’ll repeat my request: please, shave the cement down and make him look like Han Solo in carbonite. I’ll keep saying it til they do it!
In the middle of researching HH Holmes: The True History of the White City Devil, a podcaster asked me if I’d found everything, or if research was just for completism. If I remember right, I said I was mostly looking for minor details at this point, but you never know what you might find.
Only days later, I made a find that went almost beyond my wildest dreams.
In picking out local Philadelphia coverage of Holmes’ imprisonment as he awaited execution, I ran into several articles about a noted criminologist named Arthur MacDonald (or, in some articles, Alexander MacDonald). He made the news by applying for permission to have Holmes be strapped to a kymographion – a device that measure’s one breathing rate – while he was being hanged.
The application was denied, but MacDonald was allowed to visit Holmes in prison, where he subjected him to all of these wonderful toys:
Dr. MacDonald’s wonderful toys – he was well respected in his time, but it mostly looks like Victorian junk science today.
Most of the data he gathered by subjecting Holmes to these was utterly useless today – they’re barely a step above throwing Holmes in the water and saying he was a witch if he floated. However, in a couple of the articles about him, MacDonald claimed that he he had been in touch with more than 200 of Holmes’ old associates asking for anecdotes about his character. Now, those, if they were still extant, would be something to see!
Digging deeper on MacDonald, I found that he had published all or part of about 30 of the letters in a book entitled Man or Abnormal Man, in a chapter called “The Case of H.” He didn’t mention Holmes by name (though it’s absolutely obvious that it’s him), which is probably why nothing written about Holmes before seems to use them as a source. Turning the pages and seeing just how many letters there were, my eyes got wider and wider, and I got so excited that I could barely contain myself. This was the kind of find you dream of making!
And, as a source, they’re an absolute treasure trove. The bulk of the letters came from old colleagues and professors from medical school, and give us a much clearer picture than we had before of his college days, his aptitude as a student, his living situation, and his relationship at the time with his firs wife, Clara, and their son, Robert, who lived with him in Ann Arbor for a while. We learn that his college nickname was “Smegma,” details about a breach of promise suit, what his professors thought of him, a lot about his domestic life, and some gruesome anecdotes about his prowess in the dissecting room.
There was also, perhaps most importantly, a letter from Clara Lovering-Mudgett herself, the clearest comment I’ve ever seen from (there were only a few quotes from her in newspapers, and many of them I don’t really buy as reliable). Elsewhere were letters from Marion Hedgepeth, his old cellmate, a childhood neighbor, Carrie Pitezel’s father, a castle resident, and more.
Of course, 30 letters is not 200. Perhaps MacDonald was exaggerating, but perhaps there are another 170 out there yet. I’ve checked with a university library that has his archives, but the search came up empty.
I wound up quoting them at length and referring to them frequently in HH Holmes: The True History of the White City Devil, but it was too big a find to simply sit on and refer to. Hence, I’ve included all of them (with notes on who the anonymous writer was, when I could identify them) as an appendix in Very Truly Yours, HH Holmes, a new ebook collection of Holmes letters, writings, confessions, affidavits and more. It’s sort of a supplement to the official book, containing 150k words (about 700 pages!) of data, all either primary source material on Holmes or an important contemporary document that helped the legend grow (such as the New York World’s phony version of his forthcoming confession). Most of them have not been republished in over a century, and many of the cross-examinations, legal statements, and affidavits have never been publicly available at all. Check it out!
In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, Chicago papers published a number of articles about how many ghost stories there were on Sheridan Road. One of them came up just a bit in my HH Holmes research – the legend of a woman who dreamed for several nights that a body was buried in the Evanston Woods, near murderer Holmes’ old house in Wilmette. Upon sending her husband to dig in the spot, a skeleton was found.
I’d never given the story too much though, but further research today finally dug up some news stories from when the skeleton was first found in September, 1896. And checking the microfilms for Chicago papers back then blew the whole story wide open. Give a listen to the podcast to see what happened!
(listen to the podcast above, or see us on iTunes!)
