There was plenty of ammunition for less unhinged assaults on Perry's self-defined character, although the 'evidence' was as unreliable as that for his deeds of heroism and romance. Labourers' daughters and fine ladies alike claimed to have been engaged or even married to Perry, then deserted. He was accused of swindling businesses in Philadelphia, duping clergymen in Canada, robbing a traveller in California and, most seriously, of killing a Montana saloon keeper in a brawl. Perry roundly protested his innocence of all the charges and even found unexpected support from Pinkerton agents whose alleged sightings of the wanted man became useful alibis. He was never charged with any of the supposed crimes and such was the public interest in and support for him that the rumours simply added to his allure. A reporter conducted an opinion poll of local citizens and found that all but one would like to see Perry freed.
The Perry myth also had obvious commercial potential. In a bizarre realization of Perry's joke about making an 'exhibition' of himself, Robinson's Musee-Theater in Rochester boasted a new display: two figures of Oliver Curtis Perry in wax. One showed Perry in his famous train-robbing outfit, with hood and rope; the other depicted him 'as he would appear on the street'. Newspaper advertisements described the Musee-Theater's attractions:
In the curio hall the original Kawakamis, sword fencers and athletes from Japan, will be seen, their acts combining the three elements of curio, novelty and speciality. Mr. and Mrs. Kawakami will appear in the costumes of ancient Japanese warfare. Miss Kate Koon, lightning artist, is announced to 'paint beautiful designs in two minutes'. The Hungarian gypsy band is there and there will be seen in wax a representation of Oliver C. Perry the daring train robber recently captured near Lyons.
Perry's train-robbing disguise as worn by Robinson s waxwork.
Despite the exotic charms of these fellow attractions, it was the wax Perry that topped the bill. General admission to the Musee-Theater was 10 cents, with seats for shows from 15 cents and boxes at 25 cents. Doors were open from 1 p.m. to 10 o'clock at night. were open from 1 p.m. to 10 o'clock at night.
When news of the exhibit reached Perry, he was not flattered. He hired a lawyer, through his Trojan friends, to demand that Robinson withdraw the exhibit or face an injunction. Displaying an extraordinarily canny sense of his value as a commodity, Perry calculated the price of his reputation as $10,000, the amount for which he threatened to sue Robinson. Robinson bullishly announced that new Perry figures would soon be exhibited in his Buffalo museum. However, in the next week's advertisement in Rochester, there was no sign of the Perry exhibit. The new star attraction was 'Prof. Dick's EDUCATED FLEAS. Flea Circus, Flea Actors, Flea Tricks'. Supporting the fleas, possibly in more ways than one, was Angola, 'the Only Living Gorilla in America'.
Perry's self-marketing was even more explicitly revealed in a letter he wrote to his father. He told him that he wanted him to have his possessions after his trial: 'I think you could take my clothes, satchel, revolvers, mask, hooks and rope, in fact all my things and sell them to some museum for a good round sum of money. I also will have some things sent to you in time that will make quite a collection. I have a large western hat cost $15.00, boots $12.00, two blankets, one saddle blanket and one bed blanket made by hand by the Indians, and a number of other things. I will have them sent to you just as soon as I think best. If you can consult some good lawyer and have him correspond with different Museum Managers and in that way perhaps you could get a good offer for the collection. I would not take less than $200.00 for the collection and I think you can get more.' The man who had risked everything in one last gamble may have lost but he was evidently determined to get some profit.
CHAPTER 6
'It's a long time to wait and I don't like the idea'
WHILE HE was working the press, performing to the gallery and protecting his interests, Perry had also been busy behind the scenes. Since his foiled escape attempt soon after his arrest, he had seemed more concerned with charming the public at large than rejoining them. But in fact he had been plotting escape all the time and when his efforts were discovered a different side of his personality came to light.
