by Bruno, Joe
Becker took the girl, real name Ruby Young, but known on the streets as Dora Clark, to the 19th Precinct and locked her up for the night. Crane tagged along, and he found out that first thing in the morning Clark would be arraigned at the Jefferson Court Market, at Tenth Street and Sixth Avenue. Crane decided to show up at her arraignment.
Magistrate Cornell was in charge of the proceedings, and after listening to Becker’s charges, Magistrate Cornell turned to Clark and asked what she had to say for herself.
Clark responded with a conspiracy theory she said had started three weeks earlier. Clark stated her arrest was unwarranted, and that she was being persecuted by the police of the 19th Precinct, because she had inadvertently insulted one of them.
Clark told the Magistrate, “I was accosted by a man on Broadway, who because of the poor lighting on the street, I perceived to be a Negro. I told him to go about his business, and that I wanted nothing to do with a Negro.”
The only problem was, this man was not a Negro, but a policeman with a swarthy complexion named Rosenberg. Patrolman Rosenberg arrested Clark on the spot, and when she gave her explanation the next day in court, Patrolman Rosenberg was insulted and quite upset. Patrolman Rosenberg got word to Clark that she would be arrested by a 19th Precinct cop every time she set foot in the Tenderloin, whether she had committed a crime or not. Clark told Magistrate Cornell, that since then she has been unjustly arrested several times in the Tenderloin, and the incident last night was just one of her many bogus arrests.
Magistrate Cornell turned to Becker, and he asked if there was any doubt in his mind that Clark was engaged in the solicitation of prostitution on the previous night.
Becker stuck out his chin and puffed out his chest.
“None whatsoever, “Becker said. “She is an old hand at this, and she always lies about it.”
Magistrate Cornell asked Clark if it were true that she frequented the streets of the Tenderloin.
Clark, knowing that denying something so provable would do her no good, told the judge that yes, she indeed frequented the Tenderloin, adding, “Why not? This is America. It’s a free country.”
This cemented in Magistrate Cornell’s mind that Clark was indeed a prostitute, since no respectable woman would travel alone in the Tenderloin, especially at midnight. But before he could proclaim his decision, Stephen Crane jumped to his feet near the back of the courtroom.
As was reported in the New York Sun, Crane said, “Just a word, Your Honor. I know this girl to be innocent. I only know that while with me she acted respectably and that the policeman's charge was false.”
Crane went on to delineate the reasons why Becker had made an improper arrest of Clark. Then he added, "If the girl will have the officer prosecuted for perjury, I will gladly support her."
Since Magistrate Cornell was aware of Crane’s fame and could not imagine such an illustrious writer lying in court, he dismissed the charges against Clark. This did not please Becker too much. He was even more irritated, when Clark, three weeks later, marched into Police Headquarters at 300 Mulberry Street, and pressed charges against Becker and against Patrolman Rosenberg for “continued harassment.”
Clark’s chief witness was Stephen Crane, which caused Becker more than a few bouts of agita. So much so, a few days after Clark brought charges against Becker, he accosted her on the street at three in the morning and beat her unmercifully in front of witnesses; none of whom would come to her aid because of their fear of Becker and his methods. When Becker was finished pummeling Clark, a husky hooker named “Chicago May,” who was alleged to be one of Becker’s paramours, landed a few kicks and punches of her own on the fallen Clark.
Because of Crane’s fame, for the next several weeks the Becker/Crane/Clark case made national news. It was spread across the front page of newspapers in big cities like Philadelphia and Boston. It even made headlines as far west as Chicago, where the Chicago Dispatch made the snide observation that “Stephen Crane is respectfully informed that association with women in scarlet is not necessarily a ‘Red Badge of Courage.’ ”
While Becker was waiting for his police trial to take place, he ordered his pals in the department to do everything possible to make Crane’s life miserable. First, they raided Crane’s apartment, looking for anything that might discredit Crane. Then they interviewed Crane’s friends and acquaintances, digging for more dirt. By pounding the pavement and knocking on doors, Becker’s pals discovered that Crane frequented brothels and that he had more than a causal relationship with opium dens. Future United States President Theodore Roosevelt, who was the New York City Police Commissioner at the time and casually acquainted with Crane, advised Crane not to testify at Becker’s trial, or suffer ruin to his reputation.