So, here’s a tale for you all:
In the winter, I drive for Lyft, one of those “taxi alternative” apps. And I love it – I always had this secret dream of being a cab driver, living like a character in an early Tom Waits song. Which is exactly what the job is like. I drive strippers to job interviews, get medical students liquored up before their first cadavers, and, fairly often, turn the ride into a historical tour. I end up one on my ghost tour route all the time, and frequently bring passengers to buildings that I talk about on my architecture tours. I have a “passenger notebook” where people add drawings and plug their bands – check out its Twitter page.
On the evening of Sunday, Jan 14, 2017, I picked up a young woman in Rogers Park, on Ashland just above Pratt. A guy who looked like Pedro from Napoleon Dynamite got in with her, sitting behind me. As we drove along I made basic small talk (“So, you two live in Ravenswood? How do you like it?”), and noted that I seemed to be ended up around Rose Hill Cemetery a lot when we passed over the road that leads to the gate. She asked if I’d ever been there, and I talk about how I actually give walking tours there as the GPS took me along a road right beside the gate. It was a very pleasant ride all around.
When I pulled over at the Ravenswood address, she got out of the car – and no one else did.
“Wasn’t there someone else in the car with you?” I asked.
“No!” she said with a laugh. “I wondered why you kept saying ‘you two!'”
This is the sort of thing that can happen in the dark – I must have thought a guy on the sidewalk was getting in with her, but he didn’t. I was focused on looking ahead of me or at the map for the most part, not behind me. I’d brush it off as just pure silliness except that, well, we DID drive right by Rose Hill Cemetery! I immediately pulled over and tweeted out the story – it appeared that we had a new hitchhiker in town to compete with Resurrection Mary: Rose Hill Pedro! If you believe in Rose Hill Pedro, all your wildest dreams will come true…
Now, I’m hesitant even to tell this story, because, having worked in the ghost tour biz for a decade and having written numerous books on ghostlore, I’m the LAST guy you should consider a reliable source – it’s in my direct financial interest to see a ghost. Also, I assume it wasn’t really a ghost – the woman in the car didn’t see anyone else there, after all, and I’m not the sort of person who thinks he can see things that other people can’t (unless I’m talking to people who didn’t like the movie Sing Street, in which case I obviously can). And I’m not holding this up as serious evidence of the paranormal – it’s far more likely this was just the result of my brain playing tricks on me in the dark – except that I’m pretty sure I DID look in the rear view mirror and see the guy once, shortly before we came to Rose Hill.
So, I’m 100% sure that I did not give a dead person a ride home.
And, honestly, having investigated ghost stories for years, I’d say that if I’d collected the same story from someone else, it would be in my top 5% of ghost sightings. It gives me some first-hand insight of where some of these stories come from. Even after figuring out what must have really happened, I’ll admit that I felt spooked for a bit when I got home! If I wasn’t as skeptical as I am, or not as familiar with this sort of thing, it could easily have grown into a much wilder tale, first in my mind and then in my eventual retellings.
Mark Beaubien, Chicago’s original musician, taken from an oil painting that may not still be extant.
In 1880, the Calumet Club held their annual reunion of early Chicago settlers. Now approaching a population of a million, half a century before Chicago had been little more than a mud-hole, where, one settler remembered, a typical sunday consisted of taking champagne to church to drink the preacher’s health, then hanging around the church door shooting pigeons and prairie hens.
Midway through the reception, a club member informed Mark Beaubien, a settler who was then nearly eighty years old, that someone had requested that he play his violin. Beaubien replied with something to the effect of “I never played the violin. I played the fiddle.”
But one of his old fiddles was produced, and Mark tuned it up, spit on the strings, and played a tune, tapping a table with his foot, while 80 year old men danced reels, just as they had in his tavern nearly half a century before.
At the previous year’s reception, Mark had played them a tune called “The Devil’s Dream,” which seems particularly appropriate, given that his most famous quote is “I keep the tavern like Hell, and I play the fiddle like the Devil.”
