But that September night everything changed. 'Wild Western Ways in the Empire State' declared the New York Herald the following morning, while Joseph Pulitzer's The World seemed geographically affronted: 'A train held up right in the heart of the Empire State! And this on one of the most frequented roads in the Union - the New York Central! It seems almost incredible that such wild Western methods could be successfully practised in the centre of civilization without a trace being left as to the perpetrators of such a daring deed; yet such is a fact.'
The American Express Special was speeding though the 'burnt stone' canyon, a few miles east of the bright lights of Utica, when it suddenly ground to a halt. The trainmen, who travelled in the last car, jumped down to investigate and found that someone had cut through the air-brake hose at the rear of the money car. Inside they found Burt Moore, the messenger, dazed and gasping, 'I've been robbed.' The robbers had apparently disappeared in the pitch darkness of the canyon. Unable to see well enough to give chase, the crew travelled on to Utica to report the crime.
There the shocked messenger explained what had happened. He was working in the central section, with the end doors locked. The front partition door was open to make room for the freight, and sacks and parcels were piled high against the front car door because it would not be used on the journey. When the train approached Frankfort, he was crouched with his back to this door, checking the waybills that identified the sender, destination and recipient of all the freight. The train was travelling at full speed, engine roaring and cars clattering over the switches. Once or twice he thought he heard something and looked around but everything seemed in order, and his revolver was near at hand, on top of a trunk.
Suddenly he heard a louder noise, turned and saw a man pointing two guns at him. His face was completely covered by a red hood, except for slots through which his eyes flashed. 'It's money I'm after,' he shouted. 'Quick, we're getting near to Utica!'
Moore claimed that before he could react, a shot whistled past him, and the robber grabbed his revolver. The masked man made him unlock a safe, then emptied it, tossing aside bags of jewellery, and stuffed half a dozen canvas bags into a large bag he carried over his shoulder. Keeping his guns trained on Moore, he moved slowly towards the side door and opened it as if to jump. But the train was travelling too fast and he changed his mind, backing towards the front door. Slowly, he felt his way back through the piles of packages and, keeping one gun stretched in front, dropped the bag through a square hole in the door, then wriggled, one foot at a time, back through the hole and dropped out of sight. Moore assumed that he had swung down to cut the brake hose that ran underneath the cars, to stop the train and make his escape. Whatever he did, he disappeared without trace.
The car itself told the story of how the robber had entered it. Standing on the platform as the train sped noisily through the night, he had bored a small hole in the front door, to spy on the messenger, then made four more holes lower down, and sawn out a panel, about fifteen inches square. Then he had leaned through, pulled out a box to stand on, squeezed into the car and surprised the messenger. It was a devastatingly simple plan, brilliantly executed. Unlike his western predecessors, this man had worked alone, and had used skill rather than brute force. He had also chosen to rob a train in the busiest state in the Union.
The police immediately cabled American Express and the railroad company. The robbery was a real embarrassment to both - and a threat to future profits. They swiftly announced that the train had been carrying an unusually small amount of money, less than $20,000 in total, and that mostly bonds. While all those interviewed, including New York Central Railroad President Chauncy M. Depew, acknowledged it was 'a queer case', they immediately insisted that little could have been stolen. American Express announced that the robber had stolen less than $1,000, and one official, stretching credulity to breaking-point, argued that it was only $150. Newsmen were sceptical. One consulted an Albany banker who confirmed the general view that the train was more likely to have carried at least $100,000.
American Express lost no time in employing the Pinkerton Detective Agency to find the robber. The agency had, like the corporations it now worked for, been 'made' by the Civil War, when its agents worked undercover for the Union side, and was known for getting results by any means necessary. Now the 'Pinks', under the direction of Robert Pinkerton himself and the agency's New York manager, George Bangs, assembled in Utica. There they joined a throng of railroad detectives, local police and newsmen and started the painstaking process of searching the surrounding towns, villages and countryside. It was the biggest manhunt upstate New York had seen for many years.
The Pinkertons had years of experience in dealing with train robberies in the west, where a network of detectives, local sheriffs and informers had given them real success. But this was a challenge. The man they were after was clearly no ordinary robber. George Bangs, a man not easily impressed, wrote to William Pinkerton, 'The man who committed the train robbery here is one of the nerviest I ever heard of. There are few if any men who possess the daredevil courage to accomplish what this train robber did yesterday.' And as the days passed no trace of the robber came to light, nor any clue to his identity.
Then, five days after the crime, a couple of local men made an important discovery while picking ink-berries in Borden's Grove. This was a patch of scrubland near an abandoned distillery, some three miles east of Utica. They were about to call it a day and go home, when they spotted a lot of torn paper on the ground. On closer inspection, the paper turned out to be wrappers from money and bonds. Nearby were empty money envelopes, packages and jewellery boxes as well as large cotton bags with the marking 'Am. Ex. Co.'. Among the papers they found a waybill listing 'three diamond rings' and an envelope marked '$5,000'.