Crane decided to testify anyway.
At Becker’s October 16 trial, every police officer in the 19th Precinct who was not on duty at the time showed up in court to support Becker. Before the four judges, who were comprised of the city’s four deputy police commissioners, Becker’s lawyer, Louis Grant, was relentless in trying to discredit Crane’s testimony.
Grant painted Crane as a man who not only frequently smoked in opium dens and took solace in the company of prostitutes, but also as a man who lived off the ill-gotten gains of those poor girl’s debaucheries.
On the witness stand, with Grant in Crane’s face, Crane meekly denied Grant’s accusations, saying his presence in opium dens and brothels were solely for the purpose of doing research for his writings.
At one point, Grant was so venomous is his conduct toward Crane one newspaperman wrote, “Crane appeared to not know where he was at. At one time the questions were so severe as to cause the young author to place his hands to his face with the apparent desire to shut out the questions from his mind.”
Things got so sticky for Crane on the witness stand, he refused to answer several of Grant’s questions on the grounds that “they would tend to degrade and incriminate him.”
After the humiliation of Crane was complete, the four deputy police commissioners, led by Fredrick Grant - the son of United States President Ulysses Grant - found Charles Becker innocent of all charges.
After the verdict was rendered, Stephen Crane skulked from New York City; his reputation in ruins.
Crane would never again garner acclaim as a writer; either of fiction, or of non-fiction. Disgraced in the Northeast, Crane absconded to Key West; then to Jacksonville, Florida, where he met his true love, Cora Taylor, the owner of a house of ill-repute named Hotel De Dream.
Unable to make a decent living off his writings, Crane took a war assignment from Blackwood’s Magazine, which sent Crane to Cuba to report on the Spanish-American War. In Cuba, Crane contracted yellow fever and malaria, further worsening his already tenuous health. In late 1899, his work in Cuba complete, Crane journeyed to England where he continued his love affair Cora Taylor, whom he finally married.
In England, Crane’s health continued to deteriorate, and after he suffered a severe hemorrhage of his lungs, he decided to enter a health resort in Badenweiler, Germany. Crane lingered in ill health for several months before he passed away on June 5, 1900, at the age of 28.
Charles Becker didn’t kill Stephen Crane, but he certainly was instrumental in quickening the young writer’s demise.
With the Crane/Clark matter behind him, Becker became more resolute in working the Tenderloin for his personal profit. Becker made a career out of shaking down prostitutes and gambling houses, making the occasional sensational arrest, so that his name would be firmly entrenched on the front page of the New York City daily newspapers.
After his first wife, Mary, died from tuberculosis, he married a second time to a Canadian lass named Letitia Stensen, with whom he had a son, Howard Paul. This marriage lasted less than a year, mostly because Becker had been unfaithful to his wife; fooling with a string of Tenderloin hookers, from whom he accepted sexual favors, in addition to the shakedown money they paid Becker to keep operating without
fear of arrest. Letitia sued for divorce on the grounds of infidelity. She won her divorce, and then scurried off to Reno, Nevada where she married Becker’s older brother Paul.
Go figure.
In 1902 Becker met his third and final wife - Helen Lynch, a teacher in the New York City Public School System. This marriage lasted as long as Becker did, and Helen would play a major part in the melodrama that followed the death of Herman Rosenthal.
THE SECRET (STRONG ARM) SQUAD
In 1911, Police Commissioner Rhinelander Waldo appointed Becker to head an elite group of police strongmen which Waldo proudly called “The Special Squad,” but christened in the press as “The Strong Arm Squad.”
In a New York Times article dated August 13, 1911, the headline read:
THE STRONG ARM SQUAD – A TERROR TO THE GANGS
“Lieut. Charles Becker was picked to be in command of the Strong Arm Squad. He looks the part, standing over six feet in his socks, tipping the scale over 200 pounds, broad-shouldered, with eyes, jaw, and fists of a fighter.”