This fiddle-playing took place well before there were any theaters or music halls in town – just the tavern attached to Beaubien’s Sauganash Hotel at what is now the corner of Wacker and Lake, just beside the Chicago River. It was, by some accounts, Chicago’s first frame house, but it wasn’t exactly the height of luxury. Anyone who asked for a mattress to sleep on would have been laughed at – Mark rented blankets for fifty cents per night. According to one account, Mark would rent someone a blanket, wait until that person fell asleep on the floor, then take the blanket and rent it to someone else, repeating the trick several times per night.
Beaubien’s Sauganash Hotel, Wacker and Lake (then Market and Lake).
But it was the fiddle that people remembered. Long into the night, as some danced and some gambled (and some tried to sleep on the floor beneath their rented blankets), Mark would play songs like “Money Musk,” “Indian Solo,” and “Believe Me If All those Endearing Young Charms.” Notably for the time, the dancers often included people of multiple races. He was particularly friendly with the local Potawatomie Indians.
Long John Wentworth, an early mayor, remembered that Mark was always available for parties, and if his strings all broke (as they sometimes did), he could just hum the dance music.” Wentworth also noted that Beaubien particularly enjoyed singing satirical songs making fun of General Hull, who had ordered the evacuation of Fort Dearborn in 1812. He had been present when Hull surrendered Detroit to the British.
Beaubien died in 1881, survived by just a few of his twenty-three children. The Chicago Historical Society still has a fiddle said to have belonged to him, and a 1930s Tribune article notes than when their museum at North and Clark first opened, there was a recreation of the Sauganash Hotel set up inside of it, featuring a recording of period music made using the Beaubien fiddle and a flute from Fort Dearborn.
The exact provenance of this fiddle is hard to determine – a few early sources state that Beaubien only ever owned one of them, which he bequeathed on his deathbed to Long John Wentworth, who then gave it to the Calumet Club. But that fiddle was burned up in a fire in 1893. The one currently in the museum was one reportedly given to one of Beaubien’s nephews around 1860.
A rare photo of Beaubien from late in his life. Source uknown.
I’ve been sitting on the above photo for quite a while, but now that advance copies of my book, HH Holmes: The True History of the White City Devil, are going around and they include it, I figure it’s time to release this one to the wilds of the internet.
The initial construction of the building now known as the HH Holmes “Murder Castle” took place in 1887 – at the time, it was just a two story building, with retail on one floor and apartments on the next. The third floor, which was ostensibly to be used as hotel rooms, was added in 1892.
The details for both phases of construction are well documented for one simple reason: Holmes didn’t pay his bills. In 1888, he was sued by Aetna Iron and Steel, who provided materials and labor. The architects sued him as part of the same lawsuit. Later suits with suppliers, investors, and insurance companies give excellent insight into more details.
Though I’ve found about 60 Holmes-related lawsuits in the legal archives, Aetna Iron and Steel vs Lucy T. Belknap (Holmes’ mother-in-law), is probably the one with the best info. Dragging on for over a year, Holmes filed affidavits telling the story of building the place, personally cross-examined a couple of workers, and more. There’s a ton of exciting data folded into the suit.
But nothing is quite as cool as the castle diagram, drawn by architect Edward Gallauner on a large sheet of very thin paper:
The Murder Castle architect’s diagram, unfolded in the legal archives in Chicago, where it was folded into old lawsuit paperwork.
It shows only the front portion that will face 63rd Street, and doesn’t have anything as lurid as, say, “torture equipment here,” (the bits about torture gear in the castle wouldn’t become part of the story until the 1940s), but it does give the exact dimensions of the front of the place. Other descriptions of it vary a little bit as to exactly how wide the place was.
Just for some perspective to help you see what we’re looking at here, here’s the diagram with the famous New York World diagram of the second floor overlaid:
The NY World diagram of the castle overlaid on the original architect’s diagram
I’ll be covering more of the suit in a couple of upcoming blog posts, and transcribing some of the most important bits in Very Truly Yours, HH Holmes, a supplement to HH Holmes: The True Story of the White City Devil, which will include over 120k words of Holmes’ letters, statements, articles, confessions, affidavits, and more, many of which have never been published, and many more of which haven’t seen print since the 1890s.