First, the Sheriff disturbed Perry as he was trying out a half-finished lead key in the corridor door, resembling the wooden one he had sketched. The key was confiscated and the jail was searched. At first, the lawmen assumed Perry was being helped by an outsider, but soon they discovered it was an 'inside job when they found more escape 'tools' hidden in other cells: lead foil that could have been melted over a lamp to form the key, pieces of wire to use to turn it, a steel strip, taken from the sole of a boot and sharpened, and a small piece of paper on which was scrawled 'We want it right off. Evidently Perry and some of his fellow prisoners had been in league and the construction of a key for the corridor door had been merely the first stage in a plan. All the men were questioned and their answers kept secret.'
Perry, whose own cell held no suspicious items, watched the entire search impassively. But one by one his plans to secure his freedom began to unravel. More tools were discovered hidden in an enlarged rat hole and eventually even Perry's clothing came under suspicion. First, the sacking wrapped round his shackles to stop them rattling was removed and the leg irons fell to the floor. He had cut them in two, using a small saw concealed in his Bible, which the Sheriff had let him keep for spiritual comfort. Amelia Haswell's gift had evidently been customized in a manner of which the missionary can hardly have approved.
If the Sheriff had been more thoughtful than careful when he first took Perry into custody, he was now determined to see, quite literally, that he had no more tricks up his sleeve. Perry was ordered to strip. All his clothes, the same ones he had worn when he was arrested and had, to his evident discomfort, been wearing ever since, were carefully examined. Then the lining of his jacket was ripped open. Sewn into the collar and waistband was a total of $250 dollars in $50 dollar bills. He had hidden them after the Utica robbery in case of emergency. Perry seemed so prepared and so determined to escape that, according to a report, nobody in Lyons believed 'he will come to trial without at least one fierce dash for liberty'. But his options were fast running out.
The Sheriff had to resort to stiff measures to contain his apparently incorrigible prisoner. Perry was moved to a smaller cell, only six by four feet, with a solid door rather than open bars, making it gloomy as well as cramped. He was told he was to be kept in close confinement until the trial and would have no unsupervised contact with other prisoners or visitors. Instead of eating in the corridor with the other prisoners, he would be fed in his cell. His meals would be passed through the small hole in
Wayne County Jail cellblock (From the collection of the Wayne County Historical Society, Lyons, New York).
the upper part of the cell door. A watchman was to be stationed outside his door, day and night.
Up until this point Perry had impressed people with his apparent nonchalance, but the discovery of what was clearly a careful plot and of the money that he might use for bribes or to get equipment began to depress him. The man who enjoyed telling tales clearly depended on his real plans being kept hidden. Being in jail had not been that depressing, while he had the ability to work on his fellow prisoners as carefully as he charmed the press, to build a team around him and plan each stage of the escape. Now he was back to square one. Close confinement meant he had no chance of working on a new plan. He was also beginning to suffer some pain as the result of an injury, almost certainly a rupture, incurred during the long chase on horseback. Was the apparently indomitable Perry beginning to show signs of strain? He had also been warned that the Grand Jury hearing might not be until mid- June, two months away. 'It's a long time to wait and I don't like the idea,' he admitted but he was still defiant about the trial: 'I will plead not guilty. My sentence will be none the lighter if I do not.' He might be unable to escape what now looked like his certain fate, but clearly had no intention of taking his punishment meekly.
The discovery of one after ano
ther of his tools and activities also pointed to an inescapable conclusion that began to eat away at Perry. Someone had betrayed him. Isolated in his tiny cell and seeing his plans systematically frustrated, he turned his mind to the question of his betrayer's identity. He eventually decided it was a tramp known as 'One Armed Ed', who did chores in the jail. Ed suffered a twisted remaining arm as a punishment when he passed Perry his food, but was an innocent man. It was revealed much later that the informer had been another, younger prisoner who received a reduced sentence as a reward.