The Strong Arm Squad was right up Becker’s alley, because it gave him and his boys carte blanche to crack heads whenever they deemed it necessary, and that was often. The Strong Arm Squad was comprised of, according to the Times, “twenty huskies whose sole duty is to travel around the city and hand out generous doses of strong-arm medicine to any and all who showed unmistakable signs of being in need of it.”
The Strong Arm Squad wore no police uniforms, nor did they dress like police detectives. The Strong Arm Squad wore the attire of the times associated with ruffians, longshoremen, and the rabble in the streets who were committing mayhem on the general public. In other words, the Strong Arm Squad dressed to blend in with the crowd they were looking to beat up, then arrest; in either order, as they saw fit. These 20 men were plucked from various precincts because “they had earned the reputation for their fighting capacity, for their judgment in making arrests, and for their ability to back up their arrests.”
In fact, the last two criteria had nothing to do with the selection of the Strong Arm Squad. The first criteria was all that was required to be given the opportunity to legally crack heads.
According to the Times article,
“The Strong Arm Squad consisted of such thugs as Alex Whitman, the ‘strong man’ of the Police Department, and his brother Nathan Whitman, who has been dubbed the ‘Yiddish Irishman.’ Then there was Conlon, the ‘strong arm dude.’ ‘Old Sleuth’ Faubel, Joe McLaughlin, known as ‘Eat ‘Em Up Alive,’ and finally ‘Boots Trojan,’ who knows all the gangs and whom Becker described as ‘good as four ordinary men to go into a muss with.’”
Becker’s squad of thugs knew what Waldo wanted, and they provided it in spades. Waldo was interested in arrests all right, but that was secondary to beating the crap out of whomever Becker deemed worthy of such actions. Waldo’s thinking was - strike fear in the hearts of the underworld element and they will stop doing whatever they are doing. Of course, this tactic never works and only makes the hard men harder when they finally are released from prison.
Whenever arrests were made, the New York City’s Magistrates were regaled by the prisoner’s tales of “cruel and abusive” treatment by Becker and his gang. However, Becker always denied these claims, and thanks to the interference of Police Commissioner Waldo, no charges were ever brought against Becker and his thugs.
With his ruthless reputation flaunted frequently in the press, Becker was in an even better position than he was before to do what he did best: shake down prostitutes and known New York City gamblers, especially in the Tenderloin. In fact, Becker was such a commanding presence in the Tenderloin; he was christened “The Czar of the Tenderloin.”
With his squad of goons behind him, Becker went on a rampage, closing down 100 gambling joints in the period of nine months. Of course, Becker took care of those who took care of him. If the proprietor of a gambling house came across with the proper amount of cash, Becker would ignore the gambling house’s existence. And if that were not possible – if Waldo came down with a direct order to close down that particular dive – Becker would tip off the gambling house owners in advance, so that when Becker finally did axe down the front door of the gambling den, all of the establishment’s best gambling paraphernalia had been secreted away, and only decrepit tables and gambling wheels would be axed or confiscated. Big-shot gamblers were also tipped off, so when Becker’s men made their arrests in their favored gambling houses, the arrestees were nonentities, with no bucks to back up their play with Becker.
According to Mike Dash’s fine tome Satan’s Circus, Becker was raking in so much cash that he personally banked, between October 1911 and July 1912, an average of $10,000 a month. Becker had 15 bank accounts dotted throughout the five boroughs of New York City. Some were solely in his name; some in joint accounts with his wife, and others under fictitious names. Becker also had safety deposit boxes in several banks filed with cold, hard cash; sometimes as much as $2,000 in one such box.
This brings us back to Herman Rosenthal.
A PARTNERSHIP MADE IN HELL
In November of 1911, after Inspector Cornelius Hayes led his raid on Rosenthal’s West Forty-Fifth Street gambling house, Rosenthal was basically broke, and he needed a partner to reopen his gambling house. Since Becker was in the newspapers so often and was such a big shot when it came to destroying or allowing gambling houses to prosper, Rosenthal thought Becker would be a perfect mate to partner with.