I spent much of the last year digging through thousands of sources working on my new book, H.H. Holmes: The True History of the White City Devil, due in April 2017 from SkyHorse. Over the next few months, I’ll be putting up a few major Holmes posts that I’ve been sitting on, including the newly-discovered architect’s diagram of the first floor of the “castle,” a lengthy post establishing whether he could have possibly been Jack the Ripper, and more. To start with, here’s my master list of Holmes victims.
The commonly-repeated figure that Holmes killed as many as 200 people was first suggested in 1940. Before that, the high estimate had been 27, the number he confessed to. But a great many of those people were still alive, apparently fictional, or known to have died of natural characters. The actual agreed-upon figure stands at nine, and even five of those are murders for which he probably couldn’t have been convicted. Beyond that, newspapers, letters, and legal documents introduce a host of other names, some of which were quickly debunked, and some of which were never fully investigated.
Here, then, is my list:
Ben Pitezel, 1894
Howard Pitezel, 1894
Alice Pitezel, 1894
Nellie Pitezel, 1894
These four, a father and his three children, were killed throughout North America in autumn, 1894. In all cases, the bodies were recovered and identified (Howard’s body was too badly destroyed to be identified, but there was no doubt that the charred remains were his). He was convicted only of Benjamin’s murder, but sure would have been convicted of the others if he’d stood trial for them.
JULIA CONNER, 1891
PEARL CONNER, 1891
EMELINE CIGRAND, 1892
MINNIE WILLIAMS, 1893
NANNIE WILLIAMS, 1893
Though bones found in the “castle” basement were likely Pearl’s, forensics were not good enough at the time to be sure. Though Julia, Emeline and the Williams sisters disappeared, their bodies were never recovered, and rumors that Holmes sold their skeletons to medical reehools didn’t hold up to any fact-checking in 1895. Holmes was relatively consistent in saying that Julia and Emeline died during illegal abortions, and told one of his attorneys that he’d killed Julia. However, no bodies were ever positively identified, and it’s unlikely that Holmes would have been convicted in court of these ones. That said, there’s no real reason to doubt that he killed them.
These are victims who were mentioned in the press, or by Holmes himself in his various writings, between 1894-1896. In most cases, the stories were not investigated in enough depth to be confirmed or denied, but in most cases they were probably just talk. Many were probably still alive, others likely never existed at all. (The story that over fifty missing World’s Fair patrons could be traced to the “castle” was invented by Herbert Asbury, the same writer who first suggested that the total number of victims could be in the hundreds).
Emily Van Tassel (alias Edna Darby, also referred to as Rossine van Jassand, Anna van Tassaud, and Roma Van Tassaud) – suggested by her mother as a possible victim; police seemed to take stories about her more seriously than other rumors. As late as 1897, her name was cited in a list of suspected victims that Chief Badenoch used to justify having kept the Quinlans in the “sweat box” when they tried to sue him.[i] Inspector Gary said she was still alive in 1896, though he gave no further information, and her mother still believed she was missing, at the very least.
KITTY KELLY – a few late July papers stated that Quinlan had told the police about a drug store clerk or stenographer by this name who’d been missing since 1892; likely a miscommunication about Mary Kelly, who was alive. Never really investigated.
HARRY WALKER – rumored insurance victim said to have met with Holmes (under the name Waldo Bankhorn or Manford Petzle) in Indianapolis, taken a job working for him, and then vanished. He may have been one of the unnamed victims in the 1896 confession; attorney Duncombe remembered Holmes being involved with an Indiana man in some capacity. It may be worth noting that there was a Harry Walker among Holmes’ classmates at the University of Michigan.
GEORGE H. THOMAS (or THOMAS GREGSAN) – rumored victim of Holmes and/or Pitezel in Mississippi, late June 1894. The affidavit Myrta allegedly filed about this case may still exist someplace, but the story was never fully investigated, as the judge who claimed to have the affidavit in late 1895 is not known to have made the contents public. Newspapers used enough actual names and dates to make the story seem rather credible, though.
JOHN DuBREUIL – a wealthy early investor in the “castle” property, along with his lawyer, F.A. Woodbury, who later represented Holmes for a while. DuBreuil collapsed in the castle drug store in April, 1891, and died shortly after Holmes poured a black liquid down his throat, according to a witness. Foul play was not suspected, but when a creditor of Holmes dies in this manner, it’s worth noting. It was also said in 1895 that DuBrueil’s life had been insured, though there’s no indication that Holmes profited from it.