They bundled everything up and went to find a local reporter who immediately set off on the trail of the robber. Just behind the place where the wrappings had been found was a deep, overgrown ravine that ran south from the canal into the Frankfort Hills. Full of stubby trees and bushes, it offered ideal hiding places. The reporter drove along the road until he found what he was looking for: someone who had a story to tell.
Erving Vance, a farmer, was not an ideal witness. Until an apparently miraculous but mysterious 'cure', he had been totally blind. His sight had been only partially restored, however, and he had to rely on his ten-year-old son to help him on the farm. On the evening after the robbery, he had gone out to bring a horse into the barn for the night, taking his son with him. As he approached the barn he saw an object looming in the semidarkness and assumed it was the horse, but the object said, 'Good evening.' 'Well, what do you want?' Vance had replied, startled. The stranger had answered that he was looking for Mr Rider'splace. 'Holmes Rider?' asked the farmer. 'Yes,' came the answer.
Suspicious of anyone prowling around his farm, Vance had asked who he was. According to the farmer, at this point the man started to behave as if he was slightly drunk. He said he had been drinking with two friends, had fallen asleep on the road, and woken to find they had gone. As far as Vance could make out, the man had said his name was Stevens or Stevenson, and he came from Little Falls, but had worked in Amsterdam for a time before that. He had seemed increasingly uneasy and anxious to leave.
Told the way to Rider's farm, he started off in another direction until Vance called out. After some hesitation he changed his path and the farmer and son, who knew nothing about the train robbery, watched him disappear into the darkness.
Vance gave the reporter a description that, although lacking in detail because of his impaired vision, matched that of the train robber given by Burt Moore: about five feet nine, of rather slight build, with a small dark moustache. His son confirmed his story and other sightings followed. A bee hunter remembered seeing a man who kept his face hidden and who, if a local barber was to be believed, made his way back to Utica that evening, walked into the barber's shop and asked to have his moustache shaved off. The man's clothes, th
e barber said, were dusty and covered with 'stick tights' or burrs, and he clutched a newspaper-covered parcel. He had paid from a 'good roll of bills' and left. After that the trail went cold. But the reporter's search had uncovered two things about the robber. The fact that he had named a local farmer suggested that the robber might be a local man. The fact that he had coolly walked back into Utica, under the detectives'
noses, confident that he would not be identified, showed that he was as daring as a wanted man as he had been as a robber.
The Borden's Grove find had also proved something else: that whatever American Express said, this had been a major robbery. Someone leaked the fact to a reporter that four more canvas bags and their contents had not been accounted for and the remaining empty bags were soon found on top of an eastbound freight car near Albany. Whatever the official line, the growing band of newspapermen in Utica knew they were on to a real story and the public were eager for the latest chapter.
If American Express was under pressure, the crew of the robbed train had reason to feel even more uncomfortable. Many people insisted that the robber must have had inside knowledge or help, and the police were searching for one suspect, an escaped convict, just because he had been a railroad worker. The most worried man was messenger Burt Moore. Although he had been in shock after the robbery, he had not been hurt. To some observers this was deeply suspicious. He was a powerfully built man who did not appear to have put up much of a fight. It was also rumoured that no evidence could be found that any shot had been fired in the car. Possibly Moore had invented the shooting because he was worried his employers would not think he had put up enough of a fight, but as time went on, some whispered that he had been in cahoots with the robber. Moore was anxious to show that he had done everything he could to protect his employer's goods, even claiming that he had managed to hide some money by kicking a sack of bills out of sight while the robber was distracted. His employers announced that they had total faith in him, but he had been immediately suspended from duty after the robbery and was under continual surveillance.
A week after the Borden's Grove find and nearly a fortnight after the robbery, American Express issued an official statement: 'We have got a pretty good clue to the robber and we are going to get him. It may take time, but we will run him down if we have to follow him to "Kingdom Come" . . . Watch us while we nab the robber.' So watch the people of New York did, for weeks on end. But still there was no arrest.
Pinkerton Detective Agency Flyer.
CHAPTER 2
'Probably now wearing diamonds'
WHILE THE people of New York wondered if the Pin-kertons had finally met their match, the detectives believed they had found their man. They had started to follow a lead from one of the train's crew, Frank Stacy. He had caught a glimpse of the robber as he jumped from the train and thought he recognized him as a one-time colleague on the New York Central. For the first time, the wanted man had a name: Oliver Curtis Perry.
The Pinkertons at first revealed nothing to the police or the press. They started by targeting the suspect's relatives, particularly his aunt, a respectable woman called Mary Hamblin, who lived in the nearby city of Rome. Agents offered her $250, a substantial sum, for a photograph of her nephew but she refused to cooperate. Eventually they had a warrant issued against her and obtained a copy of the photograph for use in their circulars. These were sent all over the country, offering a huge reward of $1,000.