Rosenthal said in the July 14, 1912 edition of the New York World, “The first time I met Charles Becker was at a ball given by the Order of the Elks on 43rd Street near Sixth Avenue, and we had a very good evening, and drank freely, and became very good friends. Our next meeting was by appointment on New Year’s Eve, 1912, at the Elks Club.
“We drank a lot of champagne that night and later in the morning we were all pretty under the weather. Becker put his arms around me and kissed me. He said, ‘Anything in the world for you Herman. I’ll get up at three o’clock in the morning to do you a favor. You can have anything I’ve got.’”
Knowing Becker’s reputation as a cad, it’s hard to believe Becker used exactly those words. But
Rosenthal was a well-known bullshit artist. So it’s safe to presume they probably met for the first time at the Elks Club, and at their second meeting at the Elks Club’s New Year’s Eve celebration, they most likely came to an agreement as to how much cash Rosenthal needed to cough up not to have his joint raided on a regular basis (Rosenthal said he had to give 20 percent of his profits to Becker).
Rosenthal also claimed, as one of the conditions for taking in Becker as a partner, Becker had to loan Rosenthal $1,500 for operating expenses and to spruce up the gambling hall. Rosenthal said that to receive the $1,500, Rosenthal had to sign legal papers putting up Rosenthal’s house furniture, or chattel, as collateral in case Rosenthal reneged on the loan.
However, Becker denied he had any financial arrangements with Rosenthal.
On July 13, 1912, Becker told the New York Times, “I have never been connected with him in any way, either in business, or friendship. He tried hard to make it seem I was by inviting me to dinner in public places, but I always declined.”
So it’s clear, one of them was lying; or they both were lying. The latter seems most likely.
What we do know is this: Becker and Rosenthal came to some sort of agreement that either Rosenthal would pay Becker a flat sum per week to keep his joint open, or a percentage of the profits (most likely a flat sum, since Becker could not prevent Rosenthal from cooking the books). That was all well and good for Becker; he was shaking down so many gambling establishments in town, one more trophy in his case could do him no harm.
Or could it?
The problem was that Police Commissioner Waldo was getting letters complaining about Rosenthal’s establishment being allowed to operate. The rumor was that old archenemy Bridgey Webber, whose gambling joint was just down the block from Rosen
thal’s, was the author of these letters. As a result, Waldo put the pressure on Becker to raid Rosenthal’s place, and Becker told his “partner” Rosenthal that he had no choice but to follow the police commissioner’s demands.
Becker told Rosenthal something like, “What’s the big deal? I’ll give you advance notice of the raid so that you can hide all your valuable equipment. Plus, you can make yourself scarce on the night of the raid so you won’t have to spend the night in jail. Then in a few days, you’ll put your best stuff back in the joint and we’ll be back in business like before.”
Rosenthal told Becker something like, “Go spit in your hat! You’re my partner and if my joint gets axed, I’ll make your life miserable!”
It was not such a great idea for a little nobody like Rosenthal to dictate to big, bad Lieutenant Becker what he could do and what he could not do.
At around 10 p.m., April 17, 1912, Becker, along with his Special (Strong Arm) Squad plus a battalion of policemen, raided Rosenthal’s 45th Street “sporting club.” As a favor, Becker did warn Rosenthal in advance, so little Herman hid in a hallway down the block and waited for the raid to reach its conclusion.
Rosenthal said Becker contacted him the next day and told him not to worry; that Becker himself would fork over the money caused by his men’s action.
“Five hundred bucks should do the trick,” Becker allegedly told Rosenthal.
There is no proof this money actually changed hands. But what is known is that Rosenthal’s club remained closed for weeks, and that one of the people arrested in the raid was Rosenthal’s favorite nephew, Herbert Hull, a 17-year-old with no criminal record.
When Rosenthal’s nephew was indicted a few weeks later, Rosenthal demanded and received a private summit with Becker. The two men, acting like Russian spies, held a clandestine meeting; reportedly in a New York City taxi cab. Nothing was accomplished at this meeting, and according to Rosenthal, the two men left on very bad terms.