The growing strain on Perry showed when visitors tried to get a glimpse of the notorious prisoner, but even under pressure he managed to turn an unwelcome reality to some advantage. Although he was no longer allowed unsupervised visits from friends, local people and reporters still called at the jail and asked to see him. But when the officers allowed them to take a look through the cell door, Perry demonstrated a new technique for dealing with them. While the visitor tried, or asked, to see his face, he would turn towards a looking-glass in his cell. By watching them watching him he was exerting the only control he could as a prisoner, allowing people to see only what he wanted them to see.
Other visitors to his cell got harsher treatment as he began to take out his frustration on the jailers who had resorted to tough measures to contain him. Deputy Collins found him trying to break his shackles by dropping one of the legs of his iron bedstead on them. When guards tried to stop him he started hurling some heavy earthenware cups, which he had hoarded after meals, at them. As a punishment and to prevent similar incidents, his wrists were shackled, although when Collins tried to fit the new restraints he only avoided being covered with the contents of Perry's lavatory bucket by threatening the prisoner with his revolver. Perry's days of sitting with a cigar entertaining his visitors were definitely over. Until his trial he would be involved in regular skirmishes with his keepers, especially Deputy Collins.
Collins, made impatient by Perry's slipperiness and impudence, was reportedly keen to strip him of all his comforts, putting him on bread and water and even giving him a good thrashing if necessary. Sheriff Thornton, a milder man who was much more sympathetic towards his prisoner, had gone out of his way to treat him well, even writing to a newspaper to deny a report that Perry had obtained weapons to attack, and even kill, Collins. As the public awaited Perry's trial, the contrasting attitudes and
approaches of the two lawmen became the subject of heated debate in their own right.
Thornton.
To some, Thornton was a gentle, kindly man who treated his young prisoner with sensitivity, to others, an indulgent fool who was being duped by a devious criminal, while Collins was seen as tough but fair, or, as Perry certainly believed, a licensed bully. It was a conventional enough debate about how to deal with criminals. But there was a particular twist to the story of Thornton versus Collins in the battle over Perry's treatment. Thornton was a Republican and stories about his apparent laxity versus the more effective approach of his Deputy appeared in the Wayne Democratic Press. The famous prisoner, who had used the press to win public support, had become a pawn in a game of local politics.
Jeremiah Collins,
Inside the jail, Perry was more concerned with getting some personal revenge on Deputy Collins for his punitive approach. He wrote a jail diary, now lost, that included an account of his arrest in the swamp that was clearly designed to undermine Collins's claim to the reward for his capture. He claimed that he offered to surrender if Collins shared the $1,000 reward equally with him, or let him walk away unharmed and surrender instead to the crowd. When Collins agreed to share the reward, Perry let himself be captured, feigning the fight that had given rise to such praise for the Deputy's courage. But once Perry was in custody, Collins had conveniently forgotten the deal. While Perry may have hoped to damage the Deputy's reputation, and the diary was conveniently leaked to the press, nobody seemed to believe his version.
The long wait for the trial continued and, without new incidents, the press turned to other news. The harsh winter had turned to a milder spring, and May Day workers' marches, which many had believed would bring bloody revolution to Europe and provoke radical unrest nearer home, turned out to be peaceful protests. Of greater interest to readers looking for dramatic stories was the sad tale of George Hamilton, 'the screaming boy' of Kentucky. The fourteen-year-old, a bright chap with a 'genius in mechanical affairs', had been struck down by terrible headaches that left him deaf and blind and unable to taste the food that kept him alive. All he could do, his body so twisted by pain that his head was bent back to his hips, was scream. His doctors could do nothing, and on 7 May the screams finally stopped. Some torments were worse than any prison sentence.
CHAPTER 7
His Career Ended!
PERRY'S GRAND Jury hearing began, earlier than he had been led to expect, on 17 May. Predictably, the Wayne County Court House was filled to overflowing. Over the next two days more than forty witnesses were called (although one over-excited reporter gave a count of more than a hundred), including the entire crews of both trains Perry was alleged to have robbed, numerous detectives and members of the public. Before testifying, Burt Moore and Daniel Mclnerney, now apparently restored to health, called in at the jail to identify Perry as their attacker. Although Mclnerney insisted in court that the incident had not affected his mind, he was so anxious while in the jail that he hid behind Moore.