ELIZABETH DuBREUIL – John’s wife, who died in 1892, and who had inherited her husband’s position as Holmes’ creditor. Her life was said to be insured as well, but, again, foul play was not suspected, and Holmes does not seem to have gotten out of the debt; her children’s names start appearing on “castle” property records after her death.
“MRS. GILBERT” – in some northeastern towns it was often said that a young man named Charles Brace, a photographer and former associate of Holmes, was the real “Hatch,” the man Holmes said was the real killer of the Pitezel children. He deserted his wife at one point and moved to Chicago, where he operated as Charles Gilbert, and married a 19-year-old woman who worked for Standard Oil. The first Mrs. Brace suggested that the young woman could have become a Holmes victim, as she didn’t know what had become of her. Little is known of Brace, and the story has not been investigated, though more than one 1895 newspaper spoke of local rumors that Charles Brace was Mr. Hatch. [ii]
HARRY GRAHAM – supposedly Myrta Belknap’s first fiancé, whom she was said to believe had been killed for his insurance money. Reported in a few papers in 1894, and confirmed as a real person by Minnesota sources, but never fully investigated.
MR BECK – a relative of Holmes who committed suicide in the 1870s; rumors that Holmes was once suspected of murdering him were denied by his father, but the idea can’t necessarily be disproven.
MABEL BARRETT – An 18-year-old Boston woman whose parents left her a large estate, Mabel was said to have been lured to New York by Holmes and Minnie Williams in July, 1893, based on pictures identified by her friends, and vanished. The story was never pursued at length, and Holmes was likely too preoccupied in Chicago in July of 1893 to make a Boston trip of sufficient length to lure a woman away and kill her.
KATE GORKY – a widow, roughly 30 years old, reported in July, 1895, to have been a swindling victim of Holmes while running the castle restaurant from Summer, 1892 to Spring, 1893. When she got sick, Holmes gave her medicine. Castle resident Maurice Lawrence spoke about her; he had heard that she had left to keep house on Halsted Street, but hadn’t kept enough track of her to be sure.
KATE GORKY’S DAUGHTER – Same story as above. Ms. Gorky and her daughter were not found alive and interviewed by newspapers, so far as is known, but also were never confirmed to be dead. Holmes mentioned them in his confession.
“MR. CLARK” (or Chasey), patient of Holmes in Mooers Forks during his stint there in the mid 1880s, alleged father of one of his sweethearts there, whose death was later said to have been “strange.”1
MARY BRUNSWIGGER – the above two were mentioned by Holmes in a letter to Robert Corbitt, the amateur detective, asking him to find evidence that they were alive or had died of natural causes, as he’d apparently heard rumors that he was accused of their murders. 2 No record of either person ever existing has been found.
MARY STEVENSON – a domestic mentioned as a possible victim in the letter to Corbitt.
ROBERT PHELPS – said to be Emeline Cigrand’s fiancé; occasionally listed as a victim, or an alias of Ben Pitezel, but almost certainly a fictional character.
R.B. PHILLIPS – One July 29th, 1895 paper in Philadelphia said that George Chamberlain had told Inspector Fitzpatrick that a man by this name was killed by Holmes and Pitezel around 1891 in the castle. The only article yet found on it is confused a bit as to certain known facts, and probably isn’t particularly reliable, though it’s probably just a reference to the likely-mythical Robert Phelps. [iii]
PETER VERRETT – a supposed customer of Holmes alcoholism cure suggested to have been the man Emeline Cigrand married before her disappearance. A neighbor stated that he was a real person and lived in the castle in 1893 (too late to be Emeline’s husband), but the story was never followed up.
“MRS. LEE – a wealthy widow whom Albert Phillips, father of Clarence, said came to the castle for a while, then disappeared. He called her “A handsome brunette, tall and stately, and well dressed.”3 This would have been in late 1892 or early 1893. No one else reported a “Mrs. Lee” to be missing, and her name is common enough that the story is impossible to investigate.