The circulars gave a description that echoed those given by Burt Moore and the local witnesses, but was clearly based on detailed knowledge of the suspect:
Oliver Curtis Perry is described as 26 years of age, 5 feet 6 to 7 inches in height, slight build, weighing about 13 Olbs, dark brown hair, small moustache, inclined to be sandy (probably now shaved off), brown eyes; high, white forehead, with wrinkles between eyes, giving his face a troubled and thoughtful expression; thin lips, rather long nose, slim white hand, with enlarged knuckles from hard work. Has a scar about three inches long on upper part of forehead, which is noticeable when his hat is off; also has scar on left arm and above right nipple. He is gentlemanly, polite and effeminate in manner, but acts nervous and uneasy; has a girlish voice, dresses in dark clothes, invariably wears gloves, and is noticeably particular about keeping his hands clean. Had gold open face watch, 14 karat, stemwinder, size 18, Samuel C. Tappen, Troy, N.Y., maker, name on dial and movement, nickel movement, case No. 14,608; also a gold watch chain. Also wears a ring, with stone on little finger of right hand, (probably now wearing diamonds).
The photograph shows a handsome man with dark eyes, gazing calmly past the photographer. He is dressed like a respectable gentleman but not a man of means. The fabric of his suit looks, on close inspection, to be coarse. He may, like many Americans of the period, have taken advantage of the cheap 'smart' clothes designed to make a hick pass without being mocked in the city, or a worker feel like a boss, if only on Sundays. But he was clearly a man of refined tastes: his cravat looks like silk and has a sprig of flowers on the knot. His hair is sleek and his moustache is slightly curled at the ends. A comment under the picture warns the viewer: 'The above likeness is a good one but flatters. His face is not so full and the lips are thinner.'
The flyers gave a wealth of detail about the robber's looks, but what about his character? Who was Oliver Perry? While the hunt continued, two wildly contrasting versions emerged as the press fed the public appetite for information on him. The Pinkertons declared that he was a clever but ruthless outlaw. According to them he was born, as many had suspected, in the Mohawk valley, and had a long record of crimes across the States. But for the past two years Perry had been working on the railroad and living quietly in Troy, a city near Albany, some of whose most upstanding citizens sprang to his defence. They insisted that Perry was a man of strong religious convictions who had seen the error of a wayward youth, and tried to keep to a steady path until this extraordinary allegation had been made. These were eminently respectable people, and their loyalty to the fugitive surprised the detectives. One, the City Missionary and Sunday School teacher, Miss Amelia Haswell, protected him even more ferociously than his aunt had done, destroying his photographs rather than have them used on reward posters. Oliver Perry clearly inspired strong passions.
The agents redoubled their efforts, with William A. Pinkerton himself leading investigations across the continent. Detectives searched hotels and brothels, Christian associations and saloons; they even arrested a man in Vermont and announced their hunt was over, only to discover it was a case of mistaken identity. Perry was not to be found. In the press speculation continued about whether or not he had worked entirely alone. The fact that he had been a railroad worker had explained his inside knowledge of trains but it was over two months since the robbery and Burt Moore had still not been allowed back to work. Could he have been an accomplice?
Then, in December, two strange things happened. First, a lawyer from Troy delivered a parcel of jewellery stolen in the robbery to American Express. The Pinkertons questioned Perry's religious friends, but revealed nothing to the press. Next, an astonishing letter, postmarked 'Guelph Ontario', arrived at the investigation headquarters. Its exact contents were not revealed, but it was signed 'Oliver Curtis Perry' and accompanied by a diamond-studded brooch from the Special, to prove its authenticity. Its writer made a full confession, and insisted that Burt Moore was totally innocent. Perry, it seemed, had recklessly revealed his whereabouts in order to prevent an injustice. Agents in Ontario were alerted, but again they failed to find him. To those of a romantic inclination the letter was an act of gallantry, designed to save a working man from more trouble, while others were amused by Perry's ability to tease the detectives.
New Year came, still there was no sign of an arrest, and still the robber's reputation grew. Anyone who had got away with a fortune as he had would have earned the secret admiration of all but the most determinedly upright: his robbery was quite simply astonishing. But there was something about O
liver Perry, sketchily as he had been drawn, that particularly caught the imagination of New Yorkers. The references to his troubled expression and nervous manner had suggested to some that this was a daredevil with a sensitive soul. The comments from the good people of Troy had, after all, painted a picture of a hard-working man and his letter had shown he was honourable. And, despite the Pinkertons' snide remark, everyone could see that he was handsome. Perry became the object of the day-dreams and fantasies of men, women and children: a man you might want to be, or be with, or become.
Soon rumours spread across the state that poor people were finding jewels and money on their doorsteps with notes from Perry giving his compliments. Although there was never any proof that these incidents actually occurred, they fed a mythology that was growing around the young robber. Handsome, boyish, clever and honourable, he now became for some people a latter-day Robin Hood, a worthy successor to Jesse James, an eastern outlaw to rival any the west could boast. Did he, like them, have a dramatic past to explain his criminal present? In the coming months and years, tall tales would be spun about what Perry did on the run: stories of romantic assignations with beautiful women, of cool conversations about the robbery with unsuspecting detectives, and of secret caches of loot left deep in the Utica Hills to be recovered one day. Whatever the truth about Oliver Perry might turn out to be, New York had fallen in love.
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