Messenger Daniel Mclnerney.
Almost as soon as the hearing started, a shocking drama unfolded that distracted press and public attention. One of the witnesses for the prosecution was a young New York City jeweller's store porter called Albert Stanton, who had r been subpoenaed to appear to make a formal identification of items stolen in the Utica robbery. The day after he testified, apparently without incident, he set off for home by train. Towards the end of the long journey, just after four in the afternoon, he suddenly stood up, walked into the middle of the carriage and said, 'Well, I might as well do it now.' Then he took out a pocket-knife and cut his throat from ear to ear.
He left a wife and three children and no clue to his brutal suicide. Stanton's life, up to this point, had been unremarkable.
His employer suggested that anxiety about testifying in such a high-profile trial might have tipped him into insanity: 'I believe that he fairly worried himself into suicide.'
While such anxiety might have been enough to disturb someone who was mentally or emotionally fragile, it seems odd, if this was the reason, that Stanton did not kill himself on the way to the trial. The real reason for the suicide was never discovered. It may have been entirely unconnected to the trial. Whatever its catalyst, Albert Stanton's death was a sensational distraction from the hearing. It was also only the first of a series of tragedies to befall some of those whose lives became briefly entangled with Perry's.
Perry himself was formally arraigned on Thursday, 19 May. The large crowd, including a gallery full of women, was looking forward to a dramatic climax to Perry's time in Lyons and, indeed, his career. There had been much speculation about how he would plead, given his apparent determination after his long confinement to make a fight of it. A few days earlier he had been told that the District Attorney was subpoenaing his friend, Amelia Haswell, who had been bedridden by the strain of the detectives' constant pressure. The news that she would now have to make the long journey west strengthened Perry's resolve to force a trial and he engaged the services of a lawyer.
Just before he was called, the woman he called 'Mother' visited him in jail. The two spoke for a long time. Concerned about Perry's increasingly distressed and destructive behaviour, Amelia tried to persuade him that there was only one way to make the best of a hard situation, to take his punishment and trust in the Lord to protect him.
Perry was brought into court at five in the afternoon, heavily shackled and closely guarded. In a grey suit and with his moustache grown again, he looked as dashing as he had in his 'wanted' posters, but he was notic
eably paler after months in jail. He spoke briefly with his attorney and was then asked to stand to hear the indictments against him.
The room was silent as the District Attorney read the indictments. The first was for burglary in the third degree, second offence, and robbery, first degree, second offence, both committed in Herkimer County on 30 September 1891. This indictment was for breaking into an express car and committing robbery by taking property in the care of Messenger Moore, to the amount of $5,000. The second was for burglary, first degree, second offence, assault, first degree, and attempt at robbery, first degree. This indictment was for breaking into the express car in Cayuga County, and attacking Messenger Mclnerney on 21 February 1892. The third was for assault in the first degree on Alexander McGilvery, the engineer of freight engine No. 511, whom Perry drove from his engine at gunpoint when trying to escape. The fourth and final indictment was for discharging firearms at a locomotive.
Most people expected Perry to put up a fight. But after each indictment was read, he spoke only one word: 'Guilty.' Amelia Haswell was convinced, and had convinced him, that this would encourage a merciful, lighter sentence. Perry may have taken her advice, but when he entered his plea his voice was almost inaudible. The realization that he was willingly committing himself to the incarceration he dreaded, and had fought so bitterly to avoid, must have been hard to bear. The District Attorney immediately asked that sentence be pronounced. The judge, William Rumsey, following the letter of the law, informed Perry that he was officially entitled to two days' respite before sentencing. The public strained to hear Perry's faltering reply: 'I have no reason as far as I am concerned.'
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