MARY HARACAMP (or Horacamp or Havercamp) – mentioned in the confession, thought to be a fictional character.
CARRIE SANFORD – mentioned in a letter to Robert Corbitt and listed by Corbitt as a possible victim. Sanford wrote Holmes a letter in Jan, 1893, suggesting that he’d promised to find her a job. It’s a common enough name that she’s hard to trace, but there doesn’t seem to have been any reason to suspect Holmes killed her, or even that she disappeared, beyond the fact that Holmes apparently knew her in 1892 and she didn’t comment on the case publicly in 1895.
ROBERT LEACOCK – a colleague of Holmes in Ann Arbor whom Holmes claimed to have murdered in his confession. Leacock died in Canada in 1891, but there seems to be no indication that foul play was ever suspected.
“ROGERS” – Holmes confessed to killing two men name named Rogers in his confession. One was likely a lie (see “debunked victims”), the other is unclear.
ANNA BETTS – On more than one occasion Holmes spoke of killing Anna Betts, and said that the press had frequently charged him with it. However, as far as can be found, they hadn’t. The fact that he thought he’d been accused of killing her seems suspicious. In early accounts he said she was rumored to have died during an abortion; in the confession he says he gave her poison medicine. A death certificate for a young woman named Virginia Anna Betts states that she died of apoplexy, and Chicago papers in 1886 spoke of an “Anna Betz” who was found to have died after an abortion. Which of these he meant isn’t entirely clear.
LATTERMAN – The St. Louis Chronicle stated on July 27, 1895 stated that a castle employee, formerly in charge of tending a basement engine, had long since vanished. The Chronicle was not a particularly reliable source; it was roughly the St. Louis equivalent of the Chicago Mail. This was probably a misnomer for Robert Lattimer (see below).[iv]
UNDERWOOD – The same St. Louis Chronicle article stated that Mr. Underwood, Latterman’s successor, had disappeared following a row with Holmes. [v]
Unknown Boy – an article or two[vi] stated that when Holmes left Mooers’ Fork, NY around 1885, he was accompanied by a small boy later believed to have been his first victim. Sources were sketchy at best, and it may well have been his son, Robert, who was certainly not killed.
These names were spoken of as victims by Holmes or others, but were eventually disproven entirely (in many cases, they’d been disproved long before Holmes confessed to them). Many, however, are still often listed as victims in books!
It’s worth noting, though, that I have my doubts about one or two. Gertrude Conner’s family, for instance, was quite insistent that she’d died of heart failure, but it may have been because they didn’t like people thinking Holmes had “ruined” her.
HENRY ROGERS – a veteran of several lawsuits against Holmes; probably the banker named Rogers Holmes confessed to killing. Rogers was still alive at the time, though he died shortly thereafter.
JOE OWENS – briefly suggested as a victim in the press, but soon found alive.
CHARLES COLE – may have been the “Cole” Holmes confessed to killing in the incinerator, though he may have meant Wilford Cole. Charles Cole was alive in 1895.
WILFORD COLE – another possible identity of the “Cole” Holmes confessed to killing. The source suggesting him as a victim, J.C. Allen, was not reliable enough to take seriously, and Allen himself denied knowing a Wilford Cole at one point.
ROBERT LATIMER – Former janitor of the castle whom Holmes confessed to killing. Was still alive and working right near the castle. Some said it wasn’t the same Latimer, but his comments on Holmes a year later indicate that it was.
DR. HOLTON – Usually said to be an old man killed by Holmes in later retellings of his story, but Dr. Holton was actually a young woman, Dr. Elizabeth Holton. Not really suggested as a victim until long after the investigation was over, when writers pieced together threads of data and filled in the blanks with a story plausible enough that it was afterwards repeated as fact (again, the chief culprit here is Herbert Asbury). Dr. Holton died in 1933, having outlived Holmes by nearly four decades.
Mr. HOLTON – Since Dr. Holton’s spouse is often said to be a victim as well, it should be noted that Mr. Holton died in 1910. He and his wife are buried at Oak Woods cemetery, not far from the castle site.
BALDWIN H. WILLIAMS – often spoken of as a victim, including in Holmes’ 1896 confession. Baldwin was Minnie and Anna’s older brother; his official cause of death was injuries sustained from an accident in the Arkansas Valley Smelter, and stories that the death was not an accident can’t be totally ruled out, though there’s little reason to believe them. Even those who suggested murder tended to suggest Benjamin Pitezel was the killer, and court records show that Holmes was certainly in Chicago around the time of the accident.
L.W. WARNER – A traveling salesman and namesake of the Warner Glass Bending Factory; Holmes confessed to murdering him, but he was still alive and quickly confirmed as such. In 1897, while living in Newton, Iowa, he told a reporter he believed Holmes was still alive, too. Little more is known of him.[i]
MARY CRON (or Kron) – a 55-year-old woman who lived near Holmes’ Wilmette house and was brutally murdered on Nov 4, 1893, when two or three robbers broke in, beat her to death, and burned the house down. One of the robbers, “Lion Jack,” (also known as “Young Divine” and “Jack the Liar”), was shot and killed as he ran away.[ii] Police managed to “sweat” a confession out of one Charles F. Goodrich, but, in a rare move, the confession extracted under torture was thrown out, and he was convicted only of manslaughter. In July of 1895, papers and neighbors began to implicate Holmes in the killing for no particularly good reason.
JENNIE THOMPSON – Castle employee that the press reported police were looking for. Found alive and living on May Street, a few blocks from the castle.
EVELYN STEWART: an alias of Jennie Thompson (see above). Why she was known by two such different names was never clarified.
LODOSKY POWER – Logansport, Indiana girl reported missing after being traced to a house near the castle, found alive in November, 1895.5
CHARLES WHITNEY – A Chicago man who worked as a traveling salesman and died in Saratoga, NY in November, 1894. People at the newspaper office there said that it was Holmes and Pitezel who placed the obituary, but no record of his death was found by reporters. His wife confirmed that he was dead, but said it was a “private matter” and denied that Holmes had placed the notice. Pitezel had been dead for two months by then, so it’s to be assumed that the people at the office were mistaken.6
MARY KELLY – sometimes suggested as a victim by people who hadn’t seen her lately, but she was alive and talking to reporters in 1894-1895.
HORACE A. WILLIAMS – name used on promissory notes, and suggested as a victim by Minnie’s attorney, but he was probably confusing Horace A. with Baldwin H. Horace A. Williams was probably just a Holmes alias the was used in real estate transactions involving Minnie.
ELLA QUINLAN – wife of Patrick suspected to have been a victim briefly. Turned up alive.
CORA QUINLAN – daughter of Patrick rumored to be a victim; a particularly wild Times-Herald story suggested that she’d been killed for insurance money and the girl formerly known as Pearl Conner had taken on her identity. She was found alive in Michigan.
GERTRUDE CONNER – Julia’s sister-in-law; died several weeks after returning from Chicago. She may have been the first woman Holmes was accused of killing (a business partner said “Holmes, you have killed her!” when word of her death spread), and he confessed to her murder in 1896. But all accounts indicate that she died of heart disease, and details Holmes gave were demonstrably false.
LIZ DALY – Kate Gorky’s sister, who was said to have had a child by Patrick Quinlan before disappearing from sight. A story about her and Patrick was quite possibly invented by police in hopes that it would make Ella Quinlan angry enough to confess that her husband had been an accomplice of Holmes. Dr. Lawrence said that Quinlan was friendly with her, though. She was also called Liz Stamwell and Liz Bowen. The police presented a recent letter from her in court when the Quinlans sued Chief Badenoch, so we can safely assume that if she was real at all, she was still alive.
LIZ’S CHILD – In a letter produced during the Quinlan v Badenoch trial, Liz said that she had a child by Quinlan, but Holmes put it in charge of a rich family and never told her who it was. Now married to a husband from whom this was a secret, she kept quiet. The letter is not included in the surviving trial paperwork, and may have not been real.
[i] original in Paris Mercury (Paris, MO), reprinted here from Palmyra Spectator (Palmyra, MO) Nov 25, 1897
[ii] “Fiends’ Fell Work” Chicago Daily Inter-Ocean Nov 5, 1893